2021-10-28 - You Were Missing?

A gray drizzle falls from the sky, and a cool, salty wind blows off the sea, driving a number of people in out of the deck and into the warmer interior of the bar. This means its relatively busy when Alexander opens the door and sidles in, giving a suspicious look to...everything. He looks fairly normal for a guy who's been missing for six or seven months; his hair is longer, shaggy around his face, but he has no visible wounds. Admittedly, everything from his neck down is covered by flannel, denim, and faded sneakers instead of his usual big, stompy workboots. He keeps his head down as he moves towards the bar, careful - as always - not to bump into anyone.

The weather has brought in a decent lunch crowd that hasn't quite thinned out yet, though the place is nearly empty. A decent lunch "crowd" is like 10 tables here at the bar but it's enough to keep the place going and that it has. Easton is behind the bar staring down at a package that is about the size of a hat box that's sitting on the bar. He has a note in his hand that it looks like he's having a hard time deciphering. It's not written in a foreign language, unless you count rich east coast WASP another tongue, and sometimes Easton does. It takes him until Alexander is actually at the bar to look up and realize it's him. But there's no sign that Alexander's been missing. Nope, just a nod and a customary grunted, "Hey."

Either he's extremely pre-occupied or something else is afoot.

Alexander finds an empty seat near where Easton is standing. He doesn't say anything until the other man looks up and greets him. He returns a nod for nod, and adds, "Hello." It could be just a couple of stoic men nodding at each other, but Alexander is far too much of a nosy bastard for that, so he looks at the package that's on the bar. "What's that?" His gaze shifts to the note. "And that?"

Easton looks at Alexander thoughtfully at the question and then answers slowly. "It's a birthday cake." As if that were some exotic object from a far off land that he had only heard stories of until beholding one now for the first time. He looks down at it and then the note and adds, "From ... my parents." Why that would be so confusing may be apparent to Alexander if he's memorized Easton birthday as being in early September, but Easton does fill him in case, "And I can't figure out if they genuinely don't know /when/ my birthday is or if this cake somehow has been in transit for nearly two months..." He looks at it again and pokes at it with a finger. "I'm half hoping it jumps up and tries to eat me. That would be a little less fuckin' weird."

"Happy birthday." Alexander says, although his brow furrows as he says it, like he's not quite sure it's the /right/ thing to say, but it's definitely the thing that is in his mental list of Appropriate Polite Phrases and so he's going to say it anyway, because he trusts the list more than he trusts himself. His gaze goes back to the cake. "Is it moldy? If it's moldy, then it has probably been in transit. If not, either your parents don't remember well, or another piece or reality is fucked." He waggles his hand one way, then the other. "Even odds."

"It's not my birthday?" He tries the frosting, sticking it in his mouth and giving it a shrug, "I mean it tastes fine? I just don't understand why they would feel the need to do something like this now? They've never.." Easton's hand falls from his mouth as a terrible thought strikes him, "Oh holy fuck-shit did we talk over the summer? Why? Why the hell would that happen? Why would... " Easton is not the type to genuinely get scared all that often but a look of pure terror grips him at the thought of having reconciled with his parents during the lost time. What alignment of the levels of hell and all things unholy could have caused such an unlikely and unwanted occurrence?

But it's still cake so Easton pulls it out and sets it on the counter, "Can I get two setups Trista?" The passing waitress corrects him, "Trina." with a roll of her eyes that Easton just nods at, "Yeah, Trina. Right." It is certainly not the first time he's failed to get that waitresses name right, let alone any of the waitresses. But she returns shortly with some paper wrapped silverware and two plates.

"It was your birthday, though. Or maybe your birthday has changed. Ravn says someone's going around revisioning things, and the Exorcist...quit?" Alexander lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug. It's not resigned. It's more helpless, or confused, or possibly information overload. He watches Easton's face. "Would it be bad to talk to your parents? We haven't talked about your parents."

The corners of his mouth go down as Easton's corrected. "You should get names correct," he reminds the bar-owner, tonelessly, but perks up a little as plates are laid out. "Cake is usually not bad. Are you okay? Other than unexpected connections with relatives? And cake?"

Easton frowns and pulls out his wallet to check his birthday ... that's a first. "Okay no, still good. But that's a weird thought, thanks for that Ravn now I'm going to question all sorts of things." He had been lost himself for some of that and his return got muddied into the storm and then into the lost period and now he frowns, "Because I don't talk about my parents. They're alive. They're in Connecticut. And uh .. yup, that's about it."

"Correct names are overrated." Easton says, purely for the joy of needling Alexander. "Nope, cake is fine. I'm fine." In a tone that says both the cake and Easton are not fine, but that might be difficult to pick up on. Easton rolls right along to, "I mean same as ever, I havent' seen you around since.. " His eyes slide off to the side as he opens up the silverware and sticks a fork directly in the cake to take a bite. No slicing, no using the plate Trina brought. His brow furrows and he asks through buttercream frosting, "Right before the storm right?" His memory since the storm is gone, but why is this blurry? He's normally very good with remembering things (other than names)

Alexander watches Easton with that creepy, unblinking stare he has when he's concentrating on something. Or someone. "And you don't like them. Or they don't like you. But they sent you cake, so probably you don't like them." The frown turns into a brief scowl. "Correct names are important, Easton." But there's resignation to it; he knows he's never winning this argument, and it's one of those things that is just life with Easton.

He also opens up his silverware, but eyes the cake suspiciously rather than digging in. Slowly, he reaches out and carves out a small piece, inspecting it - complete with sniffing - before putting it on the plate, then cutting off a small bite. "I don't remember anything past...March?" A pause. "Not true. I don't remember anything clearly. Evidence suggests I live in my house. I seem to have taken cases in summer, but the records are untidy. I have paid bills. I have more money than I did. I don't know where it's from. My parents say I attended dinner once a month in July, August, and September. I don't remember a storm, but my house flooded."

Easton isn't put off by the stare, not any more. He shrugs and says, "It's not about liking Alexander." The scowl and the scolding break the seriousness enough for Easton to crack a smile, "Okay Alexander. But how fuckin' pissed would you be if I told you Easton wasn't my actual name?" It is of course but the thought of it being something else or short for something and how much that would mess with Alexander's specific need for proper names is funny to Easton. He punctuates that thought with another bite of cake.

"March?" Easton is back to furrowed brow on that, "But you were .. " He tries to get a hold on the memory, "The /thing/ with Iz and it was..." He keeps stopping and frowning realizing that there is some incomplete story in his head about what was happening. Something that caused him to not even notice Alexander was gone. "/Fuck/ Are you telling me you were lost and I didn't even look for you?" Not that looking for lost people does much good most times. In fact it usually makes it worse for everyone involved, but that's hardly enough reason for Easton to not do something.

"Parents are complicated," Alexander says, with some amount of sympathy. "And I'd be very fucking pissed." A thoughtful pause. "Unless your name was Percival, or something. Percival is about the only acceptable reason to use a nickname." He slowly takes a bite of the cake, eats it like he expects it to bite him back. It doesn't, so he adds, "Easton is your real name, though. Right?" Alexander doesn't have puppy-dog eyes. But he's getting as close as he gets.

Then, there's a shrug. "I don't know. It's all a blur. I'm not dead. I don't have any notable new scars. If I was lost, even for a month, I'd expect injuries. But it's hard to focus on." His smile is thin and humorless. "Maybe I'm dead. And this is just...synapses. Fading, twinkling little bits of home as they fall into darkness. I don't know. I don't like not knowing." He takes another bite of cake. "But it's okay. If I was Lost and you didn't look."

"Agreed." Easton is happy to put a pin on that topic with a hard agreement. He grins as Alexander shows a little humor on the subject, "I'd be a fuckin kick ass Percival, I would rock the shit out of that name." No, no one would. He takes another bite directly from the cake and gives a shrug, as if he's not going to give a complete answer as to his real name. Eventually he relents, "Well at least according to my license that is still my actual name. At least until the veil decides I look more like a Percival."

He tries not to show concern when Alexander talks about his current state and where he might or might not have been. There is a flexing of his jaw and he shakes his head, "No, it's not fucking okay." He tries to keep a lid on it but he's obviously upset by it. "I'm glad you're okay." is his way of clamping down on that.

"No, you wouldn't," Alexander returns, blandly, although there's a spark of humor in his deep-set gaze. "No one can rock Percival. The best you can do is survive Percival with some dignity intact." He eats another bite of cake. "Easton's okay, though. Preppy. But you do manage to rock it." He offers a smile, and this one has some warmth to it. "I'm glad you're okay, too. Ravn said most people seem to be okay. Eleanor Roen is apparently pregnant, which was a surprise to her and August. A happy one, I assume. Hyacinth and Ravn are dating. Seth and Vic may be engaged or may be faking. I'm uncertain. Devlin got promoted and wrote a bunch of policies he doesn't remember writing. But apparently they are good policies." A pause while he thinks. "That's all I know. I haven't reached out to many people. Yet."

Easton doesn't press farther on his ability to be a 'Percival' but as far as his actual moniker goes he laughs and says, "Yea, I think my parents were envisioning more Harvard law and yacht club member than Marine and bar owner.." A contrast that he no doubt enjoys very much. He grunts at news of an impending little Roen, "Better them than me." having dodged his own baby scare. Ravn and Hya is news to him that gets a raised brow, "She's going to eat him alive." though he doesn't make it sound like a bad thing. He nods and says, "Yeah I've been trying to piece a little bit of that lost time together but it seems weirdly normal.. but like veil smoothed over fake-normal that non-glimmer types live with here where they think gas main burst anytime someone sneezes and people 'move out of town' without taking any of their stuff."

Alexander's head cocks to one side, doglike. He grunts, then says, "It would be a good lawyer name. Or a cop. Marshall Marshall." A brief, sunny smile lights up his face, before withering and dying back into blankness. He takes another bite of cake, then flags down the server for a beer. "She will," he agrees, but without any alarm, either. "He also has a new house with the magician. Aidan Kinney."

There's a pause at Easton's last words, before he nods. "No major disasters not related to the storm, it seems. No one seems to have done anything terribly inconsistent with their personalities. I worry that it might be the Director." He frowns into the air. "I believe...the Director is the source of mental abilities. And mental abilities would be what are used to wipe memories. I feel as if only the Director could have removed so much from our heads. Or, uh, papered over it. Because why remove memories of routine life? Why not...do something, and then just give people evidence to make them think their lives were routine?"

He shakes his head. "It doesn't pass Occam's Razor, either way. But I believe in motives. Not just random fuckery."

Easton grunts through a bite of cake at the talk of him as a cop. It's vaguely military like enough that he would fit right in, but he's obviously gone a different route. "Aidan.." Easton shakes his head a little and says, "It's been way too long since I've seen him. Good guy." As if in explanation of why he is such a good guy he adds, "Broke my leg once." A pause, "And then healed it." Back when healing used to be as easy as snapping your fingers.

Easton nods at his worries, "Yeah, or unfortunately something new like that. There was all that crazy pre-storm prophecy crap..." He trails off trying to remember it or who knew about it, "Bennie would be able to tell /you/ more." He stresses the /you/ as if underlining the fact that she's not telling him much or at least something these days, without realizing it. "I nearly forgot about that in the rush of trying to figure out what happened during the time skip." He thinks about it for a little while before positing, "I wonder if it was controlling us like puppets and something happened? Maybe it lost control and we slipped out? Maybe it really fucked up and had to re-write that two months in our heads?"

"He seems like a good guy," Alexander agrees. "He isn't cruel, but he doesn't mind doing things if they need to be done." A beer is slid over to him, and he takes it. It doesn't hide the combination of flinch and shudder that runs through him at the possibilities that Easton raises, or the way his shoulders go all hunched and defensive. "I don't want anything to have been controlling us." It's flat, the kind of emotionless that you only get when someone's hiding a very strong emotion indeed.

Alexander licks lips gone suddenly dry, and focuses on something less threatening. Unfortunately for Easton, it's that emphasis. "What happened with you and Bennie?" Because tact and Alexander still aren't well acquainted.

Easton nods in agreement with the assessment of Kinney and then pours himself a beer to match Alexanders. He sees the shudder and understands the tone well enough to not press that theory. "Or could be any other host of terrible other options." Cheery! He sips the beer and quirks an eyebrow at the question, unaware that he'd let on at all about that topic. He shrugs and says, "Good. Fine.. good." In a manner that suggests he's trying to convince himself of their good, fine and goodness. He hesitates for a minute and then takes a conversational left turn of his own into safer territory with, "When we came out of that time thing we had someone else's baby in our house that Bennie was babysitting. Full on panic that we somehow had a kid and didn't remember..." with fake drama he adds, "It was terrible."

"It's Gray Harbor. I make 'terrible' a baseline assumption and work from there," Alexander says, not without a flash of deeply weary humor. He takes one of his tiny, barely-drinking sips of beer, then starts peeling off the label from the cheap bottle. Yeah, that's going to be torn to tiny, tiny pieces while it's done. He stares at Easton through the fines and goods with open doubt. "You didn't say something like 'oh thank God' when you found out it wasn't yours, right? I'm told women hate that, even if they're thinking the same thing."

"Fair" Easton grunts and puts down the fork, apparently eating a quarter of a birthday cake straight from the little cardboard circle is his limit. "I think Bennie did, I probably cussed a lot more in my expression of relief." He definitely did. "Thankfully as much as Bennie likes other peoples little ones she has no desire to pop out of those things out herself. Oh shit.." He seems to realize something, "Are we getting to the age where everyone's going to have kids? Because I'm gonna get fuckin' pissed if people decide to have kids and stay in this town." He picks up his beer and scowls at that thought. Most of his Marine buddies have long sinced started cranking out babies, many of them on their second or third set with a different partner, but that's different. This is Gray Harbor. "Please don't tell me you and Iz are secretly having triplets because I got just about " here he inidicates a tiny sliver with his fingers "this much ability to be happy for Roen and I'm really holding on to that."

"You're getting to about that age, yes," Alexander says. "I imagine more of your contemporaries will be having children. Even in Gray Harbor." He pokes his finger through the small pile of shredded beer label he's creating. Although the latter scenario makes him shudder, and shake his head. "No," he says, firmly. "She doesn't want children. And even if she did," he grimaces, "I'm not...I'm not father material. I wouldn't want to pass anything down, or hurt a child because I couldn't control myself." He shrugs. "But I think August and Eleanor will be good parents. And have enough sense and resources that, if things get bad, I think they could leave. And have it stick."

"Too bad the time skip didn't just jump over the whole friends with babies thing. Doug's at least at the fun age where I can teach him to shoot a gun and how to punch someone in the throat to end a fight quickly." Doug is eight. Doug should not be learning those things, but it's Easton and being the "funcle" to Tom's kid has a very different meaning to him. He looks at the shredded paper, his eyes registering concern for just a moment before looking back up. "Alexander, you'd be a fine dad. There are plenty of fucked up more dads out there..." He stops as if something clicks into his mind. Bennie's dad. The literal worst father he can think of and how she had been planning to find him before the storm and then how its never come up after. And he totally forgot because well let's blame the storm or the veil or heck even the booze. He swallows hard, having totally lost his train of thought. "Sorry, yeah, you'd be fine. But I'm fully on board with the no kids thing too."

Alexander sees nothing wrong with this course of study; he nods quietly to Easton's opinion on what the fun age entails. Maybe he'd change his mind if he knew the kid was eight, but...probably not. He snorts. "No. And you know it." He takes a drink, waggles the bottle at Easton. "Even if I didn't have occasional out of control, murderous rages, I get Lost too often. One day I'm not gonna come back out." It's very matter-of-fact, perhaps because it feels like - whatever happened when he disappeared this time - maybe it got closer than even he's willing to remember. He watches Easton with interest as the man stops. His eyebrows go up. "What made you pause?"

And that's why they're friends. At least in part. "Getting lost is just a part of life here and .." He doesn't have much to say about not coming back, "We're all still here. Knowing that's a possibility." It definitely says something about their character, though Easton doesn't want to think too much about that. "I'm glad you are back though." Any mushy sentiment needs to have some humor to quickly extinguish it though so he follows with, "More targets means a better chance of survival. Spread the risk." He's grinning when he says it though. As for what made him pause, "Oh I just.. uh, Bennie's dad. I told her about him being still ya.. know alive and fuckin' father of the year, all years, ever." He furrows his brow trying to concentrate on when that happened, "Back in the summer? But I can't.. I don't remember exactly when? And she hasn't brought it up since the storm." He lets that part hang, not willing to start poking at why that is. But obviously willing to put it in front of Alexander who has never not poked at something in his life.

Alexander smiles, offers a shrug. "I'm crazy. Don't know what the fuck the rest of you are using as an excuse." But he also grins at the 'targets' remark; it's the kind of black humor that the investigator can get behind. The grin wipes away in the next moment as Easton goes on, and he turns thoughtful. "Yes. I remember. She asked me to find his address. I did. I remember doing that. I...assume I told her, but that's about when things start getting," he shakes his head, the pulse jumping in his throat, "indistinct." And from the hunch in his shoulders, terrifying.

"A really hot blond." Easton says as if Bennie were the only thing tying him to this town. She of course isn't but it's fun to say. His grin drops when Alexander cues him in on that little piece of information. "You what?" He asks, a little more sternly than is necessary. It's clearly news to him and he would love to press the subject but Alexander's fuzzy time period and obvious discomfort with it holds him back. Instead he flexes his jaw for a bit before pulling out his phone to ... take a picture of the cake? And then pull up his shirt, move a little to get the lighting just right and then snap another photo. "I think it's time Ms. Oakes and I have a little chat." Yes, he's setting a Bennie-trap that consists of pictures of cake and his abs. He doesn't have time to fuck around, this is important.

Alexander snorts his amusement at the quip, shakes his head, and empties the bottle of beer, before setting it aside and going back to shredding the label into tiny, tiny confetti pieces. "She asked me to find him, and I did." He gives Easton a look. "She has the right to know where he went. So I assume I told her. I can't imagine not telling her." He falls silent to watch the trap being baited, his eyebrows going up. "You sure you want to? If you two are already having some tension, bringing up her father isn't gonna help."

Easton begrudgingly nods at Alexander that of course Bennie had a right to ask and to know. "I /know/" he agrees angrily, "But if that fucknut is screwing with her again or if.." he's more and more sure that this is why she's so squirrelly lately. Her dad must be back in her life screwing it up in new and imaginatively terrible ways, that are not supernaturally terrible just mundane d-bag terrible. Not really explaining this train of thought, but it's probably clear enough. "I will end him." He doesn't really answer Alexander's question, wheels are already in motion and Easton's more of a 'take action' person than really plan things out. So ready or not, let's talk about this.

"If you want help, you don't have to ask," Alexander says, with a faint smile. "The guy seems like a complete fucking asshole, and Bennie doesn't deserve that." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Has to be her choice, though. You know that, right? Parent feelings are complicated, and she might just wanna deal with him herself." There's a hint of warning in the investigator's tone, like he feels he has to remind Easton that going out and 'ending' people's deadbeat dads on a freelance basis doesn't always end well.

"Yer damn fuckin' right I don't. You're in this like it or not bucko." Easton mocks scolds Alexander. The rest though gets a shake of his head, "I disagree. It's her dad and that makes it complicated for her. It ain't complicated for me. If he's fuckin' her around, he's done." Oh Easton. Gotta love the subtle mysogyny in assuming Bennie wouldn't be able to handle this situation when she has very much handled in a very final way. "If we can ship him off to prison for all time. Great." He adds this as if getting this scumbag through the legal system were an actual possibility. He leaves off the rest of the threat which covers the far more likely scenario.

Alexander nods, once. Because, really, he is an epic enabler of bad decisions where people he likes are involved. He gathers all the little shredded pieces of label paper into a small heap. He does say, "Complicated usually means that it takes some time and space to work through it. You don't want to deny her that, Easton. Otherwise it's this big, blank space of what if for the rest of her life. Those blank spaces suck." He taps the bottle, lightly with a fingernail. "And putting him in prison won't be a problem. It'd be easier if we could get him to Gray Harbor for a bit."

Easton narrows his eyes as Alexander mentions a big blank space and makes it clear he's talking from experience. He doesn't poke at that, because he's not Alexander. He raises his brows as Alexander seems confident they could actually get him through the legal system. "Pretty sure I can get him here, one way or another." Easton glances to the side where Vic normally might bartend as if considering options for how he might coerce someone into being somewhere he needs them to. No need for him to be a competent criminal if he has a few friends with the right skill set. "Okay. I'll talk to Bennie." He taps the counter with a hand, a nervous tick of wanting to take action now that a 'plan' has taken shape. "And thanks. I know you were just helpin Bennie out." Despite the growling and fuss earlier, Easton knows Bennie and Alexander are tight and appreciates it.

There can't be more than one Alexander. That wouldn't be fair to the rest of the world. But he smiles, briefly, at Easton. "Good. And yes. I was." He'll probably regret that a few conversations down this road, but, well. That's a problem for Future Alexander, and right now, Present Alexander is basking in the warm idea that - even if there's a ragged, gaping hole in his memory - he has been a Good Friend. "Anytime. For her. Or you." He scoops up the tiny pile of shredded paper, and leans a bit over the bar, looking for a trashcan to dump it in. "You don't--have any documentation about anytime we might have met in the missing time, do you?"

Easton pulls out his phone and says, "I can look for texts or voicemails? I'm usually too lazy to clear those out.." He looks over to the side and winces, "We don't keep the security footage that long here and you always pay cash so I won't have any receipts or anything." He puts the phone down, realizing he doesn't need to do it /right now/ and that he should actually pay attention to some of his customers. "I'll look. And see if Bennie has anything either. She's the one more likely to have sent you stoned texts about bubbles or something." Easton does drunken punching, Bennie does stoned texts. There's a clear division of labor in their household. "It's good to see you though man."

Alexander's shoulders droop, but his expression suggests he didn't really expect anything else; he's a man who tends to stay 'off the grid', and that kicks you right in the ass when you start wanting a full accounting of your activities. "Thank you, Easton. And it's good to see you, too. Please give Bennie my regards. And I don't mind stoned texts about bubbles. If she wants to send them." A flicker of a smile as he throws away the small pile of scrap paper, then stands up. "Don't die." Then, as is his fashion, Alexander turns and makes his way out of the bar without a backward look, or waiting for Easton to return the parting.