2021-11-24 - What the Turkey Saw

Ah, Gray Harbor. Somehow, even on the rare times when the rest of the Pacific Northwest is sunny, the Harbor manages to be gray and rainy. Today is no different: the overcast clouds hang low and dark, threatening rain. Mist occasionally sifts down, but it has so far held off on the actual downpour. This hasn't stopped optimistic town folk from decorating for Thanksgiving; there are hay bales, pumpkin displays, paper cornucopias, and a giant turkey statue made of paper mache. The park is relatively busy, filled with harried people trying to get work finished before they take a holiday - or just trying to navigate the prospect of holiday meals. One guy is shouting into his phone that he doesn't know the difference between condensed and evaporated milk, and why can you just pick some up on your way home, anyway? Another woman is complaining on her phone about overtime as she comes out of the hospital, merrily knocking aside anyone who gets in her way.

Alexander is at that giant turkey statue, having a staredown with it. The statue is, thus far, winning. He's dressed as he usually is: which is to say, like a hobo. He looks as he usually does: which is to say like a strung out junkie, someone who never sleeps, or both.

"Um...Alexander?" The voice, detatched as it may seem, actually belongs to someone who is standing just a litte behind and to the right of the would-be hobo and the object of his fascination. It belongs to a man that Mr. Clayton has not seen in a decade. Less boyish, more well-rested, a bit broader, Henry Covington is sucking air after pausing on what might pass for a jog among non-runners. Dressed in a pair of grey sweat and a long-sleeved t-shirt damp with a combination of rain and sweat, he is staring curiously at the other man with the look of someone who is uncertain about his commitment to recognition.

Alexander jumps, startled out of...whatever he was doing with the giant turkey. Don't ask. He spins on his heels, fists coming up, head coming down behind them. He freezes like that upon seeing the other man. Slowly, he relaxes, brow furrowing. Rubbing at his face with one hand, as if to clear it, he finally says, "Henry Covington. Hello." An uncomfortably long pause. "What are you doing here? You left town. Is your family all right?"

Because clearly, the only reason someone comes back to Gray Harbor after leaving is because somebody's dead.

Roaming the town is one of Lyric's past times and now isn't any different. Interesting things in town this time of year... every time of the year. The decorations are taken in, literally. A tiny baby pumpkin finds its place in her hand as she checks over a display and she grins at it. It's then she hears the voices though and she turns to see a couple of familiar faces. With the pumpkin still in hand, she approaches the others. Currently she is wearing a pair of jeans and converse and a long sleeved shirt that says she is 99 percent sure she's a Disney villain. "Hi Alexander!" She knows not to shorten his name, yep! "Hi Doc Covington." A knowing look given his way. "I knew I'd see you again."

Henry looks from the fists to the face to the fists, an eyebrow slowly lifting in amusement. "Were you um...going to box with me?" Before the answer can come, however, another voice joins the mix, and Henry turns a look over his shoulder to spot Lyric. "Mystery DJ. My nemesis. I knew we'd meet again. This time it's curtains." He draws his finger across his throat, then reaches up to swipe a sweatly lock of his unruly hair away from his forehead.

"I didn't recognize you," Alexander says, with an awkward shrug. "You got...older. Sorry." He glances at Lyric, giving her a nod of recognition - no boxing for her. "Miss Bates. Hello. You know each other?" His attention shifts back, although he can't help but twitch at 'DJ Mystery', only barely holding back some remark. Whatever it is, it's swallowed, replaced with, "You're a doctor?"

Lyric leans in just a touch towards Alexander and in a mock whisper claims, "He thinks I am a mystery." An easy grin lights her features. "Yeah it's the curtains for you, Doc, but it looks like Mr. Alexander here will be the one cashing in. He's going to beat you up for sneaking up on him like that."

Of course the question remains hinted at, as to why the good doctor had returned to town and Lyric is all to eager to fill in the blanks. "He got away, Alexander, he got away clean and clear and then he came back." A soft tsking sound accompanies a shake of her head. "He came back to work at the hospital as a psychiatrist." It's announced, she doesn't mind talking for the man apparently. "But now he's unpacked his suitcase and hung his underwear curtains. He's here for the long haul." Cutting a look between the two, she smiles guilelessly. "I met him last night at the Pourhouse."

Henry listens to Lyric get Alexander up to speed, and then nods his head in a 'that basically sums it up' kind of way, though amusement sparkles in his eyes. "She declined to give me her name so I have been left with little choice but to christen her with her inner super-villain moniker." He smiles brightly after that, so brightly in fact that both of his cheeks dimple. "How are you?" He eyes the other man from head to toe. "I'm so happy to see you. You are one of the first people I wanted to look up when I arrived. I...well, we can save it for another time. But I owe you, man."

"You are moderately mysterious," Alexander informs Lyric, almost entirely solemn - but there's the barest hint of amusement in his eyes. Which grows as she goes on to fill him in on all the Doc Covington deets. "All the way down to the curtains? Have you considered work as an investigator? Decent interrogator."

He shoves his hands in his pockets as Henry takes over from there, only helpfully informing, "Her name is Lyric Bates. Or so she says. Lyric doesn't sound like a real name. But at least it's not a nickname. Probably." A suspicious look to Lyric, before the inquiry plus happy to see you draws his startled attention back to Henry. "I'm alive. Don't remember most of the last four or five months, but that's almost everyone in town who stands out," Alexander-code for Glimmer, "so that's not just me." He frowns. "You don't owe me anything. But it's good to see you, Henry. How are you? Why did you take a job here?"

Super villain. Lyric seems to approve of that and head bobs her approval. "I play songs, so I guess you can call me Lyric." Her lips twitch at the introduction from Alexander. "It really is though. Lyric Bates. I don't know why but I kind of like it. Mostly." Instead of elaborating, another mystery is revealed. Head tilted, she looks between the two with a more curious expression. "No it's okay, now is a good time!" Enquiring minds wanna know! The mini-pumpkin she still holds is all but forgotten, fingers wrapped around it as she focuses more on the reunion of the others. "How much do you owe him?" With a grin, she gives away she's aware she is being a nuisance, but doesn't seem to be stopping her behavior. Though the confession from Alexander has her gaping at him. "You don't remember them either? AH! I thought it was only me, so I was freaking out a little."

"DJ Lyric Bates." Henry tries it out, then nods slowly. "I kinda like it, too." The confession the pair have shared about their faulty memories has him looking slightly worried and his forhead creases just a touch. But he seems content to file that away for a moment.

"I...felt like I needed to." It's a lame answer when he gets back to Alexander's question, and Henry seems to know it, offering a sort of apologetic shrug in the aftermath. He bites at the side of his cheek. "It's wierd when you leave here," he says in a more muted tone a little later, his green eyes leaving their little trio to look at the swirling gray of the clouds above. "There's a pull. And I'm not sure it comes intirely from outside of myself." He forces a rough chuckle into the mix, and manages something of a smile. "I mean, you left and came back." He studies Alexander's face in silence.

Alexander nods, slowly, to Lyric. "It's not just you," he reassures her, quietly. "It's real. Almost everyone who stands out is missing time. Not...missing, missing. We were here. Doing things. Some mildly uncharacteristic, so far, but within one standard deviation of the mean. For the most part. I didn't clean my house after the storm flooded it, and I would have. Ravn didn't take out his houseboat, and he would have. Eleanor got pregnant...but I think she would have done that, anyway?" He shrugs, then his eyes narrow at the pumpkin. "Put that back. It's not yours."

Order given, he turns back to Henry, head cocked to one side as he listens. "...yes. That's been happening a lot. Byron came back." He names a kid who was a couple of years behind Henry, and rather famous for always starting a new business or working to keep his family afloat after his cop father died. "A lot of people have been called. Last couple of years. More people getting Lost, too. There's more over there than just the Dreams - there's people and things and places." And this is why people avoid Alexander in the street, for the most part. He has no trouble just talking right out in the street - or park - about it, even as a family gives the three of them a weird look and hurries their pace to get past them.

"Thanks," Lyric offers with a whimsical smile in response to her name being kinda liked. Though when he mentions the pull, her eyes seek out Alexander for his reaction to it. She knows what she sees in the doctor and Alexander, but holds back this time instead of commenting right away. Though as Alexander does answer her in his own way, a way she understands very well, she nods solemnly. More serious than she has been in the conversation thus far. As he mentions acquaintances and what had happened in the past several months, she nods again, just as serious. Only him reprimanding her on the pumpkin does he draw her out of that silent reverie again. There's a sheepish look. "Oh, right. I heard you guys and forgot." Which is probably true, but she does look down at it affectionately. "It's so cute." She doesn't object though and she doesn't interject more into the conversation as Alexander talks about the Dreams.. with a capital D. She knew what that meant too.

She meanders back to the display and places the little gourd carefully among its peers. "There you go, back with your family." So she's weird. She never claimed not to be. Turning back, she approaches once again, mostly listening, but acknowledging what Alexander says about the Lost and those returning with a few bobs of her head.

The news that someone got pregnant during this 'lost time' certainly makes Henry's eyebrows raise. He even takes in a deep breath and then blows it out slowly. "So....what do you think happened? Folks-who-stand-out were replaced by some other replica of themselves? From There?" While Henry seems more or less content to continue the conversation, his own voice drops low. Nothing susupicious happening over here. The wind gusts and whips at his hair, now starting to dry as the sweat evaporates, playing with it like a careless child might.

Alexander watches Lyric, then nods with approval when the baby pumpkin is returned to its herd...patch? Spook? Anyway, it's back home. " He offers a brief smile as she rejoins them. There's a shake of his head to Henry. "Considered that. But no ability creates copies of things. That I've seen. And usually, when there's shit from over there, it's at least sort of related to," he reaches up and taps his temple. "So, memory wipe is the most logical assumption." A grimace. "In Gray Harbor, anyway. Don't know why, or what. Maybe the storm was cover for something? Not enough data. I'm trying to retrace my steps during the blank time, but..." he trails off.

Catching the smile from Alexander, Lyric returns one in response, but shivers a little at the mention of the Great Storm. "That storm was so scary. I was out visiting a friend in the woods when it came. It had such a menacing feel to it." It's all she can say about it, "But .. I don't remember anything from then until a little while back. I didn't even know what to think. I've mostly avoided people since then so they wouldn't think I was crazy..uh.. crazier than I sometimes sound." With a light shrug, she gives a little shake of her head, "The things over there on that side look nothing much like the things here. Not in my experience anyway." With a brief look around she hesitates before looking back to Alexander, "Where is Isabella? Did anything happen to her during that time?"

Henry listens to Alexander, nodding slightly, but his attention is soon on Lyric, studying her as she reports on the storm. As if he's found some answer to his inigmatic question during that study, he turns back to Alexander. "Would it be useful if someone who wasn't here when it happened helped? In case there are lingering, residual...effects? The deceptively easy offer of help is only slightly dampened by the sudden dive his hands take into the pockets of his sweats, and the way his shoulders roll forward. "Who's Isabella?"

Alexander bobs his head at Lyric, sympathy in his eyes. "Yeah. I...first thing I remember, recently, I was on top of the theatre," he points at the building in the distance. "Looking down over the edge. They called the first responders, but, uh, Devlin took the call. He stands out. He brought coffee, and told me other people were having the same problem." A pause. "Not the standing on the edge of a building problem. The memory thing. Otherwise I probably would have avoided people, too."

He flinches at the mention of Isabella. "...I think she's okay," he says, quiet. "I think she's in Alexandria. Working on a dig. I think...I have calls from her on my phone, but I didn't return them? Until I remembered, and then I got her voice mail. I'm sure she's busy." His hands come out of his pockets to tug and worry at the frayed edges of his jacket. "I'm sure she's fine," he says, like he can make it true. "But...what about you? Anyone missing?"

His eyes dart back to Henry. "She's an archeologist. From here, but she left in high school. And maybe. Maybe. I'm trying to put my notes together. I didn't take very good ones during the missing time." He clears his throat. "I usually do."

"Do you remember all of the past? I don't. But it's probably not amazing anyway so that's okay." Lyric confesses wryly to Henry. Her eyes round and she turns a little to look at the building in question. "Oh no.." There's a moment as she looks from the top to the ground below it and winces a little. "I am glad he was there for you." His response about Isabella brings a whole new set of questions the first being, "Was she here before we all lost that much time and did it happen during it or was she gone even before?" Her brow furrows a touch before she responds further, "No. I mean my friend Tyrone, but he comes and goes anyway. I don't got anyone else."

Henry ah's softly at the info about Isabella, but he seems mostly preoccupied with where Alexander found himself contemplating a jump. He is quiet for a moment, concern writ large on his features, but then he offers suddenly: "We don't always want to remember the past. Sometimes because there is no need," a quick smile for Lyric, "but sometimes because of trauma. But if either of you think you do, for this period in time, we could try non-'Stand Out' methods. There are all kinds of ways we deal with memory loss and blockage in therapy sessions including hypnosis and EMDR." Henry rolls his shoulders. "Might be worth a shot if either of you want to give it a go sometime. No need to come to the hospital."

Alexander blinks a couple of times at Lyric's rounded eyes. He frowns. "I wasn't going to jump." It's flat and unhesitating. He at least seems to have no doubt about that. "I was just there. I had a lot of mud. I think I got Lost. I don't know where my boots are." Which is far more information than anyone wanted. He frowns at Henry, scowling with immediate defensiveness at the suggest of therapy. "My last therapist got eaten by the town," he tells Henry, helpfully. Then he rattles off a series of numbers for no real reason.

After a moment, he adds, "My phone number. Miss Bates. Henry. In case either of you need it. I usually pick up. I don't sleep much."

"Sometimes the past is best left there. It's probably there for a reason and probably forgotten for that same reason. Self-preservation, sanity, who knows? I am not sure I want to know what happened during that time. Or if I did, I don't know if I'd want someone else to know." Lyric tries for a little levity in the moment and smiles at her last bit. "I didn't know if you were going to jump and I'm not sure if you really know, you know? What if whatever it is that took over or.. something, was going to make you?" It's food for thought anyway. As the numbers are rattled off, Lyric recognizes the prefix and area code, so she makes a point to remember it, by reciting it to herself a few times. "I will give you mine too, I'll text you and let you know who it is." She pointedly never brings out a phone and puts her face in it when she's near other people, giving them her attention instead. "When you have mine you can text or call me too, anytime."

"I'm not sure I'm up for taking you on in therapy, Alexander," Henry says with an amused twist to his mouth, and the gentlest of admonitions. "But the offer stands if you want to try alternate ways of remembering the past few weeks. And if you would prefer to let sleeping dogs lie," here he gives a quick look to Lyric, along with a smile, "then no harm, no foul as they say." His hand emerges from his sweats with a cell phone and he quickly puts Henry's number in. "Got it." Alexander's entered, he looks askance to Lyric, fingers hovering over the screen.

There's a sudden, bright and sunny smile that completely transforms Alexander's face at Henry's remark. "Smart kid," he says, with a shrug. "And maybe. We could try it. Curious if there's any way to get back memories that have been altered by abilities, anyway. Maybe some experimentation." A glance at Lyric. "I would want to know. What you don't know will probably kill you, one day. And...that's not what they do. The Shadows. They don't take you over. If they did, you wouldn't feel it. They're dolorphages. They want you to hurt. So you have to be able to take responsibility for what you did, with their whispers in your ears. A little push, a nudge, a nasty truth. Yes. But not possession. It's not messy enough."

He bobs his head, agreeing easily enough to wait for the text to add her to his contacts, whenever it comes.

"Oh." Alexander makes a very valid point and Lyric nods very hesitantly, agreeing but with great trepidation. "I guess so. I should maybe know. If it's possible at least." She knows the Shadows don't take over but she was grasping at anything in desperation and it couldn't be more clear. The expectation of her number lightens the moment and she grins. "You want my number?" She rattles it off, so they can both have it then, after all. "But you can both call me anyway, okay?"

"Okay!" Henry taps the number into his phone, then tucks it away once more. "I should probably finish my jog," he says, somewhat ruefully with another glance to the grey autumn sky. "Besides, I don't think that turkey had finished revealing its secrets to you." This, for Alexander. "It was good to see you today. I'd still like a chance to thank you more meaningfully. Or at least to tell you what your help meant to me." He gives the other man a look suggesting he's serious about that, then turns his smile on Lyric. "And you, DJ Mystery. I won't be so easily foiled next time."

Alexander Clayton, murderer of coping mechanisms. At least he has the grace to look a bit abashed at Lyric's trepidation. "Sorry," he tells her. "You should do what's best for you. I just meant for me. I would want to know." He kicks at a stone on the ground, then bobs his head to Henry. "Yeah." A long pause. "I'd...like that. Not being thanked. Stop doing that. But it'd be nice to talk to you. You have my number. I should probably go, too. It's going to rain soon."

No psychic powers necessary, there; the mist is gradually turning heavier, which means in about an hour, it'll be a proper Gray Harbor downpour for the fall. "Don't die," he tells them both, quite seriously, before he starts walking away.