2021-12-03 - Alexander's parents are so nice to lend him out

Things have been more lively around Gail's house since her granddaughter Gabriella moved in - but that doesn't mean that Gail's changing even a little bit. She is whistling lightly to herself as she bustles about outside. Yes - she does decorate for Christmas, and she over decorates. A nativity scene is being set up right now, each item being taken out of storage and set up lovingly one by one. Joseph and Mary already stand and kneel outside, and the fold-up manger is coming out next.

Alexander is here to ruin the liveliness in his own, special way. However, as he mentioned to his parents that he was going to try and get by today, he's also been drafted to convey another 'welcome back' gift from the Claytons: in this case, home-made fruit cake that's boozy enough to guarantee a Good Time will be had by all, even if they're alone.

Perhaps especially if they're alone. The fruitcake is in its own, wrapped box in one arm, while the gutter-cleaning tools are in the other. Alexander makes his way up to the house, and stops to look at the nativity scene being set up. "Need help?" he asks, staring at Joseph and Mary with a peculiar expression on his face.

The manger itself hasn't been pulled out for a few years and it is a bit stuck in its CLOSED ways. Gail has to yank quite a bit before it springs open in her hand to fold out into a contraption where the hay and baby will go. Looking up she pins Alexander with a broad smile. "That Ellzabeth, she always knows just the thing." Yes, assuming that package is for her, "Why don't you put it right here," pointing at Joseph's feet. "I can't for the life of me think where my little boxes of gifts went, so that will have to do as an offering for now."

Moving on from that very strange thing to say, "I take a particular delight in decorating for this holiday, Gabby wanted to help, but really, she should find herself a job first. Here for the gutters?"

"She makes good fruitcake," Alexander allows, and moves closer to place the gift wrapped package at Joseph's feet. "There you go. Don't feed it to Baby Jesus; he's underaged, and Ma loads up on the brandy." Warning given, he steps back, settling the tools and folding latter down so that he can shake out his arm. That stuff is a pain and a half to haul half-way across town, even for someone as used to it as Alexander. "Christmas is nice." Then a scowl. "Gabby's not a real name. And yes. I'm here for the gutters. If now is a good time?"

"A little bit of brandy never hurt a babe," Gail says in return, old school parenting on display. "Well, when there is a tooth, but I suppose we don't have to worry about that with our little Lord do we?" She moves over towards the box that holds the decorations and begins pulling out a whole bunch of cotton fluff that's been neatly folded. Hay wouldn't have lasted for years in storage and still been good after all.

"Of course it is my dear," Gail replies on the question of names. "Gabriella is quite a mouth-ful for a little girl. It was her first name."

"No. A little bit doesn't hurt." But from the dry tone of Alexander's voice, there should be taking an implicit warning about the fruitcake, and its alcohol levels. "And if the Baby Jesus starts growing teeth, there will be more problems than contributing to the delinquency of a minor." There's the briefest flash of a smile, although he's only half-joking. Gray Harbor, man. His eyebrows go up. "Gabriella is your granddaughter. I see." He frowns. "Met her in a Dream. Guess she's real after all. Is she okay?"

Doesn't this town DESERVE a drunk Baby Jesus though? Honestly.

When Alexander makes it clear he's met her Granddaughter Gaili turns and looks him up and down. "Hum.... I forgot to give her the pajamas I always wore when I was her age. I really should find them again, the bloomers were always such a nice extra layer. I do hope she didn't slow you down? And yes, yes, she's fine."

Alexander thinks about it, and nods. "At least the pants. She didn't have pants. She found jeans in the Dream, though. I'm glad she's okay." He picks the tools back up and moves to the side of the house, unfolding the ladder so that he can get to the gutters. He's already up there and fishing out piles of decaying leaves before he seems to realize that just abandoning a conversation midstream probably isn't polite. So he asks, "Why'd you come back? Gray Harbor isn't exactly a good retirement locale."

"Poor girl, caught in her knickers." Yes, Granny just said that. She continues working below as he goes above, the cotton needing a firm airing out before a little baby Jesus can be placed upon it.

"Gray Harbor is home.My Ronny's spirit," No, not his full name EITHER, sorry Alexander. "would return here. I raised my daughters here." Gail shifts from speaking to sending the words right to Alexander's mind, "It is comforting to be around those who understand."

Alexander doesn't flinch at the mind-to-mind contact, or try to hurl her out of connection with his mind. Which is probably good for him remaining on the ladder, indeed. Instead, there's a sense of startlement, before he reaches out in turn. You shouldn't, his mind voice says, in return. It's stronger and more confident than his physical voice, with little nuances of feeling coming through that are often missing in his spoken words. Using abilities draws them. A suggestion of pain and shadow. Away is safer. As he talks, his hands busily work the tools, creating a heap of dead leaves on the ground as he goes.

"Love," Gail says from below, the fluff now fluffed out and being put into the manger. "I know." Her own voice is crisp and clear - the love she tucks all about it like a warm fuzzy blanket that wraps up the mind is speaking to. "But when one lives in fear, thy fail to live. Take this nativity." She pats the bowed head of Mary lovingly. "They've come to life in one way or another every Christmas I've had them, and I still put it up. A little faith goes a long way."

Faith is a poison, Alexander's mental voice snaps back before he stops himself; downside of mental connection, he doesn't always have even the small amount of self-editing that he has in the spoken world. Recognizing that, albeit a bit too late, he breaks the connection and says, out loud, "Someone could get hurt. Or killed. If they keep coming alive. I wouldn't keep them up. If it were me." But it's not, and he recognizes that, so he just keeps cleaning the gutter. And maybe makes a mental note to check on Gail and make sure that Joseph and Mary don't start doing crucifixions or something in the yard later in the season.

"Or an antidote." Gail responds, going back to the box and bringing out a baby doll for Jesus. She cradles the doll gently as she walks it over to the manger and settles it within. "Do come down and touch these when you are done up there." It is so matter-of-fact, Gail just assumes that Alexander will be able to feel the emotional residue she can. Little Jesus gets a kiss on it's forehead and Gail starts to pick up the wrappings from this box of the nativity. Waste not want not - chances are these same wrappings have been used for decades.

Alexander snorts, but doesn't argue out loud about it. He's a fairly quick gutter cleaner, dropping down and moving over then climbing back up. He even brought a mini-rake that folds out to scrape all of the leaves into one pile once he's done. He doesn't speak again much until he's made the rounds, and is climbing down for the last time, wiping his hands on his jeans and walking back over to the manger. He eyes the manger warily, but extends a hand to lay a finger down on the top of Mary's head. His face suggests he expects her to bite it off. "I got a vision from a Mary once. About people setting a funeral home on fire."

It doesn't bite - instead Alexander is smothered in the feelings of decades of this statue being used. A vision of Gail and her husband pounding stakes into the ground to be sure the statues don't fall over, and two little girls running and shrieking loudly as they play tag. It's an infusion of Christmas joy to the spirit - family, love, belonging, care - everything that Gail seeks to be herself.

IF he look sback at Gail there's a smile on her face, though there's a slight sadness there also. "Were you able to save them?" The vision, Gail's just going to assume it was coming true.

Alexander's face softens as he absorbs the memories, his eyes closing briefly to enjoy them more thoroughly. The touch on the head of the statue becomes a brief caress, before he steps back. He looks over to her, and shakes his head. "No. It happened decades ago. In the 60s. It was trying to tell us about a thing that happened, and why it was happening. I didn't save anyone. I usually don't." Despite the gloomy pronouncement, he's still smiling a little. "Will you have more family for Christmas? Than you granddaughter?"

It's too bad that Gail got the 'do not touch' vibe from Alexander so firmly, or he'd probably end up getting wrapped up in a hug. Gail's good at them, they do better than words sometimes.

But no, she shakes her head, "No. My daughters do not feel comfortable in Gray Harbor, and the last time they visited over a holiday, I was hurt badly enough for them to have cause to cart me away. I will miss them, and the grandchildren, but it is better this way. I am glad Gabby has come though, I've always worried about her. The shine isn't easy to bear and her mother didn't make it easy." There's a DEEP sigh there, Gail taking up a burden that has rested on her shoulders for quite some time.

"Would you look after her?" The question comes abruptly, the old woman having turned her back on Alexander. "She is a flighty one but it has been hard on her."

It's for the best, since Alexander would be terribly embarrassed to scream and knock down a little old lady for being affectionate. He's studying Gail with that flat, black gaze, not moving or saying anything until the end. There's a snort. "No," he says, firmly, to her back. "I don't look after people," he claims, in defiance of significant evidence so far. "And I don't even like her." He moves to kick a brown blade of grass, and misses knocking over poor Joseph by an inch, then winces. "I don't know her," he admits, after a moment, when the little voice that reminds him about things like manners speaks up a second or two too late. "To like her. Or not like her. I'm sure she's fine."

"Alexander Theodore Clayton." Granny Gail says, taking on her full set of inches and staring with utmost disapproval at Alexander. "I don't believe for a moment that you would let a young girl new to her shine fumble around when you can help." NOT FOR A MOMENT. The frown on her face is serious condemnation.

"I won't put my Gabby up on a pedestool, but you remember when you were little and learning all about this." MEMORY.

Alexander meets disapproval and (oh God) the use of his middle name with an instinctive flinch, and moment of cringing submission. His hands clench into fists, and it looks for a moment like he might panic and run away, or explode into violence. But with gritted teeth, he ends up doing neither of these things. Instead, he bites out, "Fine. If you want. I'll keep an eye on her, and if she wants to know things, I will tell her. And when I was little, nobody helped me, Mrs. Leigh. You all let my parents think I was crazy. You all let me think--" he bites it off, turns around to show her his back, but mostly so he can find something to kick that isn't her or the little statues. Instead, his sneaker toe digs a rock out of the ground, and kicks it hard into the road.

"Oh my dear," Gail's tone of disapproval drops off - and one of warmth infuses her words instead. "We did poorly - all of us. You deserved much better than we gave you. You came in to your power so very early." It's a complete admission of guilt. "I can only hope to do better." She closes her eyes, bowing her head. Yes, it looks exactly like she's praying - because she is. With all that Gray Harbor is, Gail remains utterly devout to her faith. "Thank you." For his offer, even if it's not an excited one.

Alexander softens, although he doesn't turn to look back at her immediately. "It's fine. None of you owed anyone else anything. It's fine," he mutters. When he does glance back, and see her praying, he grimaces a bit, but doesn't interrupt. Instead, he skirts by her, keeping distance between them, and goes to gather his tools and things. "Don't forget about the fruitcake," he says, when she's done. "Leave it out here, and you'll have drunk squirrels dancing around the Baby Jesus." The barest hint of a smile, although Alexander's bursts of anger seem to fade as fast as they appear, like summer lightning. "Anything else I can do to help out, ma'am?"

"Alexander, it isn't fine... you...." Gail begins as she lifts her head up again and sees him gathering his tools. But whatever she was going to say in that soft tone of voice is left to lay as she sighs deeply.

Instead, "My door is always open, and thank you, for being willing to think kindly of Gabby. It means a great deal." She reaches out as she talks and touches the wooden manger, a finger lingering on the smooth wood. No plywood manger here, this is solid oak.

Alexander makes a noise. It's that special sort of noise that is an acknowledgement that someone has said something, without quite being an agreement, but at the same time hopeful that the other person does, in fact, take it as an agreement. He settles the ladder on one shoulder, and the rest of the things gathered up under an arm, and turns back to her. "I'll stop by, later," he finally says. "Ma said something about making ginger spice cookies, and I imagine she'll want me to bring you some." With that, he ducks his head and leaves without another word.

Gail doesn't leave her yard right away - she needs to finish setting up the nativity properly, but she also doesn't start working. Instead she watches Alexander go and weather he likes it or not, she's going to pay for him again.