2021-12-20 - Snow Scene Interruptus

Snow! Gray Harbor doesn't really get a lot of snow; it prefers freezing rain and treacherous patches of black ice that keep the body shops in business through the spring. But today, there has been an honest to goodness snowfall, and even on Elm, the grunge is covered in drifts of white that look near-joyful. The weight has bent over tree branches, and the melt has formed long icicles here and there on trees and houses.

Like Alexander's house, which has some simple Christmas lighting out front. It's a three bedroom on the not-quite-so-terrible end of Elm, a rental that Alexander does most of the repair work on himself. The investigator himself is out in front of his yard...and he's building a snowman. Or. A snow...scene? Two snow men, still ill-defined, stand over what appears to be a dead snowman on one corner of the lawn. Alexander stands nearby, frowning at the scene and walking this way and that, trying to figure out what he wants to do next.

For someone who was upset about Alexander asking her granddaughter to come down to Elm, Granny Leigh is less concerned for herself. She truffles along humming Christmas tunes and sticking Christmas cards in some mailboxes and occasionally a small plate of cookies.

"Alexander!" She calls out, lifting her feet and shaking snow off.

The snowy weather isn't keeping Monroe inside, he has investigating to do and names of people to find. Finding Alexander's name wasn't too difficult, after all, and so it is that a beat up 77 orangey red Chevette pulls up to the curb, and a floof of hair escapes from it, followed by the person who owns it. Where's Alfie? At home with cookies and tv shows, old enough to be on his own for a little bit, now. Monroe is dressed in a battered corduroy winter coat that's patched here and there, a long scarf wrapped around his neck, and thick denim jeans. He pauses, looking up at Alexander's house, then at the man, a hesitant expression coming over his features.

Benedict is canvassing the neighbourhood, trying to chase down some leads. This being Elm, nobody saw anything, nobody remembers anything, an awful lot of them suddenly don't speak English, and nobody knows what their name is or how they can be reached if he has further questions.

And then he strolls up to Alexander's house, where there is....a murder scene? "You know, I feel like I would probably get better results trying to interview the snowmen." He observes frustratedly.

Alexander turns at the sound of his name, narrowing his eyes until he recognizes the older woman. "Mrs. Leigh," he says, looking...well, a bit wary. Old ladies come with chores. But he ambles up to meet her, and asks, "Shot, stabbed, or set on fire?" in very serious tones.

Because this is a very serious decision. The fate of a snowperson's open casket funeral could hinge on this decision! And it's probably the first thing that Monroe hears as he turns into the driveway and climbs out. The next thing he hears is Alexander practically snapping at the poor guy, "Who are you? I don't know you." Benedict's approach gets a quick glance, and a mild toning down of Alexander's general suspiciousness, and he even smiles a little as he says, "Can't threaten to put snowmen on ice, though."

No chores today ! Instead Gail pulls out one of those small plates and beamingly presents it to him. "Merry Christmas! Baked, of course," murder was not involved in the cookies.

Hopefully he takes the plate quickly because, "Lord bless me, is that little Benedict Addington I see? Child, it has been much too long! Come here and give me a hug right now." Granny Leigh holds out her arms.

Monroe gets a bright smile. "If you came for help younging, you came to a good spot. His sense of snow art aside, he is good at what he does."

The snappish tone has Monroe pulling back a little, slightly startled. "Ravn Abildgaard told me I might talk to you about finding... out if we're related." Monroe's accent is definitely British, very Received Pronunciation, only marginally softened by years abroad. "Don't suppose you were in London about twenty three years ago?" he smiles his best disarming smile. With the freckles and the big curls, it's pretty disarming for most people, but... "Thank you, ma'am."

Little old ladies just have a magic that's all their own, entirely apart from the vagaries of glimmer. Gail calls out those words and all 6'5" of Lt. Colonel Benedict Addington, sworn law enforcement agent and fighter pilot, just seem to melt away. It's with a very boyish smile indeed that Benedict rushes to embrace the woman, just like he is indeed a schoolboy again. "Mrs Leigh! It really has been far too long. I'm so glad to see you!"

Alexander takes the plate. How can he not take the plate when it is filled with delicious, homemade cookies. He stares down at it, and then over at the startled Monroe. Now Alexander is also startled. "I've never been to London," he's very quick to say. "I don't have any children." Just to make it clear. He does thrust the plate at Monroe. "Here. Who are you? Have a cookie. They're probably delicious," he adds, while keeping a wary eye on all the affection happening over with Benedict and Gail.

A tight hug is give to the larger man, but Gail doesn't force him to stay beyond a brief embrace. "And here I had thought you had moved out and weren't coming back - we will need to catch up some time soon." That as she pats his arm fondly.

"Are you looking for someone specific my dear?" Gail asks of Monroe, sympathetic. "Try the fudge," peanut butter and creamy~~, "it is good for ones nerves, and hips." That said with an wink.

The food is accepted, a little hesitantly, trying the fudge as Gail suggested. "The full legal is Phoenix Monroe Lane... but... I prefer to be called Monroe, very much. He/him or they/them pronouns, please and thank you." He does take a nibble of the fudge, appreciatively. "Apparently, my father is part of the Baxter family here, but I haven't had any luck sorting out which one it might be... so I suppose that makes us cousins of some degree or another?" he asks Alexander. "The fudge is delicious, thank you."

Once the embrace is over, Benedict shakes his head. "No, I was always coming home eventually. Just....a long eventually. You know how the military is." There's an enthusiastic nod, at the talk of catching up. "Definitely, Mrs Leigh. Whenever is good for you." He looks over to Alexander, then, and the man he doesn't recognize. He's caught just enough of the conversation to be interested, but he's trying not to look nosy.

"Phoenix Monroe Lane." Alexander considers that name, and eventually nods and finds it acceptable. The mention of pronouns gets an utterly blank look, then a tentative, "Okay." He looks back at the other two, like they might help him with this particular conundrum, before kicking a bit of snow to one side and saying, "Uh. A lot of the Baxters change their names, and...things. So it might be hard. But I have a family tree of some of them? If you want it? You might be able to match ages, if nothing else."

"The military will do that,, i was so lucky that after Vietnam Roland was discharged. I would have made a terrible army wife.. My doorway is always open," Gail replies, giving the new address. It is a smaller place on Oak, across from Ravn actually. Not her large older house Benedict would remeber from his childhood.

"That is a difficult family to find yourself apart of." Gail says, a friendly smile for Monroe.

The blank look gets a little smile from Monroe. Apparently, he's used to it. "Anything you have would be much appreciated, thank you. I don't know his name in the first place so him changing it doesn't mean much in that regard. He and my mum weren't exactly close." he tilts his head slightly, indicating that it was probably a one night stand. "It's my experience that most families have their difficulties, but I'm coming to understand that some are worse than others... no offense intended." he tells Alexander. "I've got a little half brother, Alfie, but otherwise mum's side is all gone, so... trying to get to find my father, if he's still around."

"Well, I will definitely come by soon then." For now, Benedict doesn't query what happened to the older house. That might be a sore spot, best saved for catching up time indoors. He looks between Alexander and Monroe for a minute, but decides against interrupting for the moment.

"No, it's fine. The Baxters tend to be crazy or murderous. Sorry." Alexander shifts from one foot to the other, still looking a little blank. "I, uh...it's inside. I can print off a copy." He takes a few steps back. "You want any hot cocoa?" The offer is tossed out to all three of them, although it's clearly meant to cover Alexander's retreat towards his house as he backs in that direction.

Another pat is given to Benedict's arm. "I had best be on my way, but thank you dear, " Gail says to Alexander. His must have been her furthest stop because with a cheerful wave the old lady turns herself about and begins whistling again as she heads back into town proper.

"It was nice meeting you, ma'am." Monroe tells Gail with a smile, before turning the smile to Alexander, "I would love that, thank you. Thus far, I'm neither crazy nor murderous... at least not since I quit retail. That was a joke." he adds. He turns his attention to Benedict as Alexander backs away, head tilting slightly. "Are you going to warn me to run away, too?" he sounds vaguely amused by the number of people warning such things.

"That sounds great, Alexander." Benedict smiles, waving to Gail as she heads off and then turns to head inside. "Oh, no. I'm not part of that committee. I actually receive similar warnings. But if you're a Baxter, Alexander may warn you not to talk to me." There's a grin, so presumably he's joking. Maybe. "Let's go inside and find out!"

Alexander disappears inside his house. The deadbolt slides home. Maybe he genuinely plans to just...hide in there until Monroe goes away. There's silence from inside for at least five minutes; and then, the door opens again, and Alexander's head tentatively pokes out. "Marshmallows?"

"I rarely listen to warnings, but... there definitely are odd things in this town. And not just because I'm out at the RV Park." when the deadbolt slides home, Monroe's eyebrows raise, but he doesn't blame the man. This isn't a great neighborhood, even during the day. "Why would he warn me not to talk to you? Jealous of your height?" with the fullness of Monroe's curls, he's almost as tall as Benedict, but should the hair be flattened, he's a full six inches shorter.

"Only if they're no additional trouble, thank you, Alexander." Monroe smiles at the older man pleasantly, again.

"Always." Benedict tells Alexander when it comes to the offer of marshmallows. There's a soft laugh then, and he shakes his head. "No, not my height. It's...a long story. About our families. And really, he's far, far more qualified to tell it than me. In no small part because all I know about it is what he told me."

"If it were trouble, I wouldn't have offered," Alexander says, quite seriously. He opens the door a little wider. "Here. Come in. It's cold out there." He waves them inside. The inside is very shabby - the only furniture that didn't come from a thrift store is a large, standing bird cage in one corner, where a green conure is currently walking back and forth on his perch. But it's also very clean and tidy - for all he lives a bachelor life, Alexander apparently doesn't like having much out of place. There are a few pictures on the wall of the living room; Benedict will recognize Coach Clayton and his wife in several. There's also a picture of a younger, dark haired woman in a scuba suit, grinning fiercely at the camera. There's no dining table - the whole dining nook has been replaced by an indoor garden, giving the house a faint odor of flowers.

And hot chocolate. Alexander retreats into the small kitchen to grab two mugs, and bring them out to sit on the coffee table. Then back into the kitchen for a small bag of mini marshmallows, which is put beside them. There's already a folded piece of paper on the coffee table, with that fresh-off-the-printer smell to it. Alexander points. "Family tree. Can't promise it's definitive."

To his credit, Monroe only comes in after a few seconds of thought and deliberation, before deciding that it's probably safe. Feet are wiped before he heads in, and then he inhales deeply once he's inside, taking in the scent of the flowers with a small smile. "I like your garden." he offers, since it's a nice thing to compliment, praising hard work rather than material possessions. "And your bird is lovely, though I admit I'm not familiar with the type."

When the family tree is offered up, Monroe lifts it curiously, but doesn't open it just yet. "Thank you, very much."

Benedict is also drawn to the bird, although he does take a moment to study the picture of the woman in the scuba suit. "He or she looks like a parrot, only a really small parrot." He muses, sipping on his hot cocoa with marshmallows. Apparently someone has never seen a conure before. "Pretty little thing."

The bird does not like being drawn to. He sidles away, eyeing the two strangers with a deep suspicion that is reminiscent of his owner. "That's Luigi," Alexander says. "He doesn't like strangers. He bites." But the compliment to his garden gets the first genuine smile for Monroe. "Thanks. Gardening is very calming." The thanks in return, though, he shrugs off. "Like I said, the Baxters aren't a great family. You might not like what you find." As they talk, another animal stalks into the room; a white Ragdoll cat with blue eyes and the air of royalty. Unlike Luigi, she shows no hesitation to come up and delicately sniff at shoes, while deigning to allow pets should either man be inclined.

"Hello, Luigi. You're a lovely fellow." Monroe does not try to pet the bird, or even stick his finger into the cage. That warning about biting is taken seriously. When the cat comes up for attention, however, Monroe offers her his hand for sniffing. He doesn't have the scent of an animal on him, already, so that's already a bonus, right? "The rest of my family has passed, except my little brother, Alfie, and his father's family isn't ideal, either. My mum's taste in men ran toward bad boys, it seems." There's a slight shrug and a smile, and he adds a few mini marshmallows to his cocoa, as well. "You don't have to like what you find, but it's better to know what's out there than to spend your life wondering. If I meet my father and decide he isn't worth knowing... at least then I know, for sure."

"Hmm. Well, alright Luigi. I'll let you be." Benedict drifts away from the bird cage. Whatever sulkiness he may have about the bird disliking him is swiftly dispatched by the cat allowing him to pet them. Apparently Benedict likes animals, and will spend as much time petting the cat as the cat will allow.

"Bluebell," Alexander supplies, nodding to the cat. Who more than makes up for the bird's standoffishness by being perfectly happy to be worshipped and petted. She sniffs hands, then rubs her face all over both men's legs, rotating from to the other to get the most possible pets. Alexander smiles, briefly, then his attention resettles on Monroe. "Yes. I understand that. I hope you find one of the good ones, then." A pause. "It's definitely not me."

He seems to think this is very important to establish. Again.

"Hello, Bluebell. You're very lovely, as well." Monroe pets the cat happily enough, smiling. "Thank you for inviting me in, and for the cocoa. If you happen to need anything, I'm out at the RV Park, big double decker bus. Can't miss us." he takes a sip of the cocoa, then a longer drink once it proves to be drinkable temperatures already. "Same color as the car." he adds, absently.

"She is very lovely," Alexander agrees. He files away the information, then reaches into his jacket pocket and slides a business card across the table, carefully. "Here. Has my information. If you need anything. You should track down Tor Lockhart. He runs a brewery in town. He's interested in Baxter things. Connections there. Or Grant Baxter, if he's still around. Or Chris Baxter; he is still around. He's not a townie. He came sort of looking for the same thing you did."

The card is accepted, and Monroe produces a mechanical pencil from a pocket, writing the names down on a little notebook with a nod, which sends his halo of curls bouncing. "Tor Lockhart, Chris & Grant Baxter. Good to know, thank you." The card, the pencil and the notebook, with the family tree folded up inside, all slip into the pocket. "It's hard feeling like you don't have any connections. I'm lucky I have Alfie, but I worry about him, if anything happens to me. He's... a gifted child."

Alexander shifts uncomfortable. "If you want to do what's best for a kid, especially a gifted one, you'll get him out of this town," he says, bluntly. "But since you won't...good luck." He looks away, and takes a sip of his cocoa. "Anyway. I was going to finish my snow scene. You can stay if you want. Both of you." Another pause. "Not in here. But out there." And then he starts to bluntly pressure people back into the cold; although they do get to keep the hot drink.

"I should be getting back to him, anyway, but thank you for your hospitality, all the same." Monroe smiles at Alexander again, finishing off his cocoa before following the man back out into the cold with a smile, the hot drink fortifying him against the chill.