2021-12-22 - Dark Rum

Dreams are funny things. Both the upper and lower case kind. And in Gray Harbor, it's occasionally hard to tell which is which - at least at the start.

The crossing is the usual sudden slip to the other side, either by turning the wrong corner or by rolling over at night into an errant pocket of another world.

Whichever it is, both travellers are met with a sudden jolt and find themselves below decks of a small rum running boat. They are facing one another, but they would be forgiven for not immediately recognizing one another.

Tor looks younger than he is in reality, with babyface cheeks and a pageboy cap. Alexander is likewise clean-shaven - and either that or the effect of the Dream makes him skew younger as well. He's wearing an old Navy wool greatcoat, that looks a bit motheaten.

At their feet are dozens of burlap sacks that tinkle gently against one another. The whole small below-deck smells of rum.

"Right, boys," says a man with a wool cap whose tall frame is bent in the small cabin. "Sea's becalmed, and the patrol's somewhere near. So keep it quiet, and prepare for trouble."

Tor looks...startled at first, then reservation clicks into plave as he gets where he is. He mutters something under his breath.

"You got something to say, Tommy Baxter? C'mon, share it with the rest of us, but do it quietly."

Tor grits his jaw, shakes his head.

Alexander jerks in place as he finds himself...somewhere else. It's not the sort of thing he's unused to, but it's always a shock. His eyes widen, then narrow as he recognizes the man across from him. He's about to say something when the other guy calls Tor Tommy. Alexander has to bite back his need to correct the name, and instead struggles to concentrate on what's going on: sea, rum, and 'patrol'. "Fuck." It comes out on a soft breath and Alexander looks with resignation at his feet and the sacks. "This isn't gonna end well," he mutters towards Tor.

"And what makes you say that, Mickey?" says the standing man with a low-throated chuckle. He looks to the other two men wedged between bottles of rum. "Seems the Baxter boys are getting cold feet. Relax. We've been doing this run for months. And your uncle wouldn't have sent you if you weren't ready."

Tor shifts, frows, then opens his jacket to show Alexander the revolver awkwardly sticking out of his inside jacket pocket.

Mickey?

Alexander actually doesn't lose it right there. His face twitches, and one hand clenches into a fist, but he doesn't start screaming about how that's not my name, at least. He grimaces at the gun in Tor's jacket; checks inside his own jacket and finds a similar weapon. "Son of a bitch," he mutters under his breath. He gives the standing man a narrow eyed look. "No one's getting cold feet." A glance to Tor. "Right?"

Tor looks Alexander right in the eye and nods slowly. "No cold feet," he replies. At least the two of them are old hat when it comes to the Veil and its flights of fancy. And the rule still applies: the safest thing to do is play along.

Especially when you find yourself on a tiny boat at sea.

There's a shout from above deck of 'all clear!' and the boat's surprisingly powerful engine roars to life. The bottles all shift and clink together as they start with forward momentum.

"This is going to be a good haul. Don't look so worried," says the man next to Alexander. He jostles him companionably with a shoulder. "They only really patrol the Canadian border and the way in to Seattle. We're small fry."

It's a good thing to remember. Play along. Sure. And Alexander tries. Illegal smuggling operation? Fine. He's got a gun? ...fine. Someone calling him by a name that isn't his? Not remotely fine, but he bit back the need to respond. But the companionable nudge trips over that last nerve - and snaps it. Alexander turns and just hauls off to try and punch the guy who bumped him in a...not so friendly sort of way.

"Whoah whoah, hey, hey..." Tor reaches forward and tries to position himself between Alexander and the other man, who looks taken aback. A few of the burlap sacks clatter over as he tries to make some space. "Excuse my cousin, boys. He's just a little on-edge. He..." a pause, "...doesn't like the water much."

"For a second, I thought you was going to say you don't do this kinda thing much, but everyone knows that's a fucking lie, right?" The older man next to Tor laughs and then it turns into a bit of a hacking cough.

Before anyone can respond to that, there's shouting from on-deck and the sound of a horn. A light flashes through the windows. One of the men sticks his head down from the above decks and says, "It's the fucking Petes."

Tor's confusion is genuine, and the older man by his side pulls his gun out and says, "Legitimate Pete's men." He sucks air between his teeth. "This lot might've been nicked from one of his stashes."

Alexander grits his teeth and slinks away from the confrontation (that he started) into that space that Tor clears. "Sorry, sorry," he says, quickly, rubbing at his head. "Just on edge. Yes." Very quietly so that it only really reaches Tor, he says, "Fucking Baxter Dreams."

And then his head comes up at the shouting on deck. He breathes out. "I've read about him," he whispers to Tor. Louder, to the rest, he says, "Might be able to work something out. All businesslike. If we're calm." Which Alex--er, Mickey clearly excels at.

"You're not doing the best job at staying calm so far," says Tor to Alexander as the two of them are gestured up onto the deck. The other two men stay down in the hold and draw their weapons.

There's two other men up on deck - the one who called down a moment before, and a well-dressed, dark-haired man holding an unlit cigarette. Their boat comes up alongside a very similar boat with a similar number of men onboard. Unlike their boat, the other men aren't visibly armed.

"Imagine our surprise when we went to claim Mr. Marinoff's cache meant for Tacoma, only to find it empty. Now, we welcome more entrepreneurs in this fine industry, as there is more demand than supply for the good folks of Washington State." The man stands on the deck of the ship belonging to the Petes - a man of some noble and legitimate bearing despite the layers he wears to protect against the chill of the cold sea. "But stealing our supply is not on, gentlemen. Not on at all."

"He touched me," Alexander hisses indignantly back at Tor as they climb onto the deck. "He touched me and he isn't even real. None of this is real." At least he's not saying that out loud, and he subsides into sullen silence as he watches the confrontation. And listens. He takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He doesn't forget much of anything where crime is concerned, though, so he leans in and whispers to Tor, "Tell them that we had word that the Nowaks were gonna make a move on the cache. They were brutes who didn't mind slitting throats to get their supply. Pete called them 'animals' in a letter he wrote. Might be persuaded to let us slide with just cutting them in if you sell it."

Because apparently he's volunteering Tor to be the seller of this sort of thing.

"Why don't you...?" and then Tor takes a deep breath as he figures out the answer before he ever asks the question. Because of the two of them, he's certainly the better liar. He sighs and steps a little further up onto the deck, reaching up to pull the threadbare coat he wears close. He's cetainly not wearing the clothes of a well-off young man. "Wasn't us. You can't think you're the only ones who'd think a clear night like this would be ideal to do a run. We know these waters probably better than you boys."

The man on the other deck doesn't look impressed. "Step back and let the grown-ups talk, son. I know you're probably trying to prove your grit, but the men are talking."

There's a ripple of laughter on the other boat and a few chuckles on their ship as well. Tor gets a sour look on his face and glances to Alexander. He then takes a breath, "I heard you boys aren't friendly with the Nowaks. We saw another ship on the run. Maybe it's that ship you should be looking for."

That does seem to get a reaction from the other ship. "Well, there's an easy way to clear this all up if it's a misunderstanding. We mark all our stock. Just show us one of your bottles and if it's not marked, we'll be on our way."

"We can do that," Alexander says, before one of the 'older' men can try and make excuses as to why they can't. He scowls at them; clearly not having enjoyed the way they laughed at Tor. His voice is curt as he steps back to the door belowdecks and says, "Hand me up one of those bottles." And, should they do so, he'll walk up to show it to the other deck...although not without trying to reach out with his mind and force the constructs there to see an entirely different mark on the bottle.

And if it doesn't work...well, now he has a bottle to throw at someone's face if necessary. He prefers that to a gun.

The problem with Dreams is that sometimes - especially the ones based on history - railroad its participants in a certain direction. Such is the case in this situation. Alexander's attempt to change the symbol fails.

A lantern sweeps around and hits the bottle, clearly illuminating the letter 'P' with a few flourishes. The man standing on the bow of the other boat eyes it, eyes Alexander. "That was a very poor bluff, son."

The other two men on deck likewise give him an incredulous look, before the well-dressed man on the bow sighs heavily, then pulls his revolver off his waist and fires at the older man on the other boat.

The scene erupts into chaos as the unarmed men on the other boat scramble. There is the sound of them trying to start their engine again, but it chokes.

Draw your fucking gun, Baxters," roars the man on the bow, swinging his own revolver in their direction before firing at a man on the deck of the other ship, who is hit in the shoulder, then tumbles overboard.

"Fuck," mutters Tor, as he pulls out his weapon. "They're not real," he says to Alexander, before he takes aim and fires off a shot. He's a decent shot, but apparently not with this weapon. Either that or he made the shot go wide on purpose, despite his own assurances to Alexander.

"I don't know how to use a gun," Alexander growls to Tor. He looks absolutely furious with the failure of his abilities, and flings the bottle overboard to smash against the side of the other boat. He does pull the gun after a moment, and simply fires it wildly in the vague direction of the other boat, cursing under his breath the whole time.

There is a sideways slipping feeling that could easily be mistaken for their ship going down. But instead, they're propelled forward in time - long enough for all of them to become well and truly chilled by the sea spray and wind. Tor and Alexander find themselves on the deck of the other boat, their hands and the deck slick with blood, the bodies of the other bootleggers floating in the water. Their own boat is lashed alongside, and one of their crewmates holds a hand out to help them across the gap.

"C'mon, boys. The deed is done. No sense lollying around."

Alexander staggers a little when there's that strange slipping feeling, and he has to freeze and take a moment to look around, see what's changed. He doesn't take the offered hand, but instead leaps the gap himself, turning immediately to check on Tor having made it across, as well. The bodies are given a quick, grim sort of look, but he doesn't linger, or look down at his own hands and blood staining them.

Tor stands still, his eyes locked on a corpse floating in the glass still water. He can't stay that way for long before the other men haul him bodily across the gap, then cut the line. "Don't worry, lads. The other Petes'll think it's them Nowaks. This won't come back to us."

One of the other men has opened up one of the bottles of whiskey that is being passed around the ship. It gets to Alexander first.

Alexander takes the bottle on instinct. He gives it a suspicious look - then goes ahead and takes a quick swig, leaving a bloody handprint around it and only barely letting the alcohol touch his lips. On the pretext of passing it to Tor, he leans in to say in a barely audible murmur, "They're not real. This whole thing is just here to hurt us. It's not real."

"It's not real, but this fucking pattern sure as hell is," says Tor as he gives a dirty look to the other men. Fortunately for him, it's dark, and the boyish pageboy cap shields the dark look in his eyes. His swig of the booze is very real and very deep.

The shapes of the bodies drop below the water as the wake from their boat partially submerges them. And as the darkness closes around them, that familiar slipping feeling shunts them out of the Dream and back into the real world.

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Lockhart. This is Alexander Clayton.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : yea dude youre in my phone

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Am I? Oh. 🙂 Good. You okay?

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Merry Xmas your family are murderers going back generations

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : be better after I find my fucking emergency vodka

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Yes. The earliest Baxter I have solid records of burned people at the stake. It's not a great family. Sorry.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : that all happened didn't it

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : ...probably. It felt grounded. Thomas and Michael Baxter. I can try and look them up. We don't have burial records for Baxters in this town, but bad news tends to get published. I might be able to find arrest records. If you want.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : youre going to do that anyway aren't you

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Yes.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : might as well keep me in the loop then

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Sure. 🙂 But. Some shared DNA isn't you.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Pattern sure seems to have stretched through to today in my family's case

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Yeah. But you aren't tied to that. Or to the Baxters.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : (after nearly 20 minutes) dunno about tha t

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : why?

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : personal

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : I'm nosy. Tell me why.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : (another delay of about 20 minutes) how much do you know about my family

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Petty criminals, mostly. Not generally the interesting sorts of crimes.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : accurate

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Im trying not to be one or be one less but they dont make it easy

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Acting like it's a betrayal to not want to use my business to launder money

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Ah. Yes. I'd wondered. Glad you said no.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : you wondered they assumed

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Didn't take it well when you said no?

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : holidays have bee fucking awkward

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Oh. Yes. I imagine. 🙁

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Anything I can do to help?

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Anyway just more proof that Im destined to be a thug doesn't help

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Unless you have more booze

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : says the brewery owner

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : You're not destined to be a thug.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : sure fuckin feels that way

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Sure. This town wants you to feel that way. The Shadows, and just the people. They're assholes. All of them. Don't let them win.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : hey I guess we know how we're related now

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Guess so. 🙂 Actually. Weird thing. Had this frizzy haired guy come to my house, tell me he was a Baxter and looking for his father.

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : I'm not his father.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : sure?

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : YES.

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : For one, he's British. For another, I'm very careful.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : ok just asking

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : ::scowl emoji:: Anyway. I think he wants to connect with more Baxters. Gave him Grant and Chris' info, since they have the last name. But if you want to reach out to him, you could. Might be good to talk to someone who doesn't think it's a bad thing.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : He only thinks that cause he doesn't know all the shit yet and you know it

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Sure. But he also doesn't know anything about Lockharts or living in a small cursed town.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : so many sweet summer children

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : They'll learn. But still. Might be worth talking to.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Maybe. not now. now Im drinking and then sleeping and hoping I don't fall into yet another dream of family trauma and violence

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Don't drink too much. Call me if you ned anything.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Holidays are for drinking too much. especially in this town

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Just imagine getting Lost while drunk. Then don't get Lost while drunk.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : If I worried about that I'd never get drunk

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Some things you just gotta risk man

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Not getting drunk isn't the wrong choice. I hardly ever get drunk. 🙂

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : Yeah not gonna happen cousin

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : Alexander. Call me Alexander. And get some sleep.

(TXT to Alexander) Tor : night cousin alexander

(TXT to Tor) Alexander : 🙁