2021-12-29 - It is all a conspiracy!

"Primary cause of death, asphyxiation ." Shawn's words can be heard through the closed doorway of the ME section of the morgue, he continues, listing off secondary causes all brought to past by the main one. The room is well lit except for that corner light that flickers on and off no matter HOW much people come in and fiddle with it. It will just flicker.

Shawn is completely scrubbed up with a plastic covering over his front. Gloves, mask, cap - the whole ball game.

There's also a dead body on the slab in front of him missing some of its organs.

Technically - and actually - Alexander has absolutely no right to be in the morgue. Not that this has ever stopped him before, nor does it stop him now. He appears at the door like a skulking shadow, looking like nothing more than a homeless man hoping to find a quiet corner in the morgue to sleep out of the rain. He sidles in, stopping as he hears the sound of Shawn's voice. He looks left. He looks right, and then he makes his way towards the voice. It turns out that Alexander can be surprisingly quiet when he wishes, and knows the doors well enough to be able to open one just enough that it doesn't squeak to give him away. He creeps closer to the ongoing autopsy, looking fascinated.

"You must be the new Medical Examiner," he says, stopping just out of contamination range.

Shawn jumps at the voice that abruptly appears in his room when NO ONE ELSE IS HERE.

Well.

Except the body. That's here. Sorry body.

"Oh - good. Unless you're a ghost, at which point, can you come back tomorrow? I'm running a little bit behind with this one." Scalpel points downwards.

"I'm not a ghost," Alexander says. "I'm Alexander Clayton." He shoves his hands into his pockets, and gives Shawn a thoughtful look. "...so, if I'm a ghost, I should come back tomorrow. But if I'm alive, I can stay?" A flicker of a smile. "Good. We'll get along." He glances at the body, head-tilted slightly. "I won't get in the way. But I'm interested. Asphyxiation, you said?"

"Right. It's really annoying when ghosts show up. It fucks with my reports." Carefully Shawn steps away from the table and peels off his gloves. They get tossed into a bin and he starts to shrug out of the plastic covering.

"Yeah. Suicide, but the family doesn't want to believe it." There's a rough look of sympathy from the doctor towards the body. "Probably shouldn't let you hang out around here."

"Ghosts are annoying. Yes." Alexander glances from the body, to the gloves as they go into the bin, and then back to Shawn. He has to look up. "I don't know your name," he prompts, as if he has the right to that information, and repeats, "I'm Alexander Clayton." A look back at the body. "Poor bastard. We have a lot of suicides here. It's that sort of town." He blithely ignores mention of not being allowed to hang out here. Instead, he adds as an afterthought, "Hi."

Shawn's eyes LIGHT UP but then grow suspicious when Alexander is all 'yeah, ghosts, right?' "Man - you are a ghost aren't you? That's just my luck." He sighs as he hangs up the covering where he can retrieve it without touching the front. Then he can peel off his mask and scrub at the beard under.

"Shawn Young," even if Alexander is a ghost, Shawn'll play along and give up his name. "So, what business do you have? You don't look like any of the current bodies..." Examination up and down. Clearly, this has happened before.

Alexander scowls. "I'm not a ghost. I'm alive. Last time I checked. I'm a local investigator." He prowls around the room, now, as if trying to reassure himself that he is, in fact, alive. "I knew the last ME. And the coroner before that. She died. Yule got smart and left." A shrug, before he looks back at Shawn. "You're not from Gray Harbor. I don't know any Dr. Youngs. But you stand out. I'm sorry."

"Then come over here and touch me," Shawn says because he's not about to believe this without PROOF. A hand is held out for Alexander to poke if he wants.

"No - just moved in. Don't get me canned this time okay? I just got all my stuff into my place."

Alexander frowns. "No. I don't like to touch people." Instead, he wanders until he finds a pad on a counter by the wall, and picks it up and waves it at Shawn. "Here. If you're not a mover, I couldn't do this as a ghost." A pause. "If you are a mover, then shit, sorry, I don't have a lot of proof to offer. But I'm not dead." He sniffs. "I won't get you canned. You got canned at your last position? Why?"

Who needs small talk anyway?

"What's a mover?" Shawn can't help but ask that. However, he usually doesn't see ghosts moving stuff around so he will TENTATIVELY accept that Alexander is corporal or something close. "I tend to include details that ghosts and such tell me in my reports. That's generally looked down upon in the upchain."

"Psychokinetic. Moving stuff with your mind. I can't do it." Still, Alexander looks intrigued, and wanders closer to Shawn and the body. He scratches at the scruff on his chin. "You see ghosts, then. And they tell you things. How they died?" A pause. "Awkward. For reports. Yes. I read objects. Their past histories. Feel other people's emotions. Also awkward for reports." He offers a bright and sunny smile. "Welcome to Gray Harbor. You'll fit in."

Well - Shawn is intrigued enough that he doesn't object when Alexander gets closer to the body. There are marks about the neck, hinting at part of what led to the body's demise.

He gestures towards the desk in the corner and "Have a seat Mr. Clayton?" Doesn't have anything but water to drink though, this IS a medical office. "So. This kind of thing is something you do often? Come a visit dead bodies and their keepers?"

Alexander doesn't get close enough to risk contaminating the body with any foreign objects, but he does study it carefully - clinically, without either squeamishness or a delight in the dead flesh on display. "Hung himself? Didn't break the neck. Choked to death. That's an ugly way to go. He must have been in great pain to kill himself." There's a touch of sorrow, even as he slinks his way towards the offered seat and settles into it. Not easily; he looks like he might leap up again at the slightest noise or startlement, and his fingers tap out nervous rhythms on his knees. "I thought I should introduce myself. See if you were someone who stood out. Someone who could be worked with. Sometimes people aren't, and that's awkward. But yes. Sometimes my investigations deal with murder, so seeing the bodies helps."

"Yeah, poor bugger wasn't quite high enough for the drop to be hard enough - but not quite low enough to be able to make a different decision." Apparently Shawn has decided to trust Alexander. This is a problem and WILL probably get them into trouble.

"So, do you have your PI license?"

Alexander grimaces. "I'm sorry. For him. That is not a good way to die." He says it with a kind of experienced resignation. He glances up at Shawn, eyes widening a little at the question. "...no," he admits. "They won't let you take the test. Unless you have a job with a licensed PI. State law. I've never had a job with a licensed PI. So I can't take the test. No test, no license." He shrugs, and his expression sets into a stubborn hardness. "But I'm a very good investigator."

"Yeah, it was nasty. Part of why the family did not want to think - well." Shawn cuts himself off with a shake of his head. The ME eyes carefully the man before him before he shrugs his shoulder.

"I suppose it isn't any shame if you were to come ask questions. Occasionally. With the right price." He arches his eyebrow upwards firmly to see if Alexander catches his drift. "I usually work the night shift."

"What would the right price be, Dr. Young?" There's a quick wariness in the gaze Alexander turns on Shawn, but certainly not a rejection of the idea. "And do you work the night shift because you see more ghosts? Or just because there are fewer people around to see you see ghosts?"

"Oh a bottle of brandy. Some company, details of what you find." There's a gleam for adventure in Shawn's eyes, wanting more than just his dead bodies. "I work them because this is my sixth job and the night shift is always a bitch to hire for. The ghosts don't help though. Or the maggots. Things happen in a morgue sometimes, you see things." He has no idea how right he is.

Alexander nods, slowly. "I can do that." He smiles, a little. "Would you like to investigate things? With me? If it comes up? I'm not a forensics expert and don't have access to labs. An expert eye is useful. And I have vintage case files. Pinkerton records, even. If you're interested in history. And cases. Historical autopsy procedures. Things." He considers the last, and hums in agreement. "Morgues see a lot of things. People in morgues see them too. Why do you do it?"

Shawn TRIES to hide how very very excited that gets him, but he only manages to mask the fact that he WANTS to act like a little schoolboy given a chance to glance up skirts for the first time.

A small cough to clear his throat and Shawn smooths his beard down. "Yes, well. It would be nice to have someone to share some of the more... esoteric details to. Give me something more reasonable to put in my report than," and he lowers his voice and glances at the door - SHARING AN IMPORTANT SECRET WITH ALEXANDER, "the government was testing a new biological weapon on the poor." Head nod.

Why yes, Shawn does have 47 years of coming up with an explanation for the crazy shit that has happened.

Alexander smiles, again. It's a smile of unfettered joy. "You must meet Benedict. He's the new District Attorney Investigator, and I think he would be very happy to have an M.E. to talk to who doesn't think he's crazy. He's not crazy. He just started to stand out. He's okay, though. He's good." He looks intrigued at the secret. "Which one? Formula 87X? Or that enzyme that's supposed to make people produce more adrenochrome so they can be harvested?"

Shawn claps his hands together. ONCE. Okay, JUST ONCE. "I couldn't figure out!" He leans forward to share his conspiracy theory with Alexander - with someone who won't tell him he's insane. "I tried to report it to my superiors but they called me crazy and struck it from the record then asked for my letter of resignation before I could find more. "

Alexander jumps at the clap of Shawn's hands, but otherwise watches Shawn with wide eyes. "Well, of course. They're part of the system," he says, quite seriously. "You're lucky you didn't, y'know, get," he draws a thumb across his neck. "Silenced. You get too close to things, and then you get silenced. It's good you came to Gray Harbor. The Shadows will kill and eat you, but we don't have any black helicopters. Usually. Unless you get Lost."

Typically a conspiracy theory is enough to keep Shawn talking FOREVER, but 47 years is also long enough to get burned and he stops abruptly and pins Alexander with a stare. "You're not having me on are you? I'm not going to wake up with rumors that the new night time ME is crazy are you? You weren't sent by them."

Whomever they are?

"No," Alexander says, looking genuinely distraught. "I wouldn't. It's not...it hurts to be called crazy, even if you are. Not that you are. I am. A little. But it still hurts. I wouldn't call someone crazy, and I don't gossip about anyone. That also hurts." A pause. "And I'm not sent by anyone. No one would send me anywhere, really."

"Well." Shawn says, still eyeing Alexander. Except the desire to share his theories about what has gone on and get theories in return is too much.

So he leans forward again. "So what do you mean by the shadows - and Lost? I've seen the black helicopters you know, they just show up and them bam - a body isn't what it was when I first saw it."

Alexander frowns, shakes his head. "The Veil will do that sometimes. Change bodies so it looks like they were eaten by animals. In the eyes of people who don't stand out." A long pause. "The Shadows are the dolorphages. They hunt here, in Gray Harbor. They feed on pain, rage, sadness. All the dark emotions. They push people to the edge, until they break." He looks past Shawn, nodding to the body on the table. "Sometimes they do it by getting you Lost. You end up somewhere else, and are tormented. Those places can get weird. You'll get Lost if you stay in town."

INTENSE CONCENTRATION. "So you're saying that there is something feeding on us. " He twists to look at the body then pounds his fist on the arm of his chair. "I KNEW IT. "

He stands and begins to pace, occasionally pointing at Alexander, the body, the freezers. "I told them. Over and over. There was something more than just happenstance - or drugs. You know, they accused me of being high on duty when that one body started spewing maggots. I haven't ever done drugs - well, except for in college." Well.

"Everyone does drugs in college," Alexander says, with a shrug. "Most of them did, too. I'm sure." He smiles, watching the man pace with interest. His fingers still twitch and tap against his legs, but he otherwise seems remarkably at ease in Shawn's company. "Yes. There is something more. And it feeds on us. Spewing maggots sounds unpleasant. Could other people see them? A lot of times, other people can't."

"No, they never saw them. But this makes sense." Shawn punches one fist into the other emphatically as Alexander opens up his world to a whole new understanding of everything that has ever happened to him.

"This makes sense." He whirls about to look at Alexander firmly. "How many in the police department know this or is it just you and this Benedict?"

"Just a few," Alexander says. "A lot of the police are corrupt. Or they don't stand out. No one who doesn't stand out is likely to believe you. The Veil protects itself. But Javier is okay. Grumpy. But okay. There are a few others, too. Here and there. But not City Hall. Not the ADA." He shrugs. "Gray Harbor is weird. But it's not completely disconnected. Be careful, Dr. Young? I think I like you. I don't want you to get fired."

"I would rather not be fired," Shawn says with a wry twist to his lips. "I'll keep those names in mind - and.... try to keep my reports clean except in the right hands."

Seriously, that's hard. Shawn prefers to write them exactly as he sees them. There's a glance sideways at the clock on the wall and then the dead body. "Ah - I hate to say this. But I do have to finish up with him - at least my notes before I clock out. It will be a few more hours. But I want a drink - and take you out, if you don't mind day drinking."

Alexander rises promptly, as soon as Shawn glances at the clock. "Yes. The dead should not be left waiting. They deserve more than that." Another glance to the body on the slab, then back to Shawn. There's a surprised blink. Then another. "You...want to take me out for a drink? Are you sure? I mean. Yes. If you want." He starts sidling towards the door. "There's a place down on the shore I like. Two if by Sea."

Shawn nods fervently as Alexander rises. "Do you realize you're the first person who has nodded at me and gone 'yeah, that makes sense'? Fuck yes, I want to take you for a drink."

He doesn't even particularly want Alexander to go as seen in the lost puppy look on his face.

"I...well." Alexander actually turns a little red. He reaches in the pocket of his hobo jacket, and takes out a card. He leaves it on the counter nearest to the door. "It has my number. And my e-mail. My office address. Just call. Um. Anytime." He ducks his head. "Don't die, Dr. Young." And then he offers a fleeting smile, before leaving out the door without another word.

Shawn composes himself just long enough for Alexander to leave. Then he SWOOPS in and grabs the card.

And a text, which the player is too lazy to make its own thing: "8 am too early? The bar is probably closed - but I can bring something. Except coffee - I sleep early."

(TXT to Shawn) Alexander : 8AM is fine. I hardly sleep at all.

(TXT to ) Shawn : You have no idea man - no idea.