2021-12-31 - New Year's Eve

The sun has just set, and even on Elm Street, people love spending money on things they're just going to blow up. Sure, technically fireworks are not allowed within the city limits, but a lot of the people on Elm don't really care about the law, anyway. So there's at least three house parties blaring music up and down the street, and the unquiet is punctuated with a regular pow and snap of fireworks going off against the cloud cover.

Alexander does not appear to be enjoying the festivities. Instead, his front door is open, and he's surrounded by cut wood, carefully replacing part of a door frame that appears to have been broken. He also looks to have been in a fight; his knuckles are wrapped, and there are scrapes and bruises on his face. The underslept haggardness, though? That's normal. Near him, a fluffy white cat is sitting, staring fixedly at him with blue eyes like she is trying to command him with her mind. "You're not hungry," he tells her, as he applies wood glue to an inset. "You were just fed."

Clearly not enough.

Benedict arrives in an uber, because he's definitely leaving his fancy car parked on Elm. He knows better than that. "Alexander!" He calls as he comes up the walk toward the other's house, spotting his friend out in the yard. "It's New Year's Eve! Let's..." But whatever he was going to suggest fades as he notes the busted door frame and the injuries. "You alright? What happened to you?"

Alexander tenses when the unfamiliar car pulls up in front of his house, although the tension eases when Benedict gets out, and he offers a wave to the man as he approaches. Bluebell, on the other hand, hisses and disappears into the house, hiding under the bed. Alexander glances at the fleeing cat, frowns, then turns back to Benedict. "Hey." He quickly slides the inset in before the glue dries, and stands up while he holds it in place. "People stole my pets. It's fine, now." He offers a tentative sort of smile. "Hi. It's New Years Eve. Thought you'd be at a party or something."

"Well, yeah, I was on my way to a party." Benedict agrees. "And then I thought, I wonder what Alexander's doing? I bet he wants to go drinking with me. Ok, I didn't actually think that last part. But I figured you might want to come to a party." There's a grin, although it's wavering. Maybe he doesn't entirely believe it's fine. "I'm glad the pets are safe. And you're not hurt too bad. Want some help with the door?"

"Parties and Alexanders mix poorly," Alexander says, although he actually looks amused - and touched - that Benedict thought of it. "I have some tequila and whiskey, though. If you wanted a drink." A sound like gunfire in the air goes off, and three fireworks bloom over their heads. Alexander looks up, smiles. "Also have a surprisingly good view of illicit fireworks displays. If you like fireworks."

There's a hesitation at the offer. "Um. You can, if you want? You're a guest. Guests aren't supposed to work." He continues to apply pressure on the inset until he feels comfortable with its firmness, then moves away. "You could help me with the upper bit, though." He points. "You're taller." A longer pause, before he adds, "How are you? Did you have a nice Christmas?" Alexander's decorations have already been taken down and put away.

"That sounds good. I bet I can get us some champagne, too. For the New Year and everything." Benedict grins. "And, indeed, illegal fireworks. I do like fireworks, most of the time." He's apparently happy to jump in. "Upper bit, then." He looks around to grab the bits, nodding. "Yeah, it was good. How was yours? I see you got your decorations down already."

Alexander hands up the already prepared repair bits over to Benedict, and quickly puts on the heated wood glue before letting the other man slide them into place. "Just hold it for a few minutes. Thanks." He steps back and smiles. "Good. Mine was good. Ate lunch with my parents. They mentioned you, wanted me to make sure I told you Merry Christmas if I saw you. So. Merry Christmas." His voice is a little dry, but fond. "And yeah. People take them if you don't put them away quickly." Bluebell slinks out of the hallway to sit and stare at Benedict. Luigi is huddled in a back corner of his cage, his head under his wing.

"I can make you a drink. What would you like?" Inside, the house is tidy and neat, as usual, although to an investigator's eye, there are signs that it's been damaged or violently tossed sometime recently. "Um. Oh. Javier assigned a new detective to the McNeely case. She's very new. She's gonna reach out to you."

"Hold it for a few minutes. Can do." Benedict waits the allotted time. "And Merry Christmas to them. Ahhh, that makes sense. I leave mine...I mean really it's just a tree with some stuff on it, but anyway...till the night after Epiphany." He looks around, noting the signs of someone going through here. "Huh. Wonder why he transferred it. What's the new girl like?" There's a thoughtful pause, then. "Whiskey is good. What's the deal with you and parties, anyway? The whole Talent thing?"

Alexander keeps the booze under the sink, next to the cleaning supplies. So, clearly, whatever his problems may be, alcoholism isn't among them - or, at least, he can distinguish one from another even while very drunk. The bottle of whiskey he pulls out is a surprisingly good one, and mostly full. He pours a glass with a healthy serving of drink, then returns to Benedict. He checks the wood. "Looks set. Your reward," he adds, with a quick grin, offering the drink but careful to not let their fingers touch.

"Detective Makimura. Mm. I only spoke to her on the phone. She's not happy about talking to me. I don't blame her. But she did it anyway, and wasn't an asshole about it. Asked good questions. Seems fine. But I don't know if she stands out." He frowns. "But Javier assigned her. So she might." To the last, he shrugs. "I don't like being touched unexpectedly, or surprises. I don't always react well. It's better to stay away."

"Thanks." Benedict takes the drink, not seeming to notice or question the fingers issue. He sips at it appreciatively. "Is it because, you know, you're an Independent Contractor or do you think she has a problem talking to anyone outside the Department? Just trying to get a sense of what I'm in for."

There's a thoughtful pause, as he turns that answer over in his head. "You know, that brings up a good point. How does it work when Talented people date non-Talented? I mean, with all the weird stuff that seems to happen around you guys...around us, I guess I get to say now."

"I think it's just because I'm not any sort of cop. You're official. You should be fine. She doesn't seem...territorial? I've met territorial cops." Alexander shrugs. "It was just a phone conversation. She was professional. I didn't try to read her." He waves at the shabby but well-kept couch. "Come in and sit down." There's a bright, sudden grin. "You're asking me? About dating?" There's an actual snicker as he goes to pour himself a drink from the bottle, as well. "Um. I think it varies. Someone who doesn't stand out...most of them are never going to believe you. So if you're okay not talking about it to your partner, probably okay? Weird shit happens in Gray Harbor whether you stand out or not - you just don't remember it if you don't. You remember something else. Something that makes sense. I imagine that after a while, though, it would hurt to see your partner's mind be smoothed over wherever the weird is concerned." He glances up at the photo of the dark-haired woman on the wall. "Isabella's father doesn't. Stand out. But he came to believe that his wife and his kids were telling the truth. So he tried to understand. It seemed to work for them."

Benedict grins. "Yeah, weird, I know. But it's not like back in high school where I just had to smile and flex. You've been doing this whole Talented thing a lot longer than me, I figure." His eyes follow Alexander's to the photo on the wall. "Isabella. Is she your..." He trails off, probably looking for a non-bro way to put it. "Girlfriend? Person? A lot of different words for things these days, seems like. Anyway, you know what I mean." He sips at the whiskey more, as he settles in on the couch.

"I'm pretty sure that smiling and flexing will still work for most situations," Alexander says, very dry. He takes a sip of his drink, and bobs his head. "Yes." A pause. "Maybe. She went to Alexandria. I think she might...have forgotten. Gray Harbor. It's okay. It's better. She wanted to stay, but she can't be a good archeologist if she stays here." He shrugs, clears his throat, and takes another - deeper - swallow of the alcohol. "I'm surprised, though. That you don't--I mean. Do you have anyone? If not, I'm surprised. But it's okay. You don't have to have anyone. If you don't want."

He runs his free hand through his hair and makes a wordless sound. "Sorry. I'm not very good at talking to people about things that aren't murder."

"No, it's fine. You're doing fine." Benedict smiles encouragingly. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know that's what you want to see for everyone, to leave, but that's still gotta be tough. You're a big guy, being able to look at it that way with her."

There's an awkward pause. "I'm more of a casual, one night stand, kinda guy these days to be honest. Bad break-up."

Alexander shrugs, awkwardly. "Gray Harbor took her brother, and her mother. It doesn't get to have her, too." He glances again at the picture, then away, back to study Benedict. His expression might not, on first glance, seem very sympathetic; his face has a way of going blank and emotionless when he's thinking, and only when he's done does humanity return to it. "I'm sorry. Break-ups can leave scars. Casual is easier." He takes another drink. More explosions go off outside; the bursts of color can be seen through the window. "Ah. Last day of the year. Do you have any resolutions? You wanna share, I mean."

"Red-heads, man. Red-heads leave scars." Benedict grins lopsidedly. " But, yes, that one did. Haven't had a serious relationship since." More whiskey. Yay explosions! "Yeah, bro. I'm gonna bench, like, even more and then bang...nah, I'm just messing with you. I don't. I probably should, though. What about you?"

Alexander grins back. "Mm. There's a reason red means 'danger' in the animal kingdom," he says, with a sympathetic sort of amusement. There are a few blinks at Benedict's slide into bro-dom, then a low, rusty chuckle at the joke. "I don't...know," he admits. "Trying to say I'm definitely going to do this in the next year feels like daring the world to fuck it up. But I would like to get more clients. I want to find out what I did during the missing twelve weeks. I want to be better with people? I don't know." He chuckles. "Same as usual, I guess. Resolutions are hard."

"Yeah, probably why I don't have any." Benedict half-shrugs. "Those are some good ones, though. I really probably should get some. It's always good to have goals. But it's kind of...I mean, what do you aim for after becoming a Jedi Knight? I've basically accomplished every childhood dream I ever had at this point." He's joking. Probably.

Alexander chuckles. "A Jedi. Better than a wizard, I guess. Although there's always conquering the world. As a new goal." He starts to take another drink, but hesitates. "Have you tried to practice? Would you like to? Since it's...I mean, we could try a few common things that people do, and see what you seem to be leaning towards." Then, hastily, "We don't have to. You might want to try things out on your own."

"Not really." Benedict shakes his head. "I mean, I got drunk watching Star Wars and tried pretending the centre of a roll of wrapping paper was a lightsabre. Did the whole stretch out my hand toward it and flex my fingers bit. But I don't...I don't really know what I'm doing. And that seems to be a problem. I don't remember the last time I was bad at something. Not something I was actually putting effort into, anyway. Sure, we could practice."

"Don't worry," Alexander tells him, his tone light and teasing. "I'm bad at everything but weird magic and murder. So it evens out." He finishes off his drink, and puts it down before rising up. "Um. Okay. You seem to be a psychokinetic. Someone who moves things with your mind. There are three main types, right? Psychokinesis, the empathy stuff, and then healing and hurting. I'm not a mover at all. But I know the basics of what most find they can do." He walks over to his indoor garden and picks up one of the small pots, and brings it back to the table. He puts it on the table before Benedict. "You can't move living things. But you can move stuff that's touching living things. So. Take a good drink, then try and focus on the pot. Feel the shape of it in your mind, and lift. I'm gonna give you a little bit of a boost, if you're okay with it?"

"Sure. Whatever you think best." Benedict downs the rest of the whiskey, putting the empty glass down. Deep breath. And then he stares at the pot, with his hand out and open. Maybe at some point he'll figure out he doesn't have to literally pretend to be a Jedi. And then he attempts to lift the pot.

The plastic pot barely weights two or three pounds even with the soil and plant, just enough to have a solid--something--in Benedict's mind. Just enough of a something to grab hold to with a part of him that didn't seem to exist a month ago. But now?

Now the pot lifts like some sort of special effect, rising with surprising smoothness into the air and hovering there. It's so smooth, it honestly looks like a cheap magician's trick done with hidden wires for a mid-budget television show. Except there are no wires. Alexander smiles. "Wow," he says. "Good job. Does it hurt? Headache, nose bleed, nausea, anything like that?"

"I don't think..." Benedict is cut off by the sound of a pot crashing back down. Apparently taking the time to think about whether anything hurt was all it took for him to lose focus and control over the object. "Woops. Hard landing." He looks more than a little sheepish.

Alexander yelps and snatches at the pot before it can tumble off the table and land plant-side-down. He laughs, though, as he puts it back on the table. "That's good, though! For a new person, that's quite good." Then he grins, and it's actually rather devilish. "For your next trick, I'm gonna need your wallet. One of the things movers can do is find things that are lost, or have been hidden. So I'll hide your wallet in the backyard, and then you can find it." Because that's definitely what Benedict wants to be doing on his New Year's Eve. Alexander looks enthusiastic, though.

Then again, it's not HIS wallet.

And Alexander's look of enthusiasm wins over Benedict, who definitely doesn't want to lower his friend's mood. "Sure. You'll know where you put it." He pulls out his wallet and hands it over. "This'll be fun. Never done a scavenger hunt on New Year's Eve before!"

Alexander nods. "Indeed. And I promise that it won't be anywhere sticky, goopy, or filled with stinging insects." He takes the wallet. "Count to twenty, then go out the back door." He points to the door. "I don't think I have, either. I have done a scavenger hunt, though. In college. Getting the dean's favorite hat was a real problem." There's another bright grin, before he bounces to his feet - winces, briefly, as something, somewhere, is hurt by the movement - and then he's gone out the back.

The backyard is surprisingly well-kept for this neighborhood; there are even flower beds, although they're dormant for the winter. The lawn is mown, and the flagstones just outside the back door aren't even cracked or broken. There are bird feeders, and a bird bath to run into, and a few scraggly trees. Alexander chooses one of the latter to hide the wallet in, slipping it into a hollow in the wood, before coming back to stand by the back door.

"One....two...three." Benedict counts the whole way to twenty out loud, before following Alexander outside. "Yeah, I've done several scavenger hunts. First place I ever got after my training pipeline, they decided to mess with the new pilot, so they sent me off for the keys to the flight line." There's a smirk at the memory. "So...what do I do now, exactly? Use the Force? How?"

"...does the flight line have keys? What is a flight line?" Alexander leans against the back wall of his house, looking genuinely curious about the answer to both those questions. "And, um. Hm. I don't know how it feels to look for something lost. But I think Isabella described it once as sort of a tug, leading her to what she was looking for. So try to think of yourself as, um, a compass? Except instead of magnetic north, you're oriented on wallet."

Benedict laughs. "No, no it doesn't. It's that big wide open part by the hangars. Where you see planes get parked and serviced." He explains. "Alright. I can do this." Deep breath. Trying to push himself outward. Wallet, wallet. Think about the wallet. Use the Force, Ben.

Maybe it's the fact that Benedict is an investigator, but something about this is even easier than lifting the pot. As soon as he tries to think about the wallet, it's like something inside of him just points that away. He just knows that the wallet is right there, as if he'd watched Alexander place it into the tree.

Meanwhile, Alexander himself thinks about that, then laughs. "Oh. Oh no. How long did you go looking for them? Did someone put you out of your misery?"

"Oh, hey, it's over there in that tree." Benedict says with surprise, before heading over there to see if he's right. There's a grin on his face. "Kinda. See, I got my private pilot's license as a teen. Part of what helped me get selected for pilot. So I'd already been around airports a bunch. I mean, we all had even in training. So I guess sort of an intelligence test. Or an insult. I'm really not sure. But I played along for a bit. Didn't want to seem like a bad sport."

He is exactly right, and Alexander looks delighted. "You know. That looks like magic to me," he admits. "I don't...I get the other two types of abilities. But what the movers do? I don't understand it. It's amazing." To the rest, he looks thoughtful. "It isn't nice, if it was an insult. But sometimes a humiliating or stressful entry ritual causes stronger bonds to develop within an exclusive group. In college, the group I was with, you had to do your entry ritual naked."

Benedict replaces the wallet in his pocket, equally delighted. "All of it looks like magic to me." He murmurs, almost reverently. There's a nod of agreement then. "Yeah. Been through a lot of those in my life. It's just part of...the whole ethos. And I agree, very good for bonding. One time we were on a training exercise with these Navy pilots. They taught us a game called carrier landings. Similar kind of idea. We all looked silly but it was fun and bonding."

Alexander grins. "Um. Good. Practically speaking - you have to know what you're looking for. You can't, usually, just go 'oh, I wish to find this missing murder weapon, whatever it is' and be magically led to it. But if you know someone was missing an earring that looked exactly like a small panda with emerald chips for eyes? You might be able to find it. I think. I don't know exactly how it works. What does it feel like?" Then he stops, and thinks. "Well...in Gray Harbor, I think getting Lost is sort of like our bonding ritual. That's sort of when you know the people around you really understand something that nobody else is going to. You end up talking to people you wouldn't, normally. Just because only they get what it's like to have a recreation of Ginger from Gilligan's Island explode on you."

Benedict considers. "It felt like...I don't know. I just knew, somehow. I might as well have watched you put it there. I couldn't exactly see it but I /knew/. Not so much with the pull." He explains, before nodding. "That makes sense. Can you...show me one of the things you do? If you don't mind?"

"That's fascinating," Alexander murmurs. "And you're new come to it. Do you feel...different? Overall? Biologically? Or existentially?" His brow furrows as he tries to find the words to explain exactly what he's asking. At the question, he blinks, then nods. "...yes. Most of what I do isn't, um, as easily seen. And I doubt you want me in your head, or telling you what you feel. Most people find that really creepy," he admits, with a wry twist of his lips. "But...oh." He raises his hands, palms up, and concentrates.

Electricity arcs from one palm to the other, as if his hands were Tesla coils. The electrical power is remarkably stable, although it's clear it's taking some effort to keep it existing and visible, instead of instantly discharged into the air.

"It sounds fascinating." Benedict admits. "But also, yes. kinda creepy." And then Alexander starts throwing electricity, and his eyes go wide. "Whoa...force lightning. Can you...throw that at people? If you had to, I mean."

"It is." Alexander clears his throat. "Fascinating. But creepy." And the creepy just keeps coming, because when Benedict asks, he closes his hands, banishing the lightning, and admits, "Yeah. I can channel it directly by touch, or at a distance, now. And yes. It can kill someone." He doesn't look at Benedict, but rubs his bandaged knuckles and moves on quickly. "Healers can throw fire. I only have a little healing, though, so I can mostly only heat up water and make something smoke. I can also understand any language someone speaks to me, and speak it back. I can't read them, and it has to be someone present - not television or radio or internet."

"So, if you have mind powers you can throw force lightning. Healers can throw fire. So what do I throw? Just people's stuff. Like just pick up whatever is in the room and chuck it at them?" Benedict seems to accept this as a distinct possibility.. He notes the rubbing, but doesn't press. He can put two and two together. "That language trick is neat. I speak two languages. Good to know if I needed to say something privately besides English, you'd understand."

Alexander nods. "Pretty much. Anything inanimate. If you're strong enough, you can even unlock locks - or lock locks - from a distance, or disable a car by yanking apart wires and things. And..." he stops, looking visibly reluctant as he continues, "you can also travel Over There. If you find a thin spot, you can open a door." He grimaces. "The problem is that it's easier to open a door to go over there than it is to come back. So don't do that until we know you can come back. Okay?" He watches Benedict with clear concern.

Benedict is clearly working a few things out in his head. "No doors." There's another long pause, and then what's worrying him comes to the surface. "I can't accidentally open these doors and find myself over there, right? The way we just get Lost without warning. I'm not going to open the closet or something and I'm Over There?"

Alexander scuffs his toe into the ground. "I think you can. Accidentally open them. But you don't have to go through if you do. Just don't go through any glowing portals into weird alternate dimensions. Or go crawling in wardrobes. Never ends well," he mutters. "And stay away from the carousel at the Park, and the abandoned mill out in the forest. Those are thin spots. Plus, um. They have angry Baxter spirits who will probably try to kill you."

"Oh. Well." Benedict is quiet for a long moment, before he grins. "Fine. Nothing I can't handle. I can totally fight a ghost. But just in case, I'll stay away. And definitely not go through any glowing portals. At least they're well signposted, sounds like. Not like getting Lost."

"You managed wolf gangsters well enough," Alexander admits, with a smile of his own. "Oh. And you can also shield yourself. Like...a force field. It won't stop a bullet, probably, but it helps provide a little extra protection. You can also put it over another person, but only one person at a time: yourself, or someone else. So if you end up Lost with someone who needs protection, or you need protection, you've got it."

"A force field. But probably not strong enough to stop a bullet." Benedict considers this for a moment, then laughs. "Let's maybe not test that one out. I think I can see a lot of ways for that test to go very wrong indeed, especially if we try and stop the bullet. But that is useful information to have."

"I don't use guns," Alexander says, promptly, and with a little brow-furrow of disapproval. "I could throw some things at you if you really want me to, but maybe we don't need to do that," he allows, his voice light and playful. "It's a holiday, after all, and we're friends. Not supposed to throw things at friends." He looks up as another collection of fireworks go off, and smiles. Then back to the other investigator. "Is there...something you would like to do? I'm sure we could find a party, if you wanted."

"Not a fan of them?" Benedict notes the disapproval, but his tone isn't pushy. Either Alexander will talk about it or he won't. There's an answering smile, and a shake of his head. "Nah. Not if you're going to be uncomfortable all night. No sense in that. Could always go grab some champagne and do the countdown on TV thing if you like."

Alexander shakes his head. "No. Not really. They--too many people depend on them. Think they make them badass. Escalate when they should retreat. Plus, physics." He lifts a finger. "Fire a bullet, you can't take it back. Not even the best psychokinetic in the Harbor can grab a bullet in flight, and I'm not a mover at all. Like what you wondered with the elves. Is this real? If you fired at them, were you gonna hit someone behind them?" He shakes his head. "I don't always know what's real and what's not. With a fist, or a knife, or even the lightning, I can control it as fast as I can think it. With a bullet, once it's out there, it's out of my control. That's terrifying."

He opens the door for Benedict, leans against the edge of it. "I have a TV. We could grab champagne and toast the new year." It's a small CRT television in the living room, but it does work. It even has an original Nintendo hooked up to it.

Benedict nods as he listens to the explanation. "That makes a lot of sense. Honestly, I was already pretty serious with my range time and I feel like I may need more of it now that I know all this stuff is out there. All these situations I could find myself in."

There's a smile and a nod of agreement. "Yeah, let's do that. That'll work just fine I think."