2022-01-13 - Weird Science

Snow has been steadily falling in Gray Harbor, and so even Elm looks somewhat lovely and stately, all covered in white fluff. Alexander's yard is mostly pristine - except that he's taken a corner of the front yard, and made a snow crime scene: A snowman fallen over, a 'knife' of sticks jutting from its chest, and two snowmen with carefully sculpted police hats standing on either side of it, looking puzzled and solemn. The late afternoon sun throws stark shadows over the yard and the 'crime scene'.

Inside, Alexander has tidied up the living room, and fed the cat and bird, covering Luigi's cage so the bird has a chance to recover from its latest ordeal. Bluebell seems well recovered, except for her tendency to be right underfoot. Alexander's also made a pot of coffee, and the smell of it mingles with the gentle scents of his indoor garden. He's dressed casually, in an oversized Nirvana t-shirt and jeans, his hair freshly washed and pushed untidily out of his face.

Shawn brings a BAG. It's full of every kind of metal thing imaginable that he can get a thin bendable sheet out of. Elm is just another adventure for him, and his Lexus looks VERY out of place when it arrives before the house. He pops out with the bag already over his shoulder. Much looking about happens before he strikes up to the doorway.

When it opens Shawn's got a grin on his face. "Nice crime scene - the snow-police look like they're way out of their depth. Where is the PI solving the case for them?"

Alexander checks before opening the door at the knock, and Bluebell retreats to the hallway, blue eyes wide as the PI opens the door. He grins at Shawn's opener. "Around the corner, making notes to ask the friendly ME." He waves the other inside, and - careful not to touch the other man - extends a hand to the bag. "Uh. Need some help with that? Did you empty a hardware store?" A look at the bag, then at Shawn, one eyebrow raised.

"Smart, smart..." Shawn replies, head bobbing. He's oblivious of the hand reaching for the bag and instead just thumps it right onto the ground. Kneeling it opens it up and begins pulling things out.

"Tinfoil, of course, some copper, gold leaf - I couldn't find any bigger sheets, but we can paint this onto something right?" What he pulls out are the small gold squares that one gets at a craft store, with glue and paintbrush "some steel sheeting, larger aluminum sheets if the foil isn't thick enough... Oh, and some metal cutters and pliers... I forgot gloves though. Do you have work gloves? "

He eyes the pile a little bit before glancing up - "Can you think of anything I might have forgotten?"

Alexander's hand hovers there for a moment as the bag goes thump, then he shrugs and goes with it. He peers curiously into the bag as Shawn reveals its enchanting contents, his smile widening into a grin. "You're very thorough," he says, with obvious approval. "I have work gloves in the garage. And safety glasses, if we're going to be cutting metal." The cat edges up close enough to sniff at the bag, but as things get pulled out, she skitters away again, deciding to supervise from the hallway. "As for forgotten...lead and silver, maybe. But this is a good start. You want coffee?"

"Oh man," Shawn says, brows furrowed as he considers where one can get silver and lead from. "I'll brainstorm that one. Maybe a bunch of pencils.... but that's graphite...." much thinking to still happen on that.

"Hey, is your cat okay?" Shawn makes little fingers snaps in the direction of the cat. Come baaccckkkk. "Oh - yeah. I'd love some!"

"Could maybe do some estate shopping. A silver platter, or something," Alexander muses. He glances at the cat. "She's okay. She was, uh, kidnapped not long ago, so she's a little wary about strangers right now. Give her a bit to get used to you." He stands up and goes to pour them both a coffee. "You want anything in yours? I have..." a thoughtful pause as he tries to figure out what coffee additives exist. "Milk. And sugar." He takes his black, so that's a simple pour. "What about you? You okay?"

"Good thought! Nah -" on the issue of the coffee, "I just take it black. I've worked the night shift for almost decade now and it's either attempting to wake up, or falling asleep. Anything beyond black means things I'm not waking up fully. The dead bodies don't mind when I cut them wrong, but the families..." He wiggles his hand back and forth. People have FEELINGS when their loved one comes out with a few more holes than they went in with. "Sorry about the cat. That has to be hard."

Shawn makes more finger wiggles at the cat before giving up and starting to stack the metals again. "So how does the mind-stuff really work?"

Alexander pours another cup of black coffee, and brings them back into the living room, setting them on the coffee table - appropriately enough. "It's best not to make people's grieving harder if you don't have to," he agrees, quietly. He settles crosslegged on the floor rather than on the couch, so he can study the various metals more closely. "It was hard. But they're home now, and that's good." A smile flickers to life on his face, before dying. Bluebell eyes the finger wiggles, and starts to ease her way into the room, moving to rub against Alexander's back, then ghost around, juuuuust out of Shawn's reach.

Alexander strokes her absently when she passes by him, but most of his attention is on Shawn. "Um. Biologically, I'm not sure. Yule did tests. Or tried to do tests. The blood of people who stand out doesn't seem to have any unusual markers compared to normal people. If it's hereditary, it's weird and recessive. For me, when I do it, it's just a matter of desire or focus. I used to do it subconsciously - I guess I'd want to know and so I did. But it wasn't under my conscious control, and the more...off kilter I got, the more I'd accidentally use it, and the worse things would get. I didn't really learn to control it until I left town and things quieted enough to be able to figure out. Before that, it was like," he thinks, "um. Flipping through channels constantly. Many are dead air, but a lot aren't, and it's hard to ignore when you're getting people's anger, or horniness, or fear constantly thrown in your face with no warning."

CATS being just out of reach. >:| NOT COOL BLUEBELL.

When the coffee is handed over Shawn moves from the floor onto the sofa, picking up the coffee to sip at him and listen to the explanation Alexander offers. "Huh... no genetic markers at all?" The doctor in Shawn wants to know more about THAT - except that his attention span switches as Alexander continues. "So are the channels people? You said it wasn't exactly mind reading? What do you get?"

"None that showed up in the tests that were reported," Alexander says, but the careful way he says that suggests there's a pretty big but hanging somewhere in what is unsaid. He elaborates a little by adding, "The Veil protects itself. We don't have that kind of lab here, so Yule had to send the samples out of town, and that...doesn't usually end well." He reaches out and plucks one of the sheets of gold leaf out of the pile, looking it over. "Yeah, the channels are people. And I get emotions. Not thoughts. But if they're powerful and focused enough, I can usually pick out some context - if someone hates, /who/ they hate. If someone's in fear of their life or afraid of being embarrassed. That sort of thing. But I can't get details from it in the way a true telepath would probably be able to. If someone has mental abilities, we can actually connect that way - share thoughts, emotions, images. But if they're not, then they can only receive, not project."

He smiles a little. "I get more from objects than people, ironically. With an object, I can get details, and pictures of the scene where the emotions were strongest." He plays with the sheet. "Um. I'd recommend, for testing, that I give you an emotion, and an illusion. Maybe some things might hinder one, but not the other?"

"That explains why I'm never able to get confirmation of what I've seen!" It's like a lighting bolt of inspiration strikes him before his expression falls, ".... and I probably still won't. Do you know how amazing it would be to wave in a former boss' face that what I saw WAS true?" Ugh, it sucks. "Emotion, not 'you are thinking about that one time when you...' got it." He slaps his hands together and looks at the gold leaf in Alexander's hands. "Alright - should we start with the gold leaf since you got it? I figure we could spread it on some newspaper."

"Right. I might get a complex set of emotions about whatever you're thinking of - and I can usually figure out if people are telling a lie, or if they're intent on harming me. But that's as far as it goes." Alexander gives a quick sigh. "And I cannot see the future." Then he grins, and stands up. "I'll get some." Alexander gets the local mainstream paper delivered, and several free papers that go from the 'obscure' to the 'completely unhinged', so it isn't hard to grab a few old ones from the office and set the stack up with the rest of the test materials.

While he's doing that, Bluebell sneaks a little closer to start sniffing Shawn's shoes, her blue eyes turned up to watch him as she makes her way up to the hem of his pants, then his leg proper. If he's evil, surely she shall sniff it out! ...or she's hoping for a treat. Either way, she's soon sitting within touching distance to make her inspection. Alexander smiles to see it, and starts peeling off gold leaf to carefully coat a sheet of newspaper. He's meticulous about it.

Which also means he's damn slow.

"Note, don't lie to you. Not that I intended to anyway, but." Still it's best to know that Alexander will KNOW if he does. "Man - good on that. I always liked the idea that every choice split into an alternate reality, you know? Just BAM - different threads happen." HE punctuates that with a punch into his fist.

Only after doing that does he realize that there's a cat at his feet and he shouldn't make sudden moves. Um. Oops. SORRY BLUEBELL.

Shawn is fine with the slow. It means he can try to wiggle his fingers at Bluebell again hopefully.

WIGGLE WIGGLE.

"I have to be tuning in," Alexander says, with a smile. "People lie to me all the time. Mostly I'm good at catching it, even without my abilities, but...sometimes I just don't argue with it." He watches as his fingers work, and Bluebell watches those wiggling fingers with a sort of haughty disdain. But, eventually, she leans forward to sniff each one, delicately--then indelicately as she just jams her nose on the tip of one, then pulls back, making an odd little face. Maybe she caught a whiff of disinfectant or other work smells. Still, Alexander himself smells like that more often than he should, so it doesn't send her running, and as Alexander finishes up the sheet, she finally begins rubbing her head on those fingers, signaling that Shawn is free to worship her and be added to her stable of servitors.

YES. Shawn is very happy to pet the cat (aka, worship). He's got a goofy look on his face at the fluffy head. It's a bit dwarfed in his larger hand. FULL HEAD PET.

"You said it was hard when you were a kid - to control it? Did you not have to tune in there, or how did that work?"

He wants to know EVERYTHING. "Oh, you missed a spot," he gestures at a corner. "... I wonder if this stuff is real gold. It wasn't super expensive."

Alexander reaches back for the sheet to look at it. "Mm. It says that it's genuine gold leaf. I do notice that they don't mention what degree of purity it is, though. So...I'd bet on 'technically real, but nobody's gonna steal it any time soon'." He flashes another smile, and goes about adding more leaf to the mixed spot. Even with the care he's taking, he's now got flakes of it pasted to his fingertips and finger nails. Meanwhile, Bluebell is in bliss, her purr audible as she leans into Shawn's large hand, eyes closed.

There's a furrow of Alexander's brow at the question. "I was tuning in, but I wasn't in control of the fact that I was tuning in. If that makes sense? It's like I was always on, because I was always afraid I needed to know. And the more I knew, the more scared I was, and the more convinced I was that I needed to know more to try and make myself safe. But...I was just a kid. I couldn't do shit about what I read. I tried. Tried to tell people, but they didn't believe me. So tried to gather evidence, prove the things I knew through ways that other people could understand." He smiles. "Mixed results. But, um, the important thing is that it's always an effort of will. I was unconsciously willing myself to be on all the time. When I left the Harbor, I forgot some things, and a lot of that fear eased, and I couldn't hear as well anyway. So I was able to recognize what I was doing, and turn it off and on. Instead of just being a...radar, I guess, constantly pinging off the bad shit in the world."

Shawn is the slave of this cat, his hand doing all the right things for the purring to continue.

"Huh...." Shawn says, about the story. "Mah - that must have led to a weird childhood. I'd be freaked out if a kid started talking in my head, or I felt different around them, or you know - always knew what I was feeling. Kids are simple - adults? We're complicated."

There's some empathy in his voice - even if Shawn can never really understand. "Hopefully it's pure enough for this. If it works I just won't feel?" Is that the right word, "Or see anything?"

"I got in a lot of fights," Alexander says, looking away. "If not for my dad being the football coach, I'd probably have been expelled. But, small town. People willing to bend the rules for him, because it wasn't his fault his kid was fucked up." He clears his throat, then nods. "Um. I figure I'll project sadness for the emotion, first. You're probably not feeling it now, and it's strong enough that you'll notice if you suddenly start - but it's not as, uh, unstable as anger or fear. I don't know how you react to those, so best not to use them."

Bluebell cozies up to Shawn, rubbing herself on his leg. Yup, this one is hers, now. At least while he's here. Alexander reaches over to offer the gold(?)-lined newspaper. "If it works, you shouldn't feel anything different than you do right now. If it doesn't...you'll know."

"Nah - no sadness." Shawn is perfectly happy as the cat twines around his leg. Yes. This is good cat. Just happiness. He has a friend and a cat and now a gold leaf hat. What ELSE could a medical examiner want?

Poor Bluebell doesn't get any more pets as Shawn takes up the gold(?)-lined newspaper. He twists it into a cone and with some tape - yes he did come prepared- he secures it into a nice dunce-cone for his head and plops it on his head in place of the felt that he typically wears upon his head.

Then he closes his eyes tightly... because somehow that's suppose to help? "Hit me!"

Alexander can't help but laugh a little when Shawn closes his eyes. But it's only a little, before he lifts his fingers to rub lightly against one temple. This sort of thing is, frighteningly enough, child's play for Alexander, and whatever mental defenses Shawn might think he has - and certainly the hat - do not stop him. Luckily, Alexander's also experienced enough that what Shawn feels isn't a crushing weight of sadness.

Instead, it's a sort of gentle melancholy that drains some of the color out of the world, as if he'd looked out the window and seen something that reminded him of a lost loved one whose passing he hadn't quite made peace with. It remains just long enough to be felt, and then Alexander removes it, allowing what remains of the happiness to return.

The emotion getting through is clear on Shawn's face. The excited face melts off and the corners turn downwards into his beard, lips almost disappearing into the enveloping hair. "Oh - oh man." Shawn says aloud while the emotion washes through him. When the emotion flickers away Shawn's eyes shoot open. "Woah... I was thinking about my grandfather." He shakes his head to try to shake off the feeling. "I haven't thought about him in a while. Geeze."

The gold foil hat gets pulled off and eyed. "Poor people are happy, gold isn't our savior. ALRIGHT. How about old trusty? Tinfoil? I've thought about lining my hat in this more than once."

This, thankfully, doesn't need to be adhered to anything. Shawn can rip off sheets and begins to press them about his head. No shame here.

Alexander looks down at his knees. "Um, sorry. I tried to keep it, uh, not bad. But sadness is different for everyone." He looks about ready to retreat and declare the experiment over, when Shawn recovers, and moves on to the next thing without hesitation. "Are...you sure? If you're not sure, then it's okay. What I do is pretty invasive. But this time we can try an illusion. I'll just project a thing to you, and there won't be any emotion to it, just sensory information." Bluebell realizes that she is not going to get anymore pets, gives Shawn, then Alexander, one last chin and body rub, then saunters out of the room, tail high.

She's planning her revenge, somewhere, for sure.

"What - are you kidding me?" Shawn says, pausing mid wrap, one hand holding tin foil to his head, and the other holding the other end a few inches away from his head. "This is awesome? I miss my grandfather, but he had a nice life. It's all good."

Shawn flashes a smile and begins pushing the tin foil on his head. He bends forward to show his whole head to Alexander. "Did I get it all?" He did - mostly. There's just a rapidly thinning spot on the back of his head that isn't covered. Hello budding bald spot.

"Awesome? Really?" Alexander stares in open surprise. Then turns red. "I...the last person who thought that was a long time ago. Or said it, I guess. To me." It's hard to shake whatever's touched Alexander at the easy acceptance Shawn has for his abilities, and he has to draw himself out of a little trance when Shawn shows his head. "Oh, um. Almost. Here." He carefully tears a tinfoil sheet, and settles it over the thinning spot, connecting it to the other bits while trying not to actually touch the other man's hair. "There. All covered."

He sits back, still a bit red. "Um. Okay. I won't tell you what I'm trying to project, but you should be able to pick it up pretty easily, and describe it." Should be able to. But although Alexander makes the same gesture, his fingers lightly rubbing at his head, his attention focused on Shawn...nothing seems to change. At least, not inside the house. Outside, although it's possible neither man notices, it seems to have gotten darker more quickly than the setting sun can account for.

Shawn believes in weirder things than a guy who can project his emotions onto others or make emotions. "Yeah - this rocks. How often do you get to meet someone who can do the stuff you do?! People are just sheep okay - they believe what's easiest most of the time." That is baldfaced honesty. His head pulls back up and he pats at the spot that Alexander just placed more tin foil.

Since it's an illusion he doesn't close his eyes but instead squints towards Alexander. "Did you do it yet?" He's not seeing anything, and nope - he doesn't notice anything getting darker outside. His focus is on what he should be seeing.

Alexander winces. "People aren't sheep, Shawn. Scared and overwhelmed, but not sheep." His fingers fall away from his temple, scratching at his scruff instead. "And yeah, I did." He seems...somewhat bewildered. "You should have seen something. Maybe...maybe the tinfoil actually works?" He brightens. "We should try again, with emotion--"

Hold that thought, boys, because there's a pounding at the door. A pounding that should have woken up the bird in his covered cage, but didn't. And somehow it became night outside. Alexander jumps to his feet, just as a voice booms, "Open up! Open up in the name of the Snowland PD!"

"I don't know - they see stuff but," Well. No need to ruin a friendship by arguing with the new friend about what people like. So he just shakes his head again and pats the tinfoil a little more firmly onto his head. "Let's try ----"

And blinking as Shawn turns towards the doorway. "Snowland? Isn't Gray Harbor PD the ones with jurisdiction?" He stands - because one should always stand when the police come knocking- right?

"Pretty sure there's no fucking place called Snowland, Shawn," Alexander mutters, not unkindly. He reaches over the table, past the other man and slides his hand under the couch to retrieve a very large, and very sharp, hunting knife. This, he twirls casually in his hand once, and says, "Stay down and quiet," before stalking to the door. He twitches the curtain on one of the front windows aside - he only meant to peek, but somehow the curtain slides open of its own free will, so both men can see the owner of the big, booming voice.

It's a snowman. In a police hat. It leans from where it was pounding against the door, and instead looks into the window with angry button eyes. "We see you criminals, hiding out in there! Come out with your hands up! You're both under arrest on suspicion of murder!"

"Woah, man!" Shawn says, hands coming up at the appearance of the KNIFE. Geeze Louise man! "It's the police! Or... something like the police...?"

Shawn may believe in most conspiracy theories but he is law abiding too! His hands shoot up at the direction given."I swear I didn't do anything!"

"It's not the police," Alexander says, staring at the snowman.

Whose button eyes narrow (by rotating in the snow until only their sides can be seen). "That's disrespecting an officer, son. And resisting arrest. Going to have to punish you." The stick arm brings up what looks like a VERY real gun, pointing it directly at the investigator. Alexander yelps and tries to slam the door, but only partially succeeds - instead of taking two the the chest, he takes one to the arm, and the second bullet whizzes past Shawn's head.

Worse, Alexander staggers back from the pain, and the snowcop surges forward. "Assault on an officer of the law! Penalty is death!" He starts firing almost at random through the room.

Shawn is a pretty big target for the bullets flying across the room. Even though he throws himself to the ground at the first sound of gunfire one still zips across his cheek and leaves a nice long hole there. "I SWEAR WE ARE INNOCENT!" Shawn yells, his face now pressed down into the carpet. "WHAT DO WE DO ALEXANDER?!"

"Retreat to the bedroom!" Alexander's arm is bleeding, hanging loose as he scrambles low across the room, pointing at the door. "Through there, on the left!" He shifts his knife to his good hand and tries to fend off the killer snowman. His swings knock aside the gun before it can blow another hole in either of the men, but the snowcop is /relentless/. It's a momentary stand off, while outside, there's the sound of distant sirens.

Retreat means crawl like a little baby right? Because that's exactly what Shawn will do as a smart follower. Once inside the bedroom doorway he does get to his feet and casts around for something to pick up and barricade the door with once Alexander retreats also. "Are you coming!?" Yelled down the hallway to Alexander."

"Right behind you," Alexander promises, breathlessly. But it's hard to get away from the snowman. He's forced to engage to keep from getting shot - until he finally decides fuck it and breaks away, diving for the hallway and hoping he doesn't get shot.

But it's Alexander, so hope is a sad thing. There's a shout of pain as Alexander takes another glancing bullet...right on the side of his ass. "I FUCKING HATE YOU," he screams back at the snowcop.

"Surrender and your death will be quick, criminal!" It's not a very productive conversation.

In Alexander's simple bedroom, there's a few things that might serve as barricades; the dresser seems MOST promising, as it's close to the door, and not incredibly heavy-looking, being cheap posterboard, for the most part. The walls are plain, aside from a framed needlepoint which says, in fancy embroidery, "Talk Murder To Me" over the bed.

Alexander crawls in behind Shawn, cursing viciously under his breath.

Shawn for JUST a moment considers darting out to rescue Alexander - but thankfully the investigator is able to get into the bedroom under his own not-so-graceful power. Shawn slams the door shut and then heaves at the dresser to put it in front of the doorway. He turns to stare at Alexander with wide eyes. "Shit - you've been shot."

Medical knowledge flicks though his brain before, "We need to stop that bleeding." Yes, that's what he settles for. Poor Alexander's pillowcase gets sacrificed to the cause as Shawn uses his teeth to make the first hole and rips it apart into strips. "What do they want?"

"It's not bad," Alexander says, with the unfortunate confidence that comes with having been shot when it has been bad. Still, he doesn't protest the sacrifice of his linens, and offers his arm. "You've also been shot," he points out as there's a thump against the door.

"Come out in the name of the law!"

"No," Alexander shouts back. The dresser shakes under a furious assault - but luckily, snowmen are only capable of SO MUCH physical power. He turns back to Shawn. "Fear. Pain. Suffering. And for us to use our abilities. They feed off of it." The curtains of the window begin flashing blue as the sirens of arriving police cars cycle up to a peak, then shut off.

"Snowland PD," shouts a voice over a bullhorn. "You are under arrest. Come out with your hands up!"

Shawn may prefer working on the dead, he IS still a fully certified doctor. So he is qualified at least to do some quick triage of Alexander's holes. A hand reaches upwards and he brushes at the blood on his cheek. "Right - but you have holes." It's important to treat the worst injuries first. That means Alexander.

While the snowcops press against the doorway Shawn goes to work on Alexander. "So - what do we do now? This is all because of you and our experiments right? So should we like.... throw tin foil at them?"

That makes some kind of sense to him. Maybe they'll explode when the metal touches them or something!

Alexander is one of those squirmy patients that no doubt affirm Shawn's preference for dead people. "They're not big holes," he assures the other man, then winces and flinches - as much from the touch as the pain. His eyes dart from the window to the door. There's an ominous shape outside the window, round and sinister. "It's...because I was using my abilities, probably. Yeah. It lights us up, makes us look tasty."

He does seriously consider the tin foil, but then shakes his head. "Don't think so. They're snowpeople, and snowpeople aren't usually vulnerable to tin foil. Um...shit." He looks around. "How do you feel about fire, Shawn?"

"Just stop moving," Shawn orders - doctor mode on. That blunt order is WHY he is better with dead people. With the rudimentary tools he has he manages to get Alexander more or less into a position of not gushing blood or risking shock.

"Uh - It's okay. I prefer to mend harm and not cause it but..." Shawn glances towards the doorway that is still being banged against, and another to the window. "Are you going to set them on fire? Can you do that? Out of no-where?"

Alexander does his best to go still at the order. It's not a very GOOD best, but he's trying; he still flinches with every bang on the door - and when there's a spate of gunfire from outside that shatters the bedroom window and peppers the wall with bullets. At the question, his eyebrows go up. "Depends on if you've got a match or lighter on you or something. I can boil water, but I'm not a big healer. The healing abilities are the ones with fire. I don't think electricity's gonna do a goddamned thing to snow."

More glass shatters as another snowcop thrusts its jolly, round face through the curtains and grins a coal-black grin. "You're coming with me!"

"Really?" Well, that opens up a considerable door of consideration as Shawn puts two and two together. Healer-y type = fire time... WEll. "OH! OH, you mean me?"

He looks down at his hands - still all bloody from his own and Alexander's wounds. He jumps backwards as the glass shatters and the snowcop pops in. "I don't know how to do that - how do I do that?"

Maybe not the best time for lessons. Trying to give himself something to do the uncovered pillow gets picked up and bodily thrown at the snowman.

Paff!

The pillow sails across the room, and smacks into the snowy face of the cop. "You're gonna pay for that, son," the cop tells him, sternly, in a voice that is far too deep to come out of a snowman. It grabs the pillow and throws it right back at Shawn, and he gets a pillow full of frozen snow love.

Meanwhile, Alexander is standing up, a bit wobbly with his wounded flank. "You just concentrate, usually." He looks around. "I don't keep booze in my bedroom. Or lighters. Maybe oughta start." He leans over the bed and yanks the top sheet off. "Here. If you can just get it started, maybe they'll be afraid of it."

That sound of authority in Snowcop's voice gives Shawn a pause - but only until the pillow hits him right back into the face. "Dude- cops aren't suppose to throw pillows!"

But right - concentrate. Ah, um, he closes his eyes and scrunches up his face as hard as he can. "Think hot thoughts - think hot thoughts- fire, flame, furnaces..."

And there is a TINY flame that starts at his finger. It's small - but it's there! Are the snowcops terrified yet?!

"I don't think there's a law against it," Alexander points out, quite seriously, even in the circumstances. He's tearing a piece of linen off, and winding it into a long strip. Otherwise, he doesn't interrupt Shawn, but just stares at him, hopefully.

And at the tiny flame, he goes, "Good!" He thrust the linen at the fire, and it starts to catch immediately. He lets it start to catch, then throws the flaming bundle at the snowcop at the window.

Bright side: it does recoil, yelling, "CONTRABAND! WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION! CODE RED CODE RED!"

Not so bright side: the panicked flailing knocks the flaming linen into the curtains. Which are also /admirably/ flammable. "Uh oh," Alexander says, as the room is filled with red light from the merrily burning curtains. "We maybe should take the barricade down and make a run for it."

Shawn cocks one eyelid open at Alexander's exclamation of "Good!" The loss of concentration means the little flicker-y fire at his fingers go out and instead he gapes at the flaming bundle that is slowly getting a whole lot bigger!

"Dude! We're burning down your house!!" That seems like the most important thing to say right now. But right right. Alexander is saying maybe they should unblock the doorway. "Alright. Got it. Unblock the door - ah ,what about the snowcop at the doorway with the gun?!"

Alexander grabs the end of the dresser with his good hand, and drags. "Depends," he tells Shawn with a sort of fatalistic grin. "You're the medical examiner, so you tell me: which hurts worse - gunshot or burning to death?"

His personal answer is pretty clear, since he's getting ready to yank the door open and try and tackle the snowman.

Right - okay.

Shawn isn't about to go out without something to smack Snowcop with though, and takes up one of Alexander's shoes and holds it up like a weapon. "LET'S GO!" In all the best shows the hero comes out yelling at the top of his lungs. So the second Alexander does that all 6'3" of Shawn's bulk come flying out of the doorway with the shoe being swung wildly in every direction.

Of course, his eyes are closed too. A good yell is always accompanied by closed eyes.

Whatever the gun-toting snowcop was expecting when Alexander yanks open the door...it wasn't that. It wasn't that AT ALL. Shawn barrels into the snowcop as he recoils from the yelling ME, and gets a face full of Alexander-shoe in the bargain. "That's assault, as--augh!"

That was the moment when the snowcop's head was knocked off and it falls over on its back, flailing around, trying to grab the head again. Alexander comes limping out behind Shawn, giving the head a solid kick from his good leg, and sending it bouncing towards the bathroom in a way that snow usually...doesn't. "There's a back door in the kitchen," he says, as the flames roar behind them.

Roar? Yes. It's like Alexander's house is made of paper mache. And the flames appear to be...chasing...them.

"AH YEAH!" Shawn exclaims when he realizes that he has done damage. Apparently getting shot at means that Shawn has lost some his intrinsic respect for the Snow PD. His momentum takes him most of the way down the hallway before Alexander's voice tell him that he should be going in the other direction. He stops and turns eyes opening. "Yeah! yeah! Doorway! Let's do it!" He's getting caught up in the moment right now and holds up his shoe again as the ultimate weapon against snowcops.

He turns about and makes for the kitchen. "Is your house made out of paper? It's not a great area of town. Wait - what about your cat?"

"Elm doesn't have great construction," Alexander mutters, with a worried look back at the fire. Then he blinks, shakes his head. "None of this is real, Shawn! It's not my house! We're Lost!" Then, realizing that may not be a helpful explanation, he just shouts, "Keep running!"

The flames are as fast as they are, devouring the wallpaper, leaping to the living room, choking the place in smoke and little strips of burning paper. Outside, there are a dozen voices screaming variations on "Terrorism! Clear the area! The Contraband is Loosed!" But there IS a kitchen, and there IS a door, and Shawn can reach it just before the flames do, with Alexander hot on his heels.

And when the two men open the door and tumble through? The cold is a smack in the face after the blistering heat of Alexander's house.

Which is no longer on fire.

And there are no more snowcops. Just a kid in the next yard, staring blankly at them. Shawn's Shoe of Justice is also gone from his hand, and Alexander's pillow bandage has vanished like it never existed, so they're both...leaking. Again.

Lost?! Wiat "Oh you told me about that! When the thingie comes and does the thing - " except maybe this isn't the time to really think about the proper names for what is happening right now. So Shawn puts his head down and runs out the doorway.

"What... what happened to my shoe?" Alexander's shoe. He spins in place before realizing that oh, the fire is gone. "Where are the snow cops? " He's not been in Gray Harbor long enough to realize this is a bad idea, "Kid - did you see the snowcops??"

"There ain't no cops around here," the kid says, flatly. "Lucky for you." He turns and runs back to his home to mention that Crazy Clayton is being Crazy again, this time with oversized friends.

Alexander groans and leans against the wall. "He didn't see them," he says, unhelpfully. "Nobody who isn't in a Dream sees what happens in a Dream, and you can't take anything out unless you have certain abilities."

The important thing SHOULD be that Alexander is leaking blood from his gunshots. but the thing that gets Shawn's attention first is the fact that the house right there WAS on fire, and now it's not, as well as the snowcops DID have guns and... he goes around the house to make sure that the crime scene up front is still as it was. And yep, it is.

"What is WILD. Does that stuff happen to you often? Just BAM, and you've got yourself all lost and what not? I mean, there's been the occasional incident in the office, but I figured it was the dead bodies triggering it."

Alexander follows Shawn as he goes around the house, limping a bit but otherwise continuing to move. He also seems relieved to see the snow murder scene hasn't changed. "Yes," he says, with a shrug. "Lots. Sometimes it's really scary. Sometimes it's...snowcops." He sighs. "But even the silly Dreams can kill you. If you're not careful." His brow furrows as he studies Shawn. "I have a first aid kit inside. You're injured."

"Snowcops that shoot - dude you're still shot!" Shawn exclaims upon turning and realizing that Alexander is still bleeding. "You need more than a first aid kit, you need a hospital." Quickly he starts patting himself down for the keys to his car and pulls them out from a pocket.

"I'd sew you back together myself but I don't have any of the proper tools."

"They're only grazes," Alexander insists with a grimace. Clearly, the idea of a hospital isn't something he views with enthusiasm. He starts limping back towards the back door. "And you're hit, too. At least let me disinfect that," he mutters back to the other man, apparently forgetting that one of them is a doctor and knows what he's talking about, and it's not Alexander.

"I'm the doctor!" Shawn says as he trails after Alexander into the doorway. "At least let me try to wrap that up and see if there are any bits still stuck in there. It'll hurt like heck without any anesthesia though."

"Yes, but you work on dead people," Alexander points out, and the smile in his voice can be /heard/ even with him facing away from Shawn. "Doesn't set a great precedent, if you ask me." Then he turns in the kitchen, and nods. "Yes. Would be helpful. Thank you, Shawn. I'm sorry that things went...sideways. Interesting data, though. The tin foil."

"Alive people get all opinionated. Apparently the sick and dying don't want to hear that their government might be behind their illness." Terrible bedside manner. Surely at some point Shawn did learn to NOT share his theories with patients to make it though medical school but that's an impression that, ah, doesn't go away once made on one's teachers.

"I can patch you up though." Especially if Alexander doesn't mind Shawn's crazy talk. He goes to the kitchen and riffles about for the first aid kid and brings it out, the top up and going through it. "You even have the right things for wounds. Do you get this injured this often?"

Alexander props himself into a corner of the kitchen where he doesn't bleed on anything too terribly difficult to clean. He doesn't seem to mind Shawn rifling through his space, although his dark eyes track the man from place to place. He smiles. "I like you," he says, after thinking about it for a moment. Then adds a nod. Yes. This is good. "Thank you. And yeah. I get Lost a lot. When you're on your own it's...it can get pretty rough," he admits, quietly. It is a /very/ well appointed medical kit. "Are you okay?"

Shawn isn't a terrible doctor, but there's no getting around the fact that some of Alexander's clothing IS going to get cut off. He's also not nearly as gentle as a doctor one would find in an actual hospital. His usual patients don't complain about him being too touch.

"Hum? Oh - yeah. It's not every day the snow police show up and decide I'm in cahoots with a murderer." Because HE surely didn't kill anyone! It must be Alexander who was actually accused. He bends his head down to take care of the wounds. "You should've mentioned that you'd be in danger doing the mind stuff. My curiosity shouldn't get you into danger."

"Hey, I didn't murder anyone," Alexander says, with a grimace. He doesn't seem to mind the destruction of his clothing - it's not like the blood's coming out of that fabric. The revealed skin has its fair share of scars that back up his explanation that he gets lost a lot. He flinches whenever Shawn's fingers brush his skin, his jaw tightening with the effort to not retreat.

"Don't worry about it. I would be in danger anyway, and at least this was fun." He offers a quick smile. "Thanks." Then, "Ouch!"

Even as focused on his cleaning - and then patching up, Shawn notices the flinching. He gets it done as quickly as he can and then steps back. "You'll have to lay on your stomach so I can get to the other one. Do you have a pain condition like Tactile allodynia?" Hello the ability to google random stuff to pretend to be a doctor on a Mu. "Should I be doing something more to mitigate the pain? You're lacking in that area - not even morphine."

Alexander shakes his head, even as he moves into the living room so that he can lay on the coffee table. "No pain condition. Phobic. I'm not...touching people, or being touched, can be hard. It's fine; there's nothing you can do." He smiles a little. "It's better than it used to be, honestly. And the pain is fine." It's not fine; he's sweating and a muscle in his jaw jumps every time he has to grit his teeth against something, but he's doing his best to PRETEND to be stoic.

"And I don't like drugs. Um. Not just because I don't need help thinking off-kilter, but also because--you don't want to end up Lost while drunk or high. It's a bad time."

Shawn opens his mouth to say that Alexander is welcome to go lay on the couch too - but then closes it because clean up WILL be easier on the table. He doesn't follow right away as the sound of running water begins and Shawn uses half of Alexander's soap to get rid of what is on his hands. He probably did this before the last wound too - there's no reason to not be as clean as possible.

"There are locals I can suggest - or probably just get for you. Fewer questions. Numb the area so you can't feel it without getting all dozy headed." Wherever Shawn will get them from is probably mostly legal. "Then you won't even know when the doctor is touching you."

Like he will now as Shawn just dives right into it. No reason to leave things like they are. This time he does do some concentrating, like he did before with the fire, staring at the place where the gun got Alexander in the butt.

"I...that might be helpful. I don't know if I like getting numbed," Alexander admits, then adds, "but this fucking hurts." Then he lets out a rusty, pained sort of laugh. Luckily, the bullet wound on his butt is mostly a graze where it glanced off his flank as Alexander dove to get away from the snowcop. Bloody, especially with the running and limping he'd done on it, but easily cleaned, and not likely to cause anything but pain if he doesn't go to the hospital.

Assuming Shawn isn't trying to set Alexander's ass on fire, he can definitely feel the damage about the wound, and the body trying to repair it. He can also feel how to...nudge it along, just a little. No miraculous recovery, but he can make sure it won't get infected, and encourage it to knit itself more cleanly than it might otherwise have done.

"Good thing about locals - if you won't feel it beside a little pinch at the start." Shawn replies to Alexander's uncertainty about the pain killer. Then Shawn is back to frowning and focusing on the wound. He isn't quite sure if it's working, but the bleeding ends more quickly than it might have otherwise, so that's always good. The wound gets packed and then bandaged up.

Sitting back Shawn eyes the bandage critically. "You'll want to change that daily, and avoid showering right on the wounds. " The other scars get taken in - "But I'm going to assume you've had this talk before."

Back into the kitchen again - more hand-washing. "I'll get you some better gloves too, and a stronger antiseptic."

Once the wound is dressed and Shawn stands up, Alexander gingerly moves to stand up as well. "Um. Yeah." His smile is a bit sheepish. "My mom was a nurse at the hospital until she retired, and I've been patching myself up for years. But," he points at Shawn's face, "you need someone to help with that? I promise I won't horribly scarify your face or anything." A pause. "Probably."

"Helpful - if you're going to get hurt often." Shawn replies, coming back with one of Alexander's wash cloths drying his hands. He looks very very goofy as he tires to look downwards and see his own cheek where the blood is still seeping slowly. "It's just a scratch, but sure." He sits himself down and presents a cheek. Unlike Alexander, there's no touch problems there.

Alexander is not a doctor. But he'd make a damn good field medic, if the apocalypse happens - possibly because he has been patching himself up for a long time. And he knows his way around his kit. He washes and dries his hands before picking through things, and (after taking a deep breath to steady himself for touching Shawn) sets to patching up the man's cheek. "Head wound. Don't want to scar. Unless you like the scarred and mysterious look," he adds, with a flash of a grin. He has to reach up to work on it, and he's not gentle - much like Shawn, he's not used to working on someone who might complain.

Shawn grits his teeth before taking in a nice deep breath and RELAXING. Tensing up is only going to make it hurt more. Right. Okay. It's fine. Then he stays nice and quiet for Alexander to do his think. Thankfully - it doesn't require even the butterfly strips. Just a good cleaning.

When Alexander is done Shawn opens up one eye at a time. "Nah - that's what the beard is for, right?" He reaches upwards and pats just above the hairline where the bullet grazed. "Thanks. This was awesome - scary - but awesome. AND I know now to put tin foil in all my hats. Do you want one?"

"But isn't it an additive property? Beard PLUS scar equals even more mysterious and brooding?" Alexander finishes up, and goes to wash his own hands in the sink, while casting a thoughtful look at Shawn. "But it's hard to imagine you brooding. Or doing that evil crazy laugh thing that also goes well with scars. So. Better to avoid." He looks more than a little surprised at the awesome, but laughs, and ducks his head. "Uh. Glad you enjoyed snowcops trying to murder us, then. And...yeah. Further testing required, so if you have some to spare. I don't usually wear hats. But it's for science."

Shawn claps his hands together and rubs them. He is ALMOST ready to suggest more testing, but then catches sight of the time on his watch. Between their hat testing and getting Lost time has ~flown~ "Oh - man. I should get home though. Do you mind if I leave that all here? Or do you want to come over to my place next time?"

That's a pathetic puppy-face. Shawn doesn't often have friends come over for a play date.

Alexander's smile is immediate and unreserved, a bright wash of sunshine over his usual gloomy features. "Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don't mind you leaving it here, or going over to your place. Whatever is most comfortable for you. I hope we can do it again, soon." A sheepish pause. "Maybe once we're healed. No point compounding injuries."

Awww, well. It is responsible to do things ~later~ so that's exactly what Shawn will agree to.

Also Alexander will get a box delivered in a day or two. A nice felt cowboy hat with the satin inside carefully cut out, layered in tin foil and then sewn back in place.

Who DOESN'T need a tin-foil hat in disguise?