hear me, you damned souls—

"what, am i just supposed to pretend like you didn't enjoy shutting me up?" he asks, brow arched. at least he's using the right name this time. that may smooth over any sharp edges dante's brushed against, but it doesn't make him any more bearable. offering merely a shrug on the topic of what uses he has, he sidesteps personal satisfaction to laugh at his next guess. "god, you think i'm a burglar?" there's a moment of internal debate on if he should let him keep going or just put him out of his misery... which even in the span of only a few seconds ends in a violent war. "i'm going shopping for a party later. is that really so hard to guess?"

"Honestly, I didn't think you were the party planning social sort. If anything, you'd be the type to crash a party," he says, rolling his eyes at the statement. "But your... sparkling personality is probably something I've missed. Or have you got that tucked in your back pocket?"

"why, doctor hernandez, aren't we being familiar today?" faint note of surprise, light lilt as if pleased… really, by the man's usual grumpy standards, he was practically showering her in adoration. how nice. how suspicious. "can't a girl just check in? it really is a shame if you don't have that in your life, but! never fear, i've been baking again." yes, with his little recommendation taking into account. "but it sounds like you've been having far more interesting a time. i didn't realize candles could be toxic unless you ate them… maybe that's why incense gives me a headache."

"Different sort of candle—something involving poison, but I don't have time to get into it right now." There's ink stains on his hands for calculations and forensics for any type of poison that acts in a similar manner when diffused. It's toxicology and physics and God knows what else—a storm of things that seem to push his brain a little further than car accidents. "I appreciate the, ah, I'm sorry what exactly did you bring? I've been at it for a shift and a half, and I'd appreciate the run-down Miss Blume." There's an apologetic smile across his face, though perhaps it was his brain telling him to slow down for a moment, a plea where only coffee ears it any reprieve.

"Wait, what?" Setting his wine glass down, Linus frowned like he hadn't heard Barry right. "What do you mean - Who stabbed him? How has he kept that quiet?" Bless having money and being able to get people to sign a nondisclosure, but Linus didn't understand how word hadn't gotten out. He also didn't understand the idea of Niko in the hospital. He didn't get stabbed, and if he did, surely he got right back up like Michael Myers, a persistent threat that kept coming and did the most of the stabbing.

He looks at the space, letting him stew in the questions for a bit, silently judging decor and appliance alike before continuing. "One: yes, the man was stabbed. Two: I don't know, he won't tell me. Three: hospital's discreet, at least. Honestly, I epxect some fucking gossip rag to start reporting on it any fucking day now." He sighs and shakes his head, shooting the rest of his whiskey as he tries to formulate a sentence carefully. Enough to satisfy Leon's pride and feed Linus' ego. "To be frank, being a messenger boy for a tip isn't something I came here for, Linus. There's something I want from you, and I think you'll be pleased with the request."

"Just give me the cash, they won't know." Trying to pin down the interests of her toddler was a difficult question; their favorite toys changed like the weather. "Right now, they like blocks and Cars, and by then it could be anything." A month ago, it was the beach ball being thrown around every day, now it was Lightening McQueen himself flying through the living room. "But it's next year they'll really understand, so you have a while to learn how to be 'Uncle Barry' if that's what you're looking for."

"Fine. Buy the kid a toy or a binkie or whatever," he says, fishing out two hundred from his wallet. Thank you accounting—company finances can be boring, but does the paycheck help? Definitely. "And Uncle Barry? Really. Not that I can't be persuaded to, but it's a little bit of an ego boost to think I'm uncle material. Mostly, I'm more 'Mom's friend' but that's on me."

Her eyes snap to his, holding him in place while she comes to terms with what he's implying; he knows something about the Estate involving mold already. Why would he think she was arguing with Nic about this? After a moment, she blinks and answers flatly. "It's not." For once, this was her own problem; a patch had formed behind the washing machine in her apartment and the landlord was refusing responsibility. "Is there a reason why I would need this for him?"

"Honestly, between the gator pond and the contractors I helped send in, I must've assumed the worst." Dante matches her flat tone, able to play chicken like the best of them. Never let 'em see you sweat. "The house is old, and I half-expect it to blow into dust one of these days, but that's just the cynicism talking, Ms. Vergara. Sorry for the alarm, I thought—well, common point of conversation and all. It doesn't matter, I think."

"I never hear from him unless he wants to insult me." Linus admittedly flatly as he sat the bottle of scotch down next to the wine, bracing himself against the counter. He didn't see any need in pretending to be a nice, happy family to Barry, who likely knew Niko's distaste for him more clearly than Linus himself. "Seem like you could use a stronger option. So what is it now? Does he want to sue me for defamation or something?"

"No, no. Nothing like that, Linus." He gestures with his glass, the liquid sloshing around as he all but feels the warmth it brings him. "Leon went to the hospital. Stab attack. You hear about that, or have the paps not caught up with local events yet?"

Then, curiously, the conversation takes an interesting turn. John figures that it's only natural, that this is how old friends catch up... first you talk about what they do, then you talk about what you do, even if Dante has no idea the line he's toeing. He eases back into the booth with a bit of a slump, decides to test the waters. "A cult, huh." John nods slowly, thoughtfully. "How'd you come up with something like that? You see a character in sunglasses and a bad hairpiece?"

He counts off on his fingers, one by one. "One: complex outside the limits where members are isolated. Two: high security and secrecy among members to the point of mythology. Three: it's a small town, and honestly—gossip works. Sometimes." It's easy, and while he has his misgivings, there's an eerieness that lets him keep a firearm within a holster whenever he's not on call. "Not my fucking business, though. I'll let shit slide until I can't."

"Still a gentleman," Gim says with a laugh as he climbs in, nodding. "Works for me. Surprise me." Although it's hard to surprise someone that's been living in the same place for over thirty years and while Gim knows the place they eventually pull up to, that doesn't make it a bad choice. "This place has some of the best breadsticks around. Well, not sure if it's the bread as much as the dipping sauce, that olive oil with all the butter and garlic. Might not be the healthiest thing in the world, but indulging is good for the soul."

As they pull up, Dante smiles as the other man talks about the breadsticks and the olive oil—he'd come here many a time right before a long night in the hospital, and while he can't externalize it, he's happy that Gim has good taste. "I'd call it medically required. Though, I'll just give you that perscription, if you're hankering for it." Parking smoothly, he puts it in park as he tries to snatch glances of the man in the corner of his vision. As an excuse. As if he was back in high school. "You want me to open the door for you again, Gim? Least I can do on a lunch date."

leon just rolls his eyes. he knows full well that barry can be charming, but that there's no way in hell he's using it for the right reasons. "do whatever you want," he grumbles, refusing to play his game. he doesn't have the twenty to spare, anyway. there's a reason they're still living together, as miserable as it is. at one point, it would have comforted him that barry stayed with him. now, all it does is make him prone to scowling. he can still remember his father's voice, even if it hurts. if he keeps doing it, his face will stick. he's beginning to think the old man was right. "no," he answers curtly. "now shut up, i'm trying to watch this."

He fixes his coat and sighs, debating whether or not to go to Linus to spite Leon—though he wonders if doing it now would benefit either of them. Does he care about Leon this much? Does he care about this situation? Barry looks at Leon and his gaze lingers, looking at him with a mixture of anger, affection and pity. The wounded animal of a husband on his couch. "I'll stay, if only to piss you the fuck off," he says, rolling his eyes and stealing chips. "And talk, darling. Unless you tell me to go."

"if i was good all the time you'd have nothing to look forward to," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. he has no intention of letting dante have even an inch of ground, despite all the inches he's shoved into him. doesn't matter. if he wants obedience, he'll have to be more imaginative than that. or more sexy. whichever. "but if you were, it'd be your loss. you seemed pretty satisfied with yourself at the time."

"Making a lot of assumptions there, Max." Truth be told, the back-and-forth was something of a brain cleanser. Something to shake him back to reality and ground him where he stood. Max was a gunshot wound to the bleariness of gore that was his nights and days, as refreshing as being drowned in Alaska. "Maybe the satisfaction only gets you so far—mouth's more useful doing something else. And you still haven't told me where you're going. You gonna go to Jonestown out by the town's borders or something? Burglarize Verdant Hills or something? Damn."

"No. Just a transplant, like you. Used to travel for work," he says, checking the rearview mirror as he he drives off. His migraines at least, were cooperating with him, his tone steady and even. "How 'bout you then, why come to Antioch? I just wanted somewhere to chill out and collect a paycheck. You seem like the kinda guy that should be in Loch Ness or something."

"This feels backwards. Aren't I usually the one showing up at your doorstep?" Linus drawled before taking a few steps backwards and letting the door swing open, moving his arms wide to wordlessly invite Barry in. "Has Niko deigned send me a message, does he have you playing errand boy for him?" Another step backwards, spin, and straight to the kitchen because he just assumed any conversation with Barry was going to result in a need for wine. There was probably something stronger that he could offer and he would, never let it be said he didn't know how to host and if Barry was an invited guest, maybe he would try harder at it. "You don't really seem the messenger boy type, you know."

Leaning forward against the counter, Barry continues. "You hear from your brother lately, or is movie press keeping you busy?"

it really was as if everything always came back to his family. “ hi, barry, ” the youngest greeted him with a minimal bow of his head. he was never quite sure how to act around niko—leon's husband ... what a mess, all of it was. averting his gaze, he tapped away at the screen. “ single or double espresso ? ”

There's always an awkard tension with him—not like Linus or Leon, both of whom have Barry keen to test out his claws, but Jae at least was a nice man, and that always set his teeth on edge. Nice people always did. It never used to, but there was always time for habit forming. "Triple it." A pause lingers between them—how the fuck does he address Jae of all people? "Seems slow. What, no siblings bothering you this time?"

moron. leon bristles, but he doesn't bite. he doesn't have the strength in him right now. this spat alone has sapped most of it... to say nothing of the knife wound still sunk into his side. "you think linus is going to listen to you?" he snorts, shaking his head and sinking back against his mattress. the things he puts up with. in prison at least he wouldn't have been subjected to barry's attitude. insults, sure. but it means less coming from sweaty prison guards. more than anything he doesn't do, leon hates what he does. why does he have to know his favorite movie? why does he have to know what would comfort him in moments of peril? "...you mean you can't get me both?"

What a diva. Disappearing for a second to grab some chips and turn on the TV so that Bravo play in the background of their conversation, Barry simply sits. Lounges, even, as he relaxes into a chair. "Don't say I don't do shit for you now, dollface. Can I expect some quid pro quo for my top-notch nursing?"

There's a heart beating in between his ribs, and a small smile at least graces his face as Becky talks about her whole... situation. He shouldn't preach, but hypocrisy is given to both friends and enemies. "What's the kid like again? I swear to God, half the time I'm tempted to give a toddler cash before forgetting that they don't like the stuff."

"Sorry, bud. You're shit out of luck—if you want the creature feature tour, I'm not your man. Watering holes and food? I've got you covered." It's not a bad thing to know in town, and at least he has an amazing repertoire of places that deliver late, just for those times he needs to be in the hospital at all. Leading him to a car fit for a doctor, pristine and shiny, Dante waves at it with a mock flourish. "Last chance to get off the ride, Maharth. It's a drive to the diner—and I'm in the mood for the blueberry pie."