#l.threads

[containatrocity]

"Can I help you?" It's not asked like a question, more like the person standing nearby is an inconvenience than anything. He barely looks up from his copy of the paper, mechanical fingers stirring milk and sugar into a cup of steaming coffee sat on the bar beside him. "Ah- don't talk." A finger of flesh and bone stops any possible answer, long enough for the man to take a long swallow of coffee, brown eyes closing for a moment, before they cross arms over their chest. "Alright, now you're free to say something potentially annoying, at least until I get tired of you." Anybody who's been here a while knows that's just how Lex is- describing him as a 'miser' is a disservice to all other misers- he's just kind of a dick. "It's on me for thinking I could have a cup of coffee in peace, really. So, what do you need?"

[containatrocity]

"Well it either means that person is confused, or you simply look like they interpret a father to be and they're using 'DILF' as a catch-all for an attractive older man." Lex reasons, as Jude apologizes for dragging him into his struggle with context. "While the jury is out on if I'm... cool or not, I am clearly at least a little more in touch with the sort of person who's referring to an abject stranger as a DILF- so I had a use, at minimum." He hums, exhaling smoke from his nose. "Lex." They introduce flatly. "You're new here, yes? I make it a point to at least know everyone in town enough to know if they require psychological aid, and you... well, I don't have a profile on you."

brows knit into a furrow, face scrunching up at the revelation, still not sure if it was intended to be a compliment, "well . . . i'm not a father so what does that mean then?" cheeks heat up at the once over and comment. again, not SURE if that was a compliment either. "completely unprompted. though i do see your point . . . i didn't mean to drag you into this. " jude said with a chuckle, shaking his head, " i just thought you might know. you seem cool. "

[sandeep2363]

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[containatrocity]

Much like any other event they tend to put on in town, Lex's attendance seems largely... begrudging, preferring to be little more than an observer- it's easier to deal with the constant death if he regarded most everyone as a case study, and this little... art fair was no exception. The people of Huntsville were closer to an ant farm than people of their own in his eyes- and it was easier to be divorced from it- it hadn't stopped him from combing the booths, though, as 'separated' as he wanted to remain, it was always nice to spice up the way things looked at home, if anything. He's looking at a painting of the strange constellations that dot the sky above at one of the booths when he notices someone stood alongside him- glancing slightly to see who it might be.

"Ah. Miss Abbott." They've not met- but Lex is aware of her, as he is, once again, with everyone. She'd assumed herself crazy for a time, before the portals dotting town became common knowledge- he can't imagine being proven right was much of a salve on her suffering. "My apologies, am I in your way?" They question, lifting the prosthetic of their arm to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "I was... simply taking in this painting- it isn't so jarring when it's just something I've barely seen through the windows. this just feels... off." in a way that's oddly... appealing.

@odette-abbott

[containatrocity]

It is a rare, peaceful day, with no clients, and no urge to wander to the diner. It is a quiet, average day in Huntsville and the kind that typically, Lex uses to read up on his knowledge as a therapist, to wonder how many advancements have been made in medicine, in criminal rehabilitation in the time since he's been trapped in a place out of time. Yes, that's usually what days like this are for. His arm sits plugged into the wall, charging, and his flesh and bone one grips a cup of hot coffee, sipping absently, as he weaves around Baguette scampering at his feet. He's debating what he might pull off the shelf, when a knock at the front door sends the dog barking and racing for it to greet the newcomer, his whole body wagging with glee.

"Baguette, calm yourself, you're being ridiculous." muttered albeit fondly, in french, as he nudges the dog back with one slipper-clad foot. "I'm sorry I'm not taking any cli-" He stops short in his insistence that he's closed when he realizes exactly who's stood on the front step- he nearly drops his coffee in shock. "Ah- Papa? what- why are you here?" The thought that perhaps Jean came looking for him has yet to occur- three years feels shorter and infinitely long, trapped here alone.

@drjeanmoreau

[containatrocity]

"Sometimes, I prefer to offer only half the truth to see if someone is willing to come forth with all of it, you know." He offers with a slight smirk. "Good to know you're fleshing out the roster of poor unfortunate souls." He eats slowly, absently, as she traces the rim of his coffee cup with a finger. "And my concern is that given your codependency, one of you dying or suffering grievous injury would snap the tether- causing the other to become far worse. Your pathologies are shared between the two of you, without two sides, the scales will tip or break altogether- I'd much prefer to be aware if that happens." He chuckles, shaking his head. "My regards are troubling even here, Penny- if I'm sending you my best you're likely overdue a session..."

She questions if he'd been spared, and he holds his prosthetic up, wiggling fingers absently. "Still only down one limb. I had a few scrapes and bruises, fell down when it hit on my way home from walking Baguette. Scratched the plastic on my palm, and tore up my favorite sweatpants, but given that some of the other options were broken limbs and death... I'll take this as 'unscathed.' I didn't partake in the... festivities." He rolls his eyes. "Rather juvenile with a killer on the loose to throw a party..."

Penny flashed him an enigmatic smile but otherwise elected to neither confirm nor deny their assessment of her. She never had, and she never would, and she knew that he didn't need her to—that was the whole point of keeping Lex around. The thrill of being seen, of being studied for her every move, was enough to keep their dynamic from stagnating into the stale boredom that so many of her flings eventually did. "Who says I've only got one new toy in my roster?" she asked, keeping her eyes on them even as the additional cup of coffee was ordered, prepared, and arrived with his food. "Your lack of faith in my ability to attract as many distractions as I want is insulting, Doctor."

Pausing for dramatic effect, she tilted her head to the side as she slowly ran her finger along the rim of the coffee cup. "It'll take more than the ground opening up to take either of us down, darling," Penny replied, the stitches in her shoulder a reminder that in spite of her words, she had not gone entirely unharmed in the earthquake that had shaken the town. She lifted the coffee cup to her lips and had a tentative sip. "But your concern for my beloved is noted and appreciated. I'll make sure to let Bastián know that you send your regards. I take it you were also spared from the mayhem?"

[containatrocity]

THE CANARY: KERRY "LEX" COLEMAN

So long live the car crash hearts, cry on the couch all the poets come to life- Fix me in forty-five.

"Doctor Kerry Aleksandre Coleman. Though most people call me Lex or Doc. I'm 35 years old, and while I was born in Montpellier, France, I studied psychology and law in New York City where I would quickly make a name for myself as a capable criminal psychologist in several high-profile cases. At least, I had until three years ago when the long-distance trip I was making to testify in a case took a wrong turn and stranded me in Huntsville. The night of my arrival took several things from me, including my pregnant wife and any hope I had of leaving this place ever again. While I do not fall victim to many vices, I've been described as a harsh, apathetic man who largely cares only for results. Suppose that's good news though, given I've been one of the town's only practicing psychiatric health professionals since 2020."

Name: Dr. Kerry Aleksandre Coleman

Aliases: Lex, Canary, Shrinky Dink, Doc, Ker-bear

Age: 35 (December 31st)

Sexuality/Gender: Bisexual Demiromantic Cis (?) Man he/they

Personality: Lex is a hard man to love. Apathetic, harsh, and short in temper, his tendency to tell people what they need to know but don't want to hear has made him little more than a necessary evil to the people of Huntsville. He is good at his work, sessions with him regularly setting heads back into place on shoulders in a place where it's easy to spiral. A logical, intelligent sort, it's easy to forget he's human, sometimes, speaking in large words and difficult terms when he's in 'work mode' and unwilling, truly, to let that part of him slip, he is sardonic even beneath it, blessed with a cutting wit and a head like a steel trap, mentally sound- but wounded, nonetheless, a grief looms below the surface- he suffocates it under other people's problems and the promise that someday he'll die too.

Occupation: Criminal Psychologist, currently serving as a psychotherapist in Huntsville for the... hard cases.

Affiliations: Mostly just police departments outside of Huntsville, and various reporters who use him as a source.

Scent Profile: Something expensive and musky, used sparingly as he's been stuck here for some time. The cloying smell of oil used to ensure the joints in his hand function correctly, cigar smoke, biting and sharp, flowing with sandalwood and real, rich leather. Sweet mint on teeth and tongue, fresh and bright to mask nicotine and coffee.

Aesthetic: A perfectly pressed suit and a cup of to-go coffee from the corner shop- a stop in your favorite bodega, for something bad for you from the heated cabinets. An analog watch on the wrist of a prosthetic arm, set perfectly to the second- time is money and he won't waste a dime. Man's best friend with a leather collar hand-stamped with his name, fluffy white hairs clinging to clothes betraying a harsh demeanor with something soft. Metal on metal, glass floating in the air- the screech of tires, the smell of gasoline and the whole of your world ending, right in front of you- rising to your feet and dusting off- you were not raised to quit.

The only thing I haven't done yet is die- And it's me and my plus one at the afterlife.

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST ARRIVAL

Regarded largely as a necessary evil in town, Lex hasn't made many friends in Huntsville in his 3 years there since the car accident that inadvertently saved his life and ended three others. He is a capable doctor, with a vested interest in improving the lives of the people who come to see him, even those most others would deem hopeless, but it's at a professional distance, not friends to be helped or people to be cured, but case studies to be completed, something to sign, seal, and deliver to the desk of the next person tasked with their existence. He can't do much for some people- certain disorders would mitigate with medicine, others are tied to the town itself, but therapy sessions are oddly gentle, albeit blunt, when helping people is all he has left, it's become his entire existence, jaded and cold as he may be. He spends much of his time in the diner, drinking coffee and going over patient files, or simply people-watching, with Baguette the corgi set obediently beside his feet, the only other survivor of his arrival- the dog he 'didn't want.'

His habit of sleeping with the 'exceptionally hard cases' isn't common knowledge, but it's whispered- those he can't seek to fix in a 45 minute session, with a similar arms-length approach to others invited as temporary salvo on the ache in his heart and mind, his whole life was ripped away upon arriving, craving physical intimacy and emotional distance with the ability to read people well enough to find those just broken enough to provide. He's made his home and office in a small townhouse in the middle of Huntsville, living above his place of work, "Dr. Kerry A. Coleman Psy. D." on a front window in careful penmanship, his office hours in similar gold strict and unwavering, as are most things about Lex.

[containatrocity]

Lex hates people. While there's a handful of exceptions he can make- he tolerates Sam fine, and even some of his patients he's come to enjoy the company of enough not to chase them off immediately after a session (an impressive development, all things considered)- the point remains that most other people are little more than a case study in the eyes of a man who's only known the worst of the worst and the darkest parts of the mind. Lex hates people. Baguette, however, has missed the memo. The corgi is barely taller than the snow piled up around everyone's feet, trudging through it and straining at the end of his lead to sniff and paw at strangers, rolling over to show his belly even at the prospect of sitting up covered in snow.

It's during one of these displays for someone nearby, that Lex scratches his nose with his false hand, brown eyes slightly narrowing at the crowd surrounding him. "All of this feels a little 'exercise in futility'. Surely." He mutters. "Fools, the lot of them-" a pause, arching a brow at the woman petting their dog. "He seems to like you. Not that it's a feat, but most of the time he's lost interest by now."

@darknursexiu

[containatrocity]

"Yeah. Was. And now it's me and the dog. So you can probably puzzle out why I'm not exactly my old chipper self." They never had been, to be completely fair, what one might describe as chipper, or even particularly polite- curt, cordial, sure, but this... apathy, is new. Lex was dedicated to his job, and his family- one was gone, one remained. People got in the way, now.

"I'd rather her dead than stuck here with me. This place is hellacious, Demi was always a softer sort. She'd have been miserable." She wouldn't have survived Huntsville even if she'd survived the car accident. He knows that, logically. "I can miss her all I want, it doesn't bring her back, or change the fact that sometimes, Dead is the best way someone can be, if the scenario where she survived ended here." He picks up his coffee after it's filled again, reaching into his bag to produce his iPad and starting to write.

"I don't pretend to know what's going on here. The supernatural was never my field of study. But we are precipice-edge to a terrible, catastrophic schism in the way the town has functioned for years- the increasing incidents of murder, death, natural disasters, the dwindling supplies- that CVS truck was the briefest pick me up- But we are stretching it's contents thin, in the aftermath of that earthquake. Political unrest, leadership changes in the commune- It all points to one thing- that humans will once more prove to be the greatest danger we've got lingering around town, and my obedience of the metaphysical's ridiculous rules and unwillingness to partake in this place's madness on the large will be my saving grace. Yes, Sam, in Layman's terms- the vibes are rancid."

Sam had to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. It was a genuine tragedy, and his heart went to Lex, but how the hell does someone on a straight line from New York City to Florida end up in West Virginia? That was getting lost by epic proportions. He blinked as Lex mentioned just how long he'd been trapped in Huntsville. Had it really been that long since Sam last contacted the man for a consultation? Shit.

His brow furrowed as he caught on to the 'was.' "Wait...Demetria...she was...in the car with you?" Now Sam felt like a complete and utter asshole for wanting to laugh just seconds ago. "Fuck, I'm so sorry for your loss man." He never knew the woman personally, but they had worked together long enough for Sam to at least know about Lex's wife. He took back his earlier snipe about common decency. If Lex wanted to be a salty bastard he had every right to.

"Perhaps it's a bit of both. Stress is a hell of a breeding ground for reactive actions, and there is something about this place that just feels heavy. Like the gi is off."

[containatrocity]

"Isn't that a sweet outlook. Foolish, but sweet." Lex mutters, picking his coffee up again. "Maybe things will be better. Or, they'll be different and worse." She insists it's important to not forget about everyday people. "And I haven't. They are entirely why I do what I do. My work protects them from the monsters wandering among us- and unlike the ones that appear at night, they've perfected their mimicry, their toolkit of destruction something created by birthright or life experiences but used the same way nonetheless- to hurt. My work figures out how they tick, so we can correct it... Or destroy it completely. Some people are born, not made into the sorts of things that saw me passing through the courthouse doors. I have pity for everyone I see, you know. I am not completely void of empathy. But my empathy will not suffocate my better judgement... I would advise you to do the same, Hayden, you are a good woman- to see you dead would be rather upsetting." He places the now empty cup back onto the counter. "Mm yes. The Westfall gentleman. Experiencing Cotard's Delusion, seemingly since his mid-teens. Religious freaks, his parents- never bothered to get him treated until he experienced a fracture in his beliefs- they had him convinced he was a prophet. The greatest crime anyone in this town could do is bore me, I suppose- you've not seen anyone of note through your doors, then?"

Knowing him by now, Hayden at least knew not to take his comment about cleaning up other therapists’ messes personally. She shrugged at his assumption. “Actually before here I dealt mostly with trauma recovery, the downside to a large city is a more condensed amount of people experiencing that sort of thing. It’s admirable to do what you do, obviously, it’s just also important not to forget about the everyday people who need help too. I like to think if we can help people before things get to, as you say, rot, maybe things will be better for the next generation,” she smiled softly and shrugged. “I’ll admit I didn’t realize we had someone in town who thought they were a corpse though…”

[containatrocity]

"You know typically, I am paid for my professional opinions, Narcissa." But there's a lot of things that they make exceptions for now. "The town's response was oddly within the correct parameters of fear, upset, and trauma responses. Some people seem rather... blasé, about all of this, which could be a sign of emotional fatigue after sustained periods of high-stress and emotion, which is common among the people here. Those injured are responding with upset, and fear correct among those of their age range and with regard to the lack of medical care we have- the dead will be mourned by those who loved them and forgotten by those who knew them only in passing. In a way, it is every bit every small town suffering a tragedy." He takes another long sip of his coffee. "However, there are of course, the outliers. Some responded with excitement and pleasure when things went up in literal flames. While accurate to their personalities, it is still anomalous."

He hums. "The antique store owner bothering to care of others, however, was a surprise. I had assumed he was the poster child for malignant narcissism and sociopathy. Perhaps my diagnosis was incorrect." He shifts, crossing his leg over the other. "And you, any interesting developments personally, or are we still nosing around in other people's lives for fulfilment, like most journalism types?"

Narcissa waited as patiently as she could, a wide grin stretching across her face. "It really is, you know - the entire town is abuzz, you really should expect someone to ask your professional opinion when you're out in public like this." Taking his lean back as an invitation, she sat down across from him, pulling a pencil from behind her ear. "I only had one question for you, actually - what's your professional take on the town's reaction to the very unusual earthquake?"

[containatrocity]

"It's how I say hi to everyone. Expecting favoritism just because we've worked together in the past is a little self-important, is it not?" Lex questions, picking up his coffee again. "I had heard murmurings last week that there was another nosy someone sniffing around with questions- I hadn't thought that someone was you, Sam." He adjusts on his stool, brows creasing slightly, silent scrutiny of the other man before he continues. "In any case, it is nice to know you didn't die when the town split in two. It would have been a pain to have to explain that if we ever got out of here." It's the closest Sam's going to get to a 'good to see you' from Dr. Coleman. "I suppose there aren't many douchebag french therapists with one arm in existence- rumors alone likely narrowed down who I was, hm? How have you... Adapted? To Huntsville?"

Sam raised a brow as he sat down. "Wow, that's how you say hi to a former coworker? I'd hate to see how you greet your patients." He shook his head with a sigh. "I heard you were in town and I had to see for myself. How the hell did you get stuck in this place?"

[containatrocity]

"I've told you before that I did not get into this business back home in France, nor did I do it to help people." But he'd left it at that, as elaborating at all felt all too much like effort, so he sighs. "I am a criminal psychologist. I do not 'help' the living. My job was to provide a mental profile of those who commit atrocities, to help law enforcement find, and put away those who did them. I was not here to fix- I cleaned up messes that therapists never managed to scratch the surface of." He downs the last of his coffee- motions for more. "And I never practiced in France. I moved here, in my teens, to attend law school and pursue my doctorate in psychology, I summered in Montpellier, but never worked there. My certifications were all here in the states. But given my youth, I can't imagine many therapists in your line of work see many willing and well-adjusted patients." They run their hand through dark hair, pushing strands back into place. "I am not a people person. I seek to understand the darkest parts of the mind, and humanity- through the lens of those afflicted with them- be it personally, or having suffered at the hands of someone else with the affliction. My goal was to seek and excise the rot- perhaps it's altruism, in a way. I wanted to pinpoint what makes people into monsters. And instead, I wound up here, where my most exciting client is the schizophrenic man who believes himself a corpse."

"You know not all casual conversation has to be small talk." Hayden enjoyed talking to Lex the most because it really challenged her way of thinking all therapists had similar methods. His couldn't be further from how she talked to people. "What exactly made you want to get into this business in the first place? I know lots of us want to help people but...you've never seemed like much of a people person, all things considered," she shrugged. "A bit busier, but you know how hard it is to get people to want to open up. Especially in small towns. Back home, a city that size, way more common for people to ask for help when they needed it," she sighed softly and smiled. "What's that like in France? I'm not as familiar with how accepted mental healthcare is there."

[containatrocity]

"Why, so people can waste my time and already minimal social battery on small talk?" He questions, a dark brow rising over brown eyes. They roll them a moment later, as Hayden sits down at the counter beside them. "I do not have time for things that aren't of importance, and very rarely do I care to have any sort of conversation over coffee." He sighs, though, and answers. "I'm fine, busier with more visitors into the office after the quake- it's to be expected, trauma seeks answers, and fresh trauma can haul old wounds up to the surface. I was not at the festival when it happened- I was at home, working on patient files. We've seen a handful of newcomers, so I'm readying dossiers on those I haven't had the opportunity to screen quite yet." Even those who have not sought their aide have something in Dr. Coleman's notes- a mental profile pieced together through observation. "And you, busier now than before, Hayden?"

Hayden took a sip from her own coffee and smiled a bit, used to his mannerisms by now but she was still amused every time he talked to people that way. "I was just going to ask how you were after the earthquake, if that's alright with you." She sat down and blew the steam off her cup. "I know this is your method when speaking to your patients, but it might be beneficial for you to be a little less blunt with people who are just around you in town," she pointed out.

[containatrocity]

"I was on my way to act as a witness in a case in Florida. The fool driver transporting me from New York- as my flight was canceled for inclement weather, and the next would have seen me arriving too late for my duty- got himself suffocatingly lost after a few detours- he took one last one that proved deadly- for everyone in the vehicle but myself, and poor Baguette." His dog was alive, the corgi that seemed to be the sole creature on earth aside from his wife that Lex bothered to give a shit about beyond how interesting they were to study. "I have been stuck here for nearly four years now, come January, and in my tenure, I've found that all I crave in my sleeping hours is to be anywhere but Bumfuck West Virginia."

"I have no siblings presently in the United States. I am from France, remember? My only family here was Demetria." Was- well, there's more lines to read between- his wife is dead. Sam questions if he's met anyone interesting in Huntsville. "You know, the average person meets a murderer on the street at least once in their lives, correct? Well. Your chances of brushing elbows with someone capable of the ultimate sin is exponentially higher here. I am unsure if that is because of the trauma this place wrought upon the people within- or if it is simply a magnet for the archetypes most prone to... violence." He blinks. "It's probably fine... Most murderers prefer the cover of night and we cannot wander freely past dark here."

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Self-important seems a bit extreme to expect common decency, but what would I know? You're the one with a PhD. But seriously, how the hell did you get stuck here? Can't imagine you leaving your comfy office to come to bumfuck nowhere West Virginia."

Sam was able to read between the lines and smiled. He'd worked with Lex long enough to get a feel for how the man worked. "Good to see you're alive and kicking too Lex. And that's exactly it. If you didn't fit the bill I was prepared to meet either your doppelganger or twin brother. Not sure which would have been more terrifying, honestly." He shrugged at the question. "It...keeps you on your toes. Yet still isn't the worst place I've been. I'd rather here than the months I spent in North Korea. How about you? Find anyone interesting to work your shrink magic on? I imagine this town is full of....colorful personalities."

[containatrocity]

There's... a few emotions, that manage to breech his stony exterior- confusion: Surely, this isn't real, he's still asleep, his father wouldn't dare wind up here. Relief: Finally, finally some proof he's not alone, or that the world hasn't forgotten about him- and then, he settles on mild disappointment in the fact he'd caused Jean to get trapped here as well. That had never once been his intention, the idea that their disappearance had separated him from Lex's mother's garden- from his current wife- from their family home in France, there's a little guilt, beneath the comfort of family he's rarely fallen victim to, in his adult years. "Father you-" His brows crease, and he sits his coffee aside on the table just beside the door.

"Well come in, at the very least, yes I- Of course I'm alive- It would take far more than a car crash and the legions of hell to get me to throw in the towel, I endured worse than that learning psych theory and piano at the same time when I was nine." He sighs, beckoning Jean inside- Baguette is thrilled, the dog's hind end wagging so fast it threatens to tip him over- he's a good bit larger than the last time Lex's father had seen him- a puppy, when he had last come around for Christmas. "Do not mind him, he gets just this thrilled about any visitor, the traitorous little creature insists upon doing his best impression of a therapy animal when I take clients."

After thanking Spencer for bringing him to what should be Kerry's workplace, Jean took a few steadying breaths. He had spent so long searching for his son. He knocked the door succinctly and firmly; it was time to find out the truth of if this really was the current residence of Dr. Lex Coleman.

His expression was stony as he came face to face with his son for the first time in years. It was all he could do to not break down in relief. "Kerry, I came here looking for you. I have no other reason to be in such a despicable place. You're alive." His tone wavered slightly, so minute it would have been near impossible to catch.