2019-06-17 - Sparrow Placement Service

Branch & Bole is doing reasonable business today. People are buying tarps, stakes, and lines to secure their plants for the storm that's on approach. August is just getting back from an appointment to trim a tree; they've had a flurry of panicked appointments in the wake of the weather warning. He pulls the truck in, parking it and heading into the back office of the garden shop to get some cider from the minifridge. He has three more scheduled for late afternoon, then they're all going to get as much sleep as they can before the weather rolls in. He fully expects to have some emergency calls.

Ully, the lanky, curly-haired cashier, is restocking stakes and tarps. Thomasina is out in the garden area, getting the shop's own garden battened down.

Ignacio wanders in looking maybe a bit lost\, one hand not really letting go of the edge of his coat keeping it tucked to him. The guy is in absolutely no hurry and looks perhaps mildly tired\, but asks Ully "Heeey\, bossman in? Or... bosslady?" The New Yorker pauses shaking his head. He chided himself for assuming rubbing a hand across his face and looking at his coat pocket moving.

Ully looks up, blinks at Ignacio. He eyes his tucked in pocket, suspicious. Or maybe it's the accent that makes him suspicious, and then he notices the pocket. Whichever it is, he glances at the back office window, sees August in it at his desk, drinking cider and swiping at his tablet. August notices Ully looking at him, sees Ignacio. His eyes narrow a fraction, and he nods an okay.

"He's here," Ully confirms. "Door to the office should be open."

And it is; there's a paper sign taped to it which reads PRIVATE but the door's cracked open a few inches.

Ignacio takes his slow-ass time getting back to the door. Ully's given a smile; one of those smiles that also serves as the Spaniard's 'get out of jail free' card. Two knuckles rap on the door to nudge it open. Guys' got more curiosity than common sense maybe. "Heeeey, Ully said to come talk to you." Oh so not local. Were they in the middle of a conversation? He certainly approaches it as if this they've known each other for a while. "About a job. There was a sign up."

August is already watching Ignacio as he comes in, eyes narrowed, expression critical. "Mmmmhmmm." He sets his tablet down, sits up and back in his chair. The office furniture is all old, hardwood antiques, much of it well worn. 'Distressed' is how Anthropologie and the like sell such things, but theirs are always just an approximation; all of this is the real deal, oak and maple and walnut with black scars and the look of more than a few sandings and refinishings.

He gives Ignacio an obvious once over. "What kinda work are you looking for." Has he noticed the limp? Probably.

Ignacio shrugs a shoulder in that way twenty-somethings do, but he speaks clearly enough, if for that distinct accent that puts him on the wrong coast. "Well, right now something for the summer. Just moved here, soooo I'm lookin to help my brother out and that." His coat moves on it's own again, something moving around the inside of his pocket maybe no bigger than a tangerine. He points to the front, "You had a sign that said 'hey, guy, stop and come see me', so here we are."

"Did I," August says, dry. "Still, could use some help around here for summer. Got a big project coming up and all." He sits up. "Can you climb a tree?"

Then August's eyes flit to the moving pocket, back to Ignacio. He arches a brow in unvoiced question.

Ignacio squints back at the guy. His jaw tightens silently challenging the guy for a moment and realizing he's not going to win against the grizzled soul sitting across from him. Defeated he murmurs, "Not presently." Wounding, man. Wounding!

August nods. He doesn't seem victorious or anything, just informed. It's not the most legal question to ask, strictly speaking, but he also knows tap-dancing around the specifics gets no one anywhere when falling out of a tree just gets you killed. Besides, there's the buckets; it's not like it's a barrier to hiring, just a direction of where to hire. "Know anything about plants?"

Ignacio is up on this question coming right to life, "Yeah great for garnishes, salads, sometimes crisped comes out really neat. You know not enough people try that. Healthier. We used to have a few in our window. Damn tasty, they get a bad rap tho." He looks to Roen and says as if part of a conspiracy, "Kale gets a super bad rap too. Most people ain't doin it right. Comes out like they 're chewin on a goddamned hand towel and then wonder why. Like ya rushed through it, genius." He shakes his head sighing, "Kids these days, right?" Oh the moxy on him apparently goes up to 11. Hey he's fearlessly honest. He does have that going for him.

The talk of plants for cooking has August's interest. He tilts his head at Ignacio, making no attempt to mask his approval. He doesn't smile, really, but the corners of his mouth turn up just a little. He nods, scratches at his beard.

"Got a heights problem? Comfortable helping customers around a shop?" He stops, shakes his head. He's doing this out of order. "There's two places we need help. Here," he nods at the shop, "or out there," he jerks his head the other way, which happens to be where the trucks are parked out back. (Truck, singular, since Cy and Jendy are both out on appointments.) "Out there, it's climbing trees or riding in the bucket, lot of work with chainsaws and chippers, getting a read on sick trees. Here, it's tending the plants and restocking, helping customers pick stuff out." Stopping there, he asks, "Either of those sound agreeable?"

Ignacio watches for a moment and a fleeting smile makes an appearance. He nods looking around, "Yeah. Used t'run things for pops back home. Once you figure out if you still have to eat somethin or not how hard can it be?" Well, not technically wrong. The lump in his coat moves and he looks down muttering, "Stop, You're gonna get hurt again. We'll figure you out later." His eyes roll ceilingward again and looks back to Roen, "You do replacements right?"

"Shop then," August says. "We could use the help. I can do part or full time, depending on what kind of hours you need." He frowns. "Replacements?"

He doesn't wait for an answer to that question, as his attention is drawn to the moving coat pocket. Ignacio talking to it causes August's mouth to flatten. "You're gonna suffocate whatever that is, keeping it in your pocket like that."

Ignacio puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out a small bird taht flaps awkwardly. It's a sparrow, nothing fancy, but a little on teh small side. "I figured you do stuff with trees you could stick em back in one. I found em on the ground. Some bastardo clipped em with a car and kept goin." The bird itself doesn't look too bad, but that little wing will need time to finish extending all teh way. "If I bring anything else home my brother's gonna go loco ya know? Especially after the last time."

August shifts in his chair the moment he sees the sparrow, squinting at it. He gives Ignacio a Look, holds out a hand for it. "Normally, no. I'll make an exception this once." He frowns. "The 'last' time?"

Ignacio hands the sparrow over carefully. It flaps the one wing more than the other. "Shhhh chill out man. You're gonna hurt yourself again. That's why you were in the pocket to begin with." He shakes his head, "Kids, man. They don' listen." As if he's so worldly. He watches the lil dude get more acclimated as wing two starts to catch up with wing number one.

He murmurs, "See, you're doin better than I am and you didn't even have to go to PT." Eyebrow arching he shrugs, "Back home my brother and I took in a cat. It was injured but papa? Yeaaaah he's not a critter guy. So we hid em upstairs under Raf's bed. Turn out it's not a cat it was a possum. It wasn't doin so good cause it was pregnant then we had aaaaaaaall these lil baby possums." The grin stretches up one half of his face shining with mischief, "It was great. They're so damn cute. I mean sure they grow up to be scary as hell, but they curl up like little noodles at that size. Super cute."

August cups the sparrow in his hand carefully, making sure it won't flail itself right out onto the floor. "Calm down there, big guy," he murmurs, tilting his head to peer at the bad wing. And as if he's somehow spoken in a way the bird understands, it does just that: it stops flapping around in a panic, takes to simply standing in August's hands. He can feel the throb of the bird's injury, but unlike a human injury, this doesn't cry out and claw at his mind. It's easy enough to run a finger over the bird's head and nudge the injury back into place.

The sparrow peers up at the two of them, stretches out its wings. Both of them, with ease. Then it fluffs up and sits there, patient and waiting to be released.

August grunts. "Yeah, he just needed a second," he says. It's not, of course, the first minor animal injury he's healed. He has a handle on those: sprains, small breaks, exhaustion. Anything complicated feels like a struggle. Little things, on little creatures? No problem.

Ignacio just arches an eyebrow at the guy and looks at him as if weighing some things out in his head. Right. Soooo Washington's super weird, or he's still rolling from last night. Either or both of these things may be true right now. He chooses the safe path, "Sooo can we just set him outside oooor we gotta stick em in a tree so he's not drop kicked?" Shaking his head he adds, "I'm from New York. We don't care what happens to pigeons. I'm in new territory here."

"We can let him go," August says. He negotiates his chair back from the desk and stands, sparrow still cupped in his hands. The window with the view out into the side grotto is cracked open (it always is any time it's not raining, to air things out); he carefully sets the sparrow down on the sill and lets it find its own way to the gap.

Eyes on the bird, he says, "No one cares about pigeons, not even out here. Maybe people should, though. Not their fault the world is the way it is." He gives Ignacio a sideways glance that lasts much longer than it should, looks back out at the grotto. "When can you start?"

Ignacio says doing a damn fine job of keeping things casual, "Hey, ya know, automation man. E-mail's keepin pigeons outta work. They got no choice but to turn to a life of crime stealing people's lunches." He shakes his head with a comical sincerity, "Damn shame." Dark eyes look up more surprised by the offer than the man fixing a fucking bird in front of his face on the sly. He had a damn good idea of how banged up the poor lil guy was. "Uhhhh, soon...ish? I mean other than still movin in I dunno I got a lot goin on right now."

August gives the bird a little stroke on the head, and it hops out the open window and flies away. "Alright," he says, moves back to the desk. He pulls out new employee paperwork; a different set than for Finch, since Ignacio's not going anywhere near the trucks or the climbing gear. "This has all the specifics. You like what you see, fill it out and bring it back tomorrow." He squints. "Well. There's a big storm coming. If you need to stay home because of that, send an email, we'll look for you once things are sorted." He flips open the manila folder and taps on the cover page, which has an email. "That's where you email to let us know you'll be out, in late, whatever. Store opens at nine, Thomasina usually handles opening but if you want on that schedule, you want to come in more like, 8, so you have time to do opening prep. Fine if you'd rather no, though, she likes that shift."

Ignacio blinks again. "For serious? I mean I used to get up at 5 for my old gig. Was a bit ago but how hard can it be wakin up at stupid early?" He looks around and back to the grizzled dude. He reaches across to shake his hand and take the papers. "Email? yeah I can make that happen. The, um, the storms get pretty bad?" Looking around he asks, "So you fix broken trees and stuff? Sounds like yous gonna be busy when it stops."

August accepts Ignacio's hand without thinking about it, only realizing at the last second it might not be a good idea. He's able to hold his reaction in, and fortunately there's not the usual nausea or other unpleasantness. It's an older injury Ignacio has, then; not something newer he's still learning to cope with. Still, August doesn't hold the handshake overlong. No sense pushing his luck.

"Yeah, the weather can get pretty hairy. Not, tornadoes or anything--well, except that one up in Gig Harbor a little while back--just, wind, flooding, all that. We don't really repair them much after a storm, just do cleanup." He smiles, rueful. "Sometimes at 3am, if it's important enough." He sits back down at the desk, takes up his tablet. "Send an email when you know what your first day's going to be, bring all of that filled out."

The damage to the leg seems ongoing for near a decade. The rest far older in his face and neck, possibly from childhood or earlier. Some things people settle into and get used to as their normal. He hesitates the answer but nods in the end, confidence rebuilt figuring out how to plan around everything which includes pre-planning for the weather to turn to shit and wreck him. "Yeah absolutely." He pauses and offers, "Ignacio. Be hearin from me, boss."

"August Roen," he replies. Nodding at the papers, he says, "Have 'em filled out. We've got another new person here, Finch, just started. You'll know her when you see her. She's not going to know a whole lot herself, so if you have questions, direct them to me or one of the others. Jendy and Cy mostly do arborist work with me, Thomasina and Ully manage the shop. They'll start you inside, you can move to doing outside work after a couple of weeks." His attention returns to the tablet and the business of sorting the rest of the day's appointments. (And responding to Jendy and Cy, who've both messaged him updates.)