2019-07-01 - Mulch Ado About Nothing

The fracas in downtown Gray Harbor is about the only thing on anyone's mind today, not the least because the first properly warm day of summer has hit and now downtown is in little shape for tourists or locals to enjoy it. More than a few of the trees close to Pew Pew Pie were damaged; a few are beyond repair. And so Out on a Limb was called to patch the ones that can be, remove and replace the ones that can't. Big Betty is being serviced by the questionable yet available Steelhead Service Center, so August is out in one of the two smaller trucks. Three replacement hornbeams are bundled up in the back, ready to go in where the tragically ruined trees now sit.

August surveys the mess as he pulls the truck up alongside the road. "Christ," he mutters. He doesn't say the first thing that comes to mind (Sarajevo), settling instead for, "A gas main did this?"

Finch is perched in the passenger seat of the truck, in an olive green, short-sleeved jumpsuit with a black and white striped long-sleeve tee under it, climbing boots on her feet, and her goggles atop her (blue today!) hair. Apparently the last effort to shake off her sewer dive was to try and burn anything clinging to her hair follicles away with a bleach and new coloration.

At August's question the colorful woman snorts. "Maybe. Actually in this case it might be. I haven't heard about anything weird yet. Time will tell though." She smirks and hops out of the cab, pulling work gloves off her belt.

Ignacio climbs out murmuring, "WEll 'weird' would indicate out of the ordinary. When your place looks possessed weird is nothing happening on a Tuesday and the wi-fi not bouncing." Soemone's in a dry humor today. Climbing out of the trck he looks around. "See t'me that there's no looting/ Eeeeh , a lil weird."

Itzhak has parked a few blocks away (so his awesome car has less chance of getting pocked by cast-up debris) and now loiters warily at the edge of the mess, debating on whether he really needs to go further into downtown today. Does he really. REALLY. need to? Well, what the hell. He picks his way along the sidewalk like a cat trying to avoid getting its paws wet. In honor of the first warm day of the year, he's wearing a snug tank top with jeans and steel-toe boots. Sun's out, guns out.

August makes a low sound at Finch. "Guess we'll see." He slides out of the truck, shuts and locks the cab. Looking askance at Ignacio, he says, "Town's way too small for that. Everyone would know who it was took what, so they'd just wind up arrested. Portland, Seattle--sure, no problem. Place like this?" He shakes his head. He adds, "Doesn't look like there's much to take," after surveying Pew Pew Pie one more time.

He opens the side storage cabinet, pulls out the chain saw and two shovels. "We'll start with these small ones." He gestures at a series of small Japanese maples which have been all but destroyed. Their replacements won't be in until next week. "I'll cut the trees down. Start digging around the stumps, I'll join in yanking them as soon as I'm done. Hornbeams after that." In the process of handing out things he spies Itzhak, nods a greeting at him. "You asked for over 70, seems like the weather delivered."

Finch is already wiping an arm across her forehead. She's all covered up, but sweating a bit is preferable to being scratched up by tree branches and looking like she tried to bathe a feral cat. She eyes Ignacio and asks, "Is your place possessed?" because surely he doesn't mean the dilapidated creepy mansion she lives in with her elderly grandmother.

She takes a shovel from from August and heads on over to one of the trees to start digging, giving Itzhak a glance as she walks. Guns indeed. When August addresses the man, she looks between them curiously.

Ignacio shakes his head more focused on the debris than the question, "Espero que no, Pinzón." He pauss, a grin taking up residence on one side of his face as cocky as the rest of him, "Only by the ghost of paychecks past I hope, though I think Blue ross finally hunt me down." Does the guy from Queens ever stoptalking or laying waste to the English language? Eh, not often. "They need to make another galme, Assassin's Creed: Insurance where it's a guy from a billing department haunting everyone." Those two are going to be doing most of the work, but it doesn't stop Ignacio from making himself useful taking snaps of teh damage and filling out the notes sectionof the work order.

Itzhak's scowling with the air of someone for whom nothing is going right. He shovels aside some rubble with the side of his boot. Turning his mirrored sunglasses to the pile of concrete and rebar that was once Pew Pew Pie, his mouth twists down. If August thinks of Sarajevo, Itzhak thinks of 9/11. Yeah, maybe coming downtown today can wait.

He's about to go when he spots August and crew. He jerks a quarter-upnod at August, and although his eyes are hidden behind the sunglasses, it's pretty obvious he's looking at Finch and Ignacio. Without cues from his eyes, his irritated scowl looks pretty menacing. "Yeah," he says to August, anyway, "'bout goddamn time." Oh that's a sharp New York accent coming out of him. Ignacio gets a long second look. That's a familiar sound out of that guy, too.

"Don't get to used to it, it comes and goes." August's warning to Itzhak comes with a wry smile, about the only kind he seems to have in stock. To Finch and Ignacio, he says, "This is Rosencrantz, he's working on the truck," gesturing at Itzhak. He pulls on his hard hat, gloves, and goggles, heads over to the first tree. It's missing a huge section of its trunk and half its branches. Somewhat surreptitiously, he pulls a few cuttings off the tree and tucks them into a pocket. No reason good stock should go to waste, after all. It'll take too long to grow them as 'replacements' but, well, in a few weeks he could figure out some use for them.

He sets a gloved hand on the tree. "Sorry honey," he says, then fires up the chain saw.

Finch gets to digging, and she's a tenacious little thing for being so wee. She sets the tip of the spade into the earth, then sets a booted foot on the step of the tool to use her slight weight to dig it into the ground. Sometimes it requires her to jump up and down on it a few times, because she's probably 100 pounds soaking wet, but she does it.

When the boss introduces the shades guy she gives him a nod. "Finch," she calls back. Is she pointing out a bird? Nope, it's her name. Poor thing.

Ignacio looks up to the fella in the fella in the shades and the tank top and points, "Yeah, if ya don't wanna get covered in saw dust yous wanna stand over here, man." Oh so straight out of Queens ou can still smell the burned rubber where his R's and vowels got backed over at high speeds. He pauses and both eyebrows go up; grin slowly forming but stretching wide, "Aw, no fuckin way! Shit, the hell yous doin out here?"

Itzhak is already backing up when August fires up the chain saw. He gives Finch a baffled expression, before he gets it. "Ya name is Finch? ...That's cute. I like your hair." Grouchy compliments, like ugh, Finch has to be cute and have cool hair and make him notice.

When Ignacio recognizes him, Itzhak gives him an equally baffled glance, and tips his sunglasses down to get a better look at him. He takes a minute. "...Yeah, hey, I'm pretty bad at remembering faces. I know you though, you..." Itzhak snaps a few times, trying to jog his memory. "You raced. Right?"

It doesn't take August long to make short work of the tree; all of these are smaller, and have been consistantly pruned to keep them that way. First come the remaining branches, then he makes his way down the narrow trunk until he has a handy pile of logs next to him. He turns off the chainsaw and pauses before moving on to the next one.

"You two know each other?" he asks, eyebrows up. People chance knowing one another from a place as big as New York, in a place as small as Gray Harbor, seems ridiculously coincidental. But then, he's always felt a lot about Gray Harbor was ridiculous and coincidental, so maybe this was par for the course.

Finch shakes her head, looking amused at the compliments and the surprise about her name. "Yeah, well, I guess it could be worse. I have a Great Great Grand Uncle named Pigeon." Then she looks at Iggy and Itzy recognizing one another and snorts at August, murmuring, "The New Yorkers are multiplying like locusts."

Ignacio stands up all, because posturing is part of the process apparently. Still it's a small comfort granted to age old injury to ego. "Heh, yeah. Had that black and orange Honda CRX. Real bitchin too." The Spaniard shakes his head pointing...there. Stand there. His eyes drift to Finch as the bossman makes impressivly short work of the tree. "So is it family tradition cause there's an army of old people with expectations like my family, or this something people just decide t'do. I mean at least you got a good one."

"Cockroaches," Itzhak says to Finch, "if New Yorkers multiply like anything it's cockroaches." He pronounces it almost two words with a slurry 'e' in the middle. Then Ignacio is posturing and Itzhak postures right back at him, smirking. He knows it's a game, yet at the same time it's also a deadly serious matter of honor. Shoulders back, head forward, standing tall (and he's rather taller). "Yeah! I remember now, can't forget that paint job." He looks Ignacio over, though, eyebrows furrowing. He doesn't remember him having a limp.

However before he can ask about it, August Glimmers and Itzhak can feel it. He doesn't react beyond suddenly falling silent. Doesn't look at him. Doesn't dare.

August is entirely ignorant of why Itzhak stops talking; to him, there's just some posturing going on between Itzhak and Ignacio, and then, Itzhak clams up. Winner: Ignacio? Eh, what does August know.

"Pigeon?" He makes a face. "There's got to be a hundred or more names better than that, even if they insisted on using birds." A nod to Ignacio's point on that, then he moves to the next tree, fires the chainsaw back up.

"Most of the family since like...way back forever ago... are ornithologists," Finch explains for Ignacio while hefting another shovelful of dirt up and dumping it to the side. "They started the whole bird names because of that. Blah blah traditions blah," she says with a shrug and chuckles at her "boss. "You'd think so right? But nope. I have twin cousins. We call them Harry and Perry, but their names are, I kid you not, Harrier and Peregrine. She snorts at the cockroaches comment. "Not making me wanna ever vacation in New York there, Rosencrantz," she quips.

Ignacio looks to Finch curious, "They do like teeth and stuff?" He pauses at cockroaches and shakes his head. "Not me man. And Finch, New York is great. You ever leave, we'll show ya, promise. Guaranteed best food. Tour. ev-ah." His fingers pinch together in emphasis. Goooooood God he misses the food. Looking back over to Itzhak he offers a hand. "Ignacio. Itzhak, yeah? I remember you pulled my ass outta teh fire that time gettin me tuned up. Miss that car, maan."

"Yeah, well, you just gotta have a local show you around," Itzhak says to Finch, abruptly reanimating like he didn't just act like the entire world fell away from him. He fingerguns at Ignacio. "This guy, he's got it right." Itzhak's about to say something else, but the second time August fires up the chainsaw, he winces and digs in a pocket for a little case of earplugs. Before he does anything with them, he shakes Ignacio's hand. "Yeah, Itzhak. Surprised you remember that, most nobody remembers my first name. That was a sweet car. Where's she now?"

This next tree goes down as easily as the last. August shuts off the chainsaw, sets it back in the truck and takes up his shovel. He comes to join Finch at the stump she's working on--all that survived of this particular tree--and gets to work exposing the roots so they can cut into them. "Birds," he says, to Ignacio. "Teeth is orthodontistry."

As he and Finch work at the stump, August gives Ignacio and Itzhak curious looks. He shrugs. "New York's a big place. Real dense too. Probably does help to have someone who knows it, to find the stuff worth seeing." He's thinking of places like Olympic or Glacier, of course, but the principle is the same.

"Birds, Iggy, ornithologists study birds," Finch clarifies for her co-worker. "I'll take you up on that Ig, if I ever get out of this town again." Her smile is strained at that. She clearly doesn't believe that will ever happen. She warms her smile a touch for August though as she continues digging.

Ignacio flaps a hand and starts to poke a look at the rest of the damage becuase he's nosy by nature. "That's stupid. Birds don't even have teeth." Okay he might just be fucking with him at this point. We hope. "Look Labor Day Weekend is coming up, you wanna do a long weekend we can all do a four-day out there because why not?" Poking a look inside he murmurs, "Christ, look at this shit. We sure this is a gas main?" Looking back up to Itzhak he ansers, "Eh, name stood out. Had t'sell the car. Didn't wanna, but... shit happens."

Itzhak has to get the earplugs in before the sound of the chainsaw makes him accidentally punch someone, so he does. Then he actually sighs a little, his tension level lowering a notch or two. "Eh, that sucks. Shit sure does happen." He looks around at the damaged downtown, scowl reappearing.

"Can't really shut down everything for four days like that, business don't run itself," August says to Ignacio. "Plus, there's driving down to SeaTac for the flight, plane tickets..." Also, flying on the plane, and he's not sure how good he's going to do on that. His last plane flight was out of Sarajevo. Was he still okay with those?

He sends Finch to get started on the other two stumps while he finishes this one. Glancing at Itzhak and Ignacio, he says, "Anyways, isn't New York hot as hell around then? Seems like it'd be better to go in Spring, maybe late Fall. See the turning trees." Naturally that's what he's interested in.

Finch gives August a salute and a finger wave to Iggy and Rosencrantz before she trumps off around the building to get to work on the other stumps, chuckling at the very idea of having the money to 'fly to NYC for a weekend'.

Ignacio holds up two fingers. "Two words for ya. Music festival." Apparently this is a reason to sweat your balls off. He's never really gotten this close to an explosion before. Not... in recent years. "The hell you doin all teh way out here in BFE anyways? I mean aisde from fixin his truck." He looks over to August and back to Rozenkrantz, "Ya know he makes the face a lot but, eh he's good peeps."

"All part of the charm," Itzhak answers August, laying on the sarcasm thick like good schmear. "I sure as hell can't afford flying back for a weekend, anyway." He rewards Iggy for the observation about his face by turning the scowl on him. "Just because I fine-tuned your injection system don't mean I like you." This is what Iggy gets for calling him good people.

"Music festivals held in the summer are the worst, everyone knows that," August says. "Sweating your way through a few sets of clothes, drunk and high as fuck when it's a million degrees and humidity? No thank you."

He grunts an acknowledgment about affording a flight, and the 'charm' of a boiling hot New York City summer. Something about Itzhak saying he fine tuned Ignacio's injection system gets a coughed laugh out of August. It also causes him to notice Itzhak's earplugs. He tilts his head, studies Itzhak for a time, like Itzhak's standing there with an umbrella and hip-waders on this fine, summer day and not wearing ear plugs around a chain saw like a normal person. He starts to ask something, stops. He makes a face. "The sound bug ya? I'm done for the moment, we're just," he kicks the stump with a foot, "ripping out these now, then planting."

Ignacio blinks and laughs with that half-grin, "I meant /him/ not you, though, yeah... you do that too." Says he to Itzhak leaving the room well alone. From here he imagines a breeze to push the door a bit on its hinges where he's watching the burned building do absolutely nothing, but the door does mercifully give a bit to show only more of the same.

Looking back to August he boggles, amusement and optimism still in place, "That's different than any other day /how/?" At least for him.

Itzhak is slightly infamous in the NYC street racing scene for how he misses blatant social cues, so that he completely misinterpreted that may not be a surprise. (His crabby attitude and sharp tongue are tolerated by some, on account of he really is a brilliant mechanic, and not so much by others.) So he just snorts, then adds, "He likes my snake," about August. This is the beginning and the end of everything he needs to consider August good people. August's question makes him shrug, though, uncomfortably, looking aside. "Yeah. Bugs me." But he said he's done with the saw, so Itzhak takes the plugs out.

August arches an eyebrow at Ignacio. "I hope you're not expecting it to be hot in winter, because, you're in for a big surprise if so. Sun's gonna rise at 8, set at 3, and that," he pauses in his digging to point at the brilliant blue, Pacific coast sky overhead, "is going to be behind a gray wall. Stock up on wood now if you've got a woodstove, you're going to need it." He's thinking of Ignacio's leg and how it'll definitely enjoy the damp and cold, much like August's old injuries, but it's also nice to just be comfortable in a general sense.

First it's fuel injectors, now it's Itzhak's snake. August clears his throat. He tries to come up with a response that he can deliver with a straight face. "She's a fine animal," he says. It sounds, well, about as natural as it can. He sobers when Itzhak indicates the noise is an issue. "Gotcha. I'll keep it in mind." Roots dug up, he sets the shovel aside, trading it for an axe, and gets to chopping them loose.

Ignacio points out, because he possesses the maturity of a bored 12 year old, "Yeah but what a hell a compliment to get." The wink and the fingergun follows, and that's enough to distract him from teh inside. "You think we ain't familir with two feet of snow on teh ground so you have to dig to the subway like a bunny man?" He pauses and points to teh downed tree. "Can't we jsut take this one home? You must make a killin turning your rescuees into firewood man. Bundle and sell that shit."

Itzhak narrows his eyes at Ignacio. "Oh yeah. I remember now. You're a real comedian." His tone can't decide if it wants to be amused or irritated and kind of settles on irritated amusement. Then he really hits August with that scowl. "Keep it in mind why? It ain't nothin' to do with you."

August weathers Itzhak's reaction without a twitch. "As in give you a head's up when I'm firing that thing back up." Because, indeed, there are a few more trees to do; the ravaged hornbeams down the street. And there are other reasons, but this one's the easiest and most obvious one to bring up.

"These aren't so good for firewood. We can chip 'em for mulch, though." And there's the cuttings he grabbed. "Snow you're not going to see a lot of up here. Just rain, and wind. A lot of those. A lot. But I meant, you talked about sweating and sun like it was a typical thing around here, and," he makes a face, "climate change not withstanding, it's really not. We get some hot and dry summers, but we also get ones where it rains the whole time."

Ignacio preens just a bit stealing even criticism as a compliment. "Thanks, I take after the milkman." Yup. Hilarious. It's August's description that gets deSantos to look at him. With all seriousness (or appearance there of) he says in superlative deadpan, "You write the travel brochures for this place because you might be missin your calling. You are reeeeeeally sellin it."

Itzhak's lip curls, his shoulders tense, and for a moment he seems like he's about to get into it with August. Because August is saying he'd consider his comfort, apparently? How dare he. "...Fine," he mutters after that moment, and scrubs the back of his hand across his face. He says to Ignacio, "What are you doin' out here?" like this is all somehow Iggy's fault. "Why'd you drop out of the scene?"

August pauses midswing, gives Itzhak the mildest of looks in response. He's been down this road in one way or another. A relative? A friend? Either way, he exudes calm acceptance of Itzhak's reaction that's sympathy and empathy at the same time.

Once Itzhak backs off, August nods, gets back to chopping. He cuts a sideways grin at Ignacio. "Hey, I've lived in this part of the country my whole life. Just telling it like it is, so no one gets disappointed when they show up and it rains the whole time."

Ignacio flashes a half grin to Itzhak, "Yeah ain't that the fuckin question. A'ight, I'm a go see if Finch needs help. Itz, we should catch up so you can tell me where to find a fuckin halfway decent falafel around here." Looking to the bossman he says quite seriously, "And don't tell me it doesn't' exist. You don't just get to be the doom-bringer. I believe in you. You got this. Just say 'I'm sure it's around here somewhere'." The smart ass has written so many satire self-help books he can give the pep talk as if this were a thing that legit needs coaching. Well at least he's keeping deflection comical. He's not subtle, but he is enjoying this.