2019-07-31 - Dancing on the Deck

Listening to the sound of water gently lapping against the beach is a nice way to relax in the evening on the patio of the Deuce, or it would be if the music that filters out from the outdoor speakers wasn't turned up to party level. Some of the party has spilled out here, though mostly it's the degenerate smokers while the rest seem to prefer the air conditioned atmosphere inside. Bennie has chosen to drift down to the lower deck to avoid the majority of the merry making, propping up in a chair near one of the unlit fire pits with her feet propped up on the edge of stone and her long gauzy skirt fluttering around the drape of her legs, caught by the pleasant breeze. In honor of summer, she's drinking a mexican light beer with a wedge of lime floating in the golden liquid with a waitress frequently checking on her for refills. A perk of dating the 'bartender'.

Air conditioning, or a lack of loud, irritating people fraying his fragile nerves even further? Since he doesn't actually want this evening to end with jail or accidentally murdering someone, the choice is clear. He walks in, damp patches of sweat under his arms, mopping at his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket. As usual, he's dressed...poorly, and looks like he's underslept or coming down off a bad trip. He stops into the loud bar just long enough to make a curt order for a bottle of whatever gets someone drunk the fastest, passing over several wrinkled bills from his wallet before taking a glass, waiting for it to be filled with whatever this is, and limping his way out to the quieter deck. He's about to throw himself into a chair when he notices Bennie. The fact that he's feeling rude as fuck visibly wars with the fact that Bennie is pretty much impossible to be mean to. He finally says, "Miss Oakes." And takes a drink. Which is broken by coughing, because Alexander rarely, if ever, drinks anything stronger than beer.

Bennie's head lulls towards Alexander with a lazy grin at the sound of her name, but she's pulling her feet down quickly at the sound of his cough, as if readying herself to spur into action depending on the answer to her question, "Are you okay?" He could be choking! He could have swallowed a bug! The dangers are numerous!

Everybody in town has had a tough week. Nothing wants to happen smoothly. From stubbing your toes too often to your upstairs neighbors deciding now was the time they needed to embrace the joys of Let's Dance, shit is just difficult. Itzhak is going to the bar he hasn't been to before, and he's bringing August. Boys' night.

He didn't anticipate the music would be turned up to 'brain-melting' (yet another unpleasant random event), and he flinches when he has to wade into the wall of sound. He fidgets irritably while he has to wait for his drink, tensing up, glowering at anybody who gets too close (which is several people because it's packed). Eventually he obtains his double whiskey sour and clomps out to the deck.

Isolde had been on the beach tonight, contemplating a few things. It was the noise from Two if by Sea that caught her attention. Without even really realizing it, she was making her way towards the bar as the final destination of her nighttime stroll. It was getting too hot for jeans, so she had broken down and purchased a pair of shorts the other day - which she was wearing now. Shorts, a black tank top and her flannel tied around her waist. She really was never without it. She takes a few minutes to get her hair situated in a ponytail so it isn't a mess and then makes her way inside.

She realizes that there is a small issue. She has no ID! But maybe the bar is too packed for the bartender to reallyyyy care. Besides, Isolde definitely looked over 21. She hasn't had any hard liquor in a long time - and for the moment, keeps that trend. Just ordering a bottle of beer. She spied Itzhak and Co going near the deck, so turns her course that way. Besides...it was feeling kind of claustrophobic in here!

August makes a face at the sonic warfare underway inside the bar. He can't get his black and tan outside with Itzhak fast enough. "Christ," he says once they get out onto the deck. He pauses, looking out at the distant thunderstorms, towering on the horizon, flickering with lightning. "At least the view's nice," he comments. He gives the storm an 'I've got my eye on you, mister' look, remembering the failed picnic all too well. He glances among the other deck refugees, surveying Alexander and Bennie the longest, takes a sip of his beer.

Alexander laughs. At the best of times, Alexander doesn't have a great laugh - it's a sound he doesn't use very much, and it sounds like it. This is not the best of times, and his laugh sort of sounds like someone choking a frog. He tips his glass at Bennie. "No." Another deep drink, this time with less coughing. After the first, most of those nerves are dead anyway - this is NOT good booze. "I am fairly certain that I have never been okay. But that's fine. Everything is fine. I am going to drink until I can't feel a damned thing, and that will also be fine." He's not particularly quiet about it, and he raises his glass in a bitter little salute to her before downing the rest of it, and then wheezing a bit at the burn. "Fuck."

It doesn't help that Alexander's laugh isn't really assuaging Bennie's fear that he's not getting enough oxygen, so the blonde is on her feet by the time he croaks out a 'No'. But then he's drinking, and explaining, and her hand is fluttering to her heart with the exaggerated relief of the slightly inebriated. "Oh, thank goodness. Well, not good that you're drinking to oblivion but that you're not, you know, immediately dying." Her fingers make a little shoo'ing gesture for Alexander to sit, and her hand raises to flag down the waitress for a more palatable refill for him. Of course, it also happens to look like she's merrily greeting the new comers to the patio, but hey, there are more than enough chairs.

Itzhak sighs out, tension in his shoulders unwinding a little as he escapes from the noise. As a degenerate smoker, he gets out his cigarettes, arranging himself downwind from August. "Yeah. It's a great night." He glances over at Bennie, immediately reddens across the bridge of that magnificent schnozz, and hikes his eyebrows at her, faking being smooth. The only place he knows her from is getting gyrated on by several naked strippers.

Out on the deck, Isolde spies Alexander, hearing his words, and studies him briefly. Perhaps concerned. She's often concerned about him, even when she doesn't let it show.A brief glance to his leg. As long as he's not bleeding out, she supposes he's okay. Well, as okay as one can be when one wants to drown out their troubles with alcohol. She debates for a moment before speaking up, with a wave. "Hello Itzhak and friend." Smiling to the pair as she positions herself somewhere that could be considered the middle. So she could keep an eye on the familiar faces. "And I remember you from the diner. With the pie! Though I don't remember your name. I'm sorry." Is said to Bennie, though she smiles still. A wiggle of fingers in a wave is also given to Alexander as she decides to claim a chair for herself.

August's attention shifts to Isolde, then Bennie, finally to the blushing Itzhak. He arches an eyebrow. "Someone's been busy," he murmurs around another drink of beer. Is he getting some payback for the ribbing about the flowers? No, definitely not. (Oh yes.) He frowns slightly at Alexander, but Bennie seems to have things under control. "You know them from anywhere in particular?"

"I wouldn't immediately die in Easton's bar," Alexander informs Bennie solemnly. He drops into the seat she waves him towards without further ceremony. "I think that'd be rude. Although since apparently torturing me in the hopes it might inconvenience a dead serial killer is on the table, who the fuck knows what's rude, anymore? Who even says that, Bennie? OH, you're burning alive every night? Is that excruciatingly painful? Why yes, yes, you complete asshole, it--" Alexander's teeth click shut on his somewhat unhinged rant not when he sees Itzhak and August, but when he sees Isolde. There's a wince. He covers the empty glass with his hand, like he might hide it from her. "Isolde." It's softer. "What are you doing here?"

The refill comes along with the bottle Alexander ordered, which means there MIGHT be enough booze here for his plans for the evening. Maybe. His effort to hide the fact that he's drinking from Isolde lasts...only about a minute after the booze arrives. He picks up the better booze refill, and drains it with a painful lack of appreciation or grace, just a bit of a gasp.

Bennie's head tilts slightly as Alexander seems to expound on what's bothering him, trying to absorb all of that like a sponge, but the fact is it distresses her enough that it causes a frown to turn the corners of her mouth from apostrophes to commas. "Do I need to cut a bitch, because I will totally cut a bitch." Does it make it more or less threatening coming from the Blonde?

Her smile returns to full bloom though as someone says the recognize her, but don't remember her name, so she offers it with a little cheerful chirp. "I'm Bennie! Hi!" And then she stage whispers, "I'll have what he's having." Because Alexander shouldn't suffer alone.

Itzhak glares, not that seriously, at August. "Yeah, no, she has a boyfriend." Lighting up and puffing out smoke, he actually unbends enough to smile at Isolde. "Hiya, Izzy. This's my buddy August. She's my neighbor, I fixed her door," he explains to August. When Alexander rants about being literally burning alive every night, Itzhak looks at him, puzzled, eyes narrow.

Those clear blue eyes linger on Alexander for a moment, then to the bottle. Then back to him. "I heard the music." She finally says, taking a longer sip of her beer. If there was anything else to say, she wasn't saying it right now. Another smile towards Bennie. "Bennie! Yes. I remember now. I'm Izzy." She offered in exchange before her attention turned back to August and Itzhak. "Nice to meet you August. Itzhak fixed the door well! And showed me how to do it. Though. I hope no more doors need fixing."

"Doesn't mean her boyfriend's not an understanding sort of guy," August says, mild. He dips his head to Isolde in a hello. "Good to meet you. Pretty sure they can hear that music clear to Seattle." He glances at Alexander as well, studies him over the rim of his pint glass. He glances at Bennie, looks sidelong at Itzhak. There's a story here, maybe, which August would love to hear.

The sudden infusion of alcohol on a nearly empty stomach must be working, because Alexander snorts more laughter, this time sounding a bit more natural and human. "I can't even imagine you cutting a bitch, Bennie. I try to picture it. I do. Mostly it looks like you grooming a large, fluffy dog and smiling. So. No, I don't think that'd help? But thanks, for the offer."

His head comes up as Itzhak addresses Isolde. He blinks, narrows his eyes at Itzhak in return. "My door. You fixed my door. Alexander Clayton. You must be," a pause as he remembers, "Itzhak? The new neighbor. Don't you stand out. I was going to bring you cookies. Thank you." A flicker of a smile. "Not ones I made, because no one should die like that." A flick of his eyes to August, a thoughtful frown as he reaches for the bottle and fills his glass back up. He gives Isolde a slightly guilty grimace. "Look," he tells her, "I have to. I can't do this pain another night. And I can't think about the whole 'murderous ghost is my great-great-great grandfather' thing right now, either. So I'm going to drink. Heavily. With all of you, apparently." He raises his glass in a mock-cheery salute. "Nice to meet you! Or see you again. Or whatever the fuck." He drinks.

"So then I'll teach the large, fluffy dog to cut a bitch." Bennie says pragmatically, as she settles back into her seat, tucking her feet up next to her and rearranging her skirt with a little flick of her fingers. Of course she remains oblivious to the fact that Itzhak and August are mentioning her, turning to murmur a thanks to the waitress as a glass is dropped off. "Sooooo. You gonna back this train up and let me get on, or are you just going to pour me some of that jet fuel because misery loves company?" She asks Alexander, waggling her empty glass in his direction. If nothing else, it gives her an excuse to keep an eye on her new best friend.

Of course her eyes are momentarily taken off Alexander, as she glances to Isolde at the introduction, "Oh, you live with Alexander, Izzy! You must have all the best stories." Or worse. It's a matter of perspective. "Come and join us, boys." She tilts her head towards the apparent handy man and friend. "Apparently I'm incapable of cutting a bitch, so you should be safe!"

"Ro-en," Itzhak mutters through clenched teeth, rolling a Look over at August. "...This is about the flowers, isn't it."

He snorts, kind of amused, at Alexander's statement that he stands out. "Can't argue with that. Yeah, I'm renting a room from number 15, that's Stephanie Lilek. I ain't about to say no to cookies, no matter who makes 'em." Accepting Bennie's invitation, he ambles on over and slings himself into a chair. He tips his drink up, listening to Alexander's unhappy story with a weird look on his face. Glances at both Bennie and Isolde, with the silent question of what the heck is up with that.

"Nice to meet you!" Isolde offered up cheerily enough. Then watched carefully as Alexander introduced himself to Itzhak. Perhaps uncertan how it would go, but then she relaxed and shrugged. Gaze turning to Alexander again. "You don't have to explain yourself to me Alexander." Isolde looked down at her bottle, which was almost half empty already. She looked a little surprised by this. There was a quiet contemplation and another glance towards Alexander. As if she was heavily debating on something. Like how high her tolerance for a drunk Alexander might be after all these years if she was sober. Then decided it probably wasn't that high because she flagged down a waitress and murmured something to her before finishing off her beer.

There's a chuckle at Bennie's talk of teaching a dog to cut a bitch. That might be funny to see. "Stories, there are a few." She supposes, a fleeting smirk, but not planning to elaborate. "This town is very gray." Is her response to Itzhak's look. The waitress comes by with a glass that's some kind of pretty cocktail. Stronger than beer at least. "What kind of cookies do you like?"

Glancing sidelong at Itzhak, August murmurs, "Cookies," and bobs his eyebrows. "What flowers? Oh, those." His innocence couldn't be more fake. "No, why would you think that." Correction: now it can't be more fake. He smiles, wry, at Itzhak's standing-out-ness, moves to sit next to him at the table. He tracks the glance from Itzhak to Bennie and Isolde, frowns ever so slightly at Isolde's cryptic response. "Can say that again," he says, drinking some of his beer.

"Don't corrupt the fluffy dog," Alexander tells Bennie, sternly. And pours her a drink. Because hey, who needs a throat anyway? "That dog is pure in my mind, filled with love and joy and fluffy-fucking-hugs. Do not teach it to cut a bitch." He takes a drink. "And the train is nonsense. The train is pure Gray Harbor fucked-upness. It's not gray," he tells Isolde, his voice moderating to be kinder, "it's a black town. It's a bad place."

He takes another drink, and studies Itzhak and August. "Cookies can, and will, be arranged. I don't know about flowers. It seems a bit soon for flowers; we just met."

Bennie lifts her glass of rot gut, "To fluffy fucking hugs." Before she takes an experimental sip of it, promptly followed by her tongue sticking out and a gag noise to be produced. "This totally gets better after the second drink, right?" She tests that theory. "Nope." Ah well, she's settling back with it anyways, not one to back down from a challenge, even if she posed it to herself.

"Don't let Alexander's gruff demeanor fool you, standing out is a marvelous trait. Life is too short to be boring. Which Gray Harbor most certainly. Is not." She leans over to rest a hand on the arm of Alexander's chair instead of the man himself, probably the only person she respects the personal bubble of. "Sorry about your bad dreams..." She murmurs quietly, sympathy and empathy flooding her eyes.

Itzhak rubs his forehead at August with mysteriously only the middle finger extended. Oh how did that happen.

"Black and white cookies," he says to Izzy. "Yeah, it's gray, but so are a lot of places. So's New York." Alexander promptly explains that things are way worse than that, and Itzhak's eyebrows go tilted. He takes a drink. "...Not that it's any of my business," he ventures, with a sniff, because the low-shelf stuff Alexander and Bennie are drinking is pungent, "but maybe go easy on that stuff, Alexander."

"It isn't a bad place. It is a good place that got infected with bad things. There is a difference." Isolde states rather matter-of-factly. Though, she also doesn't seem inclined to argue the point further than that. She takes a sip of her colorful drink. Then another one, deciding it likely tasted better than what Bennie and Alexander were drinking based off of Bennie's reaction. "Black and white cookies. I will remember." She gave a touch of a smile towards Itzhak and also maybe a little grateful that he told Alexander to maybe go easy on the liquor. She rose to her feet, taking her drink with her, "Be back in a minute." And disappearing back inside the bar.

August notes Itzhak's forehead rub, but seems to think twice about saying anything. Instead he looks from Alexander to Itzhak to Isolde, nodding at the later. "That sounds a bit more accurate, really. Seems like," he glances up at Alexander, down at his beer, "something, or a few somethings, happened here that...drew more problems." He shrugs. "Place gets into a spiral like that, it takes a lot of work to get it back out."

Alexander flashes a brilliant smile, instantly taking ten years off his weary face. "To fluffy fucking hugs," he agrees, lifting his glass in turn. There's a cheerful little shake of his head at her question. "This is terrible. I'm not even sure it's potable. They might have accidentally given us lighter fluid." The smile dies hard at her sympathy. "It's not. Bad dreams. We've gone beyond the bad dreams. That's the fucked up part, Bennie. You can GO there. The lost places. You can just go there, and it's not all murder-bears and parents with shark teeth. The Archivist isn't evil, even if it's just a giant melted face who delivers bad news. And the severed feet were actually fairly helpful. And stuff I always thought belonged to the not-real has come over to the real. Like William Gohl's ghost, except now we only really have half a skeleton, and my bones might start dissolving instead of just burning."

He blinks a couple of times at Itzhak's helpful advice. Glances at the glass. "Yeah. This stuff is terrible." And then he downs it all, before turning his head to track Isolde's progress back into the bar. He winces. "I didn't mean to bother her with me. Picked the wrong damned bar." A point at August. "You're not wrong. Witch burnings. The Baxter with the dark tendrils. He burned them, and I bet that's the start of a lot of our problems. Eighteen...Eighteen eighty...six? Seven? Fuck if I remember." He rubs at his chest, absently, a spasm of pain twisting his features for a moment, before he turns his attention back to all three of them. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at socializing. Or drinking."

Well. That is a lot to digest. Much like the drink that Bennie is trying to muster through. Instead of sipping it further, she decides to down it all in one go and damn the consequences, such as making a fool of herself at Easton's bar. She sets the glass aside on the edge of the fire pit and dabs at her mouth with the back of her hand to whisk away any remaining droplets. "On the contrary, I think you came to precisely the right bar!" She pops up, making gimme motions at Alexander for the man to get on his feet. "So you can dance with me." Her glance goes pointedly to Itzhak and August to agree with her, or at least to change the subject!

"S'all right, buddy, I ain't exactly scintillating myself." Itzhak drinks more, to show willing. "It's not all bad over there. I know some pretty good places." This might be exaggerating a touch, but it's all for the cause. The cause of, schmoozing Alexander. He glances at August, then at Bennie, then, easily, to Alexander, "Yeah, dance with her, or dance with me. Whichevah's ya fancy." He smirks a little at August. "If he don't wanna, you can dance with me."

August watches Alexander, taking all of that in with silent but obvious interest. It's the look of a man who's memorizing details like it's his job. He bobs his eyebrows, raises his beer in agreement with Itzhak. "You're in good company, never fear. Us assholes who can't drink or make small talk should stick together."

He snorts at Itzhak's offer of a dance, leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle. "And what if I want to dance with him?" What then, Rosencrantz?

Alexander looks deeply wary, but hey, at least it breaks the stream of rambling about horrible and insane things? He stares at Bennie. "I don't dance." Then there's a sudden double-take when Itzhak agrees with the notion of dancing. Alexander leans a bit towards him, dark eyes gleaming. "You said scintillating. That is a magnificent word. You underestimate yourself." Okay, maybe it wasn't the dancing. And then August is jumping in, and his brow is furrowing. "In college, this sort of thing usually ended up with everyone having sex. Which was entertaining. But we spent a lot of time high, which made that seem like a good idea. It's probably not? And I don't want to intrude." He stands up, nearly dropping the glass as he sets it down, and wobbles a bit towards Bennie. "I really can't dance. For the record."

"That's alright, I don't think I can either." Bennie proclaims. "But at least maybe it will get you out of your head for a little bit. But I'm going to have to draw the line at orgies, I've already met my quota for the month." She holds her hands out for Alexander to take at his own pace instead of just instantly grabbing for him, but should he, she'll direct one to her hip. "You boys, feel free to cut a rug too." Her eyes gleam with mirth, "Then I'll let you tap in with this stud."

Itzhak hikes his eyebrows at August, grinning lopsidedly. "Then you gotta arm-wrestle me for him. Obviously. Don't they teach you nothin' in the Army?" He gets up too, still holding his drink in one hand, extends the other to August. That this puts them both in a position to intercept Alexander should he have a sudden plummet for the floor is totally coincidental. "It's ya lucky day, Roen."

August snaps his fingers, shakes his head. "No orgy, damn. But it's not an intrusion." Still, Bennie lays claim to Alexander, and August sighs. "Jilted."

He eyes Itzhak, noting the way he's positioned himself, gets up as well. "I didn't do a whole lot of arm wrestling for dances in the Army, it was the 90s after all," he says, dry. "Don't Ask Don't Tell was a thing." He knocks back a bit of the black and tan, takes Itzhak's hand. "Is this where I learn you secretly took dance in school and I'm going to look like a sophmore on prom night? Just so I know how to spin it to Finch and Ignacio."

Alexander stares at Bennie rather solemnly. "I think spending too much time out of my own head is part of my problem. What's in other people's head hurts. Often." But he awkwardly stands there, studying her outstretched hands for a long moment, before visibly nerving himself up to take them. "The last time I danced, I moshed. I don't think we're moshing." He follows the direction to rest a hand on her hip, his hand twitching slightly before settling there. "It's probably for the best," he mutters, "about the orgy. I only know one of you, and I'm sure Easton would be upset. Possibly at not being invited? I need to talk to him. At some point. Not about orgies." He rambles a bit, nervously swaying in place. Or drunkenly swaying in place. It's hard to tell.

There's booze here, and Ruiz likes booze. So he's here, too. Especially if there's tequila. And especially if it's, "Patron, if you have it. Por favor." That's to the 'tender once he's bustled up to the bar. Leather jacket tonight, because there's a bit of a bite in the air. Dark cargo pants tucked into combat boots that lace to mid calf. At least he's lost that ball cap that makes it look like he's casing the joint.

The others are out on the patio to avoid the loud music within, though the awkward dancing can likely be seen from the main bar. What are those crazy kids up to out there?

Bennie's head tilts back with a light laugh at the notion of moshing. Or maybe Easton only being upset if he weren't invited. Or maybe some combination there of. "Well, you're welcome to take a spin in mine. I promise, it's all unicorns with rainbow farts in there." She promises Alexander.

Narrator: it was not all unicorns with rainbow fart in there.

With one hand established on her hips, Bennie moves Alexander's other to join, freeing her own to drape over his shoulders and rest there by her forearms. She keeps enough space between them for the Holy Ghost, so not to disrupt his comfort level. "Come over to the apartment. His apartment. Ours?" She tries that on for size, and shakes her head. "Nope, I'm still not there yet." Her attention swivels to the other two guys, "Ooh, army boy. I knew I liked you."

"Don't be ridiculous." Itzhak slides his arm around August's waist, and inevitably reddens, but that lopsided smile keeps lingering. "I learned to dance playin' in a Cajun band. You ever danced zydeco?" He's teasing, though, he doesn't make August do anything so energetic. Just sways his hips and shoulders in counterpoint, humming absently along to the music. Occasionally drinking. He aims that smile at Bennie, too. Ruiz he glances at...and maybe a moment or two too long.

"It's been over twenty years since I was in the Army," August says to Bennie, shaking his head. "And I was only in for three years anyways." His mouth twitches in a smile at Alexander's drunk/nervous rambling, which becomes a toothy grin as Itzhak blushes. "Hm, let me see, did I manage to learn zydeco while I was out in the field for months on end...no." And since he's sporting a pint of beer as well, he settles his free arm around Itzhak's waist in turn, has a drink. "So this'll have to do." A dancer he's not, but he's perfectly agile on his feet, so no toes are being stepped on, and he can easily respond to whatever lead Itzhak sets.

Which includes the way he looks at Ruiz. August does as well, glances sidelong at Itzhak and arches an eyebrow in a silent question of 'who's that'.

Alexander smiles at Bennie's laughter, his own laughter coming out in a soft huff. "I don't think I've ever seen unicorns with rainbow farts, but it sounds nice. But you're nice, so that would make sense." Oblivious to any sarcasm or insincerity in that description of herself. "You don't want me in your head, though." He tenses up when her arms drape on his shoulders, a shudder running through him. But he doesn't flinch back or just panic and flee. Yet, anyway. Instead, he sneaks a peek at Itzhak and August, and his eyes narrow. "What is zydeco?" He tries to use their movements as a guide as he turns back to Bennie, starting up an awkward sort of sway and shuffle. One of nature's dancers, he is not. He doesn't seem to notice Ruiz at the bar, just yet.

Ruiz pivots to lean a hip against the bar while he watches a few people get up to dance. One of them he recognises; the EMT from the strip club. Sutton's partner. His attention's diverted by the wiry tattooed guy who gives him sideeye, and it's returned evenly until he looks away. "Thanks," he murmurs as his drink's slid over. It's not Patron, but judging by the murmur of approval after he sips, it'll do. Then, and only then does he spot Alexander. And scowls, slightly.

"Once a military man, always a military man..." Bennie says in a sing song voice to August, but then again, judging by her chosen boyfriend, she might have a thing for men in uniform. She keeps the dancing simple, not trying to make Alexander twirl her or even so much as turn. Swaying and shuffling suits her just fine, but then again, she too has been drinking so that limits any disasters. Especially with the rotten luck she's been having all week. "Zydeco is the music of the swamps of Louisiana. You know the type. All washboards and accordions." Her voice takes on a dreamy quality, "Not that I've ever been. You play?" She asks Itzhak.

Itzhak does look away, too, leading August in a little circle so the eye contact between him and Ruiz is broken. He runs his tongue along his teeth, like an animal who's caught a scent, and shakes his head at August with a quick murmur of, "Nothin'." Then, to cover up, he tells him, "Hey, you ain't too bad, old-timer," smile turning sly. He says over to Bennie and Alexander, "Yep, though really, zydeco's an offshoot of musique cadienne, that's the old-fashioned swamp music." He pauses, then shrugs a little bashfully, realizing he probably sounds like an asshole, "I got an earful about the difference in that band. Anyway, yeah, I play fiddle."

August sighs at Bennie, shrugs in a 'you may have some kind of point' way. He studies Itzhak a time, that way he does when he wants it made clear that the subject being dropped right now will in all likelihood get picked up again. He doesn't, however, try to stare at Ruiz, or anything along those lines. Instead he looks between Itzhak and Bennie, assures Bennie, "He's pretty damned good."

Except he does catch, out of the corner of his eye, Ruiz looking their way. "Don't look now, but 'Nothin' is staring at our friend Burning Man," he murmurs to Itzhak around a sip of beer.

Alexander blinks, owlishly, at the explanations by Bennie and Itzhak. "Fascinating." It's not sarcastic. He looks genuinely intrigued, in a tipsy sort of way, his head swinging back and forth between them. "And fiddles are good, although I like them best when they are loud and electric." He listens to August with his head cocked slightly. "I'd like to hear you play one day, Itzhak." A bright grin, then. He seems to have a sixth sense for scowls, though, because he decides to be a bit bolder, and initiate an actual, shuffling, sort of turn with Bennie - then freezes as he sees Ruiz. "O Captain! My Captain! Our frightful trip is done," he quotes in a sing-song, ducking his head as if he might hide behind Bennie. This is not a winning strategy. Then he scowls in turn. "No. Fearful. Not frightful. Our fearful trip is done."

Ruiz nurses his drink at the bar, bulky frame situated in his seat with a casual, boneless sort of insouciance composed of slouched shoulders and inked fingers rested on the rim of his glass. Drunk is the plan; the destination, and he's in no rush to get there. Soak up the ambiance, try a honey roasted peanut. It's tossed into his mouth and obliterated between his teeth. Could be better, could be worse, says the look on his face.

Then Alexander's voice percolates out from the sparse crowd of dancers, and his dark eyes flit that way again briefly. His tonguetip runs along his upper teeth, maybe to clean them. Then he pops another nut. Glances Itzhak's way again for good measure with a little up-down-who-the-fuck-are-you. And back to his drink.

"Oh my god, that's amazing!" Bennie coos about Itzhak's fiddle playing, seemingly genuinely excited and impressed rolled into one energetic exclamation that's further spurred by August's assessment of his skill. There is another happy bout of laughter as she's turned about, unaware that it it's drawn short or why. She just assumes that's the end of the dance as he quotes Whitman. "Great. Movie." The blonde tells him, "But I hope dancing with me isn't fearful or frightful. But you know what is? The way that jet fuel is running straight through me. Time to break the seal!" Bennie declares of her intent to hop off to the restroom, leaning just a half inch closer to Alexander to give his cheek an air kiss (with a wide berth) before she goes bounding off towards the building. "Hi Officer Dela La Vega!" She chirps on her way past, knowing him from the station of course.

Itzhak does not look again at Ruiz, but tightens up all over when he's given the once-over. "Well, I got an electric fiddle," he says to Alexander, playing it cool extremely hard, "though I like the real one better. And you literally live next door to me. When you should want, come over. Don't even have to have a broken door." He laughs, then, as Bennie gets way too excited about his fiddle. "Yeah yeah." Bennie heads off, and Itzhak makes to pass August off to Alexander. "Hey, this old guy, he dances pretty good, wanna try?"

'Officer', August mouths, voiceless, and bobs his eyebrows at Itzhak. He lets himself be handed off, which totally on accident and without even trying blocks Ruiz's line of sight to Alexander, and vice versa. "I can promise not to step on your toes," he says. And maybe his expression telegraphs, 'or let that guy at the bar stare at you'. "That's about it, though." He finishes his beer, sets the empty glass on the table. "But I won't be the least bit put out if you say no." He looks askance at Itzhak. "You have an electric one too?"

"Movie?" Alexander blinks a couple of times. "Oh. Oh, yes, I suppose." He releases her immediately, but with a smile that doesn't waver even when she air kisses near his cheek. "No, not fearful nor frightful." He winces as she greets Ruiz, though. "That's not his name OR his rank," he mutters. "Captain Javier Ruiz de la Vega. It's a most acceptable number of names. He's a friend. Also an asshole." The number of names attached to Ruiz seems to cheer him, and he even flashes a muzzy smile in that direction, before turning to Itzhak and August again. "I...sure. I could come over. Yes. Maybe." That makes everything more clear. He stares at August for a long moment, his stare turning reptilian, his face going blank as he thinks. Then he extends his hands, and something more lively and pleasant seeps back in. "I can't promise not to step on yours, I'm afraid. But I will try?"

He of the acceptable number of names has already made short work of his first glass of tequila, and curves a quick smile to the 'tender who indicates his empty with a raised eyebrow to indicate that, yes, he'd very much like another. Bennie and her mangling of his name gains a murmur in passing that doubles as greeting and farewell. Then a slight lowering of his lashes as he sips, and takes a moment to enjoy the burn of the liquor going down.

Itzhak sits back down, draining the rest of his drink and hoisting his boots on the table in the same motion. "Yeah, crowds love it. They see you with a regular fiddle, they think you're gonna force 'em to listen to something with culture. They see an electric fiddle, they know they're gonna get something fun. To be honest, though, it's a lot less responsive, kinda dull to play, you can't get near the same range of intonation out of it because it don't got no intonation to speak of. But it looks cool." He smiles, quick and brilliant, when Alexander accepts dancing with August, and lights up another cigarette.

The news that Ruiz is a cop, and not merely any regular cop, comes as no surprise to him. He just drags off his smoke, though. No trouble here.

"Captain," August says, glancing over his shoulder at Ruiz, then back to Alexander. "Well what are good friends for but being assholes to one another." He flicks a glance at Itzhak, one corner of his mouth twitching in a smile, and He stops blocking the view between Ruiz and Alexander. At least not for the moment.

He takes Alexanders hands, gets them settled. His stance is a little less familiar than it was with Itzhak, not without good reason. He likes to think he can be a gentleman when it's called for. (Though reality might not entirely agree with this internal assessment.) "It's alright, I can avoid it for the both of us." And indeed, he's a pleasant enough dancer, if not ready to try out for Dancing with the Stars any time soon. He's also significantly taller than Alexander, which makes it a bit of a different feel.

"Isn't it only culture if you call it a violin?" Alexander asks, with a teasing lilt to his voice, and his own quick-as-a-knife smile towards Itzhak. "I feel like 'fiddle' is automatically populist, whatever you're playing." He lets August guide his hands without protest, although there's a twitchiness there, like he's having to force himself, on some level, to do it. But he follows a lead pretty decently as long as it's not complicated. He peers up at August's face, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You were in the army. But I don't know anything else about you, except that you're named after a month - it's a decent month - and you know how to zydeco. Is it appropriate to use 'zydeco' as a verb? You're not a musician, I'd guess. Clearly not a cop, although many ex-military take that path." It's a rapid explosion of nervous chatter, although Alexander's voice doesn't raise in volume, just in speed, and he barely slurs his words at all. Instead, it becomes more precise, as if he's aware of his intoxication and trying to project sobriety.

The familiar, bitter scent of someone lighting up seems to remind Ruiz that he's got a pack of his own burning a hole in his pocket. His glass is nudged away, and the pack dug out with quick fingers. Once he's got a smoke tucked between his lips, he ignites the cherry with a quick flick of his lighter. A pull, an exhale, and his glass is collected in the same hand before he shifts to his feet. Might be he's going to step outside onto the terrace for some air. Or might be he's going to plunk himself down at Itzhak's table, followed by his glass, and announce in Mexican Spanish-accented English, "Who the fuck are you?" The fact that he's watching Alexander rather than the rangy mechanic perhaps complicates this question.

"I call it a violin, sometimes, when I'm playin' it classical," Itzhak says to Alexander, grinning at him in a way that makes his hazel eyes go crinkly at the corners. He's really enjoying the way Alexander and August are dancing, and the way Alexander has a lot of personal questions for August. Frikkin' adorable.

Ruiz's abrupt arrival, however, makes his smile freeze and his back go tense as one of that violin's strings. He turns his head away from him, looking at him out of the corner of one eye like a dog suing for peace. And indeed at first he doesn't clock Ruiz is talking to him, since he's watching Alexander. But he catches up after a minute. "'m Rosencrantz. Itzhak. How's ya doin." His accent is as New York as bodegas and Yiddish as latkes.

August coughs a laugh at the fiddle vs. violin commentary. His eyebrow twitch up at Alexander's questions, which he takes from the top. "Technically, I'm named for the same thing the month is, which is Augustus, the title the Roman emperors used, after Gaius Octavius. In Greek it became the name Sebastian." August tips his head in a 'how about that' at Alexander. "The Army thing didn't last long. A building fell on me about three years in. So I went to college on the GI Bill, joined the Forestry Service. Don't play music, didn't occur to me to try since that medical discharge banged up my hearing for a while. I absolutely cannot zydeco, though maybe," he cuts a look at Itzhak, "I'll talk him into teaching me how. I was up at Olympic until a few years ago. And that is the very short version of me. Now you know."

And then, Ruiz is there. August doesn't stop their dancing, just gives Ruiz a mild look. Since Itzhak's answering, he chooses to assume Ruiz doesn't mean him.

Alexander gives Ruiz a sidelong look as he approaches, tensing up a little. The abrupt question and stare doesn't help, but he throws the cop an exasperated look. "He fixed my door, so stop being an asshole to him, Captain." His eyes linger on that cigarette end and he twitches, his whole body sort of trying to pull away from even that small bit of fire before he forces himself to look back to August. Who is saying clearly interesting things, drawing another smile. "An emperor's title is a bit of a tall order to live up to. Although I guess I can't talk, with Alexander. I'm not much of a conqueror," he admits with a shrug. "But learning how to zydeco seems a worthy way to spend your time. I bet it's nice, in the Forestry Service. Quiet." His voice is a little wistful. "Thank you. For telling me."

The Mexican who's appropriated himself a seat at Itzhak's table seems to be no stranger to the sort of treatment he's getting right at this moment. The sideeye, the hackles up. He sips his drink, and then because it's more than warm enough in here not to need it, shrugs out of his jacket and slings it across the back of his chair. Copious amounts of ink; two full sleeves, though the left is sparser than the right. "Encantada de conocerte, Rosencrantz. Itzhak." The Spanish melds fluidly back into English, his dark eyes on Alexander for a little while longer before he turns to offer more than just his profile to the man seated beside him, when the door is mentioned.

"You are a friend of Clayton's, then. Hm." Not a dog, this one. More like a wolf, with a smile like that.

"I did fix his door," Itzhak says to Ruiz, sotto voce, like it might be indiscreet to mention. "Vas makhstu, Kapitan." He draws on the last of his smoke and stubs it out in the ashtray, eyeing Ruiz's ink. "Ehhh we just met, he said it's too early for flowers. I wouldn't wanna tell him he's friends with some schlub like me."

"Yeah our parents sure didn't go easy on us in that regard, did they," August says, smiling wry and sympathetic. "Forestry was...very quiet." His eyebrows lift briefly, a sort of signal that he doesn't mean quiet in just a mundane sense. "Which was something I needed a lot of. Honestly, it's good work if you can get it." His smile turns less wry. "Well you're welcome, Alexander."

The dance comes to its conclusion, and August gives Alexander a little faux bow. He fetches his empty beer glass from the table. "Not that you need anything strong than an Arnold Palmer, Mr. The Great, but you want anything from the bar?" He glances at Itzhak. "Or you? And it is too early for flowers. Cookies first." And, because he wasn't born in a barn, he says to Ruiz, "Or you?"

"Expectations one always fails to meet," Alexander murmurs, wry and weary in return. "Sometimes quiet sounds nice," he agrees. "But there's promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep." A soft laugh. "Not that I ever sleep." He breaks contact immediately when the movement stops, lifting his hands with an air of apology, like he was trespassing by touching in the first place. He blinks at the bow, then tries to imitate it. "A pleasure." He manages not to pitch forward onto his face, but it's in doubt for just a moment.

When he straightens up, he moves hesitantly back towards the table, and the remains of his bottle of rotgut. "Cookies before flowers is a solid philosophy throughout life," I think, and he gestures towards the bottle when August makes the offer, skirting around Ruiz to grab his glass. He eyes the terrible alcohol with the air of a man taking his medicine, and pours another glass before sitting down.

Ruiz wasn't born in a barn either, but somehow he still manages to sit himself down at strange men's tables without so much as a by your leave. He's also two glasses of tequila in, which is apparently enough for him to admit to Itzhak, also sotto voce, "I broke his door. So. Thank you."

He looks up at the query from August, otherwise known as that guy from Addington House. And flashes him a quick smile that doesn't quite linger long enough to be identified as such. "Tequila, por favor." Alexander and his rotgut are eyed, and of course he doesn't move an inch from his space-eating sprawl when the man edges in to grab his glass. "Why are you drinking that shit, Clayton?" he wants to know, after a pause for consideration.

Itzhak snorts in a surprised half-laugh. "Eh. De nada. I showed Izzy how to fix it, in case any more doors get broken." He passes over his glass to August, with a quick quirked smile of thanks. "More of the same, would ya please?" Double whiskey sour, that is. A lot tastier than whatever disaster Alexander has going on. "Yeah, why are you drinking engine degreaser, anyway?" he asks Alexander. "It's gonna make you sick, you're not used to it."

"Got it," August says of the orders. He heads to the bar, comes back in short order with a double whiskey sour, tequila, a lager for himself, and real Shirley Temple (grendaine in ginger ale, none of this fake ass Cherry Sprite nonsense) for Alexander should he decide to stop waging chemical warfare on his stomach. He passes the drinks out, takes a seat next to Itzhak. He stretches his legs out, leaning back in the chair and studying each of the other men in turn. Maybe Alexander a little more than Ruiz, though. Staring at cops is never a good idea.

"Because Isabella burned my bones," Alexander says, as he settles into a space where no one else is, seeming to find it natural to fit himself into the edges rather than challenge Ruiz's sprawl. He takes a swallow. Then grimaces. "Not my bones. William Ghoul--Gohl's. His bones. But it burned me, too. Still does. It's worse at night, so I am going to drink until I can't feel anything. Because burning up inside isn't actually much fun, even the first time." A bright, sunny smile at Ruiz, like this is a perfectly ordinary conversation, and he lifts his glass before choking down another few swallows. "Seems cruel to waste good alcohol on that." His eyes flick up to Itzhak. "Thank you, though. For the door. I owe you a favor. And cookies." He gives August a puzzled look, but takes the drink, then flashes a smile in that direction too. "I owe you a favor, too. And possibly cookies. I'm not entirely sure of the conversion rate from booze to cookie."

Ah, the bones. The broken door, and the bones. And Isabella burned them, did she? The cop murmurs his thanks to August for the drink, and lingers the glass at his lips for a moment before taking a sniff, and a sip. And chases it with a pull from his smoke. "Cruel to who, you or the alcohol." He furrows his brows at Alexander a moment, then shoots August a curious look. "I think we have met. Briefly. I did not catch your name." His bearing, his way of making statements rather than questions, maybe hint at some sort of military in his past.

Itzhak is just accepting his drink from August when Alexander says that about the burning of the bones. He flinches and slops it over both their hands. Muttering a curse, he licks his fingers. He glances at Ruiz--a classic, transparent 'should I say this in front of the cop' glance--decides to hell with it, and leans toward Alexander, his eyebrows going intense. "How d'you think we can stop him?"

August looks askance at Ruiz. He considrs what to say, finally decides on, "Yeah, that night the lamp tried to kill us, and someone threw a dresser on you." He says this like it's a totally normal thing to run into, homicidal lamps and people using dressers to sort out their problems. "That wasn't me, by the way. August Roen."

Shortly after this introduction, part of Itzhak's beer gets on his hands. But that's the least of August's concerns. "William Ghoul? You mean the--" He stops himself from saying it, but 'murderer' is plain on his face. He frowns at Itzhak asking this very pointed question. Especially given... "Stop him, isn't he dead?"

Alexander blinks muzzily at Itzhak. Raises a hand, one finger lifted in a rather lecturing sort of fashion. "Working hypothesis. Metaphysical connection between myself and, and my ancestor appears to exist. Harm to the...bones seems to hurt me. Yay." That's deadpan. "Further conjecture: connection goes both ways? Since William is a ghost, currently," a nod to August in an approving fashion - he is a GOOD STUDENT and staying current on the reading, "bad horror movies suggest it might be possible to leverage such a connection to trap a restless spirit, or destroy it. Imprisoning me or killing me in some suitably ritual fashion might do it?" He's way too cheery about this, but his next drink of the horrible alcohol IS a pretty hefty one. "Will explore possibilities once I'm sober again. Planning to avoid eviscerating myself to try and track Gohl, unless no other option presents itself. I suppose I could just start smashing some of the other bones and see if mine break. More data."

Ruiz doesn't look ruffled at all by the conversation. Nor does he contribute to it, mind. To look at him through the lens of glimmer, though, would be to spot someone who shines faintly. Tenuous and frail, but there. Surely he's not oblivious to this town and its dark things. "That's good to know." To August. About the dresser. It'd be a little awkward if he had been responsible for that. He takes a long pull off his drink and tips his head back a little, eyes closing as it goes down. This. This is likely part of his motivation for being here tonight. Talk of murderers and strange happenings. Guess who's tasked with leading the charge, while Thatchery fucks off to do whatever he does?

Itzhak by contrast doesn't just glimmer. He doesn't even shine. He glows like a neon searchlight. There's a huge well of strength in him. He's listening closely, nodding along with Alexander as he makes point after point. "We call that a dybbuk. Sometimes if you do what they want, they leave on their own. Like if someone's not lighting the yahrzeit candle. Usually though, what they want can't be fixed. Like they're mad their widow remarried. Then they gotta be exorcised." He swaps looks between August and Ruiz, to see if they're following.

August adds, "Sorry, no idea who did do it," in an aside to Ruiz. Because, well, he only knows the name of two other people from that night, but he couldn't rightly say who was using furniture to solve their problems.

"Eviscerating yourself?" He gives Alexander an exasperated look. "There has got to be some other way of," he nods at Itzhak, "exorcising this thing. Since William G...ohl doesn't sound like he deserves being appeased, that's for goddamned sure."

"Don't know what the fucker wants," Alexander says, quietly. "Except to have his bones buried, and we can't do that, after a quarter of them were burnt and another quarter were eaten by the Archivist." He grimaces at the word 'exorcised', but asks, "Anybody know how to perform an exorcism?" August is given a helpless sort of shrug. "I only found all this shit a few hours ago. Haven't had time to think it through, yet." A soft, self-mocking laugh. "Probably shouldn't do that thinking on a head full of lighter fluid."

Ruiz flicks his tongue along his lower lip, as if to catch the trickle of alcohol left behind by his glass, before it makes its way into his beard. His dark eyes go to Itzhak when the man mentions dybbuk and lighting candles, and he shrugs a big shoulder when he's given that querying look. "In Ixtepeji we sometimes talk about Mal de Ojo. The Zapotecs are said to use a ritual de limpieza to remove it, but I.." Don't believe in that garbage? He narrows his eyes slightly, sends a brief glance to Alexander when he starts talking about exorcisms, and finishes off his drink. "I'm going to get some air." A couple of crumpled bills are extracted from his pants pocket and tossed onto the table. "It was nice to meet you both." He means August and Itzhak.

"Then he does want something," Itzhak mutters. As Ruiz leaves, he shoots him a wary little upnod. "The evil eye? We got that too." And apparently he believes in such things, or such garbage as they may be. "See ya Cap."

His mouth curves down as he studies Alexander. "Yeah, look, you got a ride home? You're gonna need one. I live right next to you, I'll get an Uber for us. That way I know you got home safe. I've already been in your house." He blinks. "Not in a creepy way. Except that was kind of creepy. Look, just, I don't want you wobbling off into the dark with maybe alcohol poisoning."

August nods at Ruiz. "Yeah you too." He surveys him as he departs, still trying to take his measure of him. Eventually he turns to Alexander again. "There's gotta be some way of severing that connection from you. Then you can do whatever you need to with the fucking bones." He rubs the back of his neck, has more lager. "Maybe we can find someone powerful enough to remake the bones that are gone?" He makes a face, though. He's never tried to do something on that scale.

"An Uber? Rosencrantz, don't insult me, I'll drive you two." He sighs, gets out a few bills, collects Ruiz's in preparation for stopping by the bar to settle up. "Come on."

Alexander fixes his eyes on Ruiz, wide and dark. "Fascinating. I'd--" and then he's getting up. Disappointment flickers, quickly replaced by blankness. "It was nice to see you, Captain." It's toneless but he stares at Ruiz for a long moment, his head tilted back to study his face as best he can as he departs. His eyes snap back to Itzhak, and he smiles. "It's all right. Creepy. I'm pretty creepy most of the time. So, yes? I'll pay you for the ride, I just don't have the app. Or a credit card." The offer is transferred from Itzhak to August as the other man speaks. "Thank you." He stands, wobbles, and follows obediently along behind the others.