2019-08-01 - Warning: Men May Be Crazier Than They Appear

Isolde eventually had come back home. Her knuckles were a little bruised like she got into some kind of minor scrap. Something about her seemed overall subdued, less animated than she usually was. But she had cookies - black and white ones like Itzhak had said he liked. And she seemed to brighten up when there was fried chicken actually presented for dinner. Alexander might have had questions, but Isolde didn't want to answer any of them -SO she did what any good adult would do. Deflect by suggesting they take all these goodies over to Itzhak! To thank him for fixing the door.

This is why Isolde was leading Alexander around to the side entrance that led to Itzhak's space. She was holding the cookies - Alexander was in charge of the chicken. Giving a few light knocks. "I hope he likes it all." Putting another smile on, humming quietly.

Alexander is...cleaned up. A bit bleary eyed from the epic hangover he woke up with, but he's managed to become clean shaven, and even dressed in some of the nicer clothing he has, as if one can correct a first impression of drunkenness by trying to look like a Mormon missionary. Bearing fried chicken. He DID have questions for Isolde, but took the deflections without protest, just a pinched look of concern. He's trailing behind her, staring at the back of her head. Not intoxicated, Alexander's body language is more closed and wary, his shoulders hunched and his expression blank aside from the faint furrow of his brow. "What's not to like?" he asks, tonelessly. "Unless he's vegetarian. That would be awkward. Or vegan. More awkward." And now he looks like he's rethinking this whole idea.

Lively fiddle music is easily heard emanating from the partial-basement apartment. Upon Isolde knocking, it stops. Itzhak swings the door open, fiddle and bow hanging from one hand. His eyebrows pop up. "Hey! Hey, what's up?" There's a pause as he takes in their conditions and those eyebrows go higher. "Youse guys okay?" Himself, he seems a little bleary, but otherwise perfectly fine.

"It'll be okay. I'm sure of it." Isolde nodded, resassuring Alexander. When Itzhak opened the door she smiled brightly. "We have gifts." Offering him the plastic package of cookies and then moving to let Alexander offer the chicken. She doesn't have many 'nice' clothes except for that dress she wore to the charity dance forever ago, But that felt like too much. So she's just in her dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Her hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail. "Did you have fun last night?" Since she had never actually come back from her 'be right back' thing she pulled at the bar last night.

Alexander offers the chicken obediently when Isolde steps aside, in an awkward little shove towards Itzhak. He stares at the man with more intensity, a frankly rude amount of it, than last night. But his voice is soft, and friendly, as he says, "Hi. Hope we're not interrupting. I'm feeling better, thank you." A sidelong glance at Isolde, as if he's worried she is not, but he lets her answer for herself, and gives Itzhak a sheepish little smile. "You were promised cookies. And I wanted to. Uh. Not be drunk at you. Since we're neighbors."

Itzhak is wearing a snug tank top, leaving all his tattoos out on display, and beat-in, worn jeans that have gone as soft as suede and nearly white with age. "Hell yeah, cookies," he says, grinning. "Come on in." Standing back to let them in, he shuts the door behind them. "Yeah, actually, I had a great time. How about you?"

He realizes Alexander is staring at him. He stares back (he is actually faking it, looking him between the eyes instead of in them, but it's impossible to tell), and doesn't drop it until Alexander looks away first. Not like when he deliberately wouldn't get into a staring match with Ruiz last night.

When Alexander talks, though, Itzhak relaxes. "I didn't mind ya drunk. Just worried, the way you were puttin' away that lighter fluid. Put that stuff on the table." The apartment is one-bedroom, very sparsely furnished, and the most obvious thing in it is the big glass tank where Iris lives.

Isolde had expertly (in her mind) avoided answering the being okay question. Because she didn't know if she was or not. And she certainly didn't want to think about it. Because then she'd just want to reach into that left pocket and-NOPE. No. Everything was fine. She was totally okay. That smile remained. "My night went just fine." And even if it wasn't the full truth, she definitely wasn't going to be talking about it so there was no use in asking! Stepping inside, Isolde moved over to Iris and grinned. "This is Iris." She said to Alexander. "Luigi wouldn't like her. But she's pretty, right?" Looking over her shoulder at him and then looked back to Itzhak. "Do you have that apple cider still."

Alexander holds the stare for an unpleasantly long time, but there doesn't seem to be the usual dominance posturing involved in it, more as if Alexander just stares at whatever he's happening to be thinking about - and at the moment, it's Itzhak. The tattoos are studied in turn, and then he blinks and turns to regard Isolde as she moves over to Iris. A frown at her answer to the other man's question, but he's not pressing. "Iris. No, Luigi wouldn't like her, but she's beautiful. What exactly is she?" Another flicker of a smile, before he gives a jerky nod in Itzhak's direction and goes to put the stuff on the table. "No need to be worried. I figure drinking bad booze when you want to get drunk means that you want to get drunk less often." A look back to Itzhak. "I had fun, though. Unexpected. But appreciated."

Itzhak gives Isolde kind of a dubious look, glancing at her bruised knuckles. Then, demonstrating he isn't, in fact, going to ask, says, "Yep, got that cider. August gets it from a lady makes it." He sets his fiddle and bow down in the open case resting on the elderly couch. "Go ahead, it's in the fridge, help yaself."

He seems to realize Alexander isn't posturing at him, and he lets his own posturing go, and he quirks a wry, knowing half-smile at him. What exactly he's knowing about...unclear. "She's a blue-tongue skink, northern subspecies. Tiliqua scincoides intermedia." Latin in his hilly Yiddish-New-York accent is kinda funny. "There's a lotta different subspecies so I gotta be specific. Say hi, Iris." Iris does absolutely nothing. "You still feelin' rough?" he asks Alexander. "Little hair of the dog do ya if you are."

"Thank you!" Isolde moved towards the fridge and got out two bottles, because apparently Alexander was going to try it too! She handed her roommate one and then opened the other. Taking a sip of it and sighing happily. There's a giggle as he spouts off Iris' subspecies. "That's a lotta names." She decies, curling up on one part of the couch. "What were you playing? Before we knocked." Looking over at the fiddle curiously and then back up to him.

"August." Alexander's expression flickers. "Right. I remember him. Forestry? Ex-Army." He considers these facts, and with a nod pronounces them good. "He seemed nice." Iris receives a very solemn sort of nod in return, and a thoughtful - even intense - once over. Assuming he finds no signs of neglect, abuse, or distress on the skink's part, he relaxes a little more and gives Itzhak a warmer, although still brief, sort of smile. There's a shake of his head at the offer. "I'm feeling better. I think even the burning is...less? Today. Perhaps. It might be fading. Either way, I think more alcohol is not the solution. Thank you, though." He does take one of the bottles of cider, although presses it to his forehead for a moment, rolling there rather than opening it immediately. A curious look at Itzhak when Isolde asks her question. He adds, "I apologize if I'm stereotyping, but it sounds like you're from New York City?"

This skink is, frankly, spoiled. Big tank, lots of branches and rocks and things to climb under or over, and the floor is soil, as in actual dirt, with actual plants growing in it. There's even a tiny waterfall and a pool. She turns her head to eye Alexander, and flicker out her brilliant blue tongue. Otherwise, she doesn't move.

"Cajun," Itzhak says, picking up his fiddle case and moving it somewheres else so the couch is freer. "I play a bunch of styles, but I played that one for so long, sticks with me." He doesn't sit yet, still standing, restless energy making his fingers twitch. Then he kinda laughs. "What gave it away?" he says to Alexander, with that lopsided smile. "Yeah. Born and raised on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Howsabout you two?"

Honestly Isolde seems happy enough to listen to the men talk. She studies Iris now and again, murmuring to the reptile in French. All the animals would learn French! She takes another sip of her cider. There is a little bit of concern when Alexander talks about the burning...but at least it was improving maybe? Then questions are being answered and asked and she's trying to refocus on them. "I liked it. It's good dancing music." She murmured, almost like an after through. Her brow furrowed and then Isolde shook her head. Shaking off any lingering thoughts on that. "Me? I'm pretty sure I'm from Oregon. That's the first before time I remember." Isolde answered as to where shes' from. An odd answer surely, but it was never difficult to figure out she was odd.

"It sounded lovely," Alexander agrees, moving to take a seat on the newly freed space on the couch. "I'm from here. Which is why you must understand that my next question comes from a place of concern: Why on earth are you here? Gray Harbor isn't exactly on many lists of great places to live." It could be teasing, or joking, or accusatory, depending on his expression - instead, it's just intensely curious, his dark eyes fixed on Itzhak as he moves around.

"It's dancing music," Itzhak says, while Iris grants Isolde a tongueflick, too. So blue! "S'what people had, yannow? They didn't have money, mostly still don't. Hella discriminated against. But they had music, dancing, and they had food." He listens to Isolde's answer, nods. The idea that she's not exactly sure where she's from honestly doesn't seem to bother him. He's been like that since they met: just accepting her as she chooses to show up. "So ya both from here."

Still not sitting, but now deigning to lean a narrow hip against the table, he folds his arms, eyebrows going tilty. Alexander, he lets look at him. Look his fill. But he snorts at the question. "Buddy, I lived in a lot worse places than this. This ain't bad. Maybe ain't good, but not bad. This friend of the family wants his garage taken care of out here. It wasn't operational, he wanted me to come out and get it running. So I did. I can make us both a lot of money." He tells that story kind of flat, uninterested in it. Then he opens the plastic box of cookies and gets out a miniature stack of them. "Aww yeah, these are just like from home."

"It sounds like a fun time." Isolde grinned again, drawing her knees to her chest. "I felt a pull to come here. This is...the longest I've been in a place. In a long time." Head tilted as she thought it over. It was nice not be looked at like she was crazy. A curious little look to await his answer to Alexander's question. "Garage? You fix cars too? You fix lots of things huh?" Gaze dropping to the cookies as he grabs them. "I'm glad you like them! I got them from the place downtown. They looked pretty. I figured they would taste the way they looked." There's a little chuckle. She's feeling somewhat better at least it seemed. Naturally brightening up some as they talked. "Where else have you lived?"

"Music makes many things more bearable, and brings joy even in the midst of strife and stress." Alexander listens to the response, his head tilting to one side. "Alexander," he murmurs. "My name is Alexander. And...interesting. Lately, a lot of people who stand out have been coming to town. Some say they were called. Others just show up. It's a fascinating trend." A pause. "You're a mechanic. Do you like it here, so far?" A nod; another piece of information added to his internal file. He seems to relax a little more, his shoulders coming down, as Isolde's cheerfulness returns.

"I fix stuff," Itzhak says to Isolde, again kind of wry, as if he's poking fun at himself. "I fix stuff, I fiddle. S'what I do." He looks between them. It's a little risky, but he tells them. Isolde's been just as accepting of him as he has been of her. "Well, see. I got a record. It's tough to get hired in a real job with that, especially when ya look the part." He gestures down at himself. "So getting my own business, that's a pretty big deal. There's nowhere near so much competition out here as back east, and the rent's low." Again this rings a little hollow, but he shrugs and bites into a cookie. "Nothin' special. I dunno if I like it like it here. I miss my ma and my sister and niece." He glances at Alexander, and it's kind, and he's smiling a little. "Yeah, I know. Alexander. So what is it you two do?"

The news of Itzhak having a record doesn't seem to phase her. "I got one too." She confided back as she relaxed into the couch. Studying the New Yorker for a moment. "Maybe you can go visit them soon." She offered. "And maybe you can show me how to fix more things sometimes! It's good to be handy." A thoughtful little noise. "I'm helping at the Lavender Farm right now. But. I dunno yet when the season ends." Because like Itzhak said, there were only so many options when you had a record. But Isolde had the whole 'she's probably crazy' vibe that worked against her too. Though she was working on that! Or had been. She started to glance downward but QUICKLY snapped out of it and exhaled softly. She had no issues just chatting away about whatever! At least not around these two.

Alexander's eyebrows go up when Itzhak mentions his record, but he clearly rethinks the questions that immediately pop up into his eyes. His fingers twitch along his shirt buttons with the effort to not, uh, say the first thing that pops into his head. Which means that any answer at all comes more slowly. "That must be difficult. Good luck here." A thoughtful glance towards Isolde - there's a touch of surprise at the mention of her own record, but not much. It's not truly surprising. "I investigate things, locate fugitives, teach a couple of classes on crime and research at the community college, and interfere in police investigations." A pause. "That last one doesn't get me paid, but it's entertaining." A smile, then.

Itzhak smiles now at Isolde, commiserating. "People don't understand people like you 'n me. Alexander, too. We're all kinda different from the norm. People can be pretty mean about that." He watches her go through her little internal struggle, without judgement, just observation. Actually sorta like Alexander like that. Who he looks at next, and huffs half a laugh. "So you're dyin' to know what I was in for, right? It's boring. GTA. And I ain't no fugitive, I paid my debt. You bettah believe I cleaned my shit up after that. Hey, you're real smart, huh? You had some pretty damn smart stuff to say about the Ghoul last night."

Isolde nodded in wholehearted agreement. "But what is normal even? You know. It doesn't exist. It all just...is." She decided and smiled again. Curious about what he was in for, of course, especially when he was gonna just go and volunteer it. "That's one thing I haven't done. Stolen a car." A beat of pause. "Something I won't do." Because, hahaha, of course she isn't going to go carjack someone. That would be a ridiculous sight. Shaking her head, she grinned. "Alexander is very smart. He knows all sorts of things." She agreed.

Alexander blinks at Itzhak's observation, then laughs, softly. "I...yes, I was curious. But people tend to object to being asked. I didn't...I'm not looking for you as a fugitive," he assures the other man, quietly. "Property crime is generally boring." A sidelong look towards Isolde. "Which doesn't mean I encourage it. Murder is interesting." DUH, Itzhak. He looks uncomfortable at the comments about whether he's smart or not, and rolls his shoulders, looking back towards Iris. Hi, skink. "I feel that if I was actually smart, we've have figured out what to do about the bastard already. But murderous ghosts and forensic evidence are actually mutually incompatible." A quirk of his lips. "Funny, that."

"Property crime is way more fun when you're doing it," Itzhak says, and hikes his eyebrows darn near flirtatiously at Alexander, grinning sidelong at him. He gives Isolde a similar look, a little rakish. "Maybe we can pretend to steal a car. Mine, of course. It's the kind of car I woulda boosted in the day, so it'll be an authentic experience." Is he kidding? ...Yes, but he also means it. "Hey, smart people don't solve problems immediately. That's not what makes you smart. Don't be too hard on yourself. I just wish we could find a way to turn off the burning for you, because brother, that does not sound like it's fun."

There's a perfectly innocent look on Isolde's face. Of course she isn't going to do any property crimes! Preposterous. Though she looks terribly intrigued by Itzhak's offer of a fake carjacking. Something to revisit later...maybe...Her bottle gets set down carefully on the table and she shifts so she is sitting on her knees now on the couch. Expression rather ernest as her focus lands back to Alexander. "You will find him Alexander. You will get him. And end this bad thing." She nodded confidently. Really believing in the man. "Good things take time. Even if we don't want them to. But yes, "Nodding with Itzhak's words. "The burning is not condusive to concentrating." Obviously. Being on fire is generally a bad thing.

"Is it?" Alexander cocks his head to one side, looking intrigued. The grin gets a lift of his lips in return. "I admit I've only rarely indulged, and it was more...illegal entry than actually taking anything. I try not to. Most of the cops in town don't like me, and would like to have a reason to stick me in jail for a while." He smiles, slow and warm, at Isolde. "Your confidence in me terrifies me, Isolde. But I'll do my best." There's an awkward shrug at the other. "I think it's better, today. Or I'm just numb from the hangover. That was really terrible alcohol, so I'm not ruling out permanent nerve damage."

Itzhak has mowed through three cookies without much of a pause. He's looking back and forth between Alexander and Isolde, apparently enjoying listening to them talk. "You'll get him," he affirms what Isolde's saying. "We'll get him. You ain't alone." His smile goes shy. "You guys are really cute, you know that?" Pause. "You, uh, you wanna go out sometime?"

Isolde looks like she might say something, and then pauses. Slowly looking over to Itzhak as if he just asked her the world's hardest math problem. She was full on blushing too because Isolde just didn't get asked out. Much less did she get asked out with the possible presumption that she and Alexander were some kind of item. "I, uhm." There was a glance towards Alexander as if he had the answer. Then she looked to Itzhak again. Speaking carefully, maybe a little shy herself. "I wouldn't mind...going out sometime..." Not speaking for Alexander. For obvious reasons.

Alexander blinks at the 'we'll get him'. And offers a smile to Itzhak for it. "All help is appreciated," he murmurs. Then his brow furrows. "Go out where?" is his honest-to-god first reaction. It's only when Isolde starts to blush that his eyebrows go up. "Oh. You mean on a date?" A pause. "The last time I tried a date, I had to forcibly subdue and imprison a woman for days, and then my leg got torn to shit while people tried to commit murder and suicide around me. I," a pause, "I think I need some time before trying again." It's apologetic. "It's nice of you to ask, though."

Itzhak grins brilliantly at Isolde. He's blushing too, all the way down his neck. "Fantastic." Now Alexander's turn. Itzhak says, cheerily and casual, "Yeah, on a date," like it's perfectly natural that Alexander might not know what 'going out' means. No problem, he just tells him. Oh, that story's not so good, though, and he pulls an alarmed face. "Jesus. Well, yeah, I can sure understand why you might not feel so great about that." Itzhak closely watches Alexander's face for a moment, noting what happens there. "Hey," he says, gentle, "that's okay. You ever wanna try it again, let me know, huh? I'd love to take you on a normal date where nothing horrible happens."

The grin from Itzhak is returned. A date. Isolde was fairly sure she'd never been on a real date. It could be fun. "It will be fun." She echos her internal thought out loud. Then it's her turn to look surprised when Alexander mentions a date resulted in the events that led to the bridge and his injured leg. "That...is a very bad date." She agreed, but put on another smile. "You deserve that. When you're ready. A date where nothing bad happens and everything is normal." Isolde shifted again, pushing a hand through her hair. She leans over to grab up her bottle and take a long pull from it. She could still feel the heat on her cheeks but was trying her best to calm it down.

"You don't have very good taste in men, Itzhak," Alexander says, with a touch of humor there. "But, I will keep it in mind." A fond, sidelong look towards Isolde. "But you two should go and have fun. Isolde is a good person, and you seem to be, as well." There's not even an overprotective 'and if I'm wrong about that, we're going to have problems' tacked on to it, verbally or non-verbally. Instead, he looks curious. "Was I reading things wrong, last night? It felt like you and August had some level of relationship."

Itzhak points mock-menacingly at Alexander, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth. "Hey, don't insult my taste in men. I happen to know a cute smart guy when I see one." He tips his head at Isolde, promising her, "Ours is gonna be like that too. No...murder, or nothin'. Cross my heart." And he even does it, drawing a finger in an X over his chest.

Those eyebrows pop up again at Alexander's question. "August, nah. He's got a girl. Not," he adds in an undertone, leaning forward to tell them the secret, "that I didn't wanna try. No, we're just friends, but, yannow, when two guys are friends and don't have a bunch of weird ideas about masculinity..." he turns his hands over, shrugging. "It can look like that."

Isolde giggled, setting her bottle down and relaxing further. At least her face wasn't beat red anymore! She didn't seem the least bit bothered about Itzahk's preferences. "All normal. Works for me." She gave a little tug of her hair, listening with bright eyes. "He did look cute. In that. Older guy. Booksmart kinda way." Isolde agreed about August. "I think it's nice. To be able to be like that. Friends like that." Shifting a little more to get comfortable. "How did you meet him?"

Alexander arches an eyebrow. "You may need to see an optometrist, or at least find a pair of glasses that has in small print at the bottom 'warning: men may be crazier than they appear'." But the self-mocking is more good-natured than bitter. And he outright laughs at the promises made. "I wish you well on it. I do. But you realize that you've just painted a giant sign on the calendar and dared Gray Harbor to fuck it up. It's the kind of dare this town likes."

The information about August is met with a thoughtful nod. A sidelong look towards Isolde. "I don't think he's much older than I am." It's not (quite) indignant, still on the playful side. But the question is an interesting one, and so he looks curiously to Itzhak.

Itzhak smiles at Isolde, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "That's right. Super normal. Just like us, yeah? August is hella cute, ain't he? He's a great guy. Good friend."

Considering Alexander for a long moment, Itzhak seems to be thinking. "I don't mind crazy," he says, and apparently it's true--he asked out both of them, after all. "Crazy, autistic, it's just brains got some wires crossed. Brains are more complicated than any machine in the world. They're gonna get a little messy. It don't mean nothin', not intrinsically. It just is. ...How'd I meet August? He brought his truck to my garage. Then I heard the song in him." He taps his temple, to show what he meant by 'the song'. "I heard people say it's a glimmer, but I hear a song."

There's a hint of a smirk on Isolde's lips as she looks to Alexander. "And you're cute in that Older guy, never know what you're gonna get kinda way." Teasing him, since he was only a few years older than her. But then those blue eyes are back on Itzhak while he answers the question and adds in some more information too. "Exactly. Crossing wires...that makes sense. Wires are messy." Her eyes widen. "You hear a song?" Turning a little, as if to face him better. "What sort of song did you hear? Is it different for different people?" A flood of questions, but she is clearly stopping herself from asking all of them.

"I'm not autistic," Alexander says, quietly. "Believe me, I had all the tests as a kid." But he leans forward with obvious fascination as Itzhak starts to talk about how he perceives Glimmer. "I see it as...focus. Like people like us are in focus, and everything else in the world is slightly out of focus, but only in a way that's obvious when one of us is around. We stand out." He glances at Isolde, makes a bit of a playful SNIFF at her characterization of him as an 'older guy', then back at Itzhak. "Isolde mentioned you can move things. Spin bottles. Larger things."

Itzhak shakes his head. "Didn't mean to say you were. I am. S'what I meant." He shifts body language, leaning in too, responding to their interest. "Yeah, it is different!" he says to Isolde, getting excited, hands starting to gesticulate. "Sometimes it's not that different? Sometimes it's really different. Unique. Complicated. You're like that. You both are. Maybe that's kinda why I like you." Oh there he goes, reddening again. "You both sound...real pretty." He clears his throat, glancing away. "Uh, yep. Believe you me, that ain't all I can do. But I can move things. You wanna see?"

Isode grins again at the talk of the songs and seeing Itzhak getting animated. "That's so neat! I wish we could hear it." A whistful little sigh. "I see...glitter. Like...body glitter things. Sometimes it's faint. Sometimes's very in your face." She glances to both men as if to say that their glitters are very in your face. Clapping her hands together once. "Yes! Show him! It's very neat!" A beat of pause. "Please." As if remembering what little manners she did have. Holding out her empty cider bottle to him.

"Ah," Alexander says, acknowledging the correction with a nod. His eyes alight with interest as Itzhak goes on. "Fascinating. Are they songs you can play? Or is it too different from ear-music? When I feel people's minds, I see it as sight and tactile sensations, but they're very difficult to describe. The words don't exist. I wonder about the notes." He nods, clearly intrigued, at the offer to see. "If you're comfortable, Itzhak. I haven't had a chance to see many people who move things. Like that."

"I'm glittery?" Itzhak asks Isolde, surprised and amused. "...I like that. Like metal flake paint." Car analogies! "What color glitter? Does it have a color?" He really is getting excited, and he waves at Alexander, before he can actually get all the words out. Too many words bottlenecking in his brain, briefly. "Yeah, exactly, I can kind of play the songs, but it's just not enough. If my fiddle had seventeen strings and I had forty fingers, maybe I could get it closer. ...Okay, lemme see."

What's he going to do? He casts around the room, then--of course--picks his violin up from the case. He picks up the bow, then tosses it lightly into the air. It flips over, arranging itself properly, and lowers itself to the strings. Itzhak bites his lip, concentrating hard, fretting as usual with his left hand...and the bow moves across the strings. A little uneven and squeaky. "Never done this before," Itzhak mutters. He sucks in a breath, lets it out slow, closes his eyes. The bow evens out, suddenly, and gently, Itzhak lets the fiddle go. Like a soap bubble it floats, playing out a jaunty Cajun version of Frere Jacques.

Isolde shrugged a bit, still smiling. "It changes it's like...uhm...irridescent. Yeah. That. Pretty to look at, and easy to see in the dark." She nodded, having to search for the word in her mental file. She lowers the cider bottle, wide eyed still as Itzhak just...tossed the fiddle into the air! And it was just like some invisible handles were gently cradelling it. She's watching him with rapt attention. There may or may not be the tiniest sound of a fan-girlish like squeaking noise that emitted from Isolde when the fiddle is just playing music on its own now! SO. FREAKING. COOL!

"Perhaps an electronic arrangement," Alexander murmurs, helpfully. And also with a great deal of curiosity, because hey, soul music. "Where you could layer tracks? It might allow a greater depth of exploration." He tenses when Itzhak tosses the violin up in the air, his breath catching as it flips and turns. His eyes widen but he remains silent, reluctant to even breathe as the other man works his way through the technique. Until the instrument begins to play itself, when he breathes out, "Amazing. Absolutely amazing." It's accompanied by that wide, bright grin that is the most rare expression on Alexander's face, where years of his age fall away.

Forcing himself to breathe steady, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration, Itzhak has his hand only an inch or so shy from the fiddle. He wants to grab it if he messes it up! But the very thought of messing up causes the bow to go squawnk and tip over, gravity remembering that it exists. Itzhak hastily grabs the neck of his fiddle before it can fall, too. He opens his eyes and beams in complete delight at Izzy and Alexander. "Not too shabby, huh?" Now there's a light sheen of perspiration on him. Apparently that was hard! "...That's a pretty good idea, layering tracks. I don't know much about sound engineering."

Isolde gives a very enthusiastic round of applause. "Very cool!" She agreed, wiggling a little bit in her seat. She knew absolutely nothing about sound engineering or instrument playing so couldn't help much on the technical aspect of that. "If you do it and it works. Listening to the songs would be amazing." So sincere. Because they would be totally unique. Nothing that anyone else could really replicate. Her thoughts drifted for a moment, pondering on that. She stifled a yawn then, which seemed to surprise her. A little frown, well she honestly didn't remember if she'd slept at all the night before. "I should maybe go back home. And sleep on my own couch. I don't wanna take up yours." She laughed. "This is fun. I'm glad we came to bring you the cookies."

"An excellent performance on several levels," Alexander affirms. "I've never seen anything quite like it - I've only seen people move things in order to fight. It's...less beautiful," he admits, a touch wry. "And we've exhausted my knowledge of any of that, but...it might be worth playing with, if you ever have the opportunity." He looks sidelong when Isolde yawns, and stands up. Like he's reluctant to let her wander off alone. A smile to Itzhak. "Thank you for your hospitality. It's been...very nice to meet you. Please don't die." Another long pause. "We should do it again. Sometime. If you like, I could show you something I can do, as well. If you like."

Itzhak presents them both with a little stage bow, hand to his chest, grinning. "Thanks, guys. Izzy, I don't mind if you sleep on my couch, for the record. You two take care." He meets Alexander's eyes. "I'd love to see what you can do. Sometime."