2019-08-02 - Come To My Window

Another lovely, warm, summer day. There's a moderate number of customers on hand, half of them indoors to enjoy the AC, the other half outside perusing the Quonset canopies or outdoor collections. August is going through the outdoor collection, pruning and perking up various plants, and keeping an eye on the saffron crocuses. He's already handed off most of them, plus taken home a few for himself, but a final three pots remain at the office. Most of the customers don't know them from any other crocus, but one or two have been inspired to order some (not this hilariously expensive, Spanish cultivar, but a more affordable Kashmiri or Persian cultivar).

He's in a plain, slate gray t-shirt, black cargo shorts (which allow a bit of a black tattoo on his left leg to appear, just at the knee), and workboots. Ully and Thoma are seeing to folks inside the shop proper.

Alexander walks slowly, a little lopsidedly, down the road and past the low stone wall. He stops to look at the signs. He's dressed...well, it would be easy to mistake him for a homeless man, or a junkie coming down from a fix, with his ragged t-shirt, disheveled hair, and tired face with its circles under the eyes. He wipes his face with his hankie, and continues on. The windchimes are considered, with the faintest of smiles, before he starts following the customers here and there, almost at random. Looking at things like he's casing the joint or calculating insurance premiums. When he sees August, he hesitates before limping in that direction. There's a small white bakery bag dangling from his non-hankie hand. "August Roen?" His voice is soft, and a bit sheepish. "Alexander Clayton. We met the other night. I believe." The fact that this is still a bit tentative speaks to Alexander's imperfect recall of the evening.

Ully and Thoma give Alexander sideways glances, but as they're not totally unused to odd characters coming and going (it is Gray Harbor, after all) and August is on prem they don't do more than that.

August glances up at Alexander almost the second he's come to the outside area, pausing in the act of trimming dead heads off of late blooming irises. He gives Alexander a faint, amused smile at first, not the least due to a text conversation which has ensued since that night at Two if by Sea. "Yeah. Good to see you again." His smile eases into a mild frown of concern after a moment. He glances at Alexander's leg. "You okay?" he asks, one brow going up.

"Is it?" A flicker of relief, then humor. "Oh good. I seem to recall we did something approximate to dancing. Which usually does not lead to 'good to see you again'." Clearly, that's not the only reason he's wary - he takes glances around like a man constantly expecting an ambush. Ully and Thoma receive their own share of sideways glances, which only makes Alexander look even more shifty. But the question draws his attention back to August. "Me? Yes. Headache's gone. Not dead or in jail. Pretty good, all considered." The bag is awkwardly thrust in his direction. "Wanted to say thanks. For being nice. And the ride home. And the dance. And not being a serial killer." He thinks that over, decides it covers most of the bases that need to be covered, gives a nod of approval.

The bag has a variety of recently baked cookies.

August laughs, shakes his head. "Bad dancing isn't a reason to avoid someone when you've only just met them. You'd at least need to spill beer on me to get that." He listens to the list of thanks, looks like he might laugh again at the serial killer part. "You're welcome. I try." He accepts the bag of cookies, glances inside it. "Why thank you," he says, bobs his eyebrows. Now that Alexander is talking to August, Ully and Thoma have gone back to their tasks, though Thoma keeps casting surreptitious glances their way. Well, she's a known town gossip, that's hardly a surprise.

"Glad to hear it." He sets the bag of cookies on a stone-top table next to him (ostensibly for sale, though it gets used to display plants in pots more often than not), resumes pruning the irises. "Is your ah, trouble with fire still going on?"

Alexander nods. "It is, but it seems to be getting better, day by day. Which is a relief. I don't know how to /unburn/ things, and I wasn't looking forward to this being life from now on." He smiles. "Are you well?" A look around at all the plants. "This is...extensive. Plants. I've never been here before. That was a mistake." A sidelong look, then, back at him. "I have a small garden, but all the plants came from supermarkets. This seems...nicer."

Relieved to hear that, August says, "Yeah, sounded like it was going to be a hell of a thing to sort. Glad that it's opted to do that itself. Of course, now there's the...other...problem." He grimaces, and is happy to trade in that topic for one concerning their surroundings. He looks around them, nods. "Thanks. Been in the town about three years. Took eight months to get this started, another year to get it to really mature. And, can't complain. I mean, I can, but it'd be a little ridiculous to." He hasn't managed to cut himself on anything, none of the ducks ran off this morning during feeding, and neither Cy nor Jendy had called to report any disasters. Considering the last week and change, he'd call this a win.

He shrugs about the plants coming from a supermarket. "Nothing really wrong with that. Obviously I'm happy to sell to people instead," a small, wry smile there, "but I'm more interested in getting people focused on taking care of something. That's more rewarding than the quality of the plant, or," he gestures with a handful of withered iris flowerheads, "whatever."

Alexander nods. "You and me both." A grimace at the mention of the Other Problem, but he seems content not to launch into Too Much Sharing mode right away - ah, the joys of sobriety. "That's a bit of a commitment," he murmurs, giving the surroundings another, closer look. "But I suppose it's almost required when dealing with plants. They're not usually very hasty." The ghost of a smile. "I mostly have plants that smell nice. And that are safe for birds. I have a conure, and while I've made it very clear to him what is edible and what isn't, I like to keep temptation to a minimum." He peers at the iris flowerheads. "Taking care of things builds empathy and a sense of self-efficacy. Not bad things to contribute to a chaotic world, Mr. Roen."

"Eh," August makes a face, "I didn't have much else going on. Drove through on my way into Olympic one week, and," a small shrug, "that was it. It's easy to commit to things when you don't have other committments to negotiate out of. And the part where plants take their time's just fine by me. I had my fill of life going by too fast when I was half this age."

He tosses the handful of iris heads into a bucket already half-full of other trimmings, no doubt destined to become compost. "Not bad at all," he agrees, moving to fetch the outdoor watering can and fill it at the spigot on the side of the building. Watering time for those that need it. "It's not much, I know, but I do what I can." He glances up at Alexander. "So you're a local, I take it?"

"I can't exactly argue with that," Alexander says softly. "Excitement, surprises, and urgency are overrated." He pivots to follow August's movements with his eyes, a brief, instinctive wariness rising and fading there. "Need any help?" And then a nod. "For my many sins. I left for college, and a few years afterwards but," a pause, "things didn't work out, so I came back. It was not one of my best decisions, but the Harbor has a way of getting into your bones. Like cancer." It's toneless.

"They definitely are," August agrees. "And I wouldn't mind some." He fetches out a second watering can to fill, considers Alexander sidelong as he gives the brief summary of his presence and absence in the town. August nods, expression pensive. "I can definitely understand how hard it feels to stay away. Considering." A brief bob of his eyebrows; he means 'considering glimmer', just won't say it with customers milling about. "And there's definitely some...ugly stuff around here. A few of you seem to get more than your fair share."

He shuts off the spigot, offers the smaller of the two watering cans. They're old fashioned, metal cans, one with a large black-eyed Susan painted on the sides, the other with impressionistic poppies scattered here and there. Alexander gets the poppies. "Just a nice little run over these," August instructs, gesturing at a series of potted hollyhocks and foxgloves, "along the base so the water gets into the roots. Don't drench, don't want them to rot."

"Dolorphages," Alexander murmurs. "Shadows that hunt. Pain, anguish, malice. Some people produce them more easily, I think - either receiving or giving. So I think they get more," a pause, "attention. Why waste your time breaking Jane Joyful when the easy meal is Danny Depressed, who only needs a little encouragement to drink himself into an abusive wreck." There's an academic distance to this, as if it doesn't really apply to him.

He takes the smaller watering can with a nod, and a faint smile at the flowers on the sides. His smile widens. "Foxglove. Poison, if you process it right." That's cheerful. He starts watering. The instructions are attended to with a solemn expression, and he follows them with meticulous care. Like he's going to be graded.

Finch makes her way in, still in her work coveralls, her goggles perched atop her hair. The hair is green today, perhaps as camo in here. "Yo boss, that job over on Maple is done!" she calls from inside as she sets her aluminum storage clipboard for work on the desk in the office.

"Dolorphages." August repeats it in a low voice, like he's noting a new genus name he's unfamiliar with. He nods at Alexander's description, betraying no real unease at the clinical way he describes this. It tracks to well with everything he's learned in the last month, after all. "That's how it is in nature," he says, almost casually. "Bark beetles don't go after healthy trees unless there's no sick or old ones handy. Termites don't invade homes if they have other sources of wood they can get to easily. Nothing wants to feed on things that are hard to eat." A gruesome, if all too real, fact.

"I've been reading up on ones like these," August says, reaching out to tap a foxglove flower bell. Whatever else he was going to say is interrupted by Finch's arrival. "Good. Did you happen by the Carrolls? Are they still insisting that spruce can stay where it is?" The lovely, magnificent blue spruce that is a little too magnificent for its root depth, and is going to come down the next time the wind blows even a little too hard.

"That makes sense. Crime, too. Rich people are rarely preyed on, but easy targets get robbed even though they have less," Alexander says. He twitches at the new voice, cheerful though it is. It sends the watering can wide a little, giving the ground a nice sprinkle. He moves so that he can continue the task while keeping the new person in sight, his shoulders hunching a little. He stares at Finch with a blank, unblinking stare. "I don't know you," he murmurs, softly, like he doesn't mean to say it. Then there's a moment like someone just shoved an invisible sign labeled 'Manners' in front of his eyes. "Hello," he adds, in a bit of a stronger voice. There's an attempt at a smile, but it looks strange and wrong.

Finch strolls out to join August and Alexander. She snorts at the boss. "I did, and I'm going to point and laugh every time I drive by after the next storm when that fucking tree has pancaked his garage and his stupid Volvo." She gives Alexander a quirky smile. "Hey." She's been here most of her life save for a few years at Cornell, she knows who Crazy Clayton is. She also knows he's not crazy. Mostly. "Finch. Celaeno." Oh, the Harpy Curse girl, you know the one. Great Aunt slaughtered all the males of her generation in the family. Mother tried to kill her when she was just 13. She's the next one who is supposed to go looney tunes. Also, she glimmers like a goddamned beacon.

August nods at Alexander, mouth half-turned in a grimace. "Exactly. Which, gets back to encouraging people to take care of something. For the ol' internal resilience, as one of my counselors used to call it. It's just as easy to trick yourself into healthy habits as to do them consciously."

He sighs at the Carroll's stubbornness. "Well as nice as pointing at him and laughing will feel, the goal is to get paid to take it down and replant before that happens. " He watches them get introductions underway, making no attempt to hide that he's curious about the townie interaction involved.

Ignacio arrives carrying a cardboard box with...electronics in it behind Finch. It's hard to see the face behind the box but that patented limp is hard to miss. "Eeeey Diga. Ully can you grab-...Ully?!" He looks around the box and heads off to find the counter to set everything on. "Sup, boss. I brought a hoard of lil muffins." Setting the box down he gives Alex a once over and nods, "Sup, man." Yeah, Gray Harbor is beset upon by New Yorkers.

Itzhak's next to show up. First there's the growl of his muscle car, followed shortly by the man himself. He saunters on over, dressed as always like he's auditioning for the part of 'Thug #3'. Mirrored sunglasses get raised so he can double-check he's actually seeing Alexander here. "Alexander! Hi." He settles the sunglasses in his curly hair, smiling at the other man. "Didn't expect to see you here." He upnods at August and offers Finch, then Iggy, a dap. "You met August, and this's my buddy Finch, and my buddy Iggy. She's got a great old car. Well, one day it'll be great. I used to wrench for Iggy back in the day in NYC."

"Oh. The bird family." A good deal of Alexander's wariness fades away, replaced with a straightened spine and a keener interest. His dark eyes widen curiously. "You're the youngest girl. It's a very interesting situation, and I'd love to speak with you about your family one day." You know, that whole 'your mother tried to murder you' thing. It's a great way to make friends. Thankfully, he's distracted by new people to glare suspicious...er, meet. Or greet, in Itzhak's case. Ignacio is given a wary look, the watering can coming around in an unconsciously defensive motion. But Itzhak gets a brief but real smile. "Hey. I was thanking August." A twitchy look. "I can go. If I'm interrupting."

"Yeah well, he can pay us to remove the tree when it falls at least." Finch just gives Alexander a look which might put him back into the Crazy Clayton category. "Um..." she non answers his request. Oh look! It's Ignacio. She moves to give Itzhak his dap and kiss Ig on the cheek. Clearly they had their talk, though the outcome of it? Who knows.

Well, Finch and Alexander aren't bristling at one another and busting out old grudges, so August is going to call it a successful meeting. He upnods at Itzhak and Ignacio. "Muffins sound good. Alexander brought cookies." He gives Itzhak some sort of Look when he says that, which changes to a much different and more all-inclusive Look for all three of them.

"No," he tells Alexander. "Not interrupting at all. We were just going to try a little experiment, if you wanted to join us." He arches an eyebrow at the others to see if that's still on the docket for the day.

Ignacio smiles still in a good mood, "Graacias. For that, two muffins." He can be bribed! When Alex comes out with both barrels asking about family stuff an eyebrow and looks...impressed? "I didn't know you were such a fan of Orthodontistry. Her family's chronicled some amazing things in the region. Totally worth listening to. I had o idea wild turkey was something in the wild and not in a bottle before I moved here. Very enlightening."

Looking to August he mutters with a sly, lopsided grin, "Booooss and here we thought you saved all your experimenting for college. Lookit yourelivin the glory days. I need to find a test tube and some gummi bears?"

Itzhak glares at Iggy, but his heart isn't in it. It's like a 3 out of 10 on the Itz-Glare scale. "They're not orthodontists, de Santos! Cripes, how do you make money writing books." This answers itself: because Iggy is a smooth talking jerk. He looks back at Alexander. "I don't think you're interrupting. But we're gonna look at the other side. I'm gonna open a window. So if you don't wanna be here, that's okay." His eyebrows do the concerned thing.

Alexander winces, almost recoils from the look Finch gives him. There's a blink, and a moment where he's clearly rewinding the conversation to figure out where he screwed the pooch. "Right. Not the time. Sorry." An apologetic twitch of his mouth before he sets the can down and considers August with new interest. "An experiment? What sort of experiment?" A glance towards Itzhak, then, and a nod. "Sure. If it isn't intruding."

Ignacio is stared at, unblinking. Slowly, he says, "I think you mean ornithology. Orthodontistry would be dentistry. If wild turkeys are involved in the latter, something has gone terribly wrong." If he's aware he might be the subject of poking fun it's hard to tell in his earnest correction. Itzhak's words, though, rivet him completely. "A window. You can do that? Yes, I want to be here. Absolutely." No hesitation there, although perhaps a little concern. He studies the surroundings with a careful eyes. "Wait. Not here, surely. People forget, but there might...can things come through?"

Finch nods at August. "I put the equipment out in the private greenhouse. They're just some of the spares from Big Betty." They don't use her as much as the others. As for equipment? Harnesses and lines they use for safety when they actually have to manually scale a tree, to be used to anchor them to this side. If she's gonna peek in the window, she's damn well making sure nothing drags her through it.

August watches Alexander and Itzhak deal with the Ignacio situation, hides a laugh behind his free hand. Just to confuse things more, he asides, "If we're lucky, I'll get drawn for turkey this year, then you can try some, see how you like it," to Ignacio.

He sets his now empty watering can aside, nods at Finch. "Not here-here," he reassures Alexander. "On the back of the property, where it backs up to the greenbelt, seemed like a good spot. Customers aren't allowed back there." And maybe since it's a little more wooded, it won't be full of Veil denizens of Gray Harbor. Maybe. That's his theory, anyways.

"You guys head out back, find a suitable spot. I'll get Thoma and Ully busy with closing up." Because it is about that time. Everyone will be ushered out for the evening, and they'll all have the place to themselves.

Ignacio finally goes back for the dap with a lop-sided grin to Itz, "Usually stoned off my fucking ass and with great aplomb." Yeah, the guys' a real comedian. Also happy to the trained eye to turn the correction onto himself with amusement so Finch doesn't have to tackle stigmas if she doesn't want to without calling anyone out.

Looking to Roen he nods, "New guy's got a point. I'd kiiiiinda like employment if this goes weird. I'm selfish, I know."

"What a life," Itzhak says dryly to Iggy, and whaps him on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "You never get this guy to shut up," he tells Alexander. ...Like he should talk, with the way he rattles on? Then he smiles at him, and it's downright rakish. "Oh, buddy, you ain't seen half of what I can do."

After a beat, Itzhak adds, "And neither have I, to be real honest. I'm still working this stuff out. Anyway. Thanks, Fincheleh. I brought my fiddle, but I dunno if I want to use it. But I'll bring it." He fingerguns at August, and looks at Iggy and Finch. "Youse guys wanna head out there?"

Then, he says more seriously to Alexander, "Yeah, they could come across, but I'm not gonna let 'em."

Alexander makes a low, thoughtful noise. He meets Itzhak's eyes, particularly at the last comment, as if weighing the potential there. Then jerks his head in a curt, downward nod. "Well. We all stand out, so none of us are helpless." A look at the three who work here, as he prepares to follow them back to wherever the practice ground is, and he adds, not quite sotto voce, "But I also wouldn't say no to a machete. Just in case. If we're talking equipment."

Finch nods and snorts at Alexander. "Wasn't exactly the equipment I was talking about. Let's go set up." She grabs Ig's hand to tug him after her, grabbing a keychain off a hook before tromping towards the private greenhouse out back. She opens the door to it and gets the harnesses and lines out, handing them off to Ignacio before she locks back up again, and tucks the key into the pocket of her coveralls.

"That we do," August says to Alexander. "And we're not going in, anyways. Well. Not planning to." He tilts his head, thinking about the fiddle, shrugs. "Can it hurt? If you want to use it, might not be a bad idea."

To Ignacio, he says, "That would be why we're closing," with a saccharine smile, and turns to go get that process underway. Customers have been departing anyways, as the afternoon wears on. He waves everyone else towards the back of the outdoor collection, where a gate in the fence allows employees into the space behind the store.

And what a space it is. A long stretch of rock-strewn dirt with pockets of gravel and wild grass gradually gives way to the later, running into a rambling greenbelt with a small, burbling creek that borders the store's property here, and divides it from the various national forest lands on the other side. Aspen, balsam poplar, spruce, and fir all vie for the prime spots in the rocky, sandy soil that the Gray Harbor area gives rise to. The private green house that Finch gets the equipment from--a small affair compared to the large Quonset canopies of the shop--sits off to one side, its contents much sparser and more selective.

Ignacio shuts his yap and is cajoled into helping in a more productive manner other than finding a speaker system for the shop. Giving his work is one way to (marginally) get him to shut up. He lets Itzhak get excited about this and just returns the smile to Roen, "Well while you kids are busy getting excited about your transdimensional I-scream truck, your mother and I will be here to pull the kiddie tether in case." He offs being handed the gear but comments aside starts getting shit prepared.

Itzhak really is excited, too. As they get to the greenhouse, his lanky frame transforms from 'casual don't-mess-with-me' to 'holy-shit-I-get-to-ride-a-rocket'. The eyebrows go up, the hands start talking, he actually bounces as he walks. "That's your job!" he agrees with Iggy, "you seen Poltergeist, right? Just like that. Hopefully with less goop." He's brought his carbon fiber violin case, but he hasn't opened it yet. "It ain't that I think it won't work," he explains to August, "it's that I'm not sure it's the best way to do this."

Restlessly he prowls around the beautiful little area, stroking at the air and muttering to himself.

"It probably should be," Alexander says, bluntly, to Finch. "Even if Over There, on average, is no better or worse than our world," and his expression is skeptical about this, "we're essentially planning to commit an alien invasion on it. A small one. Wouldn't blame someone for fighting against a perceived threat, even if they're lovely severed-feet-and-eyeball people the rest of the time. Or if we happen to open a window into the local equivalent of a militia headquarters." He just makes a NOISE about August's plans, and as they walk, visibly studies the surroundings, eyes narrowed. But the beauty that they reach does bring him up short. "My." It's low, impressed. A smile plays across his features despite a certain wariness about the nature of the experiment, and it only grows wider and warmer seeing Itzhak's enthusiasm regarding it. "It is an experiment," he points out, softly. "Trying variations may not be a bad idea. Some may be more advantageous under different conditions." He stands a bit awkwardly off to one side, arms crossed over his chest.

Finch gets to the spot and works on getting Itzhak into a harness. She does it quickly and easily, since she's had to do it quite a few times since she started working for August, but Itzy might be a little horrified at being snapped and cinched and clicked into it since the straps go around his upper thighs... VERY upper thighs... for part of it. She blinks over at Alexander. "Severed feet and eyeball people? Shit dude, that sounds really specific."

"Severed feet and eyesballs? What?" August says as he arrives from giving Ully and Thoma their final marching orders. He frowns at Finch, turns that same look on Alexander and then Itzhak, because clearly they have to be the people responsible for this kind of talk. He sets to getting his own harness on, something he's an old hand at. He watches Itzhak gesturing at the air, tilts his head. "So. How do we find the right spot."

Ignacio watches and says without breaking stride, "Hoooooooot. I did not know this was going to that kinda party." He waits for the dirty looks from...well everyone and says with confidence to Itzhak, "Well You might get beat up for fashion but you will definitely make some friends." Yeah just hit him now. His eyes get wider at teh story and then asks Alex, "Wait, we all have to do this?"

Itzhak doesn't react at first to Finch buckling him in; he's distracted, trying to sense things that for most people don't exist. But as she goes for the thigh straps he suddenly goes "EEP!" and elevates on his toes. "Finch! Oy vey you're gonna get me in trouble!" A blush blooms across his nose and cheekbones. He lets her strap him in, wincing and trying not to move too much lest there be an accidental contact. And hoo boy the real glare he hits Ignacio with! "De Santos! Zip it!"

All that over with, he clears his throat and runs his hand through his hair--which collides with the sunglasses he forgot were there, and they clatter to the ground. Itzhak snatches them up again, beet red, and clips them into his shirt. "We don't all have to do this. I'm doin' it. You're watching. And no clever fuckin' remarks, I gotta concentrate." To August he says, "There's thin spots. The border ain't evenly distributed. Exactly how to do it though? That's something I don't got the words to explain. You just kind of...feel it up?" He shrugs helplessly. "You'll see." He smiles at Alexander, super embarrassed, tells him, "You get it."

Alexander gives Finch and August a brief grin. "Sorry. It sort of sticks in the mind. Ten toes, each one with its own mouth. A bit odd." Just a bit. Then the amusement fades. "My only point is that things over there don't have to be malicious to end up in a conflict with them. Si vis pacem, para bellum."

Ignacio is blinked at a few times, and his head cocks to one side, bangs sliding over his forehead, and his expression resembling that of a confused dog. Like he just doesn't know what to do with Ignacio. So he just shakes his head a little, and turns his attention to Itzhak. There's worry there, plain to see, even as he's smiled at. Like he's thinking 'oh, this dude seems cool and might get turned to monster chow right in front of my eyes'. But he breathes out, short and sharp. "Good luck, Itzhak."

Finch grins a little at Itzhak's reaction. And speaking of feeling up, when she's done she gives his tuckus a pat for good measure. "You're all strapped in big guy. Don't worry, it's for climbing, not bondage." She is definitely in a way better mood today. WAY. BETTER. She takes up one of the ropes. She makes a face at Alexander's description of the severed feet critter. "I'm gonna need brain bleach if I ever run into that anywhere."

August gives Ignacio a sly smile. "It's always that kind of party, de Santos." He nods at Alexander. "Yeah--not much different than the wilderness here, I assume. Moose that come after you aren't evil. You're just up in their business and they get tired of it." He shrugs the shrug of a man who's had to dodge a few moose in his time.

Because he's a helpful kind of guy, August adds, "Not that you couldn't use them for that," and bobs his eyebrows at Itzhak. Then he's double-checking his own harness. "You might be the only one doing it, but have a second person suited up isn't the worst idea." He pauses a second, frowns. "Thin spot," he says, and nods towards a particularly large aspen. "Over there, maybe?" There's nothing to see, at least not to Ignacio, Finch, and Alexander.

Ignacio observes cautiously not getting really too close to where Itzhak is being pointed like a truffle pig. "Sooooo just going in and out and that's if we're lucky we even find the spot..." His arms fold across his chest and he leans his weight back on his good leg murmuring, "Shit, it's just like fucking in high school ." HOW can he say this shit with a serious face is anyone's guess.

A pretty nice tushie in them jeans, it must be said. A lot of teasing is aimed at him and Itzhak goes approximately the color of a rhubarb and covers his face with both hands. "Youse. Guys. You're the WORST. Alexander isn't embarrassing me!" like they should all follow Alexander's good example. Also, he and the rest of them may be nervous and the energy is expressing itself in good-natured hassling. He does snort on a laugh when Iggy says that thing about high school. "Okay, Christ, everybody shut up half a second." He quirks half a red-faced smile at Alexander, when he wishes him luck. Then he goes over to the big aspen, tipping his head back to look up its trunk into its branches. "Yeah," he mutters. "It's here."

"I don't know you well enough to tease you, Itzhak," Alexander says, deadpan. "Give it time." There's something a little bit wistful in his expression as he studies their interactions, however. He stays a bit apart, although it seems just as much a tactical decisions as an emotional one, and he keeps a close eye on Itzhak and August as they start talking about 'thin points'. Other people seeing things that he can't experience is a new sensation, and being on this side of that is clearly intriguing to him. "What does it feel, or look, like?" he asks, but softly enough that it could be easily ignored in the desire to keep concentration.

Finch shoulder bumps Iggy and snorts at his comment. "Thank God you're not in high school anymore," she murmurs under her breath. It's pretty clear this little quartet of weirdos has become some semblance of a family. Finch, for her part, is a Spirit glass cannon. She has no idea how Itzhak does the stuff he does.

August rolls his eyes dramatically at Ignacio, though coughs a laugh at Finch's comment. Chastised into not keeping the teasing up (...for now) he trails behind Itzhak, sensing about here and there. "I'm not seeing anything, but it's sort of like...you know how some plants just have a really strong scent, and the second you're near one, you know it?" He peers around the aspen. "It's like that."

Ignacio wobbles. Oh, look how over pleased he is. Aaaah the smug's rolling off of him. Then again, using bad humor to diffuse fear? Well, it makes sense. That lopsided grin stretches wider when Alex adds to it but he chooses this time (miraculously) to remain quiet and not 14. "Remains to be seeeen. Alex, yeah? This is kinda new to you too huh?"

"I don't got words," Izthak murmurs. "It feels like...something beautiful and scary and amazing." He gets his hands on the aspen, fingertips caressing along the bark. Tiny glints of light pop into existance under his touch. He hisses in pain a couple times and shakes out his hand (with whispers of "Sorry, baby"), but then he's back to stroking the tree.

After a couple of minutes, he goes as still and poised as a stag. He's found what he's looking for; his body language shouts it. "Okay," he mutters. "I think...I think I got it." He pulls in a breath and sings.

"I would dial the numbers
Just to listen to your breath
I would stand inside my hell
And hold the hand of death
You don't know how far I'd go
To ease this precious ache
You don't know how much I'd give
Or how much I can take

Just to reach you
Just to reach you
Oh to reach you..."

His voice is more garage rock than trained singer, rough and genuinely yearning. As he swings into the chorus, he closes his eyes. His power, always glimmering just below the surface, moves. Everyone can feel it: his strength surges into a glittering standing wave.

"Come to my window
Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon
Come to my window, I'll be home soon!"

Oh, that might be a troubling lyric, seeing as they absolutely do not want anything crawling inside this window. But it's the one he sings, and he sings it with real passion, his eyebrows tilted upwards, his hands opening, pushing his voice into a crescendo. He slides his hands together, slips his thumbs into the wood, and delicately, oh so carefully, folds the tree open.

Beyond is the Veil.

"Alexander." It's sharp to Ignacio, and the need to correct it is strong enough that it tears his eyes away from Itzhak's explorations and fixes his dark gaze on him. "My name is Alexander. Not Alex." Then there's a twitch, like he realizes this is...a little odd. His eyes drop. "Sorry. I just, uh, don't like nicknames."

But it's brief, his attention flicking back to Itzhak as he hisses in pain, and then never moving further. His eyes widen, and he just...watches, and listens, his face open with a combination of fascination, wonder, and deep wariness. "That's...beautiful," he breathes, barely even a whisper.

Finch leans over to whisper to Ignacio, "Is Itzy a closet lesbian?" because come on, Melissa Etheridge? Toss in some Indigo Girls and it'd be Lilith Fair all up in here. Then she cuts off all sound, and breathing, as the door is opened. She stares through the window made by Itzhak with wide dark eyes. She's had some bad experiences in the Dream, but this looks beautiful. Sort of. In a twisted, otherworldly way. Her knuckles go white on the cord anchoring Itzhak.

"Goddamn," August murmurs, shifting so he's slightly behind Itzhak rather than next to him. In case he needs to grab him.

Ignacio just watches fixed on a point. Well, he is until Alexander snaps at him which is met with a sloooow arch of an eyebrow. He just blinks. But, hey, the apology comes and just as easy the Spniard forgives offering, "Trust me, Alexander, I can't get fuckin rid of em. I jsut started collecting them like pokemon and imagining I'm some sort of secret agent under...cover..." His words die off at Itzhak singing. He whispers to Finch, not taking his eyes off his pal there, "He's in trianing." That Itzhak can play is not new to him but damn it's something. The faint smile is erased, and where his arms fold his hands clench in response to the hole being there. Yeah... no funny comments anymore. He only stares.

Itzhak smiles, tremulous. Tears well in his eyes, not quite spilling over. "Shalom aleichem." He's addressing the creatures. "We mean you no harm." He pushes the rippled folds of the tree back together, sealing the door again, smoothing his hands over it like it's a seam in clay. Then he turns away from everyone and presses a hand against his eyes, his shoulders quivering.

Alexander twitches a nervous look at Ignacio, brow furrowed. "I don't think that's how that works," he mutters, but it's hard to get worked up about the hated nicknames, when there's literally another world to stare into. And he does. Stare. Wide-eyed and wary, but still clearly enchanted. When the window closes, he breathes out, and regards Itzhak. "Are you well?" First concern. But second, "That was remarkable."

Finch feels like they're intruding somehow, disturbing the peace of the tranquil, if strange, landscape beyond the door. She feels guilty for interrupting the not-deer in their grazing. It may be silly, but she does. She moves to stand shoulder to...middle of the arm with Ignacio because she's short. When the door is closed, she starts to breathe again, trembling slightly.

August stares at the world beyond the tree: the deer-things, the sky, the strange plants. Then just like that, Itzhak's sealed it back up. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Jesus," he says, looking like he deosn't know what to make of it. He sets a hand on Itzhak's shoulder, grips it firm. "Thanks, for that." He glances back at Ignacio, Finch, and Alexander to see how they're taking it.