2019-08-05 - A River Runs Through It

Alexander has actually gotten some sleep of late, as the burning in his body fades away, and his leg has almost finished the important part of the healing. As a consequence, he actually looks mostly like a human being that someone wouldn't immediately pull a weapon on in self-defense. He's sent a few texts to Itzhak, expressing thanks for agreeing to hear him out, and inviting him over to chat about things, and in deference to the idea that he will have company, fresh food has been picked up. Okay, it's a veggie tray. HE WAS IN A HURRY. But Luigi is enjoying it, walking around the broad plastic circle on the coffee table, making pleased laughing sounds and shaking his tail with excitement. "None of that is yours," Alexander is saying absently as he waters some of the plants at the window garden. "You know it's not yours."

Demonstrating Alexander's stellar control over his pet, Luigi climbs up to grab a baby carrot in his beak and pulls it down to roll around on the table. Alexander can't help but grin at it.

Itzhak strolls on over after work. He's texted back and forth a couple times, trying not to be too pushy, just saying he'd come over and help. He's a pushy guy, this doesn't come naturally. Since Alexander said he wanted to talk about his expertise, and he's not sure which area of expertise that actually means, but he's guessing it's about that stuff, his carbon-fiber violin case is slung over his back when he knocks.

There's a screech from inside when the door is knocked upon as Luigi abandons the carrot in a flurry of feathery indignation and perches on top of his cage, eyeing the sound uncertainly. Alexander chuckles, clicks his tongue a couple of times reassuringly, then moves to the door. Which is opened! He smiles at Itzhak, an uncertain little ghost of a thing. "Hey. Thank you for coming over." He steps aside so the other man can enter, and gives the violin case a deeply interested look. "Sorry if I interrupted your evening. Would you like, uh, some veggies? Or water? Or coffee? Or soda? Or..." a pause. "That's it, actually."

"Hi." Itzhak offers a quick flicker of a smile in return. "Did I scare Luigi? Heard him yelling." He comes in, easing past Alexander as if not to spook him like the bird, and laughs a little nervously. "Hey, veggies and soda is fine by me." He's not wearing his sunglasses, so when he looks at the table with its burden of growing green things, it's obvious he's interested.

The plants are mostly decorative flowers and aromatics herbs, the sort of common ones you can find in grocery stores. The ones that usually die immediately when you get them home because they were never really potted well and their instructions for care were never fully explained. But Alexander has kept a whole heap of them alive, adding color and a faint fragrance to an otherwise dull and tidy house. "Less scared, more wanting to make sure you knew that this was his house, and he is a fierce and terrible creature." It's deadpan, but there's humor in his dark eyes as he closes the door behind Itzhak. Luigi whistles as if agreeing, and struts over the top of his cage, eyeing Itzhak with black, beady eyes. "He does bite, though, so don't try to make friends just yet. It takes a while."

He moves into the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles of soda. The couch is open, with Isolde's pillow and blanket neatly stacked on the back against the wall. Alexander hands the other man one of the bottles. "How are you?"

Itzhak whistles back at Luigi. "Ver iz a gut tateleh, hmm?" He grins at him, a lot easier and more open than he is with most people. "I bite too, I know how it is." Itzhak lets the violin case drop off his shoulder and sets it on the floor, snugged up next to the couch arm where it (maybe) won't get tripped on. "Eh," he says as answer, flipping over his hands and shrugging in the classic Yiddish gesture. "But hey, it's good to see you again." He almost goes to follow Alexander, visibly checks himself, and winds up just standing around in the living room awkwardly.

"He's a very good boy," Alexander agrees, absently. An eyebrow goes up, and a sidelong look, at the biting comment, but he doesn't say anything about that, just, "Nice to see you again, too." After he's handed off the drink, he also stands there, awkwardly staring at Itzhak's awkward standing. Silence stretches until his eyes widen. "Oh. Sorry. Would you like to sit down? There's just the couch, but it's clean." A wave at it. "Um. You're a mechanic. You know cars?"

Itzhak jerks a little in surprise, hazel eyes going real big. "Bist dir Yiddish?" He was standing at about a 45 degree angle to Alexander; now he turns towards him fully, those eyebrows way up.

All other questions must wait!

August's car isn't one to notice on arrival; he doesn't have it tuned to be heard, just to perform. Thus the first indication he's arrived is a knock on the door.

"I...think so," Alexander says, his brow furrows. "Yes. I seem to." He switches to Yiddish: it's a bit halting and elementary, but the really weird thing is that the accent is close to Itzhak's own, regional differences and all. "It's a fun language in my head," he says, and smiles, briefly. There's a knock on the door, and he jumps a little. Blinks. "Oh. August Roen. Right." He turns, and goes to open the door. "Please come in." Back to English, now.

Itzhak stares. Just freakin' stares. One hand goes to his chest, pressing flat, as if to hold his heart in. "Oy gevalt," he says, a little faintly, not with the usual force and leaping tone the phrase requires. "Du bist..." he switches to English. "Is that because of," his other hand gestures at Alexander's forehead. "Somethin' you can do?" August's knock really makes him startle, twitching, both hand briefly curling into fists. "...Shit, right, that must be Roen."

August promptly offers Alexander a large, bulky, canvas shopping bag laden down with...cucumbers, artichokes, and aubergines. "Hey, thanks." He has a six pack of pear cider in his other hand, and a wrap of bandage down most his ride forearm that looks reasonably fresh. As he steps inside, his eyes almost immediately shift to Itzhak, giving him a small, secret smile that last a half-second at most.

He sobers, offers up the cider as if he didn't just sort out Itzhak's mood by more than sight alone. "Some pear cider, if you want. Good stuff, bottled over in Olympia."

Alexander blinks at the shopping bag, and takes it on pure instinct. He looks into it. "This is...food?" It's hard to say whether the bewilderment is because Alexander rarely sees food not in its most processed state, or because he's not sure why it's been brought. He waits until August comes in, and the door is securely if awkwardly closed behind him, before even trying to answer Itzhak's question. Luigi takes one look at NEW STRANGER, makes a shriek of protest, and hastily climbs his way down the front of the cage to put himself inside. He hops up to the highest perch, and starts ringing his bell rope in protest. "Please sit down." A pause. "If you want. You don't have to. It's not an order." He clears his throat, and goes to put the bag on a counter in the kitchen. And backs away from it, slowly, until he can turn around and study them both. "Um. Hi. And yeah. I seem to understand, uh, languages. All of them, so far. Since I went drinking. I think the alcohol broke my brain." A shrug. "But I was asking Itzhak if he knew cars. And if he'd be willing to help with the murder investigation. Quietly."

Itzhak needs a minute. Maybe a couple minutes. A loop, he's been thrown for one; he's breathing a little fast, all tensed up, weight poised light like he needs to move fast. And he shoots August a nasty look, in return for that smile. "...Right. Okay. Really? If I drink degreaser, do I get new powers?" He laughs, a single sharp exhalation, at Alexander. "He grows a ton of stuff, yannow. Did someone get run over or somethin'? Is this vehicular kinda murder?"

August glances at Luigi, curious, but makes no attempt to approach the bird. He knows enough about parrots to know you don't do that. He looks askance at Alexander, pauses, decides against his usual quiet hello. Maybe Alexander and Isolde don't want people doing that with their bird. What does he know.

"Like he says, I grow most of my own stuff, and it's hit or miss what's gonna get out of control any given year. This year, it's those three. Lots you can cook with them, or, you know, give them away," he shrugs, "however you want to go about it." He won't be insulted if they get turned into compost! He just doesn't want to deal with them. Anyone he visits for the next two months is at risk. He nods at Itzhak, running a little interference. "He is definitely car people. Is there something car related, regarding the murders?" It feels weird to say, because he's really not used to discussing, well...murders.

"I...don't know?" Alexander blinks a couple of times at Itzhak. "I'm not sure it's worth it. It felt like Athena was being born from my skull. And she was pissed about it." He paces uneasily at a distance from them both, as if not quite sure what to do next with the people that he invited. Then pauses and stares at August. "I'm sorry. I'm being rude. Would you like some soda? Or water? Coffee? And thank you. For the vegetables. I'll...find a recipe on the internet for them." God help poor Isolde. Luigi eyes August back, and whistles low before edging to the back corner, shoulders hunched and feathers puffed.

Talk of murder seems to ground him; it's much easier than socializing. His spine straightens. "It's regarding the Ghoul murders. There were tire tracks outside at least one of the murder sites, and I was hoping Itzhak could perhaps identify the type of car they might have come from. And, since you own a shop," he looks at Itzhak directly, "maybe you could keep a copy of the photo? Look to see who comes by? It seems like the ghost has a rather more solid accomplice."

"Uh," Itzhak says, blank, standing there with hands hovering around waist-height. The guy needs to be rebooted. "Maybe we'll hafta experiment, with the hooch." Slowly he reanimates, swallowing, raking back his hair, which just makes it stand up more. Poor August, stuck with the two of them. "Tire tracks, I can kinda narrow it down, but tires are pretty generic overall. If they were really unique tires, sure, those exist. I can probably tell you what kind of car." He finally picks up the soda Alexander brought. "Let's see it."

"You're not being rude in the least, that's why I brought," August shakes the pear cider in its six pack, sets it on the counter. "But I'm fine for the moment, thanks." He folds his arms, tilts his head. If anything he's enjoying Itzhak's flustered state. He's not sure why Itzhak's acting this way but doesn't much care. It's a nice diversion from the usual.

"Did they touch anything? Or, drop anything? Because if you, or someone you know, can look back at something's history..." He raises an eyebrow at Alexander, to see if he's tried that himself, pulls out a bottle of cider and offers it to Itzhak.

"Anything you could tell me would be more than I have right now," Alexander points out, quietly. "And you never know. Might get lucky, as unlikely as that is in this town." He pulls out his phone, shoots off a quick text to Itzhak. Ding - photos of tracks for a probable murder car! Have fun with that. "Thank you, Itzhak. I very much appreciate it." Then there's a look at both of them, and a huff of exasperated humor. "Um, would you two please sit down?" A pleased smile at August; the joy of finding someone who's brain works the right way for investigations. "I'd love to. But no. Little forensic evidence, and while there's a lot of blood, my previous attempts with reading corpses and human remains have not...been pleasant. Besides, I think I know what and how, just not who. Or how to stop it." He breathes out. "Bringing me to the second thing. The experiment. I know you," a nod to Itzhak as he starts pacing again, "can move things without touching them, and I know you," a nod to August, "stand out as sharply as he does, but I don't really know what you do. I could guess, from the occupation, maybe, but that's rude. But if I'm right, Itzhak doesn't do much with...emotions?" A flick towards the mechanic. "So. I'd like to link with both of you. Try to read August's location and surroundings through him, and then have Itzhak try to move things at that location with me feeding him the, uh, visual and metaphysical stimulus. See how far we can go."

Itzhak takes the bottle from August without thinking about it. Now he has two bottles and has to put the cider on the table. He twists the top off the soda and, with a wry smirk, obeys Alexander and sits down, crossing long legs with one booted ankle on the opposite knee. Grimacing, he mutters, "Yeah, I wouldn't wanna try to read a corpse, either," and takes a pull off the bottle. He settles in, listening, eyebrows following along. Then he clears his throat when Alexander says he doesn't do much with emotions, flushing a bit. "I, uh, I guess that's fair to say." Oh and then that flush deepens real quick. "I never tried to do that before, but there's a whole lot I haven't tried, haven't even thought of, yannow?" He looks at his phone so he doesn't have to look at anybody, frowning at the photo of tire tracks.

August laughs at the request to sit. "Alright, alright--I've been up in trees all day but I don't mind having a real seat for a change." He takes a cider for himself, cracks it open and has a drink on his way to the obliging couch. "Sometimes I feel like I can do a little bit of everything. I can move things but," he nods at Itzhak, "not like he can. And I can," he taps his head, "pretty well. In fact he and I have done that plenty. I also use it to ease things along with my animals, keep them calm. But the main thing I can do is heal plants and people." He licks his lips a second, since that's an incredible simplification of part of it. "Uh, the opposite, too." He grimaces, making the assumption Alexander knows what he means. "And...things, but that's harder sometimes."

He grunts, shakes his head. "No, I'd never do that to a--no." He swallows at the thought, because what's occurring to him is what could have so easily happened in Bosnia and somehow, by the grace of God, never did. "Risky enough on just every day stuff, much less..." A shrug and a drink of cider. He mulls over Alexander's idea. "Yeah, we could try that." He glances at Itzhak, who's all about his phone now, and so misses the small, smug little smile he's getting.

Alexander stares at Itzhak and the blushing. His hands pull nervously at the bottom of his t-shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm being presumptuous. You don't have to do any of that if you don't want to," he says, hastily. "I just thought - I think it's how the killer is committing the murders. Not two people, but one person strong enough in my area to find a mind and target it, and then use other abilities through the link to cut them open. Probably healing, although I'd need to look at autopsy reports to be more certain. But I can test the hypothesis in other ways." Once August sits down, Alexander moves over to the floor near the kitchen counter, and sits as well, putting his back to the wall and able to keep the front door and both men in sight without too much trouble. "You don't have to," he repeats, quietly, to August. "It's not my intent to cause distress, or trespass mental boundaries." He does look rather fascinated by the man's words, though. "I can heal, a very little. But no evidence of any sort of psychokinesis. I'm not sure how people get what they get. Either to start with, or as they grow. Did you come into it all at once, or develop it over time?"

Itzhak shakes his head urgently, uncrossing his legs so he can lean forward. "No, nonono, that's not...I'll do it." Unconsciously he pats the air at Alexander, trying to reassure him, gaze on him, but not his face, somewhere around his torso. "I'm just..." Itzhak actually glances at August for help. "I'm just stupid about stuff. Okay? It's not you. It's me because I'm an idiot. I want to help."

August sighs at Itzhak, fond and long-suffering. "It's fine, Alexander, I don't mind, and neither does he. It can be a little intimate, depending on the people. At least, that's been my experience. Everyone seems to interact with a link differently. So...just a head's up."

He pauses, considering the question of how he learned. "It was a very, very slow process for me. I think it probably started when I was young, I just," he shakes his head, "thought that was how I was, same way some kids are good at baseball and some like math. And it came on so gradual my parents never worried, they figured I had an overactive imagination and was good with animals." He smiles, rueful, for this particular stroke of luck in his childhood. "And I kept using it without thinking about it. Until..." He stops, expression distant, sighs. "Ah, until I shipped out. That's when it became real clear that something was weird. For me, specifically. And I had to sort out how to only do it intentionally. Took a while, though."

He grimaces, shrugs that aside. "Mind if I...take a look at you? See what kind of power you have?" He sips from his cider. "That's another thing I can do," he adds in an aside.

Alexander stares flatly at Itzhak. "I don't think that's true at all," he says, quite seriously. "If you were an idiot, I wouldn't have asked for your help, with anything, much less this." It's not stated like a deliberate compliment, just an observation of the facts as he sees them.

He moves on, clearly considering the matter settled, and makes a thoughtful noise at August. "Interesting. Stress and danger does seem to have some part of...how we grow into it. Maybe. I was very strong, very young. It wasn't fun. But I'm not sure it's ever fun to find you play by different rules than everyone else." His eyebrows go up. "Feel free. I'm curious."

"I'm smart about a few things but I'm stupid about a lot of things." Itzhak once again has no problem clarifying what he meant. And no problem being stared at flatly; he just lets it happen. Reptiles, after all, are infamous for their flat stares, and he loves the damn things. He almost says something else, but August is doing his thing, and he sits back and has another swig of soda, trying to cool down.

August nods at Alexander, takes a sip of his cider and sets the bottle down on the table. "Let's see how well I can do this without touching you. It's easier if I do, but," his mouth twitches in a wry almost-smile, "I should get used to not doing that, maybe." He sits forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded, and his gaze goes unfocused. It's only a second or two before Alexander can feel it; a slight prickling in the places his power comes from, like the barest touch of fingers running along his spine.

"Hm," August says, sounding thoughtful. "You have a lot more of the...I guess we'd say it's empathy, in a sense. But it's more than just that, the stronger it gets. Just like mine's more than just...life. A lot more. You've got some of that, too, but not nearly as much as the other." The sensation stops, and August sits back up, blinks once. "Nothing like he has, though." He tips his head at Itzhak. "Not that I could tell. I've got some of that. Maybe, a little more than you do of the healing and such."

He takes up his cider, turns the bottle in his hand. "What you're talking about definitely sounds possible. Especially since people like me can make other people stronger." He looks sidelong at Itzhak to remind him of that particular experiment.

Alexander goes back to staring at Itzhak. There's a thoughtful weight to it. He says, slowly, "Maybe. I don't know you well enough to say. But you haven't seemed stupid about anything so far. But if anything makes you uncomfortable, please let me know. Sometimes I do that, but I don't mean to." A shrug, before his attention turns back to August, looking keenly intrigued by his words. He nods, slowly. "I appreciate it. The not touching. I'm...working on that, but it's difficult." A faint smile.

It's not a surprise, the things that August tells him, but he looks fascinated anyway. "I didn't get the healing until college. I've always had the," he waves at his skull, "other stuff." The suggestion that the experiment is possible straightens his spine a little. He looks pleased. "It's a working hypothesis. But solid in reasoning. I think. I'm glad you agree."

Itzhak looks between them, head tipped down, eyebrows up. He smiles in an anxious little flash to Alexander. "Nah. I feel like I understand you more than I understand most people." He glances down, partly so he can ignore that look August is giving him. "Mine happened to me in a brawl. All of a sudden, nobody could touch me. After that I found I could feel things around me, and I could pick 'em up, too. Got a lot done doing that. Surviving, you know? Somebody wanted contraband, I could lift it. Somebody wanted to hide contraband, I could do that too. Now I can do all this other stuff with," he waves, "over There, and that's new as hell."

"I can list some things he's stupid about, but it mostly relates to his fashion sense," August asides to Alexander, like he himself is some kind of clothes horse with impeccable taste. He continues on like he didn't just say that. "Yeah, you came back different. Hard to describe," this is to Alexander again, "it's not that he's more powerful, more like he's...agile. Better coordinated with it. If that makes sense." Perhaps it does, in a way; August's powers are varied and layered in intricate ways. Maybe Itzhak just needed a push to get to that level of control.

Another drink of cider. "Did you want to try this now, or did you want to go somewhere else? In case," he pulls a face, gestures with his drink, "something happens." Like they discover August can do the fire thing, just like Finch can, the hard way. Or Itzhak smashes out a load bearing wall. And so on. Dry, he adds, "It's been that kind of week."

"Hide contraband?" Alexander looks puzzled. "How would you do that? And the finding 'thin' spaces, I still don't know exactly what to think about that. It's fascinating, but also a bit dangerous. I feel." There's a thoughtful consideration of the additional information August provides, but he doesn't seem to be willing to make a comment on it. The rest seems entirely reasonable, although there's a quick smile when Itzhak says he understands him, and Alexander rises to his feet. "I don't see anything wrong with his fashion sense." This should reassure NO ONE, considering the near-rags Alexander regularly goes around in.

There a nod to August. "I'd like to. Try it, anyway? I think we could try it with me and Itzhak in the kitchen, to start, and August, if perhaps you would feel comfortable going to the restroom? I think the medicine cabinet would be a good experimental ground - a lot of varied, small items that we can play with." He brushes his hands down his jeans - they're old and worn near to death, but clean. "I'm willing to take the risk - the house is a rental, anyway." It's dry. "But at some point, if this works, I'd like us to try some serious range."

Itzhak rolls one shoulder. "I can show ya sometime, how I hide stuff. I never heard of anybody else who could do it, not here, not in New York. Nobody. I did come back different." His voice softens. "I dunno exactly why. But now it's like my throttle is jammed open."

Then--oh he scowls, hoisting the bird to August (and we don't mean Luigi). "Sit and spin, Roen, ya look like a Goodwill threw up on you." He's distracted a moment later when Alexander says he wants to try this now. "Oh. Uh, okay! Yeah let's...let's try it." He pops to his feet. "You done this before, linked up with someone?"

August turns a bland look on Itzhak at Alexander's claim to see nothing wrong with Itzhak's fashion sense. "Mmmmmmhmmmmmm." His expression speaks volumes. He lets it linger a couple of seconds, unperturbed by the finger, before turning his attention to finishing off his cider.

"Eh, what's renter's insurance for, anyways? Besides, I'm sure they don't have exclusion clauses for...whatever this is we can do." Alright. And if one of you gets hurt, well, that I can take care of, at least." Himself, not so much, but they can burn that bridge when they get to it. "Restroom it is." He gets up, waits to be pointed that way.

"Maybe 'over there' is your horrible rotgut whiskey," Alexander says, and it's even got a little teasing to it. "I'd love to see it, sometime. It sounds relevant to my interests and I know very little about psychokinesis." A twitch of his lips at the bird and reaction. Solemnly, to August, "I don't think there's anything wrong with your clothes, either."

He leads August towards the restroom - it's very easy to find, just at the end of the hall. The doors to his bedroom and office are open, and there's one closed door on the way, with a shiny new doorknob with a lock on it. "And I haven't. Not like this. I've read people quite often through my life, and I've influence them. Projected to them. Spoken mind to mind on rare occasion. But," he rolls his shoulders, "most people don't like what I do. I try not to impose, anymore. This sort of linked connection is new. But if it works, it has great potential." He pads his way back into the kitchen, going to lean a hip on the counter next to the fridge and wait for Itzhak to join him. There's a coiled excitement in him, that he's clearly trying not to splash about, but it's obvious in the brightness of his dark eyes, and the little glances towards the bathroom. "Just give a shout when you feel ready, August."

Itzhak is turning red again, and it's not clear why. He joins Alexander in the kitchen, propping himself up against the counter next to him. "I gotta warn you, it can feel...weird. At least, when I do it, it feels weird." When he's done this before, physical contact has been a focus, but he doesn't touch Alexander. Doesn't even ask. He just folds his arms across his chest and breathes out long and slow. "Sometime I'd love to hear about that stuff," he murmurs to him. "I mean, if you want to tell me."

"Well, you're a saint, then," August says of Alexander's lack of judgment for his clothing choices. He studiously makes no comment about Itzhak's gradual transformation into a ripe tomato, because he knows he doesn't need to. He's been a witness, and they both know it. That knowledge will work more magic than any comments he could ever think up.

He looks around the bathroom, sits on the edge of the counter and folds his arms. He picks a spot on the wall to stare at, gives himself a few seconds to get relaxed. The smells of shampoo and soap settle and become normal. "Okay," he says, just loud enough to be heard down the hall. "I'm good." There's an absent tone to his voice, like he's only just paying attention to himself anymore.

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "I don't mind talking about it, in general. There are things I'd rather not - I'm not...proud of how I've used my abilities, always. I've been pretty fucked up at various times in my life. Or all times of my life, depending on who you listen to." It's dry and self-mocking. "But some of it, sure. We can talk." A smile meant to reassure. "And it'll be fine. Weird is sort of where I live."

The bathroom is small and plain, but kept meticulously clean. Alexander nods when he hears August's voice float down the hall. "All right, let's do this." He lifts two fingers to one of his temples, massaging lightly. A mental 'line' is cast to August first, the shape of the man's mind already familiar enough to him that he reaches out with confidence, and sends an exploratory 'ding!' down the connection. Literally: a picture of an exclamation point accompanied by a phantom 'ding' sound. Hi there.

The second connection is harder; Alexander's never juggled two minds quite like this before, and his expression goes slack as he concentrates, looking through Itzhak as he reaches for the man's mind. When he feels like he's got it, there's another 'ding!' Except instead of an exclamation point, it's a little violin.

<<I think I've got you both,>> he sends down the connection, both ways.

Itzhak shivers, eyes drifting closed. <<Yeah. I feel you.>> His 'voice' is very violinlike, clear, sharp, and resonant. Like a sustained bow across the A string. <<Never done this with two other people at once.>> The sense of his mind, underneath his voice, is seething with activity. Lots is going on in there, complicated interlocking shapes rising up then sinking away again.

August catches the connection easily enough, not unlike catching a rope to tie down a small boat. His mind is deep and steady, like a broad, swift river cutting through the heart of a forest.

<<Oh he's there alright,>> August replies. Amusement colors his mind voice, bright and sharp on top of its lower tones.

He turns his attention to the bathroom itself rather than his chosen spot on the wall. This is a little trickier; memories are almost easy to share; they're keepsakes you put into storage and can pull back out. Live footage feels different to show Alexander. He doesn't even try to show Itzhak through Alexander, figuring Alexander's going to have to deal with that. Instead he looks at the sink, then the medicine cabinet, slow and deliberate, offers it up to Alexander like a glass of water he's just poured.

Alexander's mental voice is his own, but calm, confident and strong - none of the hesitancy or odd flatness of more physical interactions. His touch is light, holding each of them in something delicately, without sinking into the deeper parts of their mind. In some ways, it's the mental equivalent of that guy who grew too tall and too big too fast, and so knows he has to be very careful with other people. His own mind is like stars made of glass spikes in some ways: sharp, constantly rotating, catching light and shadow by turn in bursts. He keeps it as separate from them as he can.

<<Nice to meet you both,>> Alexander sends to them, and there's the feel of a smile that his blank face doesn't show. Like he's simply stopped bothering to pilot the face meat, now that a better alternative has presented itself.

The medicine cabinet is a very ordinary sort of thing, with over the counter pain meds, sleeping pills, bandaids, shaving cream, and all the various Things there should be. <<I've got it, August,>> he sends, once the image comes into focus. <<Don't look away.>>

Then, he starts building the image in Itzhak's mind, careful not to impose his own memories of the place into what August is sending him. <<Can you see it? Let's try to pick up the aspirin bottle. That shouldn't cause too much damage. If something happens.>>

Itzhak's attention is irresistibly drawn to Alexander's mind. Outright admiring, he hangs there, soaking up the brilliance and flash and shadow. He seems like he'd be happy to do that all day. When Alexander addresses him, he stops--but then he's doing something else. He's forming the mental landscape into something that makes sense to him: a forest, deep and dark, the river rushing through it, the glints of glass stars above, and the sound of a violin winding through the air.

He agrees, without words, a little worry coming through. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he takes a minute, feeling around. And then his power pushes in, and oh, there's so much of it. Implacable strength floods in like a glacier fast-forwarding through time. Itzhak bites his lip, sighing, shifting his weight against the counter.

The aspirin bottle lifts up, and does a cheeky little shake, rattling all the pills within.

<<Not bad.>> August's approval is a sigh of wind in the trees, sending the music up and down the riverbank. There's a sense he's watching Itzhak do this very closely, even a hint that he's working with him, like a student imitating a teacher through a series of forms. It makes for a light echo of perception on the link, a kind of afterimage. There's plenty of space for such power to move in; if the power shaking the aspirin bottle is a glacier, the river runs in a valley previously carved by one.

<<I suppose we could try the other direction?>> That's directed at Alexader, really, though it could be either of them with how things flow around between the three of them. A moment, then, <<If you have something broken in there, maybe. Cracked glass, that kind of thing.>>

Alexander turns himself as much into a conduit as he can - he flows with the river, he stays out of the way of the power of the glacier. A tunnel or a channel, but trying not to influence the transfer of either image or power in either direction. Even so, he can't help but grin and send a pulse of wonder, of delight, down the link when the bottle moves and dances. <<Wonderful. Simply magnificent.>> The offer of reversing the connection is met with a burst of interest. Without his eyes wavering from Itzhak, he reaches up, opens a cabinet, grabs a plate, and smashes it into the counter. The sound draws a confused whistle and flutter from Luigi, and both men can feel the soothing touch Alexander sends in that direction. <<Got something broken now. Itzhak, will you be the eyes? I want to work on being able to relay back and forth.>> As part of that, he goes ahead and closes his so he doesn't have to juggle two visions of the kitchen. That seems awkward.

Itzhak laughs, surprised, his attention wavering. He's concentrating hard and that tripped him up a little; he goes rippling through a whole narrative about how August asked that and Alexander came up with a solution and now the plate's broken and now August is going to reach through and fix it and he's going to get to feel that oh man like this wasn't awkward enough? The thoughts go off like lightning sparked in a cloud, sounding like a violin talking to itself.

All of which to say it's a moment before he actually opens his eyes and reorients himself. His eyes only come open halfway, though, his expression drifty and sensual. <<Yeah.>> And he focuses on the plate, big cracks and little cracks and razory bits of ceramic.

Another low chuckle from August, rocks falling in water. <<Ah, to be young again.>> He's teasing. Mostly. And then his attention's on the plate, and it comes into razorsharp focus.

Where Itzhak's power had moved in a single surge, August's is slow and gradual, an empty riverbed gradually filling towards flood stage during a steady, unceasing rainfall. This is how he's done it, ever since the beginning: a little bit at a time. No big, sudden moves, just small ones in a continusous array, like a network, like plants grow, so there's fallback if something doesn't work. No weak links, no single points of failure.

At first there's just a trickle, the various bits and pieces of the plate picked out and identified. Now a healthy stream, the appropriate matching edges standing out like unique puzzle-piece edges. Last the river itself, resealing the breakages, healing new ones where they're present and forming new ones where they're not. And it's just a plate again, like it was before, though perhaps through August Itzhak can still see where it broke. The memory of that. He could do it again, in the exact same pattern, with a single tap.

There's a rising swell of...joy, from Alexander. He's tried to keep it down, keep it out of the link, but just the sheer pleasure of being connected in a way that he understands best? As he feels the slow but inexorable flow of August's power through the link, joy and wonder flashes like lightning through the connection, and the background is filled with what can only be called...humming. Pleased as punch humming. His eyes remain closed to keep the sensation of seeing through Itzhak's eyes, instead. <<I think this what we can safely call 'proof of concept', gentlemen.>> But he doesn't release the connection just yet. Instead, basking in it.

Itzhak's reply isn't really a formed word, just the sensation of a groaned curse. He's having a problem over there. Too much power and feeling, awash in the stream of emotion and the visceral strengths of August, his close friend, and Alexander, the guy who (it is now painfully obvious) he has a rapidly-blooming crush on. Everything is so good. Too good for comfort. He wants to stay here forever, and he also wants to hide under his bed with how clear his own feelings are. It's delicious and humiliating.

Wistfulness, twining around the other two minds as Alexander's mental grip turns into something that has the intimacy of a caress, whether he intends that or not. And perhaps he does - those glass stars spark with curiosity, and Alexander has never been good at not indulging his curiosity. The sensation of curse, of conflicting emotions from Itzhak's mind, though, has him pulling back, a sudden wave of apology and guilt at the intrusion/exposure silencing the pleased hum. Gently, he dissolves the link that holds the three of them together, not without a lingering sense of regret, bittersweet on the mental tongue. A deep breath as he slumps against the counter. "Oh, my," he murmurs, in the tone of a man who could use a cigarette. Or a cold shower. He gives Itzhak a brilliant grin. "That was wonderful. Thank you."

Itzhak whimpers juuuust a little at that caress. When Alexander lets them go he takes in a deep sudden breath. He's looking downright flustered, and he finds himself smiling back, bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wonderful. Yeah. Sure was." Almost he reaches over to grip Alexander's hand, but doesn't, and looks away instead. "Uh. So. I don't hafta do any embarrassing confessions now I guess." Oy, the amount of shit Roen is going to give him.

August end of the link is pleased as well, but also--oh yes, he's laughing. Not at either of them (and especially not Itzhak), but at the overall success of it, and maybe inevitable outcome. Does he actually laugh down the hall? Yes, he does. "Proof of concept indeed," he says, sauntering back into the living room. He gives Itzhak a smug look. Very smug.

Alexander gives him a serious look. "There's nothing embarrassing about feeling, Itzhak. And," he rolls his shoulders, some of that mental confidence bleeding through his usual wary skittishness, "if we'd met a month ago, that?" He laughs, softly. "That would definitely have me making a proposal that my touch-phobic and far-too-long-celibate ass could not easily cash, but would enjoy trying. You've got an amazing mind." He still looks just a little giddy. "I'm sorry. I wish I could. But there's," he waves, "someone I don't wanna piss off before I manage to ruin the relationship the good old fashioned way, by being me."

Another flash of a smile, before he slips past Itzhak, maybe trying to give the other man a moment of semi-privacy as he moves into the living room. Or maybe he needs it, himself; his hands are shaking just a little. There's still a smile for August as he appears. "Proof of concept. Imagine if we can do it from a mile. Or ten."

Itzhak gives Alexander a smoldering look from under those eyebrows. "Lucky someone," he murmurs. Then ducks his head, smiling stupidly. "Okay. I understand." Whew. He turns the faucet on to splash his face with cold water. When he comes up for air, he smirks back at August, wiping water on his sleeve.

August makes no comment, doesn't even cast a look at Itzhak, beyond a mild nod of 'well done'. "I guess it leads to an important question." He raises an eyebrow. "What about through the Veil? Can someone here, bridge the gap with someone in there, if there's a window, or a door?" He looks from Itzhak to Alexander.

The heat in that look brings a dark stain to Alexander's cheekbones, and his laugh is short, and sharp. "Probably not. I'm a mess. But nice of you to say." He clears his throat, and rubs at the back of his neck. August's question has him staring, not /quite/ open-mouthed but close. "Fuck. I have no idea. But...we ran into some actors that were feeding people to the dark. They could pull us into a Dream. Maybe that was a variation on something we did." A quick, thoughtful breath. "I need to find those camper people. That's a question. I don't know if we should try it before we know more, but..." a tentative look to each of them, "it would be an interesting experiment. Wouldn't it?"

A technical question, thank God! Itzhak, trying to shake off all these inconvenient and troubling feelings, grunts. "Eh, to be honest, I don't see why not. I don't know how, but it feels like it's possible." He grins at the other two, full of himself and his strength. "It'd be interesting as hell. We oughta try it. You know, sometime."

"Feeding people?" August can't help it; Eleanor's comment to him from weeks ago rings in his head like a bell.

Can you imagine the things a bad person could do with your abilities?

He stares out over the room a second. It's occurred to him more than once since Eleanor mentioned it, but now Alexander's confirmed it. And not just individuals. Groups. "Christ," he murmurs.

Fortunately Itzhak's good mood drags him out of those darker thoughts. "Something to try when we're feeling a little more solid on things." He doesn't add, 'And when we're sure we're with people who won't find it to something something,' but it's there in his eyes.

"Camper people?" he repeats, head tilted at Alexander.

"It's all right," Alexander says, to August. Oh so gently. "Most of them are dead, now." He looks away. "But yeah, a couple of people in a camper were showing an interest. I need to find them again." He shakes his head. "But not right now. Right now," his eyes unfocus a bit, "I think I need to lie down. I'm sorry. I'm not a very good host, but that was...something. Thank you both." He's back to tentative, unsure, as he studies each of them in turn. "Perhaps we could talk again, soon? This was fun."

Itzhak is weirdly unfazed by the idea that people are feeding other people to the Unshaped. The only thing the residual echo of his mental presence is concerned with is that they be stopped, preferably by his fists, with a side of if they touch any of his friends he'll rip them apart like he did the roof of Murray House. That vivid glimmer of his certainly backs his ambitions up.

He takes in the information, squirreling it away in the dense junkyard of his mind. "Oh, you bet we'll talk again soon." He picks up his violin case, slinging it over one shoulder. "C'mon, Roen. I don't know about you but I need about twenty minutes of serious alone time."

August relaxes noticably. "Dead. Good." He's not worried about himself, really. Other people, though, like Ignacio, and Eleanor, that's another story. Maybe he catches a bit of Itzhak's lack of concern, or rather the reason for it, as he shares a brief glance with Itzhak, a kind of 'yeah you and me both' look. Then he clears his throat. "Yeah, could use a moment myself." Or a couple of hours. With Eleanor. But that'll have to wait.

"Thanks for this," he says to Alexander, nodding his head in place of a handshake. It feels so superfluous and unnecessary just now. "It's good to get some ideas, figure out what we can do together, not just alone." He turns to go, leaving Alexander the canvas bag of many vegetables. (Who knows, maybe Itzhak will find himself on the receiving end of eggplant lasagna.)