2019-08-08 - An Evening of Saffron and Sangria

The Hispanic Heritage Festival plays out around August and Eleanor as they peruse the food booths. "Pupusas first," August says, directing them to the Flores family's stand. He's been dying to have some of these all week, and hasn't had time to swing by the truck they have out in the park during the week. Cheese, refried beans, and loroco with cheese are all on offer. August is hungry, he gets three; they come on compostable plates with a side of a light vinegar and cilantro slaw.

Ellie gets a cheese one and a refried beans one. “What’s Loroco? I’ve never heard of it,” she murmurs to him as she looks over the offerings. She tucks her hair behind her ears as if in preparation for the eating to come. “You want my slaw?” she offers, because beans or cabbage is bad enough, BOTH? That’s like a gut bomb waiting to happen.

"It's an herbaceous vine, from Central America, with edible flower buds. In fact that's what the indigenous name for it means--quilite, 'edible herb'. They put the flower buds into all kinds of food. Not that much different from having capers, really." August tears off a bit of one of the pupusas with loroco and cheese, adds it to her plate so she can try a taste. "I will absolutely have your slaw," he says. "What did we want to drink--horchata? Save the sangria for dessert?"

The thoughtful gesture makes Ellie’s smile warm further. “That’s really interesting. I like capers. As long as it’s not overly floral. Rosewater in dishes is a plague upon mankind...” she mutters. “A horchata would be great. They pretty much had me at vanilla and cinnamon,” she says with a chuckle, before tasting the loroco pupusa.

The flower buds taste a little like a squash and broccoli hybrid; bright little bites of nutty green flavor.

"Horchata it is," August says. Since they're juggling plats, he suggests they take one of the little tables, then goes to fetch a couple tall, sweat-beaded cups of horchata. Conveniently the cups can help hold their napkins down against the wind. "They actually have it made from rice and tiger nuts this year, so I got the tiger nut one to try." A rarity in the US, where they usually see almond and rice milk variants, but August is game for anything.

He sits down on one of the rickety if serviceable chairs, sips from his horchata. "So. I think I owe you a story about saffron."

Eleanor accepts her drink with glee, and sips it, making a face of pure delight and the sound to match. “So good. So very good.” She finishes the loroco one with a nod of approval. “Not bad at all. I still like my terrible for me bean and cheese ones though.” A brow arches at the story. “You don’t owe me a thing, but I’ll happily listen.” She grins.

August smiles, wry. "Well, let me get through the whole thing." A lift of his eyebrows, and he starts in one his first pupusa a couple bites at a time. "So I had a customer come in, she was like me with the whole," he gestures with his drink, probably meaning Glimmer, "and was having trouble not killing plants." A pause to indicate this was not 'black thumb' style herbicide going on. "She bought some from me to try to work on it." A drink of horchata. "Promptly killed one, was kind of upset about it. I, ah, showed her how to bring it back, and propagated it for...next time." He seems bitterly amused at this notion of cloning a plant so someone can learn to not kill it with their power, pauses there to see what Eleanor thinks so far.

“I hate to say that’s not uncommon. Many folks who Glimmer learn they do it through one facet of their aspect happening. A lot of the time, if they don’t have people in the know around them, that’s the only facet they develop unless something intervenes and clues them in to the rest,” Eleanor murmurs. She sips her horchata and listens.

August studies Eleanor for a moment, derailed from the story by that. He tilts his head, eyes going distant. He's thinking of something, or someone. A few someones, actually. "Yeah," he says, tone absent. Then he shakes his head. "Definitely what happened with her.

"Well, fast forward to the other day, she wound up in the hospital, and someone sent her, mmmm, a few thousand dollars worth of Spanish saffron crocuses. The restaurant grade cultivar, not the ones you can just buy online for ten bucks." He laughs at the idea of all that in one hospital room. "Someone she didn't really like anymore, I assume, since she sent a few of them to me. Except, she had them delivered, at work, with a note." He seems mildly embarrassed to admit this part, because he knows what that looks like, oh yes he does.

Eleanor chuckles. “And everyone assumed they were from her as an amorous gift to you, rather than her trying to get rid of something that was distasteful to her but still have it put to good use?” She tilts her head and looks amused.

"Yyyyesssss," August says. He looks relieved Eleanor can see where this is going. "So, by the way, if you want some, let me know. In unrelated news I'll be cooking with saffron a lot more often." He clears his throat. "But ah, there's...more. As of today." He shifts a little in his seat, has more pupusa. "One of the reasons Itzhak didn't want to come tonight is he's in a bad mood, wanted to get drunk. So I offered to drive him. And while we were at the bar, she," the one who sent the crocuses, "showed up. And, ah," August has a little trouble meeting Eleanor's eyes, "let's just say she was very friendly." He risks a glance.

That gets Eleanor to blush and look just a bit worried. “Oh, so, it was kind of sent to you as an amorous gift? Or...?” She trails off. “I mean, you’re a very attractive man and smart and you own your own business so you can probably find lots of people who want to date you so I totally understand if I’m not right for you and you want to date this saffron girl instead....” she keeps going. Awk. Ward.

Somewhere across town, Itzhak is thinking, August you enormous idiot, and has no idea why. August can even hear Itzhak's voice in his head. Smooth move! Word it worse ya big yutz!

He reaches out to take one of Eleanor's hands in both of his. "Hey, no, definitely not. I mean, no, I don't want to date her. And definitely not instead of you." He laughs, a little helpessly. "It's flattering you think that, but I'm not that good of a catch, I mean," he thinks of the sheer number of things they haven't discussed, "considering. Sooner or lster you're going to sort that out." He smiles when he says that, rueful, follows it with a sigh. "Anyways, before I had to figure out a way to gracefully explain myself, Itzhak ah, took care of it. He wasn't having any of her being up in my business. It's amazing they didn't get into a catfight."

Blink. Blink. Blink. He isn’t breaking up with her? Eleanor seems surprised. This is likely a clue about how well her dating life has gone in the past. She lets out a breath. “Sorry I, uh, sorry.” She swallows. “I totally just spazzed out there didn’t I?”

"No, you didn't, I'm just a huge moron," August says, keeping hold of her hand. "I probably should have prefaced this all with a warning. So," he takes in a breath, lets it out, "this is exactly why I wanted you to hear this from me. I figured it was just...something she wanted to put to good use. I didn't read anything else into it. But, ah," he winces, "guess I should have." He takes her hand, turns it over to kiss the palm. "For what it's worth, they assumed the flowers were from you. That's why Ignacio called you Saffron." He seems to find the idea pretty cute, all in all, despite the potential confusion.

And there she goes blushing again. “Me? So you told them about me? Other than my name like Ignacio pointed out?” Eleanor squeezes his hand a little and she slooowly calms down. “That’s so sweet. I’m uh, glad you still want to, you know, date.” Ahem. She’s working on getting her foot out of her mouth.

"Yeah, I mean. Well, mostly Itzhak, I don't talk about my private life at work much." The irony that it's Itzhak whom Eleanor still hasn't met isn't lost on August. "But, yeah. Some." He smiles to see her blush. "He and I were thinking we should go on a double date. Me and you and him and..." He frowns, unsure who would come with Itzhak. "Someone," he says, shrugging. That's Itzhak's problem. "If, you know, that sounds like something you wanted to do." He gives her hand another kiss, releases it and sits back so he can continue eating. They're food's going to get cold at this rate.

“Oh, that would be nice. I’d like to meet your friends. If you don’t mind that I kind of turn into a babbling idiot when I do. It takes me a bit before I get comfortable and my mouth stops running nervously.” Eleanor looks embarrassed about her social awkwardness, but she is at least willing to brave it. She decides to put that big brain of hers to a better purpose for now.

“What sort of thing would you like to do for that? There’s some wineries not far off that do tours and tastings, that could be fun. Or drive down to the coast? Or take one of the harbor tour cruises here?” She works on her pupusas while trying to come down from her moment of not-zen.

"You're not the only person who does that." August smiles, warm and encouraging. "And no, I'm not going to mind. Neither will they."

He regrets sitting across from her rather than next to for a second, but the topic shift distracts him from plans to move his chair. For the moment. "Hmmm, I like those ideas. Or a picnic on the beach, maybe." Obviously a picnic on the beach won't be fraught with the same disasters. Right? "I'll see what Itzhak thinks, make sure no one has a boat or sand aversion." He continues working on his food, stealing glances at her. He pauses to fiddle with his fork. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to drop that story on you like that, I just figured you should hear it from me."

“A picnic on the beach? Normally that would sound wonderful. But after our last picnic, I worry we’ll have a hurricane pop up, or get swept out to sea and eaten by JAWS. Or fall into an unknown cave system beneath the sand.” Eleanor looks amused at that. “But we can try if you’d like.”

She reaches out to squeeze his hand gently. “I’m glad you told me. And let me have my moment of freak out. It’s out of my system now, and it’s nice to know that your friend knows enough to chase off someone circling you.”

"It can't last forever, right? This constant run of...bad luck, or whatever it is?" August makes a face, shakes his head to dispel any concerns over that. Maybe not forever, but it's been a while now. "Maybe there's a restaurant they'd like to try." No ants or raccoons or sinkholes in a restaurant. Right?

He takes Eleanor's hand, glad to have something to do that's not play with his fork. "Okay. I just feel like an idiot for making you think that." He gives it a firm, gentle squeeze, runs his thumb over the back of it. "I like being with you. I want to be with you." He raises his eyebrows, a smile lurking. "So you're going to have to be the one to get rid of me."

“It’s not your fault. My brain tends to go to ‘worst case scenario’ on its own. I’m working on it, but it’s a slow process.” Eleanor is blushing hotly again and she ducks her head, pushing her glasses up on her nose with her free hand. “That’s good to know. I mean that you want to be with me. Not that getting rid of you stuff. I’m so not used to this whole social thing. Give me research, or a business to run, and with that kind of purpose I’m solid as a rock. Give me new friends or a guy I like and I’m stumbling around in the dark. I really appreciate your patience with me, August.”

"I think it was kind of a little my fault," August says, rueful. "It won't hurt to keep that in mind. It's not hard for me to tell you something so that the worst you could assume is pretty mild." He smiles at the blush. Maybe he shouldn't enjoy making her do it so much; it's not fair to her since he mostly doesn't. On the other hand maybe she'll manage to make it happen, and then he's really in trouble.

"You're welcome, but, what kind of guy would I be if I couldn't be patient with you?" He reaches up with his other hand to stroke her hair. "And anyways, you deserve someone who's not expecting you to change who you are. I'd rather help you with what you want to deal with, whatever that is. I don't want you to not be you."

August’s words strike deep for Eleanor. What kind of man would he be? Well like anyone else she dated for a few moments here or there. One whiff of how awkward and weird she can be, and they took to the hills. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she admits, leaning her head towards his hand when he strokes her hair. She may just stay red in the face at this rate, it’d be easier. “I really do appreciate it. You have NO idea how rare a breed you are, where patience is concerned. Or tolerance, or any number of other -ences and -ances. I’m really glad to have met you.”

There's a brief look in August's eyes which suggests Eleanor's ex-boyfriends would be lucky to absolutely never, ever meet him. It's there and gone in a second, a flash of 'why are people such assholes'. He reins it in, wills it away. That's really not how to deal with them. He shouldn't actually interact with them at all. But oh, how that part of him that survived war and much worse wants to.

"I'm glad I met you. Someone who...understands, all of this," he glances around them, not at the on-going, colorful festival, but at the town and all the strangeness that comes with it, "and maybe doesn't mind that life hasn't exactly left me all that well put together." He raises her hand to kiss the back of it. "I can't take all the credit for my patience. You get counseling for half a decade, some of the things rub off."

A lot of her disastrous social life had to do with it being a small town, and rumors traveling fast. Conspiracy theorists tend to wind up very lonely individuals, or locked up somewhere. Or maybe it was something even more sinister at work. Who knows? (Maybe there’s a plot lurking in there somewhere). She blushes yet again.

“I think you’re put together just fine, August. The scars and such, they’re like extra details that come with life stories, and real tangible experiences. They’re a map of where you have been and what you have done. I think it’s pretty sexy, really,” she admits.

August starts to say something, stops. He rests his lips against Eleanor's hand a spell, kisses it again. Then, "Sexy, hm?" He smiles, warm and sultry, rests her hand on his cheek. "A lot of people don't see them like that," he says. One can imagine some of the reactions he's gotten, especially in his late 20s and early 30s, in college. "I got the tattoos to kind of...reclaim myself, I guess. And it helped. I've been thinking about getting more, on the scars I didn't cover." But the way he's looking at her now, maybe he won't. It's hard to say.

"Sangria?" he suggests. "And some empanadas?" And then maybe dancing. But wine, first.

“A lot of people don’t see me as someone they want to be around either. I guess we’re both blessed with far better insight than mere eyes allow,” Eleanor quips with a smile that lights up her whole face. “You know, a lot of powerful spiritual glimmerists can,” she gestures with her fingers, “you know, make a shattered window reform with no trace it was broken. I wonder if they can remove scar tissue and just, remake the closure without any scarring?” Her wheels are turning thoughtfully again. Another project to delve into in the list of topics to research. “I was thinking of getting a tattoo someday. But I have no idea what of.”

She nods to the suggestion of sangria and empanadas. “Yes please. I am jonesing for those empanadas. Taco bell makes these apple ones that aren’t really empanadas despite being tasty.”

"I've thought about that." August seems mildly embarrassed to admit it. "Wondered if maybe, someone like me, but a little more powerful, could remove them. But..." His voice fades, and his expression goes distant. Finally, he says, "I don't know that I'd want them to. It wouldn't feel right."

He's quiet a time, trying to sort through it. Then, "A lot of people died in that hospital, when it came down. I didn't. Feels like, I should keep them, as a reminder of that." He sighs. "Maybe that's stupid, I don't know. As much as I'd like to not remember how bad that was, I also don't want to forget." He huffs a quiet laugh. "Also it'd be hard to explain how I have all this titanium in me but no surgical scars."

He tilts his head at the idea of her with a tattoo. "I didn't get one until I saw one on a guy that I really liked, and it got me thinking. He told me who his artist was, down in Portland. Let me know, if you want her name--she's really good. Our local artist, Lex? She's good too, I hear." He gives Eleanor's hand a squeeze, gets up. "Sangria and empanadas," he says, offering to take her plate to consolidate the trash.

Eleanor seems really relieved and pleased by his response to ‘reconstructive glimmer’ work. “Exactly. Exactly that, August. I still have a scar of my own from, you know, the incident when I was a kid. And like you, I wear it to remember, and to honor my lost friend.” She hands over her plate for disposal.

“I’ll think about it. Something to represent my survival maybe. Something to remind me I made it out of that place. Something to make me braver in the face of things.”

August smiles, bittersweet. "Yeah. Exactly. Anyways I've got tattoos on some of them, if they took away the scars it'd screw those up." He makes a face. "And the big one cost a small fortune, so, no thanks."

He thinks about 'survival' as a tattoo theme while he tosses out the trash. On their way to the empanada stand he says, "Were you thinking, a symbol, or some calligraphy? Or more like, animals or plants?" He taps his left shoulder. "I was thinking maybe another one for here. Maybe a thorny vine of some sort."

“Maybe something symbolic of survival. Like a phoenix. Reborn from the worst possible thing, always renewed.” Eleanor thinks on it for a while. “I think that might be a really good one for me. Not sure of the exact design, but it’s a start.” She smiles at him, linking her arm through his. “If I do this, would you go with me? Keep me brave?”

"A phoenix, I like that." August thinks on that. "A seasonal wheel sort of thing might also work--or, maybe, a tree, going through all four stages." He pulls her against him as they walk. "Absolutely I will come with you. And remember, you don't have to get it all done at once. A little at a time is pretty common. Even my smaller one was four sittings, and it has almost no color. But, tattooing on scar tissue hurts, so I needed breaks."

The empanada booth still has plenty of offerings. For a sweet empanada they've made dulce de cayote, which turns out to have a lovely, nutty flavor and a squash-like texture, almost similar to having marmalade.

And, of course, the sangria. Alongside the traditional sangria there's a few varieties focusing on locally-avaialble fruits. August goes for one with a lot of berries, since those are just now going out of season.

Ellie gets the same, and seems pleased even if they aren’t banana. The sangria is sipped rather deeply to calm her nerves from being in such a raucous crowd. “I think it would suit me. I’ll do some research for designs and placement and let you know when I’m steeled to going to get it started.” She offers him a piece of her empanada as thank you for his support.

August narrows his eyes, smiles with mischief. He leans over and takes the empanada from her hand directly rather than using his fingers. And maybe he winds up nibbling at her fingers lightly in the process. Maybe. He sits back up, looking entirely innocent, has some sangria. "Sure thing," he says, like he didn't just do that.

Oh lawd, she’s red as the sangria at the nibbling of her fingers, and she ducks her head for a shy smile as she tries to get the goosebumps under control. “So. Dancing next?” she asks, trying not to trip over her own words.

August's smile becomes less teasing, a little more demure. The sangria's given him a pleasant, warm feeling, just enough of a buzz to feel good but not so much that he'll have trouble with dancing. So he agrees,"Dancing."

Cups and napkins disposed of and hands washed, he leads Eleanor towards the section roped off as a make-shift dance floor. The band's playing a salsa at the moment, though they've been varying all day. A slow dance for those who don't have the skill for a salsa will come shortly. In the mean time he draws Eleanor against him and runs a hand down her back. "Having a good time?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

Oh that touch makes her shiver and definitely not in a bad way. The sangria has eased some of her anxiety. “ A great time, thank you. When the slow song begins she slides one arm to his shoulder and her other hand into his. “Are you ?” She asks. Her hand on his shoulder stays near his neck. Eventually it slides up into the back of his hair.

August mmmmmms low in his chest as Eleanor's fingers reach his hair, eyes half-closing. Oh yes, he likes that. "Yeah," he says, sounding distracted. "A very good time." He's good enough at a slow dance that this doesn't lead to any tripping or missteps, and any toe-stepping doesn't seem to faze him. The dance floor is a touch more crowded for the slow song, as people feel more confident of their ability to not make fools of themselves like they might during a flamenco or other active piece. August is content to guide them between the other couples, head bowed slightly so his cheek's on her forehead.

For all her talk of toe stomping, Eleanor is actually quite light on her feet. She follows his lead, curling into him so their joined hands are clasped between them, and her head rests on his shoulder. She breathes in the scent of him, closes her eyes, and just lets the world slip away for a little while. It’s nice to forget about all the horrible things going on in their little world, and just BE for a moment.

August doesn't, it seems, wear any kind of cologne, so it's just whatever soap he uses: some sort of mix of almond and sandalwood. A hint of pine and balsam, though maybe that's not a surprise given his vocation. Dusk is falling, and the Festival is in full swing, with lights strung up to lend a festive glow to the dancing area. "I think you were exaggerating about stepping on my toes," he murmurs presently. "Do you do gymnastics or some kind of training?" He's trying to think of what would enable her to move like this. "Martial arts?" he guesses. Around here that wouldn't be the worst idea.

Eleanor ‘hmmms?’ dreamily at the question. “Oh, kick boxing, and some karate when I was young, and Tai’Chi during college.” Yeah, so she can probably kick ass and take names. “After the incident I became pretty focused on self-defense as well as learning everything I could about over there.”

August chuckles, low and quiet. "So you can kick my ass. Okay, I'll keep that in mind if I ever think about doing something stupid." He kisses her forehead. "Makes sense. Honestly, not a bad idea, to know how to do those things." He supposes he could stand to learn. "They have classes locally at the gym?"

The song draws to a close, and the dancers begin to swap out. A flamenco is next, with a few professionals ready to perform. August draws Eleanor back outside the rope boundary. "Want to stay for another after this, or do you have to work tomorrow?"

”I train at Kelly’s gym but be forewarned, I’m pretty sure those crazy ass twins are involved in some criminal enterprises. However, it also means no one dares to be inappropriate towards a woman in there, for fear they’ll beat them within an inch of their life, so I like it. They likely have a gym at the college too.” Eleanor tilts her head up to smile at him sweetly. “Kicking is not what I think of in regards to your ass.” Then she blushes. “That was the sangria talking.”

"The Kelly's?" August laughs, wry. "Yeah, pretty sure they are. But if they make it safer for you to use the gym, well, I guess that's something." He makes a face about going to a college kids gym because, ugh. Twenty-year olds.

He arches an eyebrow. "No? I'd ask for details but we are in public." He kisses her hand. "So. More dancing? Something else?"

”Wanna go home and watch a movie and make out like college kids?” Eleanor offers with a grin.

August mmmms. "That all sounds wonderful," he says, taking her hand. "And we'll see if we can't sort out a double date to go on with Itzhak in a few days."