2019-08-09 - Late Night Churros

After the sun goes down, fewer and fewer of the 'visitors' are loitering, and it's mostly the Hispanic community left to enjoy the festivities. After a point the music has to quiet down, and it's natural to gravitate toward one of the tents with some food and drinks.

For her part, Julia has of course taken off her sunglasses, and now has her hair coiled up at the back of her head. She did a lot of dancing tonight, and is unapologetically hot and sweaty and has a happy glow about her that is rare and fleeting in this town.

She looks over at the two men seated across from her, and salutes them with her horchata before sipping from the straw. "Itzhak," she begins conversationally, "Do you know how to find things?" Or maybe it's Find things.

Ignacio has not gotten to speak his first tongue in so damn long, though he does with Raf out of habit. Being in a community and feeling like his old neighborhood with his cousins and family friends again? Eh, that's something special. He also made a point to text Finch pictures of them getting Itzhak to dance with them. How Ignacio can convince someone to do things they're throughly uncomfortable with and have fun with it? Eh, who knows.

The limp is getting hidden like a pro, but he's been taking it easy end half of the evening and bringing back, yes! coffee that will keep you awake for 40 years nad the elusive late night churro. "I think this has apple in it? I swear this state has a strange love affair with apples but damn if we ain't benefitin from it."

Itzhak, once sufficiently lubricated with some damn strong sangria, had permitted Ignacio and Julia to lure him into dancing. It turns out he's surprisingly good at it. ("I played in a Cajun band for years, I can zydeco like the goddamn dickens, guys.") He'd loosened up and even, MAYBE, rumor has it, smiled. It's been a hell of a week, but this is a half-decent capper.

He's hot and sticky too, his black curls plastered to his forehead. At least it's cooling down, with the breeze off the ocean. "Huh?" he says to Julia, intelligently, having wandered off thinking about something else, possibly how great she looks in her dress and glowing happily. "...Yeah. Yeah, I can. You mean," he gestures to his temple.

"Sometime can you help me figure out if that's something I can also do?" Julia inquires. "We need to work out how we can do what we do together, anyway. Have Iggy tell you about the last meeting we had, if someone hasn't already." Aside to Ignacio, "You still got rhythm, hermano."

Ignacio nods that he's caught Itzhak up on current events. The compliment is received with hands held wide, and the one not holding his coffee splayed to his chest. "Yooooou are most gracious. Muchas gracias." Looking to Itz he asks, "Thaaaat is a good question. Can you? I mean I'd offer but I've lost my own apartment." He squints to Julia in earnest, "I dunno I'm much a help in this area."

"Roen told me." Which may or may not be because Iggy's not the most reliable narrator in the world. "I ...guess?" he says to Julia. "I never really tried to teach anyone this stuff before. I'm sure willing to give 'er a go. You're as strong as me." He lowers his voice a little. "So if you can't, guess we gotta try."

He smiles a long half-smile at Ignacio. It's almost affectionate. "If she's tellin' ya, you know it's true."

"Did he tell you I'm gonna get hypnotized?" Julia asks, lifting her horchata. "I've had a few beers, and that's the only reason I can manage saying it so calmly. If one of you could go with me, or even both of you, that'd be great. I'm going to try and remember my time in the asylum. Which means some pretty ugly shit may come up."

Ignacio is eating. No words. sooooo goooood. His head dips in a nod of yes, yes I did. Did he believe me? Eeeeeh. "Iff froo." Wondrous contribution to the English language from the author at the table here. Thank you, Ignacio. He does gesture between himself and her to indicate he's going with.

Itzhak pulls a grimace. He tips up his own horchata, swallows. "Yeah. He told me that. It's...that's rough. I wish you didn't have to do that." He looks at Ignacio, then back at Julia. "You want me to go with? I mean, we don't hardly know each other, you sure you wanna risk, you know, ugly stuff coming up in front of me?"

"If you'd rather not, that's okay. But I figured we'll be messing around with each other's heads, so it might be good for you to know what's in mine. And honestly?" This Julia addresses to both of them. "I'm not afraid of you guys knowing what I've been through. You won't judge me for it. But I don't want to add to anybody's nightmares, or assume too much familiarity if you're uncomfortable, Itz."

Ignacio chuckles with a wry, half-grin forming at Julia's sentiment. His hand goes out to give her forearm a squeeze, "Trust me, You got an uphill battle to supplant the things that wake me up screaming at night. I'd welcome the change. But, then again, you know i"m in so... yeah." With a shrug he murmurs, "Hey if it works and can make it stop let me know."

"Ugly don't scare me," Itzhak says. "Nah that ain't it. If that's what you want, sure. I'll come with youse. I got no grounds to judge anybody on anything." He tips his head at Ignacio. "De Santos is right, much as it kills me to say it.

"Well I won't go around comparing scars." Julia reassures. "We've all got our junk." Leaning back, she admits, "I'm getting you all into my mission, but I wanna know...what's yours? Both of you. If you're willing to share."

Ignacio slaps Itzhak on the shoulder with a commiserating nod. "Get comfortable being uncomfortable." He pauses being asked about his scars, and there's a flicker of a smile. "This is a fiesta. Talkin about my shit that cannot be taken back is not going to add anything to the eve." He tanks his coffee and gets up. "I'm a check in on Raf now that his set's done. I'll be back." The classic deSantos dodge is alive and well.

"Yeah, lates." Itzhak swaps a clasp and a dap with Ignacio. "He seriously think nobody knows he's avoiding shit when he does that?" he adds sotto voce to Julia.

He pitches his weight back in the plastic chair until it creaks, stretching out his legs. "Ehh, some stuff I can't share. Some stuff, though...like the Murray House? That shit ain't kosher, it's gotta stop." Then, mid-drink of horchata, something occurs to him and his eyebrows pop up. "Mmf. Hey. You ever been across the border to over There?" Stressing the last word to make it clear what he means.

Julia cocks her head. "I thought they caught you up. Or maybe the details got confused." She fusses at the fabric of her dress. "I figured out recently that the asylum I was in was actually on the other side. I was trapped there for seven years."

Itzhak blinks. "Shit. I got confused. I thought--it don't matter. Sorry." Now he's red again with embarrassment, tries to cover with another drink. "Under your own power, though? As a grownup? Ugh, forget it, I can't hardly mention over There without de Santos looking like he's trying not to shit a brick."

She shakes her head. "Not at all. I was idiagnosed when I was eight and institutionalized when I was eleven. They let me out when I was eighteen. Since it wasn't a real asylum, I don't know why, it could have kept me until I died." Her head tilts. "So really, what I try to do is make up for the time I lost. After I came back, my dad took me to San Francisco, and I enrolled in culinary school."

Itzhak really makes a face, lip curling. "Well, thank God for small favors, huh?" Sardonically Yiddish, that statement. He's trying to cool his flush, but the heat isn't cooperating. "So what made you wanna be a chef?"

Julia's smile turns soft. "My abuelita. I had a hard time with my family, for obvious reasons. But my grandmother never treated me like anything was wrong with me, and what happy memories I could hold onto were being in the kitchen with her. You're a musician?"

"Aww," Itzhak says, eyebrows tilting up in genuine empathy. "You got a real good abuelita there. Yeah, I'm a fiddler." He flicks a little gesture at his shirt, the one with the saying about paying the fiddler. "I had some classical training, mostly I'm all about the folk music. I'm a mechanic too. Pays a lot better than fiddling, lemme tell you."

"Does it give you as much satisfaction? Or satisfaction of a different kind?" Julia leans forward, resting her elbow on the table and letting her chin press against her palm. "You know I'm going to need you to play for me sometime, right? Or at least let me know where you're going to play so I can show up."

"I'm a genius fuckin' mechanic," Itzhak says, so serious and casual that it's clear it's not an unfounded boast. "I can't claim to be a genius violinist, but that's good in a way. I never get bored with it. Always somethin' to push for. Wrenched for de Santos, dunno if he told you that. Now that's fun, fine-tuning an engine. Street racing scene." He makes a little tossing-away gesture, "Ehhh, I don't got a gig. My buddies want me to do an open mic night or something, I dunno."

Julia points out, "If you're good enough to stand up with a zydeco band in New Orleans, you're certainly good enough for an open mic night." She folds her arms and leans back, looking back at him as if to say, so there. "Never been to the race, but when I was little I saw Grease and I wanted to be the girl with the handkerchief." At the moment, she looks the part.

"It was in New York," Itzhak says, grinning tiredly. "Two of the guys were Cajun, though, right outta the bayou. We went to a competition in New Orleans. We didn't win, but damn, what a ride. Eh, it ain't that I'm not good. It's that, I dunno, I kinda feel like an asshole. I know, I know, since when has that ever stopped me?" He snorts, amused. "Well, ya look just like the girl with the handkerchief right now. You look great."

"Great was definitely the goal. Thank you." she replies, and then inspired, sits up a little. "If I wear this to an open mic night, would you do it?" Because she's a little evil like that.

"Uhh, would you really want me to?" Itzhak's taken by surprise again. "Like, that much? Why?" He's also a little confused, frowning at Julia. "I mean, I guess so but...I can't figure you out, you know that?"

"Me? I'm an open book. To you guys, anyway." She cocks her head, eyeing him askance. "What is it about me that you can't figure out?"

Shaking his head, Itzhak says, "I dunno. I didn't mean it bad. I'm not good at figuring out people in general, anyway. You're just, I dunno, complicated? I wonder why you got me to come out. ...Glad you did, though, I had fun."

"Well, you're someone that I'm hoping to have as a friend - you should know I flirt a lot, but it only means as much or as little as you want it to. If you were really adamant about not wanting to come out, I would have let you be, but I think you kind of did, and just needed a little bit of a nudge." She grins at that, though there's an admission along with it. "I never really got to spend time developing a group of friends, except for the two other girls my age in the asylum. We protected each other as best we could. But even when I was in San Francisco, it always felt like I was missing out on something. So when I am with people who I think might actually understand me and support me and share the same things that are important to me, things that I can't talk to most of the other people in my life about, that's important. Also, had I known you were such a good dancer, I would have made sure you were here at the start." There's a little va-va-voom brow lift at that.

That makes Itzhak laugh, a little rueful, but also honestly amused. "Oh no, you're onto me now. I did kinda wanna come out, and I can dance." He rests his elbows on the tabletop and grins back. The expression grows more serious as he listens, not somber, but Julia's words are important and he pays attention to them. "Yeah. You know, I know exactly how that feels. It's funny, I didn't have a lot of friends back home. De Santos, though I'm a real shit friend to him. Couple other people. Didn't do a lot of serious dating, just couldn't manage to not be, well, myself enough to make anything work. Here, it's like, everyone's like me. We're all fucked up. We all got the song. And now, I got friends."

"See? Not so hard to figure out." Julia says, and lets out a little laugh. "I've had exactly one serious relationship. It lasted a year and a half, and we broke up after I got my first job. Which, you know, was heartbreaking, and I cried and ate ice cream and cursed him bilingually, but my work more or less helped me move on pretty quick. Haven't really been involved since - just a date or two now and again."

"Yeah, yeah. Look, I'm a genius mechanic and I'm a pretty decent fiddler, but I flunked the Making Friends and Influencing People part of life." Itzhak laughs again, wry this time, at the image of Julia cursing her ex bilingually. "I've had two. Maybe that's one and a half. Done a lot of sleeping around, not so much with serious dating. Just too screwed up in the head." Then, whups, he reddens again. "TMI there. See, ya get me tipsy, look what happens."

"You didn't say anything I didn't, and I'm not going to judge." Julia assures him. "I mean, as long as it wasn't the sneaking around version of sleeping around. Just means you probably know what you're doing." She waves a hand. "Screwed up is relative in this town, we established that, didn't we?"

"In bed, maybe I know what I'm doing. For an actual relationship, ehhh not so much." Itzhak tips a hand back and forth. "Sneak around? God no, in Manhattan, that's taking your life into your hands." He's kidding, but not entirely. "Nah, I ain't a cheater. Why, yannow? It might get my dick wet but I'd be so anxious about it I'd probably throw up. I can be interested in more than one person at the same time, but so long as everybody's on the same page, that don't do any harm."

He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "So this is way more honest than I was aiming for. You now know more about my relationship history than anybody else in the state."

"My giving nature invites confidences." She manages that bullshit with a straight face. "We could change the subject. What's the coolest thing you've ever done with your," She taps her forehead and wiggles her fingers. "Like, the thing that made you feel like a goddamn super hero."

Itzhak perks up at that question. "Okay, it's gonna sound stupid. De Santos and Roen and Finch didn't hardly believe me." He shifts his weight to lean in, his narrow face alight. "I fell across the border by accident. There was this girl. She told me these thugs stole her crown. Now I didn't know nearly so much then, I mean I don't know that much anyway, but really not much then. So I never was across before. I had no idea how to get back. She said if I helped get her crown back, she'd teach me. So I did, and we took 'em on together, and I could do shit I never did before. We. Kicked. Ass. And when she got that crown back..." Itzhak's expression opens up with wonder. "Turns out it was her horn. She was a unicorn, just in a person shape. I know this sounds fuckin' ridiculous, but it's true. It was one of the most amazing things ever happened to me in my life."

Then, his expression turns unhappy, mouth tightening. "But nobody else I ever met in this town had something like that happen to 'em. It's been like what you went through, instead. So nobody wants to hear it or talk about it."

"Well, you know I believe you." Julia says it like it's a given, because it is. "I was lured back in, and while I was there, I could sort of...feel the way out. I think I can sense the openings, and I bet you can too. Along with making them." She sighs. "I'm kinda jealous. A unicorn. That's every little girl's dream, you know?"

Itzhak sighs too, as yearning as any little girl. "Maybe one day you could meet her. Or I could see her again. Or both at the same time. She said she'd keep an ear out for me." He tips a finger at Julia. "I can make 'em, yup. If I can, you can. There's a lot I don't know, though. So I can't teach you everything, because I don't know everything."

"I'm willing to bet that we both have things the other doesn't know." Julia assures him. "We can teach each other. You know the plan for the hypnosis? Is to try and focus on something I remember that I can find. It might help us locate the asylum. But it's complicated, since it moves around on the other side."