2019-08-25 - Throwing Stuff

Throwing stuff around, TAKE TWO: Itzhak got nervous and suggested to Julia they find a secluded spot on the beach, at night. They can't do TOO much damage like that. He hopes.

He brings Julia to hike up along the waterline, until they get past the easily-accessible road and to a place hidden more thickly by trees. Normally this part of the beach is blocked off by water, but it's low tide. The tidal rocks are bare and easily traversable.

Itz brought a canvas bag full of stuff, which he hangs on a branch sticking up from a log of driftwood. "I brung some stuff to try movin' around," he says, rummaging around in it.

Julia came post-shift, so luckily she's wearing comfortable shoes, though she does have that post-shift weariness and fryer scent about her. She is equal parts embarrassed about it and determined to act like it doesn't bother her at all. "Have you done a lot with 'stuff'?" she asks. "I know tossing it around is pretty basic, but you can actually get pretty creative with it if you think outside the box."

"Yeah, I done an okay amount," Itzhak says, with a funny ring in his voice of false modesty. He hasn't noticed, or at least hasn't remarked upon, the fryer scent. The ocean wind has a fragrance of its own, particularly at low tide. Salt and pine and mud. He pulls a heavy-duty Masterlock out of the bag. "Can you open one a these?"

Julia grins faintly. "I could, probably. Just not the way you would. Moving a bunch of small objects simultaneously, or a heavy object with force, that's more my speed." There's a pause as she notes, "Nacho calls me the Latina Jean Grey."

Itzhak snorts, amused. "'Nacho'. You can call him that, I can't." He hikes his eyebrows at her in intrigue. "I gotta watch you do that." Holding up the lock, he whistles to it, a sprightly little tune. Its dial begins to turn, back and forth, one click at a time, until a tumbler slips and it turns the other way. Click-click-click and it pops open. He shuts it and spins the dial again, and tosses it over to Julia. "Give 'er a try."

Her hands do go up, but not to catch the lock with them. Instead, she curls her hands just so, and the lock stops mid-air, floating there in the space between her palms. "You mean you want me to do it your way?" she inquires sweetly, noting, "Because my way would probably be the equivalent of using a crow bar. And I'd hate to waste your lock."

Itzhak grins at the way Julia catches the lock. "I brought it to waste. G'wan. Show me whatcha got." He jerks his chin at her, his expression sly and pleased.

Julia studies the lock floating between her hands, gaze intent. It starts to rotate on its axis as she inspects it. Her brow furrows...her hands begin to slowly twist. After about fifteen seconds or so of effort, and then there's a sudden, sharp twist of her hands, and the lock snaps as if someone had taken a shim to it. The lock, now in two pieces, falls into the sand. She looks up at Itzhak, giving him a languid smile.

Itzhak hisses an appreciative breath in between his teeth. "Niiiiice." He plucks the pieces out of the sand. "I can't repair 'em. Can you? Finch could. I saw her do it to glass before."

"Sexy, innit?" Julia grins, but the question promptly distracts her. "Repair? I honestly have no idea. I'd have to watch someone do it and then figure out if I have the feel for it, you know? How about you? Have you tried multiple items at once?" She bends, scooping up a bit of sand. "I'm also pretty good defensively. I sort of picture it like the woman in the Fantastic Four. You know, with the bubbles?"

Itzhak huffs a near-silent laugh, tossing the broken lock in his hand. "Sexy, you bet." He's looking at her consideringly, eyebrows tipped up. "Sue Storm?" Nerd. "You can make bubbles like that? I never tried. Multiple items I can do, they're the same as the lock, just not snuggled up together sometimes."

Julia tilts her head as if in invitation. "Go anything worth throwing in that bag of yours? Take a few shots. Maybe if you feel me doing it, you can figure it out for yourself."

Itzhak fishes a couple more things out of the bag: scissors, some Legos stuck together randomly, a harmonica (?), a box of ball bearings, and a couple of little beanbag animals, the kind very young kids like. He sets all these out on the driftwood log and eyes them. "Well, you like any of those, or you want I should try a couple pebbles or somethin'?"

Julia's hands spread out, palms facing out as she shifts almost unconsciously into what karate folk commonly refer to as a fighting stance. It actually does kinda look like she could be in a comic book. (A well drawn one. No Liefields. She totally has normal feet.) "Whatever you want." she suggests. There's no visible manifestation of her power that can be seen, but perhaps it can be felt. Of course, if he clocks her, she's gonna feel really embarrassed.

The strength of her power sends a shiver through Itzhak's shoulders. "Damn," he mutters. Is that what he feels like, this surge that could rattle the earth? "Okay, uh...I'll aim low." He picks up a rock, a small one just heavy enough to fly well. Funny enough, he now doesn't want to insult her strength by throwing something softer at her. He can hear her song loud and clear.

He throws the rock, aiming at her body, not her face. Although he doesn't juice it up with his own song, he gives it a good fast pitch.

About three feet from her body, the rock actually bounces on something and drops to the ground. "I can make it a bubble, or a shield." Julia explains. She keeps her hands out, in case he decides to pitch something else at her. "Though neither of us should show off for too long. It can draw their attention." Hopefully it's obvious who They are.

Itzhak whoops in approval as the rock bounces away. "Hell yeah!" He bounces in place, excited, grinning. "Screw Them," he says, with a fling of his hand. "God didn't give us these gifts so we could never use 'em. To use the strength of our bodies and minds is a mitzvah. If They wanna come, I'll teach Them some fuckin' manners."

"A whatzvah?" Julia asks, blinking. Then firmly, "Itzhak, it's not that easy. Using your power on them doesn't do anything. They'll just feed on your frustration and rage and fear. Yes, we should use what we have, but we also have to be careful." Says the woman who just did a pretty good job of showing off.

"A mitzvah, a blessing. God commands us to use what He's given us, and He gave us this." Itzhak clenches his fists, his expression intense. 'STAY DOWN' is in faded blue ink on his knuckles. Julia's warning takes a little steam out of him, and he mutters a Yiddish complaint. "I know," he says, in English. He pushes back his black curls from his forehead, scowling out at sea. "We can do so much, though. We can fix so much."

"So we do what we can." Julia lets the shield drop and walks over to him, also turning to look out at the ocean. "But we also remember that if we act foolishly, we won't be around to do anything at all. Which is worse?"

Itzhak snorts. "Do I look to you like a guy who's made a career out of bein' careful?" He looks down at Julia (tall jerk), mouth pulled tight. Then he stoops to scoop up another rock and fling it out at the water, far down the beach. "I can't...I just can't believe that all the mishegoss in this town is something we gotta suffer."

Julia regards him patiently, nodding her agreement. "But which is worse?" she persists, nonetheless. "I mean, you've heard me talk about what I want to do, and you can't say that it's anything resembling sitting on my ass and hiding. Which doesn't mean I should go Carrie on people who piss me off just because I can."

"People, people's different." Itzhak waves a hand--he's getting more and more animated. "I mean, not that you'd be the first to do that." He gestures at himself, mouth wry. "That's how I got through prison. Fighting, stealing, and--oh, you know, there's one more thing I can do that's real neat. I hid stuff, too. I can still do it." He crunches back over to the driftwood and starts cramming all the stuff he brought into one pocket of his snug jeans. The harmonica, the scissors, the Legos, they all vanish. He stuffs one of the beanbag animals in there too, although it's a tight fit. None of this shows. Apparently he has an endless pocket.

Julia lets out a laugh. "That's amazing! I could keep all of my makeup in one purse!" She starts to reach out, but then lets her hand retract back to her side. "I don't know if that's something I can do." Taking a deep breath, she says, "And I'm sorry about the other day. I uh, haven't used some of my other abilities near as much as the moving things around. And there's a lot in here that I have to keep in check." She taps her temple.

Itzhak reverses the trick, taking all the junk back out. "I'm gonna forget it if I don't," he mutters, as explanation. He shakes his head, wriggling the beanbag animal out of his pocket. "Nah. Got nothin' to apologize for. That's how I crossed the border the first time too, and also because of that damn raccoon. As for JJ, she was just protectin' her babies." He is so, so sincere and honest about that. "My fault for bein' in her way. You know who I blame? I blame Kor, the little prick, for riling her up."

Julia snorts. "Yeah, well. I suppose I'll have to get used to having people getting chatty in my head." There's a tilt of her head. "You and Igs, and August and Finch...you're kind of your own thing, you know? I was hoping there was room for one more, but I think I'm kinda more adjacent. Still, I think having you guys in my head will be alright. I should hang out with Finch a bit."

Itzhak is given pause by that, looking over at Julia as he crams the stuff back in the bag. "...Are we?" he says, hesitant, embarrassed. "I...I mean, I may be the wrong guy to ask about that. I ain't too bright with that stuff. You know, being friends and having a thing and whatevah. Bad at it. Me and Nacio been pals a while, in New York, and Finch and Roen, I guess we just kinda clicked? ...I clicked?" he adds, to himself, amazed. "I honestly have no idea how that happened. But, Julushka, you know, you're pretty great."

Julia offers a rueful smile. "Thanks. I just - there was this time when you sort of learn how to be part of something, you know? With other people? And that was the time when I was in the asylum. I love my family, but they put me in there. So I keep looking for people I can feel safe about caring about. Which sounds stupid."

"Nah, that don't sound stupid at all. I know exactly what you mean by that." Itzhak's still kind of hesitant, feeling his way through things he doesn't think about much. "I had to...turn that off. For a long time. And...it sucked. It sucked a lot. I ain't never really figured out how to turn it back on, the wanting to care. It's kind of happening? I think? Some? So, no. I don't think that's stupid. Not at all."

"Do you feel like you lost things?" Julia asks. "I had a lot to make up for when I got out of the asylum. And some things won't be the same as they could have been, or should have been." She shrugs a little. "I think you have a family in Ignacio and August and Finch. And I know that Ignacio seems me as hermana bonita." There's a sudden grin. "So how do you see me, then?"

Itzhak nods, his long face growing serious, looking down at the bag. "Oh yeah. I feel like I lost a lot. Had a lot taken from me in there. I was older'n you, nineteen when I went in--if you don't count juvie, anyway--but I got so fucked up." He grimaces, rubs a hand through his hair. "You go in, if you're not already messed up, you get messed up." Then, with a big whooshing sigh, he does look up at her, and quirks half a smile. "I see you as a stone cold badass, you kiddin' me? You're a professional chef and you're as strong as me and you came outta some awful, awful shit. You're awesome."

Julia puts her hands behnd her back, and does a little girlish sway. "Aww, Itzy. That's sweet." Then it's back to her usual default. "You know what using our powers does? Makes me hungry. Wanna go grab some food?"

"Feh," Itzhak says, smile growing. "'Itzy'? For real? Nah nah nah, it's 'Itzil'." Pronounced with a long 'i', It-zeel. "I'm always hungry," he confides. "Yeah, love to." He slings the bag over his shoulder.

Julia does a really, really thick Hispanic accent. Purpsefully terrble. "Eeetzeel, Eeetzeel, choo gonna take me out for some food, papi?" She can't keep it up, bursting into laughter. "C'mon then. Mama needs some diner food."