2019-09-07 - Honest Conversations

Isolde knew that Itzhak was busy, and wanted to try to do something nice for him, and Alexander. Though Alexander wasn't home at the moment...but at least he wan't a hospital patient anymore. For now. She also wanted to try and talk to Itzhak about the other things running through her head and there was really never going to be an ideal time so maybe the cookies would help. So Isolde had invited Itzhak to come over to the house, for a little bit at least if he wanted and was able.

The cookies were chocolate chip, and Isolde had been meticulously following this recipe and trying to stay in the present and hope that the bad things didn't try and interrupt her again. They didn't! Now, these were not the best cookies in the world, but they were very much edible and looked like chocolate chip cookies! They were cooling on a plate now while Isolde and Luigi watched Animal Planet and Isolde worked on a bit of origami. She was dressed in a pair of black flannel pants and a gray tank top, hair left down.

Itzhak really has been busy, and he's been overstimulated and had maybe just a wee meltdown when he saw Isabella kiss Alexander yesterday. Ironically the occasional meltdown does him good--lets him reset his brain, refocus. So he's tired but fairly calm by the time he jogs across Stephanie's lawn over to Alexander's and raps on the door. "It's me," he calls through the door (no doubt through Luigi's screaming).

Luigi squawks, fluttering off Isolde's shoulder and back over to the top of his cage when Itzhak's voice comes through and there's the knocking at the door. "Be nice Luigi." Isolde set her origami on the table - yet another attempt at perfecting the frog. Of course. Then she made her way to the door and opened it up, giving Itzhak a bright smile. "Hi Itzhak, come in." Stepping aside so he could do just that and then closed the door. Reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you could come over." And of course, the house smells that chocolate chip cookies!

Itzhak doesn't even let Isolde step aside to let him in. He wraps her up in a hug, pressing his face into her hair, holding her tight. Taking refuge in her for a moment, swaying back and forth with her.

"Hi," he mumbles. "Hi, I'm so happy to see you."

He lets her go, kissing her forehead. "Smells great in here. Did you bake something?"

Isolde is a little startled by the hug, but she quickly relaxes into him, though there is a hair of concern , wrapping her arms around him in turn. "I'm happy to see you too. Are you okay?" She asks softly, nuzzling against his neck.

When he lets her go and asks about the baking, she looks rather proud of herself. "I made chocolate chip cookies! For you! Chocolate makes everything better." She took his hand to lead him into the kitchen.

Itzhak shrugs in answer to whether he's okay. "Long couple of days." He inhales when Isolde nuzzles his neck, and strokes her back. But he behaves himself and follows her to the kitchen, his big rough hand in hers. "You made cookies? You made me cookies? Awww Izeleh!" He's so touched!

"We can talk. If you want to. About it." Isolde offers and then grins a bit again. "I missed you. And wanted to do something nice." She picks up one of the cookies and hands it to him. "I hope you like it! I followed the recipe. Best I could. " She hasn't actually tried them herself yet - wanting him to be the first one to taste them.

This cookie looks, smells, and feels like a perfectly serviceable chocolate chip cookie. Itzhak doesn't hesitate in biting it in half. Then stuffing the other half in his mouth like he's starving. He sucks a crumb off the pad of his finger, utterly unselfconscious. "'re great." He pulls Izzy to him for another hug, arm around her waist. "Yeah, maybe we could talk about it," he says, unenthusiastic, "but maybe not. I dunno yet."

Isolde snagged a cookie for herself, pleased that Itzhak enjoyed it. Leaning into him as he hugged her and nodded. "Only if you want to." Taking a bite, looking surprised that they did in fact taste halfway decent! Nice. Izzy 1 -Kitchen...1. At least they were tied!

There's a hesitation and then. "Uhm. I do want. To talk to you. About a thing. It's not. A bad thing. I don't. I don't think it is? At least." Really, never an ideal time or a way. "But we don't have to yet. If you just want. To Relax. A little. " Is hastily added. Not wanting to pressure him.

Itzhak sighs, big ribcage expanding then contracting against Isolde's. "I'll see. Okay?" He's not putting it off, he's just honestly unsure whether he wants to talk about it or not. He looks at Izzy, and his expression goes kind and curious. "Sure. Of course, you can always tell me whatever you want. You wanna sit down? We can bring cookies."

Isolde nodded, not mentioning the topic further. He'd talk if he wanted to and she wasn't going to pester him to do something he didn't want to. Breathing in his scent and relaxing a little more, there was another nod. "Sitting is good. With the cookies." Though she does put a couple cookies back on the cookie sheet because Alexander was totally not going to believe that she baked without burning the house down without proof. "Let's go sit in the living room." Like there was anywhere else to sit in the small house. She picked up the plate of cookies and started to head back into the living room. Fred the Frog was on his usual place on the couch, but Isolde moved the stuffed animal to the floor so there was plenty of room for seating. Setting the plate on the coffee table.

Comically Itzhak daps one of the stuffed frog's floppy hands. "How's by ya, Fred." He sits, leaning back and laying his arms along the top of the couch and stretching out his long legs and closing his eyes a moment. Then he cracks open one eye to look at Izzy, smiling a little. "Hi, cute stuff. So, nu, what's up?"

Isolde waits until Itzhak is settled, returning the smile, and then curls up next to him. She's quiet, picking at a frayed thread on her flannel while she tries to gather her thoughts. "...A long time ago. I was almost married." She starts out finally. Slowly, really trying to put her thoughts in order and not get everything jumbled up. "I forgot about him. Until I was in the hospital, after getting shot. Bad things happened...I don't remember what. Exactly, but it was bad.It was my fault." Her focus is intensely on that frayed thread. "Officially. He is dead." And she was the prime murder suspect! "But...I think. He might just. Be. Very, very lost."

Itzhak's arm drops around Isolde's shoulder, warm and hard. He rests his head lightly against hers, like he's planning on a nap rather than listening to her. But he's listening all right; he blinks when she says she was almost married and she forgot about her beau. And as the story goes on, he makes an unhappy little sound in his chest. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, and pulls her into his lap, tucking both arms around her. "Do you wanna show me?" Meaning via the mental link, where he knows it's easier sometimes for her to communicate.

Isolde seems a touch startled when Itzhak pulls her into his lap, but it passes and she leans her head against his once more. He would feel her mind reaching out towards his in response to his question. "His name was...is. Was Emory. And we were in Oklahoma." Isolde's voice is quiet, eyes closed as she concentrates. The first picture Itzhak sees is a young man with tanned skin, kind green eyes , and dark hair. Country clothing. He looks like your typical good ole southern boy really. At least a decade younger than Isolde -so, yeah this must have been some time ago. When she was closer to that age. A few fleeting pictures, half formed, or hazy, memories she has of spending time with him and there's a sense of joy there.

There's just a terrible tangle when she tries to remember what happened to him. <<I don't know what happened. I told Alexander, that I remember before. We were getting ready for some kind of outing...like camping maybe. Then all I remember is knowing he was gone. Taking his flannel and his muscle car and leaving town. I saw an article, that he was declared dead. But there's no body...and I was named. I think, they think I did something to him.>> And she might as well have. The bad things only got him because he was with her. <<I just want to know for sure. And help him get found. If he isn't dead.>> She's got a grip on Itzhak's shirt again, trying to hold it together some.

Itzhak just needs her, needs her physical presence, needs to cuddle her like she'd cuddle Fred. He vibes it when she touches his mind; he craves her skin against his. Not necessarily sexually, though there's pretty much always that. Just. Her. And he's glad to touch her mind, too; it's like a layer of touching he can't get with his body alone.

Even though her poor mind is struggling. Itzhak firmly hugs her, the way he'd want to be hugged if his mind was jangly.

<<That wasn't your fault.>> His kythe is clear and violin-toned. <<It wasn't. You didn't hurt him, Izeleh. They did. It wasn't you.>>

There's a strange sort of comfort, being able to share things with someone on this level. In this way. Isolde shifts a little, burying her face into Itzhak's neck. There's comfort in him too. Just being here and talking with her. In that musical lit of his kythe as he reassures her. <<But if I hadn't been there, he would have been fine.>> She counters helplessly. The bad things always ruined everything and honestly she's waiting for them to ruin this too. So she just tries to enjoy as much of it as she can, as often as possible. Until the other shoe drops.

<<Alexander is going to help me, but will you help us too? If he -is- lost...you can help us get in to find him. Right? Alexander said you could.>>

Itzhak nuzzles into her hair, breathing in her scent. He wants to argue--she can feel the strain of his temper, wanting to INSIST nothing is Isolde's fault--but he doesn't. That wouldn't help.

<<Yeah. I can do that.>> He shows her the memory. Itzhak stands before a great ash tree, singing. His song is to seduce the slippery, tough barrier between him and Over There, and it works. The border parts under his hands (like between a woman's legs is his unconscious analogy), opening for him, opening to him. He could step through it, although in the memory he does not. He could step through and he could open the door for other people and he is the one strong enough, clever enough, stubborn enough to hold the way. <<You're not the only one I know who lost someone Over There, too. One day I want to help my pal try. I'll help you try.>>

What if Emory is okay and Isolde wants him back? ...The thought occurs to Itzhak.

Well, what if she does? he answers himself. She deserves to have whatever she wants. Whoever she wants.

The hand gripping his shirt flattens out, rubbing lightly against his side when she feels that straining of temper. Isolde lets the memories in, a little smile on her lips as she watches them. Watches him. He was like...an anchor. Or a beacon of light in the fog. Something to be held on to, thankful for. <<Is there anything good Over There?>> Hadn't he been so excited when he told her about it at first? That he could go through?

Isolde hasn't even thought about what she would do if Emory was okay. Thinking that far ahead is far too much for the woman. <<Thank you Itzhak.>> She could withdraw now, maybe she should, but she doesn't want to. Not yet. She wants to linger in the fortress that is Itzhak for just a little bit longer.

<<Will you sing me a song?>>

<<Yeah. Over There ain't so different than here. Weirder, wilder, crazier, but people are just people Over There. There's monsters, but there's monsters here too.>> Itzhak settles his arms around Isolde. <<In a way, the monsters there are easier, because they look like monsters. Here, the monsters just look like people.>>

He smiles, honestly pleased, when she asks him for a song. She can feel his ribcage expand again as he takes a breath, and when he lets it out, he's singing, quiet and clear.

"//Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'...//"

Itzhak sings it to Isolde as if it's a lullaby and not a call for revolution: sweet and gentle.

<<That's true. Monsters that don't look like monsters are the scariest of all.>> Isolde agrees, nuzzling into his neck a little more as she feels the intake of breath and that sweet, gentle voice escaping from him. A barely audible humming coming from her to the tune he is singing. It's soothing, and there's an easing of tension in that tangled web of hers that had been trying to hard to keep things straight so she could explain things easier. <<I like your singing. I think I like everything about you.>>

"//Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's naming.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'//..."

Itzhak trails off halfway through the song when Isolde kythes to him. He slips his fingers into Isolde's hair, close to her scalp, so he can cradle her head against him with one big hand. His neck is prickly and unshaven, and he smells like coffee and soap and a hint of cigarette smoke and his own personal scent, like nothing else in the world. "Aww, sweetheart," he murmurs. <<I like you too. I like you a lot.>> He can sense her tension easing, and he's glad. She's got so much fear twisting her up inside.

Isolde's breathing evens out some, is so comforting and relaxing - she might just fall asleep like she nearly did at the Lavender Farm the other night! She slides her hand up and up until it's lightly brushing over that unshaven scruff. Fear, self doubt, loathing, anger. Isolde has a lot of negative feelings all wrapped into various, not so neatly wrapped, packages. Usually it's easy not to focus on them, if she's keeping busy with other things.

She lifts her head some finally, still leaning into his hand, but shifting so she can rest her forehead to his. Sending him an image of her earlier thoughts and feelings. That she felt safe with him, protected. <<Thank you, Itzhak. For, just..everything.>>

Fear, self-doubt, self-loathing, anger--all reflected in Itzhak. Such emotions have hollowed out vast and lethal cave systems in the deep, troubled waters of his soul, created currents that can hold him under until he drowns. It helps, somehow, that Isolde knows those treacherous currents too.

He raises his eyebrows when she sends to him, which feels squinchy where she's resting her forehead against his. <<Everything? Dunno what I did that's all that special. But, hey.>> Itzhak pauses, and he reacts with such pleasure to her feelings of being protected by him that he laughs gently. <<Thank you. For being you. You're just...you're Izeleh.>> Her name echoes with how he perceives her: singing peeper frogs, warm sunlight, the bright yellow of her parrot dress, the sight of her swaying in delight while listening to the saxophone man. The junkyard of treasures.

The hand that had been thumbing over his scruff slides up now to run through his hair. <<You're special. Anyone who thinks you're not is crazy.>> Echoing the words he said to her that night in his kitchen. There's a sparkle that lights up her eyes when she gets that echo of the name. She kisses his forehead and then rubs her nose against his in an eskimo kiss. <<The way you see things...it's just. Beautiful and fascinating.>> He made her happy. With all this terrible stuff going on and people getting hurt, and the negative emotions that liked to try and needle their way in...she always found herself feeling better after spending time with him. Feeling good things. Good things to combat the bad things.

Itzhak grins a little helplessly, as Isolde rubs her nose on his own oversized schnozz. Like the beak of an eagle that thing is. <<Sure, use my own words against me.>> His violin-voice is bright and happy, for a moment anyway. <<You think so? Good, because, a lotta people think the way I see things is broken.>>

Her warm weight in his lap is getting distracting, and Itzhak promptly feels like a putz for it. Izzy wanted to tell him serious stuff and have an honest conversation with him. Maybe he should control his dick for five minutes, huh?

<<They're good words!>> Isolde grinned a touch. She kind of loved that musical lit his mental voice had. It was so fitting for him. << I've noticed that most people will think you're broken if you don't think like they do.>> She shifted a bit in his grasp. "But I like it." Her voice is soft, low in his ear with the way she's snuggled up to him. One hand still idly stroking through his hair.

<<Yeah, and some of those people are in charge of things.>> Itzhak has bad memories that he slams a lid on; he doesn't want to bother Isolde with them right now. Especially as she's getting more and more distracting. Her fingers in his curly hair, her physical voice low in his ear make him shiver. "You do, huh?" He finds the hem of her shirt and ventures under it to settle his hand on the long muscles of her back. "...Good. Good."

<<Yeah. They are.>> Isolde knows all about that, but she doesn't share any of it either. That's a conversation for another day. Isolde may or may not realize the effect she's having on Itzhak...but it's a good guess that she is fully aware of it...and enjoying it. A contented sigh leaves her as his warm hand lays on her bare skin. "Is it good?" Even as she shows him an image of her in some scantily clad attire.

It's always the sweet ones that you have to watch for, right?

Itzhak's eyes go wide. "Izzy!" He laughs quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Little minx." But he's enjoying that image, yes he is. He pulls her close, kisses her neck. There's a sense in the link that he's still holding back what he really wants, still afraid. Not that he doesn't trust her. Rather, that he doesn't trust himself.

Isolde giggles as Itzhak's reaction, tilting her head some to give him better access to her neck. She can sense that hesitation, has been able to sense it even without the mental link the few times it's come up. <<You know you can't hold back forever, right?>> Studying him. <<What do you think is going to happen if you stop holding back?>> Isolde was typically of a 'if you want to do something, do it.' mind set. Waiting around, second guessing, life was far too short for all of it.

<<I'll hurt you.>> The answer is so fast, so honest. Itzhak nuzzles Isolde's ear. <<If I do some of the things I want to do. I'll hurt you and you won't know how to tell me to stop.>>

Unflattering, but honest. Itzhak shivers again, worried.

<<How do you know you'll hurt me?>> The question is just curious, returning the nuzzle- brushing her lips against his cheek. "And I will know how. " She taps his head gently with a finger. <<Even if I couldn't talk out loud, I could scream it here.>> Or hurt him back. That might be a possibility too. Depending.

<<That's...true,>> Itzhak says, cautiously. <<But also that you won't like ...you know. If I'm rougher with you. And that maybe you ...>> He can't quite find words, but hey, he doesn't have to find them! He just thinks about how he feels, and lets Isolde in on the process. Maybe Isolde isn't interested in doing any of that and maybe she won't want to tell him no. The idea of pressuring her in any way is terrifying, repulsive.

Isolde's expression softens as Itzhak lets her in on his thinking and the way he's processing stuff. Shifting a little again and cupping his face gently. "Itzhak." She feels like it's important to speak this instead of thinking it. Well, that and also she doesn't quite thing she's ready for him to be glimpsing into her past sexcapades. Let's be honest, she probably never will be. "I am not fragile. I am not...inexperienced." Looking into his eyes intently. "....If there are things. You want. To try....then. We can. Do that. Try them."

Itzhak looks very intently at Isolde's forehead. Eye contact this close feels like staring into the sun. He smiles at her, a little hesitant, a little self-conscious. "I know you're not fragile. ...Well, I might be lying a little bit and think you're fragile some?" Wince. "You're really not though. You wouldn't have made it this far if you were really fragile and I should probably get that through my head. And I know you're not inexperienced, what with the..." he waves. You know. The sex cult. Sighing, Itzhak closes his eyes. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm just kind of an idiot." He opens them again and squints to meet Isolde's gaze, one eye closing. "Okay. I'll, uh, we can try?"

Isolde gave a wry smile, kissing his forehead gently. <<Only if you want to. I just wanted you to know that it was okay. If you wanted to try.>> Though, Isolde takes a look around and then laughs suddenly, softly. "But, uh..." Looking back to Itzhak. "I dunno if here is best..." What with Luigi kind of right there - and would likely be much more vocal and Iris. And the only bedroom in the house being Alexander's. And the potential for Alexander to just walk right on in at any minute. Especially if he had company with him? Oh lord. She really needed to start doing some more serious house hunting. Job hunting first maybe.

"Oh believe me, I want to." Itzhak's voice goes a bit rougher. "Uh, but, I guess it'd be kinda rude to start going at it in the middle of the living room." He laughs under his breath, cheekbones reddening. "Even if you are in my lap and encouragin' me..." And maybe he doesn't mind the idea so much of Alexander walking in on them and that's definitely not something he should let himself think about. Itzhak clears his throat. "You wanna come over to my place? I'll make you dinner. Eventually."

If we're being honest, Isolde wouldn't really mind Alexander walking in on them either. He was still as good looking as they day she met him. But, those were thoughts best kept to oneself. She grinned as Itzhak reddened, thumbing over his cheek before pressing a kiss to his lips. "Yeah. Let's go to yours." She agreed. Her mind finally starting to ease away from his. "Maybe I'll make you dinner." Because successfully baking one batch of cookies totally made her an expert.