2019-09-12 - See How the Land Lies

August smirks at the mention of an oak. "Like to think of myself as an aspen," he says. The smirk turns into a smile. "Take care."

As she as Ruiz have their goodbye his attention shifts out over the ocean. He drums his fingers on his glass, looking thoughtful, finally looks at Ruiz again. "You asked me how well I knew Itzhak. I guess I can ask you the same thing now." There's a look in his eyes that Itzhak has told August at least something about their interactions, though to what extent is less clear.

The swarthy Mexican is slow to turn back to August, after that little parting gesture from Isabella. He watches after the luminous woman for a time, dark eyes slightly slanted in mute scrutiny. Then flicks his gaze back to the remaining companion he finds himself seated with. And the one he's had perhaps the least interaction with, thus far. Not a word as August prefaces his question with a statement; he runs his thumb around the rim of his glass, then sips from it slowly. Then offers a fleeting smile. "We've chatted a time or two. It would help if you told me what you're getting at, Roen."

August can't deny curiosity about Ruiz and Isabella's interaction, but he's not touching it with a ten foot pole. "Not getting at anything," he says, with a shake of his head. "Was just curious, since you asked first." He seems to reconsider that, and adds, "Plus, you're a cop, so that makes it something that catches my eye." Okay, maybe he is getting at something.

Ruiz arches a brow slightly, like, shit. Really? I'm a cop? You don't say.

It's only after he's sipped again, and swallowed, that he offers a reply. His voice doesn't quite reach that baritone August has; it's rough like sandpaper, smoky and faintly warm. "So you're concerned I'm taking a professional interest in the activities of your friend. And, as a good friend does, looking out for him." He pauses a beat, meeting the other man's gaze squarely. "Is this the part where you make vague threats for me to cease and desist, or?"

August coughs a laugh at the last bit, shakes his head. (There you go, Easton--that's what it takes to make him laugh. Imply he's guarding Itzhak's virtue.) "No. He's entirely capable of telling you to fuck off if he really wants to." He toys with his beer glass, frowns a little at Ruiz. Not in a threatening way, but like he's a puzzle whose composition August isn't certain of. "You're not the average cop. Not that," he gestures towards the door, probably meaning the other three, "any of us are average. But even if it weren't for the Gift. The Song. You're not the usual. So I'll admit--with a friend like him? Yeah, I'm wary. And curious. But mostly just wary." He finishes off his beer.

There's no real amusement reflected in de la Vega's expression, when August sputters that laugh. Perhaps a tinge of something at the corners of his eyes, but he guards his emotions under layer upon layer of heavy bulkheads, as is not uncommon for readers of some skill. The frown, too, gains very little reaction; a slow shift of his gaze over the other man, like an old dog sizing up his opponent. There's no threat in it; it's more contemplative than anything else. "Wary. And curious. What are you wary of, Roen?" He turns his glass, turns it again. Sips. Watches.

"Of you," August says, tone frank. He sighs, looks down at the last drink of his beer. "You're a complicated and powerful person, and I don't know you, but I know of you." Only in the most general terms, of course, and only the way anyone else in town might. But added to the Gift, and what August himself can see given his own power, that's quite a lot. "So I don't know what your interest in him means for him, in the overall." He starts to say something else, stops. He shrugs. "At any rate. Seems like you're tight with Alexander and Easton, and they're good people. So I'll trust their judgment." There's no unspoken 'for now' on that. He trusts Alexander, in particular, enough to follow his lead on that.

Ruiz's features show the first hint of something approaching warmth, with those first two words of August's. His voice is low, and traced with a subtle edge. The wolf, to August's ancient aspen. "Y algo me dice que eres tan inamovible como los árboles en los que te escondes." His glass is lifted as if in a toast, then his face breaks out in a full-on dimpled grin as he tosses back half of it. "Mm, I don't know if I'm.. tight. With anyone. But they are friends of mine." The word friends is used tentatively, like he's dipping his toe in to check the temperature of the water. And then, with a slight narrowing of his gaze, "You were going to say something. Go on."

August clearly has no idea what Ruiz is saying, but he definitely looks like he's memorizing as much of it as he can. Probably to repeat back to Ignacio, incorrectly, which should make for some amusement during shop opening. He smiles, echoing the toast with a lift of his pint glass and the last swallow. He accepts the clarification of 'friend' vs 'tight' with a nod, lifts his shoulder as to what he was going to say. "Nothing useful," he assures Ruiz, tone bland and a little self-deprecating. "How long were you in?" He doesn't bother to clarify what he means by that.

August, of course, is attentive enough to the workings of glimmer to know when it's being used in his presence. It's less subtle than some; a glint of something sharp and deadly at the very periphery of his mind. A predator armed with teeth and claws and slavering jaws, hunting for the scent of its prey. There and then gone again, melted into the dark, and the man seated across from August smiles again, ever so slightly. Nothing useful. "If you say so."

The question's answered after a long pause, "Eleven years. Marines. You?" His eyes narrow again slightly like he's trying to discern something about the man. "Army?"

August is perfectly still, watching Ruiz, as that sensation comes and goes, and then he does the same. He's calm, collected, with a touch of defensiveness. Not for himself: for Itzhak. Like he told Isabella, an aspen; not a single tree, but a grove. Watchful, and with a long memory. I'm here, that emotion says. When it comes to him. I'm here, and I'm paying attention. Less threat, and more a simple statement of the lay of the land, the shape of this grove in particular.

By comparison August's prodding is much more subtle, if no less evident. The rush of a river, the wind in the trees. A breath of ash and scent of wet earth. It's there and gone just as fast. He's been staring past Ruiz's shoulder. Now he says, "Army," nodding a confirmation. "Just three. A long time ago." He huffs a small laugh. "Long enough ago some of the kids who work for me weren't even alive when I got out."

There's no resistance, when that breeze blows through, with the scent of damp earth and a fire long burned out. The Mexican's dark eyes are steady, maddeningly steady on August's, despite the fact that the other man is looking over his shoulder. His own emotions are complex; curiosity is at the forefront. More than a hint, more than a tingle; it's a heady yearning. Curiosity for August, and possibly other things. Caution, too. His mind, his body are honed weapons, but he is not a reckless man.

His glass is lingered at his lips when the answer to his question's given, then sipped from slowly. A smile, wry, at the comment about the kids and the not being alive. He's probably been there. "Why did you leave?" is his next wondering.

August sets his glass aside, shakes his head to a waitress when she raises her eyebrows in a silent question of 'another'. He regards Ruiz again, green and brown eyes contemplative. "Medical discharge," he says. "Serbian Army dropped a building on me." A bob of his eyebrows, since he knows that statement alone explains numerous things that don't need to be detailed. "I was healing up okay, I'm sure they would've kept me if I hadn't filed, but, with this happening," he looks up and around--meaning Glimmer--shrugs, "seemed like I was maybe cracking up. And if that was the case well the best I could hope for was a desk position. Worst case, I lose it in front of God and everyone, get a Section 8 and then any career options are shot to hell." He shakes his head. "So. Medical discharge it was."

He hesitates, seems about to ask the obvious 'and you', doesn't. "Eleven years. You were thinking career then." An invitation to elaborate in whatever direction Ruiz feels like. Or not.

Ruiz looks half tempted for a moment there to ask for a refill on his own. He's clearly got a bit of a self-destructive streak, to be hitting the liquor this hard after that devil of a hangover from last night. After everything they've been through. And with a ten hour shift at the precinct no doubt looming in the morning. But he too shakes his head. Tacks on a smile, flits his eyes back to August's. His, too, are a muddled shade of hazel; closer to a washed out gunmetal grey though, in this light.

"Bosnia, then," he muses slowly. "You weren't a peacekeeper, were you? That was.." Horrific doesn't begin to cover it. A silence falls between them, tangible. It has a texture and a taste, and there's a flicker of something like grief in the cop's eyes. "I was." Thinking career. "But I mustered out for.. for personal reasons." His mind closes up like a steel trap; August might be able to feel it.

Snapping his fingers and pointing, August says, "Got it in one." He doesn't bother confirming what Ruiz doesn't say, knowing by this silence that he doesn't need to. With a solemn nod he accepts 'personal reasons' the same way he doesn't get into details about being a peacekeeper in the longest siege of a capital city in modern warfare. One doesn't need to know the details of a scar to know it was bad; the fact that it's a scar is more than sufficient. He just says, "Sorry to hear that," glances at his watch. "Well, I should get back and get to sleep. Work in the morning. See you around, yeah?"

"Work in the morning," Ruiz agrees, with an amiable enough smile. He knows, and August knows, and August knows he knows, and so it goes. "Nos vemos," he agrees, and stays a little longer to finish his smoke while August takes his leave.