2019-10-24 - After Karaoke

Itzhak stops outside the bar, digging a pack of cigarettes from his hip pocket and lighting one, his face clenched in a scowl. He inhales sweet, sweet nicotine and closes his eyes, tipping his magnificent schnozz up to the sky.

August follows close on his heels, but not too close. He stands to one side, mostly just keeping an eye on Itzhak. "That kid's a real fucking peace of work," he says, glancing over his shoulder back inside.

"I like it. No fucking chatting or spouting off 'bout what you're going to do, just straight over the table." Easton comes out, probably with an ill advised appreciation of Itzhak's performance back there. But once he downs the rest of his drink he asks, "You good?" He gives August a smile and an upnod, either not having noticed the look from earlier or chosen to ignore it. He pulls out a pack of his own to light up.

Itzhak snorts smoke and gives Easton a narrow sideways glance. "Yeah. 'm good. Feel like an asshole, but what else is new." He looks at August, eyebrows tipping up a little. "I think he was actually flirting with me," he says dryly.

"Well if it makes you feel any better, you get used to it. Feeling like an asshole I mean." He then chuckles and coughs out a little bit of smoke, "Holy shit, was he that bad at flirting? Because I know I've had an off night here or there but that's next level." Once he gets that out he can take an actual drag and not choke on it, breathing out a trail of smoke over his shoulder away from August.

"Oh I'm sure he thinks he's flirting with you. That's how shithead guys flirt, you know. They think saying something like that, then trying to play like you're wrong for taking offense, is dead fucking sexy." August rolls his eyes. "It was old when I was in college, it's old now."

He returns the upnod to Easton, sighs. "You're not an asshole for reacting like that. Hell, Ellie was about to throw down for you, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to grab you both."

"Oh yeah. I'm used to it." Itzhak huffs out smoke on an irritated laugh. "Right? I thought I was bad at it." He leans a shoulder against the wall, propping up the Pourhouse, and raises those talkative eyebrows at Easton. "Easton, right?" Out of context, Itzhak has trouble putting names to faces, and he thinks this might be the guy who had a ghost by his side at the funeral, but he's not sure.

He smirks at August, regaining humor out of blind fury. "Worst part is, he's fuckin' hot, he don't need to act like that." The news of Ellie, who he was too busy to notice, really makes him laugh. "Was she? Awwww." He's charmed.

Easton gets a far off look as he remembers getting slapped a few times, perhaps realizing that he has in fact been that bad at flirting in the past. Usually when extra drunk and 'flirting' consists of taking off his clothes at people. But still it's fun to laugh at someone else for getting punched in the mouth for flirting poorly, even if it makes him a bit of a hypocrite.

"Yea. It's Itzhak, right? I feel like you and I have faced like five supernatural shitshows and yet haven't managed to say a normal sentence to one another. Thanks for your help at my bar." The night with the goblins feels months away now but he never got a chance to thank Itzhak for it.

Worst part is he's fucking hot

"Should have followed the punch up with a kiss then. Really confuse him."

"Oh, it's always the fucking hot ones pulling that. You know--because they can. Hot guy, gets to do what he wants without much pushback. Everyone still wants the dick, at the end of the day." August shrugs in a 'can't do much about it' manner. "They think everyone has time and patience for their nonsense."

He gives Itzhak a sidelong look when Easton suggests following it up with a kiss. He just barely stops himself from saying something. Instead, he says, "The Twofer needs a break. Maybe it's better we get into our fights here," to Easton.

Itzhak grunts. He looks down at his left hand knuckles ('DOWN'), which have a little of Cristobal's blood smeared on them, and wipes them off on his jeans. "Yeah well," he says to Easton, self-mocking, "it wouldn't be the first time if I did." He nods to him, shrugging at the thanks. "That's what this town does to ya. Puts you in a shitshow with people before you know their damn names. Nice ta meetcha." He gives August a an amused look, like, 'what??', and exhales smoke.

The 'it's always the hot ones' talk that Easton is more used to doesn't end with 'everyone still wants the dick', admittedly but he's amused to hear this version of that talk. "Rough can be fun." Easton comments back to Itzhak about not being his first time if he did. "Ugh, yes please. It's all fun and games when people fight in someone else's bar. If it's at my place I have to pretend like I want it to stop and no one to get hurt. Usually I'm rooting one of them on in my heart though."

August folds his arms, chuckles quietly. "Let the record show I allowed you to incriminate yourself on that one," he says to Itzhak, following it up with a wry smile. He bobs his eyebrows at Easton about rough being fun, nods with a touch more seriousness about the fights. "Kinda wondering what sort of effect that stupid casino's going to have, to be honest. More bullshit, from people showing up to get drunk and gamble? Less, because it's siphoning off patrons?" He pulls a face, shakes his head.

Itzhak hikes his eyebrows at Easton in silent agreement, and holds up both hands, grinning lopsidedly at August. "I plead the fifth." He's still drunk enough that the anger bled off fast. Looking back and forth between the other two men, he listens with an air of inebriated curiosity. "Hey, did I hear something about an open mic night at your place?" he adds to Easton.

Watching the interplay between Itzhak and August amuses Easton, the touches of a smile on the curve of his lips as he continues his cigarette. He groans at August and says, "Probably will hurt my place more than here. Pourhouse is mostly locals. I get the tourists, but most of them would probably rather drink out on a floating casino." Partially he's just getting used to the idea of being at the whim of the tourism industry but he's not particularly upbeat about the casino. "Yes! Now that I'm not dying or murdering or generally leg-humping Death. I'm going to make that happen. Which reminds me, what you played at the funeral, I really appreciate that. It was beautiful" He drops the big jokey grinning persona for just a moment to say, "I mean fuck Gohl, he didn't deserve shit but that meant something to me." Considering the service acted as a bit of a goodbye to Tom for him as well.

August makes a low sound, nods. "It's a stupid damned idea, and it's just going to fuck up the ecology in the area." He sighs, mutters, "Maybe the environmentalists will find a way to get it shut down."

He snickers at Easton's description of his recent adventures, nods in agreement about the music. "If you perform at that, be prepared to have a cheering section," he warns Itzhak.

Lyric just comes out of the Pourhouse and looks over to the others with a crooked smile, glad to see none were harmed too terribly in the making of this karaoke production. She doesn't really linger. Mostly. But she does look over Itzhak for a long moment. "When you gotta minute, can I talk to you?" Ok, so maybe she does linger.

"Hell yeah," Itzhak says to Easton, excited--but then freezes, and winces. "I keep forgetting I broke her." His violin, he means. "Think I'm gonna go home and get her out and play, and..." he shakes his head. "She's Billy's shinbone now. Barely played my rental." That he's really depressed over that is really obvious. He tried to rally, to find a smirk to flash at August. Kind of half makes it. "Don't cheer until the end of my set, I'll get embarrassed and mess it up."

He glances at Lyric, looking curious and sad, and nod-shrugs at her. "Yeah, sure. What's up."

Nodding at Lyric as she comes out of the bar, Easton finishes up his cigarette. He winces as Itzhak reminds him of how his performance ended. But he's glad to hear that Itzhak will be there for open mic, once he gets around to actually picking a damn date for it. When Lyric speaks up with a question he takes that as his cue. He claps Itzhak on the shoulder and says, "See ya champ." before giving an upnod to August as well. He doesn't head back inside, instead decides to call it an early night. Or at least drink at home.

August nods to Easton. "Take care," he says. He gives Itzhak a brief, sympathetic look, ducks his head. "Really? Not as you're getting up there?" He frowns in mock consternation. "I'm pretty sure Finch will want to scream your name right as you get started." He sighs with exaggerated resignation. "Guess I have to shoulder the burden of disappointing her."

He falls quiet as Lyric approaches Itzhak, moves to lean against the building as well.

Lyric goes to stand nearer Itzhak, but not like all up in his personal space. "You got a great singing voice. I really like the rock and roll sound with it. Your song was good." She tucks her thumbs in her back pockets and gives him a lopsided grin. "You got anything musical going on in your professional life or anything?" Weird way of asking, but it is what it is.

Itzhak laughs, turning red just thinking about Finch screaming his name. "Okay, definitely do not let her scream my name. I won't be able to remember what I'm gonna play." He taps the ash off his smoke, looks at Lyric, brightened up some at the prospect of talking about music. "Hey, thanks. Don't got anything for a while now. Was just talkin' to Easton about his open mic night."

"We might be able to get her to wait until you're done, but, no promises," August says on a shrug and a devilish smile. He crosses one foot behind the other, studies Lyric anew.

"I was talking to my bandmates, well two of them, there's a third we need to consult. Would you like to sing and try out for our band? It's called Augmented Reality. I play guitar and sing, Ico writes songs and stuff and he sings, Scott does keyboards and Park plays bass guitar and mixes and stuff. We practice in the garage still, want to get good and ready and in sync perfectly, before actually putting our names and faces out there with the band name." Lyric tilts her head some, "Do you play anything?"

Itzhak goes redder. "Sing, for ya band?" He actually glances at August as if for support. "I'm a fiddler, that's what I really do. I ain't so sure I could carry a whole band with my voice."

"He's a very good fiddler," August adds in support. Is that the support you wanted, Itzhak? Hope so. He goes on to add, "Singer's job isn't to carry the band. Their job's to give you something to sing to."

"There are other singers too, and I'm sure we could use a fiddle. Can you rock out with it as well as the softer play? Mostly we'll play what people want us to play and I've found people have really eclectic tastes in music. So pretty much anything goes. Mostly. You're invited to play for us all, cause we won't make decisions without Park around too, that's the only reason. But we'd sure like if you would." Lyric smiles to both him and August. "We all have our strengths in singing and our weaknesses. We take turns taking center and we all do backup when we're not leading."

Itzhak wrinkles his nose at August like maybe that wasn't the support he was hoping for. But also, what was he hoping for? Who knows! "I can play anything. Except like, that high end Paganini stuff. Never focused on that. Been playing folk music, Cajun and old timey whoop-it-up shit. Probably you ain't so interested in that, but...I mean, sure, I'll come play for you guys, I just..." He trails off, now all self-conscious, and rubs one steel-toed boot against the pavement. "Just been a long time since I was in a band I guess."

August smiles serenely at Itzhak's nose wrinkling. He seems to consider that reaction high praise. With a nod at Lyric, he says, "Maybe now's a good time to look into it again." But of course August would suggest Itzhak consider reaching out.

"Then it's been a long time too long." Lyric offers her encouragement at his hesitance. "Some people who have music inside them just have to express it. Otherwise it just builds and builds in there and weighs ya down. I love music. I try and have music involved in most everything I do. You just play what it feels good to play. We're looking for talent, not content as much, for the try out thing. Your voice is good enough to carry you already, add the instrument, you got it all." There's a bob of Lyrics head to August. "It'll be great. I'm lookin' forward to it."

Itzhak half-smiles, going over kinda bashful. "Yeah. Me too." August at least has seen how devotedly he practices, always with his bow in his hand, always muttering and cursing over fine-tuning his playing. "Play what it feels good to play, I can sure do that. I even have an electric violin, though I don't play it so much, they got no intonation or resonance. Okay. Sure, let's set a date."

Lyric names a date, (I will find out when Park, Ico and Scott will be on. Park is the more elusive one). She smiles, "Put my number in your phone and I'll give you Ico's also. If you want them. And we'll see you then. I should go though. It was nice seeing you both again." A bright smile before she recites the numbers for him.

August scratches at his beard, ducks his head to hide a grin. He pushes off the wall, nudges Itzhak with his shoulder. "I'm gonna head back inside, sit with Ellie a bit before we head out. You want a ride home, let me know, yeah?" He raises a hand in farewell to Lyric, sticks his hands in his pockets and heads back in.