2019-12-19 - Prey

[https://www.boat-specs.com/img/boat/1660/catalina-yachts-catalina-36-mkii-layout-1.jpg]

He has housing on land, now. A fancy(ish) apartment in Bayside, even...but the Surprise is still home. So tonight, Joe's there aboard. Merely sitting at the smaller of the table and bench arrangements, reading. Still working on 'Captain Blood' - it's an old, worn copy, too old for a dustjacket. He's pale and weary-looking, eyes heavy-lidded, as if sleep weren't far off.

It might be that very copy of Captain Blood Itzhak is sniffing after with his magnificent schnozz. Or maybe Ruiz told him where to find Joseph. You know, whichever. He's rolling up on the dock, surefooted in the wet dark--the weathered boards love him, the physical world bends its ear to hear him. He whistles at the sailboat. "'Ey. Cavanaugh. You in?"

The lights are on at her ports. Well, some of them - he only has the main table lantern lit, a warm glow out in the darkness. A beat, and then there's the reply, "Yeah." A moment later, and there's a wash of warm light out on the stern deck, as he pokes his head up out of the cabin. He emerges from below, expression wary, riding the shifts of the deck easily. "Rosencrantz, isn't it. Wha's up? You wanna come aboard?" He pads over to offer a hand - the gap isn't enough to warrant running out a gangway.

"Rosencrantz it is." Itzhak accepts Joseph's hand, springs neatly aboard. Then he's got to stand there for a moment, hanging on Joe's hand, eyes wide and unfocused. "...Whoa. You know I never been on a boat with my, yannow?" His powers but he seems to hate the word. Oh how strong he shines! Like a lighthouse (and he's about as tall as one, too).

"I find it helps sailing," he says, mildly. "C'mon below." She's a living thing, at rest in her element, comfortable as a gull dozing afloat on the water, wings furled.

In the lantern light, it's clear that her skipper is not in so good a state, however. He's pale....and one side of his lower lip is puffed and split. Not bad enough to warrant stitches, but the scab is dark and distinct. And the eyes....the light in the cabin isn't bright, but his pupils remain firmly pinned, as if they stood on the deck at a bright noon. He's on something. The usual stiffness is gone, too, as he moves with that rocking ease. "You want somethin' to drink? I got porter, cider, an' whiskey for booze, or could make coffee or hot chocolate if not. Or just soda."

Itzhak's eyebrows pop up, interested. "It helps? No kiddin', you gotta tell me how. Hey I wanted de la Vega to come along to talk to ya, hope that's okay. He oughta be here in a minute." He squints at Joe's battered face as he ducks into the cabin after him. "Ya run into a light pole? ...Cider's great, thanks."

A truck pulls in, up on the wharf, ignition cutting out a few moments later with a tired sputter. After a bit of rifling about in the glove compartment, the driver shoves the door open and climbs out, distracted by his phone as he locks up and trudges on down to the dock. Occasional glance to make sure he's not about to walk off the end and into the water, and he doesn't seem in any particular hurry to make his way over to the Surprise.

He reaches down into the little fridge/freezer arrangement, comes out with two bottles of local cider. Pops the top on the first, hands it off, before opening his own. "Yeah. I sail solo, and I can do an' reach things with my power that'd I'd either have to mechanize or run around on deck to do. Helps a hell of a lot." He motions for Itz to take a seat.

The question earns Itz a laugh - surprisingly, neither bitter nor sarcastic. Full-throated. "Light pole? I ran into de la Vega, that's what I ran into. 's fine, but what you think he's got to say to me that we didn't say the other day?"

"That's so cool," Itzhak says, genuinely impressed, taking the cider. "L'chaim." He tips the bottle up, then nearly chokes and swallows hastily, laughing into the back of his hand. "Shit. That guy. With the punching." Like he can talk. "Uhhhh," he says, eyebrows quirking funny, "I, uh, I dunno? Wasn't really him I wanted to talk. He ain't so big on talking anyway. You're like me, so..." he gestures with the bottle, like 'so here I am.'

(TXT to Itzhak) Ruiz : I'm outside. You know, his boat's as fucking pretentious as he is

"Same t'you," Joe says, companionably. "Yeah. We got a long history of sayin' farewell like that." That comment has him cocking a brow. "Yeah?" There's a raking glance from top to toe - not the usual kind of looking-over, but something more coldly assessing. Not unfriendly, though. "I'm like you the way a cherry bomb's like a JDAM, Itzhak," he says, matter of fact. "But hell, if you're willin' to teach or share experience, I'd be real grateful. Still just a padwan, y'know?"

Itzhak's shoulders tense, something knotting up behind his eyes, when Joe assesses him. He licks his upper teeth under his lip--then his phone goes off, and he's checking it. "'Kay, he's here." He glances at Joe. "I guess this is awkward," he says, tone resigned. Awkward. It's his life.

(TXT to Ruiz) Itzhak : Yeah I'm on the boat. You punched him huh

Shoving his phone into his jacket pocket after sending one last text message, Ruiz hops over the gap and lands with a thunk of boots on the deck. He takes to its swaying, sine wave motion like a man who had sea legs, once upon a time. Like he remembers it in his bones, the way a boat rides the water. His gaze is caught by a pair of gulls wheeling and diving for shellfish, and then he drags it away, ducks his head, and clomps down the stairs belowdecks.

"'s nothin' new," Joe's voice is easy. Then he's heading back on deck to admit Ruiz, admitting another wash of chilled air. "De la Vega," he says, voice and posture neutral. "You wanna drink?" A far cry from the manic glitter of the other evening - subdued, as he shuts the hatch.

(TXT to Itzhak) Ruiz : I can't think of a single reason why I'd have done that

Itzhak smirks at his phone, mutters, "Uh-huh," shoves it back into the pocket of his peacoat. When Joseph returns with Ruiz, he upnods to him with a little hitch of those talkative eyebrows. "Hey. What's a JDAM?"

"Smart bomb," Javier supplies as he comes down the stairs, and happens to hear the question from Itzhak. Which wasn't aimed his way, like that matters to him. His hands are jammed into the pockets of his jacket, and the scent of paint and sawdust lingers on him somewhat inexplicably today. To Joseph, somewhat belatedly, "So long as it isn't whiskey. Sure." He watches the ex-pilot cautiously from under the brim of his cap, then starts prowling around his living area like the interloper he is.

"Cider it is, then," Joe says, as the long hand disappears back into the fridge. Another cap popped, the bottle handed off, then he's settling down on the bench of the bigger table. Not much room to prowl - the ship's compact. Forward, there's the odd triangular bed tucked into the bows, the door to the head right before it. To the stern, a door that's presumably a stateroom. Otherwise, it's all those two seating areas and the tiny kitchenette.

That bright blue gaze flickers from one to the other, and he says, finally, "What c'n I do for you?" If Itz just wants to talk the nuts and bolts of the gift, what's Ruiz there for? Chaperone?

Itzhak, unhelpfully, doesn't say why he asked Ruiz along. He's made shit awkward yet again. That's his real superpower. He watches Ruiz prowl around for a second, one corner of his mouth curling up, then he looks back at Joe. Doesn't look him in the eyes, or even the face. He seems to be looking somewhere past Joe's left ear. "You know about the thin spots?"

To be fair, Ruiz is adept at making things awkward all by his lonesome. The place is tiny, but he's still determined to give it the once-over while the other two chit-chat. His gaze rakes over this and that, and the door to the stateroom (presumably) is nudged open a fraction before he retreats to the table and drops into a seat there with his cider. His hat comes off, fingers rifled through his hair. Thin spots? Who the fuck knows.

Only a bed beyond, this one made up fully and neatly, Navy-fashion. Joe's lapsed into that patient stillness, only sipping from his drink now and again. Determined to nurse it....maybe to keep it conflicting from whatever's already in his system. "I do," he allows. "I can find them, and pass through them."

Itzhak gets a little distracted watching Ruiz poke around, with a look of repressed amusement. He tips the bottle up for a pull. "This whole town's a thin spot. You can hear it, I bet. People like us?" He fwips one long finger around in a circle to indicate himself, Joseph, Ruiz. "It eats us. Kills people who can't stand up to it. If you know how to open a door to the Other Side, you must know what lives there. Them. The ones that do the eatin'."

Ruiz sits quietly, cider sipped from occasionally; expression one of distracted thought. Maybe he's just contemplating that neatly made guest bed, or maybe people like us. Or maybe just Joseph's pretty face, which he's looking through more than at, so who the hell knows. He's seated near Itzhak, though not near enough to make any obvious inferences about the two. Not that anyone with half a brain can't pick up on the charged air between them.

Witness Joe studiously not noticing what Ruiz is doing. "I can feel it," he acknowledges. The shadows of the room shift a little with the boat's motion, the lantern swaying. The light isn't kind to the sailor's face, rendering the lines and angles starker than ever, catching in the pale irises. He doesn't flinch or look away, though, gazing at Itz. "They have found me and had their fill," he says, simply, voice utterly flat. As if to illustrate his point, he shifts the forearm resting on the table, rolling it to expose the long scar for a moment. Pointedly not noticing that subtle undertone, either - there's something almost wall-like about his aura, at the moment. Trying to gain space, distance, there isn't physically room to get, not in the cramped confines of the cabin.

Between Itzhak and Ruiz there's a lot of personality crammed into this little space. Itzhak's own aura is ...well, it's complex as a storm system, with the same kind of chaotic mathematics. He shines. He churns like a restless sea.

Narrowing his eyes at Joe's statement, he looks down at the scar. Worse, he reaches to touch it, to grab Joseph's wrist so he can get a really good look up-close-and-personal. His fingers are tattooed with what's clearly prison ink, reading 'STAY' on the right hand and 'DOWN' on the left.

Joe doesn't flinch away or yank his hand back, but there's something desperately wrong about the animal patience with which he permits the contact. The sense that he'd bear far worse without struggling. There's only the flare of nostrils and the tightening of the muscle of his jaw. Within the circle of Itz's fingers, there's the rapid patter of his pulse. He doesn't speak - simply looks at the hand holding his wrist.

Rude and curious, and ...greedy, in some subtle way, Itzhak pins Joseph's wrist to the table and stares closely at the scar. He stares until he's good and ready to stop, and he ignores everything else. It's a long, intensely awkward couple few minutes. Then his gray-green-brown hazels flick up at Joe, and he holds him to the table for another beat just because Joe is letting him. Then he lets him go, sits back, and sniffs. "They never have their fill. That's what I'm tryin' to tell you. You stay here, they'll come sniffin' around and eat from you again. As long as you survive it, they'll keep eating." He glances at Ruiz when he says that.

His face is nearly unreadable, though his lips have thinned out into that grim line. Even then, he doesn't withdraw his hand, merely turning it back over, concealing the scar. "I know," he says. It smacks of neither bravado nor ignorance, but that utter resignation. "It will happen no matter where I go. Here, I have the opportunity to learn....and to find out more about the Asylum."

Ruiz's eyes slide toward Itzhak, then Joseph, as they have their little moment. There's a flicker of something in his mien, but then he drags his gaze away and drinks his cider. And waits. Presumably there's some reason Itzhak asked him over here. Until then, he'll eavesdrop on the conversation and do his best impression of a piece of furniture.

Itzhak grunts. He rubs the smooth glass of the cider bottle compulsively with his thumb. "The Asylum," he mutters. "I dunno nothin' about it. I came to tell you if you don't wanna get messed up more, you oughta get the fuck out while you still can. You only just got here. Maybe it's soon enough that you can go." But from his tone, he doubts it. "Me and de la Vega, we're wrapped up in it now, but maybe you can get out."

"I was there for six months. Whether They created it or merely found it and used it, it's very much Their place." Things shifting behind his eyes, like the glint of scales moving in deep water. "I'm grateful for your taking the time to warn me, but no. It's been too late for three years, at least." Finally, a look at Ruiz, only a glance, then back to Itzhak. "Possibly for much longer."

Ruiz is looking elsewhere when Joe finally glances his way. Out one of those little porthole windows, at the rain that's started to batter it. The wind's picking up, too, churning the water against the boats, and the boats against the pier. Soft creaks and groans, the movement of the skiff enough to jostle his sturdy frame slightly. Cider drained to about half, he mutters to Itzhak, "We about done here? I could've told you he wouldn't listen."

Itzhak has no pity in his prickly soul, but 'six months' makes his lip curl. He mimes spitting, 'pteh'. "Yeah. Well, now you know." He hoists his eyebrows at Ruiz and stands up. "Guess so. We'll be seein' you around then," he says to Joe. "Take it easy, huh? Thanks for the drink."

He holds out his arm, drops the bottle like a microphone. It hits the table surface and merely sits there, all kinetic energy bled out of it. Even the liquid doesn't slosh. Then he finds the way out, not looking back.

"Thanks for the attempt," Joe says, simply. Then he's rising to shut and bolt the hatch behind them, before turning to clean things up.

Ruiz will linger a moment before finishing off his cider and following Itzhak out, without much more than a backwards glance to Joe before he's gone.