2019-12-20 - Uno Momento

Itzhak takes three, four long strides away from the door of Espresso Yourself, digging out his smokes and lighter. He lights up, hands shaking, needing to steady one hand by propping it against the other. Inhaling deep, he closes his eyes, then exhales smoke and condensed breath into the crisp air.

Ignacio is a man on a mission. He can't fight, can't run, and can't tell the Veil to knock their fucking shit off, but he has heart and tenacity for days and his oldest friend is tweaking. He's not worked up as this isn't new and getting keyed up helps no one, let's be real. He pulls himself along and sighs looking to Itzhak, "I told you, don't try ot figure out how her name makes those sounds out of those letters. It's Irish or Welsh or whatever. You'll only hurt yourself."

Itzhak shoots Ignacio a wicked New Yawk side-eye. "Yeah, yeah, wise guy. Go back inside, it'll freeze the balls off a brass monkey out here." He wraps one arm across his chest, cigarette jittering in his long calloused fingers. "Fuckin'..." he squinches his eyes shut and shakes his head. "It ain't true." Is he telling Ignacio, or himself, or both? "It ain't true, that...that's wrong."

The pair are joined after a few minutes by a surly looking Mexican. He lights up almost the moment he crosses the threshold of the coffee shop, and gives them a moment before angling over slowly. Eyes on Itzhak, a little tetch of concern between his brows.

Ignacio walks out tucking his shoulders in to his body and only as an after effect zipping up his coat as the temperature drops. Looking around the parking lot ofr, you know killer pine trees and rabid runaway reindeer and the like and not finding any he looks back to Itzhak keeping the tone very conversational giving him that level of 'normal' to latch onto or lash out at.

"You know that's a sailing term right? The brass monkey was a tray with divots in it to hold cannonballs in place so they don't slide around. Well turns out the brass plate, the monkey, constricts when it gets too fuckin cold so the cannonballs can't fit in there properly. Rolls all teh fuck around the inside of the ship like iron belly indigestion. So... cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Everyone thinks it's got to do withthe Beastie Boys though." He shakes his head. "We'll have to pour one out for Yeauch later." Looking over his shoulder hearing boots on pavement Ruiz gets a dip of a nod and a quiet, "Hey'"

Knowing damn well that's not what Itzhak was talking about he says quietly, "Pretend I'm not you, man. Start me up from the ignition on back?" Start at the beginning of the thought.

Ignacio's rambling on about brass monkeys has the desired effect; Itzhak snorts, glares at him, and smokes angrily. This is his version of calming down. "That's the stupidest fuckin' thing I ever heard," pronounced hoid, "you made that up, de Santos. But not the part about the Beastie Boys," he has to add, because respect.

His gaze goes to Ruiz when the other man walks out, and he totally not on purpose sidles over a few steps towards him, so their shoulders almost touch. Almost. He sniffs, like he just found himself over here as a coincidence, hi there, fancy meeting you here. Then, not looking at either man, he turns his head and mutters. "Her poem. It wasn't true. It was just a poem. Talkin' about how...how They control our perceptions, and They make us dance to their tune. It ain't true."

But, it's clear to the two mentalists, he does think it's true. The cold lump of an awful truth lies in his chest like lead.

Ignacio shakes his head, "Scout's honour. Also where they get the phrase the Lamp is Lit cause to not burn down the whole boat you'd have to stand on the back by the smoking lamp and couldn't when it ain't. " He shakes his head, "Burning down in the middle of the ocean surrounded by sharks is apparently a total bummer."

Does Iggy change directive now that Ruiz is there? Nah. Not at all. He looks over to see if Ruiz is okay under the grumpy emoji face but accepting he's holding. Looking back he looks to Itzhak, "I dunno why she wrote it but lemme ask you this." He moves from side to side to try and keep blood flowing in his leg. "Dude, yooooou remember that time we was runnin from the cops-" He breaks off and looks to Ruiz shaking his head, "Long story. Not our fault." turning back to Itzhak he continues, "-and I was all upset because I was convinces I was really wasting my life and maybe I am a shit son? And YOU told me something that stuck with me that I still reflect on." He draws a deep breath and boggles at the lanky mechanic, "Whatza matta wit'yous?" Really he might jsut stop there.

" Your head up your ass or something how you gonna drive like that? YOU" First and last fingerpoint to Itzhak in punctuation with a squint look on his face that admittedly needs a bit of a shave, "You told me it don't matter what people perceive. What we do with ourselves matters. So I ask you what the fuck difference does it matter if alla this is fuckin asleep so long as we're being true to ourselves. They can't make us do shit. Christo mio my ma couldn't even get me to do laundry and I like her."

Itzhak rolls his eyes, but he's listening. Something about the flow of Ignacio's rattling on really does soothe him. Maybe just knowing that Iggy is out here freezing his bad leg off in the cold for him helps. No, it definitely helps. He smirks when Iggy reminds him of that time they ran from the NYPD, not that he'd ever forget. Then he outright laughs at 'whazamattawit-chuz?!'. "God, don't do impressions of me, that's not what I sound like." Actually it totally is.

"I told ya that ya pop was wrong about driving not bein' a real career," he says, eyebrows lifting dubiously. "And...I think I told you that you had it in you to be a great driver? I don't know about that other stuff."

Ignacio widens that uneven grin of his leaning back on his good leg and a shit ton of suave. "Fuck you, dude, that's totally what we sound like cause I wasn't tryin t'immitate yous at all." More an awl, but hey when you are an amalgam of languages that's a fun damn day. "Queens baby." Hand comes out of his pocket for the knucklebump. His expression tightens as Itzhak finishes the bittersweet part of that. Yeah. Coulda been." That one? That one visibly stings enough to take some of the wind out of his sails.

He pauses, and gets his bearings pushing quieter, because for all purposes Itzhak is his family. He knew him before and that counts for a shit ton. "Maybe I would have. Maybe... Maybe They or God, or spite or who the fuck ever deliberately changed shit for me up in that asylum, Itzhak." Fucking. Asylums, man. "Brought me here. Found your crabby, sappy ass didn't I? And if I didn't come here I'd never met Finch. Maybe a lot of dominos wouldn't fall."

He looks to Ruiz who is staying vigilant on the periphery. He knows. He knows cause Iggy did it to him in his office with a scribbled note. Looking back to Itzhak he sighs and reasons, "Look what the fuck ever. Believe what you want. What we do know is when we're fucking strung out and scared they get happy so the best thing we can do? Look around, take stock of this shit we do have and if life hands us more lemons we'll do shots."

Hands out of pockets lifts up to wave flapping in the air. "BesiiiiIdes it's Christmas and Hanukkah and something really special happens when they over lap." There's a legend about that now!?? Serious, he limps over and places his hands on Itzhak's shoulders sharing this conspired epiphany. "Food, Itzhak. Think of the food. ALL the food."

Itzhak can't help snickering. He's allowing as to how he's listening and permitting Iggy to distract him with his unique brand of charm. That's how they do. Mirroring Ignacio's body language, he leans back, resting his weight on one leg while he drags off his cigarette.

Ignacio's stung, though, and he winces a little. He didn't mean it like that...but Ignacio's going on and Itzhak sets that aside to listen.

"I hate the idea that God has a plan," he mutters, "because God's a real mamzer if He planned this shit. But...I like the idea that sometimes shit falls out right, even if it sucks for a good long while." His expressive mouth curls up at one corner when Ignacio calls him crabby and sappy. Welp, he can't argue with that. When the other man grips his shoulders, Itzhak wraps a long arm around his neck in a kind of affectionate demi-noogie.

"Listen, ya yutz. When I told you that you had the makings of a great driver, I was fibbin'." He ruffles Ignacio's black hair. "You were already a great driver. I just didn't want it goin' to your head."

Ignacio watches and waits for the subtle shifts. There's no glimmer. He could. He could be he doesn't. Hell he's trying very hard not to use it. The headlock is met with a hug and a squeeze. Looking up he asks, "We okay?" Because if he's having a rough time, well, clearly Iggy and Ruiz are with him on this one riding shotgun.

"Don't call me a yutz, Cabron." There, get the fight back in ya dude. That is the message of the day. There's a pause and the mourning period on his almost career and his passion of choice? Well it might never entirely go away but he's handling. "Hey, we'll manage it. Whatever it is we'll adapt and manage. It's in your blood to survive everything." He pauses and squints one eye adding, "You will be doin em a favor if you die of hypothermia though."

"We're okay." Itzhak flicks his cigarette butt into the can. "So quit standin' around in the cold, what, you want your other leg to fall off? C'mon, I'll donate you my free coffee."

One little light at a time. That's how they'll get by. One cigarette, one conversation, one coffee at a time.