2020-01-18 - High Brow Space Opera

The door opens, and a pair of guys are shouldering in, out of the frigid afternoon. Joe's looking back over his shoulder at Itzhak. "Yeah. Tactile sensation and scent are a little wires-crossed on me, too. But it never interfered with what I wanted to do. If anything, it helped, I think, in a way. I didn't get....sensation overwhelmed, y'know? Because flying can be sensation overload - physical pressure, noise, sight, motion. But if you're used to dealing with everything kinna coming in linked together, and having to deal with the whole lump at once, rather than trying to switch between threads....."

He's clad in a blue greatcoat, white silk scarf, and jeans, black watch cap tugged down over his ears. Though that he removes promptly, as he enters.

Stefhan normally finds himself enjoying a cup of coffee at almost all times, so this one isn't unlike many other. He comes in wearing his business suit, something warm to compliment the cold weather outside. In his hand is a briefcase likely holding a laptop. Being polite, he offers a nod in greeting to Joe before heading over to order a cup of warm bean juice.

"Yeah, I get overwhelmed, with the autism and all," Itzhak's saying to Joe, holding the door open for him. He's bundled into a big woolen peacoat, and his scarf has a violin knitted into the end that's lying free over his shoulder. "Which is a hell of a thing for a musician, lemme tell ya. Buy ya somethin', yeah?" Stefhan he doesn't recognize, and glances over at him, warily observing him for a moment.

The next two people through the doors appear to be together, though it is more by chance than design. Having come out of the nearby Memento Mori storefront is August Roen, carrying a package, accompanied by the shorter, slighter Isabella Reede. Both seem to be chatting amicably as they slip through the doors, and they seem to be moving slower than their usual wont, and while the young woman's injuries aren't apparent, her gait is careful - but at least she's unable to keep her usual brisk strides, which means that she keeps pace right along August's very clearly injured foot.

"Two more months of this," she sighs when she enters through the door just behind Joe and Itzhak. "Two more months of gross, gray slush, August. I can't wait for-- " She blinks, and her smile lights up her face. "Hey Itzhak, Joe. How are you?"

"I wondered if you were on the spectrum," Joe says, thoughtfully. "A lot, a lot, a lot of engineers are, and that was who I trained with ....back when, you know?" A hasty save. "I know sensory confusion can be a big deal there." He lets Itz precede him to the counter. "No, I just got the wires crossed. I never did or said much about it, because aviators fear doctors like vampires recoil from crosses, and there didn't seem much point. It was just a thing, right?"

Already unbuttoning his coat, unwinding his scarf.

Then Isabella's greeting him, and he looks over with a grin that's belied by the still-sleepy droop of his lids. "Miss Reede, hello," he says, pleasantly. "How you doin'? Roen," August gets a nods in greeting.

Follow Isabella and August is Beth with her ear attached to her cell phone. "Wait." She says to whoever is on the other line as she gets in line for coffee. "So they found what in the autopsy where?" A dumbfounded expression crosses her face. Her eyes roll back a touch and she silently mouths 'What the fuck?' to herself. "...I think I can handle that. But I've got to go so I'll see you tomorrow. Bye bye." She hangs up the phone then and slips it into her pocket while she waits for coffee. Joseph is spotted and given a nod. August gets the same treatment.

August opens the door to allow himself and Isabella in a little after Joe and Itzhak have entered, holding it open for her. He's in a green and bronze, knit scarf with a tree of life embroidered on it, denim jeans, and a black pea coat. One foot sports a red moon boot and the other is in a sturdy hiking boot. "Well, if we're lucky--oh, hey you two." He gives Joe and Itzhak an up-nod. "Eh, been better," he admits, glancing down at his foot.

"I'm buying," he informs Isabella. "Tell me what you want." Since he doesn't know Stefhan, August gives him a curious glance, like he's trying to place him. He's distracted from that by Beth's arrival, and nods a greeting to her as well.

"I guess I didn't tell you that yet," Itzhak says to Joe with some amused chagrin, switching his focus back to him. "I lose track of who I told. Yeah, autistic. I think it's a bonus in a lotta ways, you know? Like the synesthesia, just like you said, you get to perceive stuff different and, don't tell the neurotypicals I said so, but I think it makes us better at stuff like what we do." A glint of wicked humor flashes in his gray-green-brown eyes. Then August and Isabella are coming in, and he calls, "Yo!" to them. Then he elbows Joe. "Order whatcha want." Himself, he orders a cappuchino, the sort that comes in a mug the size of a cereal bowl.

Stefhan picks up his coffee and goes to one of his favorite spots. Seems as if there's a magazine near a chair that caught his attention. Those who look his way get a polite nod in response and then he puts his briefcase on top of a nearby table. After securing the coffee, he pulls out his computer.

"Thanks August - black with just a bit of cream? Yo, yourself." Isabella winks at Itzhak, and she wiggles her fingers at Joe. Before she can say anything else, however, she gets a call on her phone. "Sorry, I better...I'll be back." With that, and gesturing to August, she moves to the quieter side of the establishment to answer her phone.

A Hot Chocolate Glasgow for Joe - some enormous bowl of cocoa with butterscotch and chocolate chips and cream. He looks down at it in chagrin. "Jesus. I didn't know this thing came hot-tub sized," he says, as he accepts it. "Well, it never did me any harm, the synesthesia. I do think it made it a lot sweeter, really. " Itz gets a grin in sympathy. "I mean - if you're healthy and happy and doin' what you want....I honestly wonder if it made my spatial awareness stuff better."

Itzhak hangs back to sling an arm around August's broad shoulders and bump their heads together, light and affectionate, like a cat. The goddamn bowl of cappuchino he balances easily in one big hand, without the leaf-decorated foam even slopping over the side. "Hey, Roen, how's by ya. Youse two look like ya seen better days." Like he should talk; he's pale and tired looking, with a knot of tension in him that's now permanently living under his sternum.

When Beth reaches the counter she orders a plain cappuccino with no extra frills. She pays and steps around the counter to where the coffee is put out. When Itzhak mentions that August looks like he's seen better days she casts a curious look in that direction, but doesn't question it. Instead she patiently waits for her drink while friends greet each other and the others move about the coffee shop.

August returns the hug, slipping an arm around Itzhak and huffing a laugh. "Yeah, turns out that carousel is a real bitch." He starts to say more, expression faltering, shrugs it off. "Everyone's okay. Mostly." A sideways glance at Isabella to indicate she was there as well. Then he lets Itzhak go and puts in his and Isabella's order. He only has to pay for one of them; benefits of being the owner's boyfriend. (He stuffs what would have been his share in the tip jar.) He's getting a huge cappuccino and a cherry almond muffin.

He moves to stand near Beth, giving her a sideways look. "How you holding up?" He means after the accident involving the tree; sure, it was minor, but she did throw up and probably got a concussion.

Stefhan takes a small sip of his coffee and puts the cup aside. Now and then he looks over the growing crowd, perhaps curious to see if there's anyone he knows. Nope, no one is familiar so back to the laptop he goes. Pushing a few buttons here and there, he waits for the screen to come to life, likely musing over something or another for the time being.

The state of the newcomers has Joe looking over, frowning. Now that Itz has pointed it out....he flicks a look at the musician, like Itzhak might know what's going on. "Ma'am," he says to Beth, pleasantly, lifting the absurd bowl of cocoa to her in salute. "This place is rough on people," he adds, a little ruefully.

Her phone call is brief, but she does look somewhat harried when she returns to the collective, with a grateful look flashed to August as she retrieves her hot coffee. "Thanks," she tells the Combat Botanist, with a curious glance towards Beth - a rare face that she doesn't know. Just in time, really, to hear the comment about the Carousel and there's a resigned face cast Itzhak's way. "Occupation hazard, at this rate," she grumbles. "What are the two of you up to?" This to the ex-Navy man and the mechanic.

To the other woman, she smiles. "Hi, I'm Isabella," she says, extending a hand for a shake.

"Gettin' inta trouble," Itzhak replies breezily to Isabella, "what else?" He finds a table and slings himself into a chair. Beth he glances at, and he almost thinks he recognizes her from somewhere, but his facial recognition is never great. "Join us, yeah?" he says to August and Isabella, and heck, whoever else is around is welcome to jump in too.

Beth's brow quirks a bit when she hears August mention a carousel being a real bitch. When he comes over she smiles slightly. "I'm alright. Thanks for talking to my dad on the phone. and helping me out" She pauses a beat. "You know Enzo called me the other day. He was in the hospital so I went to go visit him. Real weird injuries. Bites all over his head like he'd been attacked by a bunch of little dollies." Her brow furrows before she smiles a touch. "Wanted to make sure some people including a guy whose name was a month was okay." And then Isabella introduces herself and unlike the other woman there is some recognition in her face. "Ah. Isabella. It's nice to meet you. I'm Beth." She takes Isabella's hand to shake it.

"Not a problem," August says, dipping his head to Beth. "I just hope it didn't turn into some sort of insurance nightmare for you, I know they love to turn paying for anything into a shell game."

He winces about Enzo, gives Isabella a sidelong look of shared guilt. "Yeah, that's, ah, about what it was." He runs a hand through his hair. "Nice if him to ask, I'll go check up on them." Once he's had a chance to knock back some Xanax.

Their order is up, so August grabs his drink and muffin, settles in at a table next to Joe and Itzhak. Plenty of room for more. "That it sure is," he murmurs, bobbing his eyebrows at Joe.

Stefhan takes another sip from the warm cup, soon to be lukewarm by now. As the laptop in front of him continues to glow with electronic life, he scratches his chin and he seems to survey the information there.

"Bookshopping, honestly," Joe says, producing a worn copy of Neuromancer from the pocket of his coat, dropping it on the tabletop. He's set his tub of cocoa down on the table, settled by Itz. "Plenty of room," he agrees, rapping the table with worn knuckles.

Her handshake is warm, and firm, though there's a curious expression at the recognition on Beth's face. "Nice to meet you, Beth."

She laughs appreciatively at Itzhak's breezy comment. "If only we get paid for that around here, then we'd be set. We wouldn't need any real jobs," Isabella observes, taking a sip of her coffee and moving so she could gingerly seat herself at the mechanic's table, groaning quietly and pressing her hand against her ribcage. "Of all the things that had to break," she sighs, tilting her head back and staring mournfully at the ceiling. Mention of Enzo has her inclining her head at the other woman. "Oh, are you a friend of Enzo's?" It all suddenly clicks into place. "Enzo was with us at the Carousel, too," she murmurs to the violinist. "Enzo Addington."

The archaeologist ends up sharing that look with August, glancing down at her coffee, shadows playing over her features there. There's an inquisitive peering at Joe's book, before her features brighten up again. "Gibson, huh? You liking it?"

Itzhak antes up his own book, an equally worn third-or-fourth-hand copy of The Last Unicorn. A book club edition, with a bonus of A Fine And Private Place. He sets it next to Neuromancer, then has to spend a moment neatening them up, setting them precisely aligned and square with the table edge. ...Weirdo. To Beth, he just introduces himself out of nowhere, "Rosencrantz," jerking a thumb at himself. "Itzhak. This here's Joe Cavanaugh. He sails his own boat."

"Totaled the hearse. Which was good in a way because we needed a new one. But those pictures you had that guy take really helped out. So thank you again." Beth says to August. "And I think Enzo would like that. He was pretty shook up by the entire thing. Poor Enzo." Isabella's question gets a nod of acknowledgement from Beth. "Yeah. He actually asked me to check on people. I got a hold of Alexander Clayton and he told me he'd caught up with Enzo and reassured him."

When Itzhak introduces himself she smiles, "I remember you performed at the last open mic night. I'm Beth. Nice to meet you." She smiles in Joe's direction. "I know Joe. Hi Joe."

As Itz has already discovered, books are one of the buttons that, when you press it, makes all the words come out of Joe. He turns that bright blue stare on Isabella, and grins. "Yeah. It's been a long damn time since I read this, and I'm already rememberin' how he can make prose sing. It's not the future we thought we'd get, but it's still a vision. I need to get the rest of the trilogy, really."

Then Beth gets a smile, too. "Good to see you again." Sugar, warmth, and company seem to be peeling a little of that rime of weariness off of him.

August sips from his espresso, nods at Beth. "Glad to hear they helped. Sorry if it came off as weird, I'm just used to needing to document these things." Bears wrecking motorhomes; elk and moose trampling tents; trees and rocks falling on cars. All things he ran into in the Forest Service. He relaxes, to hear that Alexander spoke with Enzo. So at least he's not sitting in the hospital, wondering.

He holds up the plastic-wrapped parcel he's carrying, slips a book out of it. It's an old plant and bird guide for Eastern Washington, the sort you'd find in a library; cloth hardbound in dark blue with faded, gold gilt text and designs. "Nice little find in the junk store. I love that place." He sets it next to Neuromancer and A Fine and Private Place. It looks more than a little mismatched.

The door chimes, signaling the arrival of yet another local who's too lazy to make their own damned coffee. Bulky shape in a ratty hoodie and rattier leather jacket, dark jeans shoved into scuffed hiking boots, and phone in hand as he ambles up to the counter. "Coffee. Yeah. Black. No, no room. Fill it up." He pays without really looking at the girl, then shifts away to wait for his drink and take stick of the room. A few faces he recognizes, of course, and.. fuck. Not him.

Mention of Alexander immediately puts a softer and more affectionate expression on Isabella's sunkissed mien, before chuffing quietly. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me that he'd already been there," she remarks, before peering at the books Itzhak had brought also. "Oh, it's been forever since I read the Last Unicorn. I loved the animated movie as a kid, too."

Joe's grin draws her own. "Don't flog me for being a heathen, I never really got into cyberpunk to be familiar with all I ought to be reading from it, though I do enjoy the movies. Neuromancer is a classic, though." With August putting his own book at the table, there's a bit of a pause, before she shifts and rummages around her satchel and produces...

...the draft of her thesis manuscript, scribbled all over and tabbed for revisions - Ancient Roman Commerce and And Aristocratic Markets in the Eastern Mediterranean: A Case Study of Second Century Amphora Vessels Discovered In The Aegean Islands. "...I officially have no life," she remarks, dryly.

Speaking of coffee, Stefhan finishes up his cup and begins to power down the laptop. "More reports to check, more things to review." He sighs. When it's powered down he begins to pack it up. Before that he places the up in the trash because, why not try to clean up after himself, yes?

"The movie's pretty faithful to the book, too," Itzhak says to Isabella, like a guy who knows. Roen's find he picks up, interested, and flips it open to look at the art. "Oh man, that's so cool." And because he's a big dork, he looks at Isabella's, too, but grimaces comically and shakes his head. "That's way too many big words for a mechanic," he says, with a sly half-smile at her. Paging through the guide, he glances at Beth, and nods, eyebrows up. "Yeah, you were there? I had my mandolin. Played 'Thousands are Sailing', one of the greatest Irish punk songs of all time."

Then that surly guy over there comes in and Itzhak's eyes go right to him. The grumpy dude in the ratty clothes gets an inviting tip of the head.

Joe examines the newly produced books, grinning, as he cranes his neck. He carefully moves his drink away from them. "That's a lot more heavy duty than fantasy and SF. And a lot of cyberpunk didn't hold up. I'd say really Gibson, Stephenson, and maybe some of Sterling are the ones that last. I feel like even in a genre that kind of has a specific time, you'll get examples that transcend it. Like Chandler and Hammett for pulp fiction, you know?" He touches Isabella's thesis. "Damn, that looks involved," he says, gently.

A look at Itz. "The movie still holds up real well, I think. Animation's still gorgeous. I always loved that they made her built more like a deer than a horse. I kinna felt that that's how they should be, if they were real. Something that bears no stamp of man."

Then the sound of the door, and Joe looks over. Only a rapid blink or two, but....it's thrown him off his stride.

Beth's cappuccino is finished. She turns around to pick it up and steps away from the order pick up area with her big mug in hand. She asks Joe, "How is town treating you so far? Hopefully better than most." This is accompanied by a wry little smile. A glance is given to the books, slightly curious, but she makes no comment. Instead a nod is given to Itzhak. "I was there. Not for very long, but I remember. It was good."

"I was obsessed with the animated film," she tells Itzhak unabashedly. "I keep thinking maybe I should re-watch it, but I'm too afraid of it not holding up. Does it hold up?" The way he grimaces has her glancing down at her paper. "Please," Isabella laughs, grinning broadly at Itzhak's cunning little smile. "You read chords, it might as well be an ancient language in and of itself." And that is technically true; music is almost as old as humanity, itself.

She passes the manuscript over to Joe so he can get a better look. "My defense is in March, so I only have a month left before I have to turn in my draft and submissions. I'll spare you all my bellyaching about it, though. I'd agree with you about Stephenson, but I'm incredibly biased because I loved Snow Crash so my opinion obviously can't be trusted."

August holds up a finger to Isabella. "Had. Soon as you turn this baby in you get it back." He manages to not break into a smile when we says that, but it's a near thing. "Maybe." He sips from his coffee, eyes glinting.

He eyes The Last Unicorn, but can't claim to have read it, or Neuromancer, to go by his expression. The plant and bird guide's plates aren't in color, but they're lovingly rendered for all that. "It's nice to find books like this, they're a snapshot of old ecology," he says.

His eyes shift up to Ruiz, take in that look, flick to Itzhak and Joe. He clears hid throat, nibbles from his muffin.

Coffee collected, odds calculated and deemed to be worth braving, Ruiz pushes off the counter, snaps a lid on his drink, and prowls right on over to the table housing the lanky Jew. Amongst others. "Rosencrantz," gets a slight smile; the others, a mumbled hola. "This seat taken?" No, Javier, it's clearly not.

"It's been a learning curve, but good," Joe says to Beth, smiling again. He's recovered himself, it seems, from that momentary fugue. "But yeah. I like my place in Bayside - I'm spoiled by that pool. I'm there at least once a day. How've you been?"

"I'd say watch it. It does hold up. And it's more poignant when you're an adult, I think. Same for the book," he advises.Then he picks up that thesis. "Roman history is amazing. I visited London one year, went to the Museum of London. A couple years before, when digging to lay foundations for a new building, they'd found the remains of the high street of Londinium...and recreated it in the museum. It was wild."

"De la Vega," he says, pleasantly, and leaves it at that. The good-natured facade neatly sealed right back up again.

"It totally holds up! We oughta watch it," Itzhak's enthusing to Isabella. "I can sing all the songs." And he proves it right there, pulling in a breath to sing. "When the laaaast eagle flies over the laaaaast crumbling mountain..." but he quits it so he can raise his eyebrows at Ruiz saucily. "It's taken now." He's so extra sometimes. Then he glances between Ruiz and Joe, saying wryly, "Play nice, boys."

"Yes! We can make a day of it," she tells Itzhak. "With...the other things." She wiggles her fingers. "And then watch the movie after? It-- oh my god, the main theme!" She still remembers some of the lyrics, but she can't carry a tune the way the mechanic can.

To Joseph: "They did!" The young archaeologist practically brims with ebullient enthusiasm when the ex-Navy man speaks of Londinium. "There's still plenty of traces lingering around, if you know where to look. Everyone thinks of Hadrian's Wall when they think of Roman history and the United Kingdom together, but that's not all there is there. Not really. Besides, it's the site of one of Caesar's greatest campaigns, the conquest of Gaul was the reason behind his third triumph and--"

Thankfully August manages to save them all from an impromptu history lesson as he speaks from years of experience, and his subtle and good-humored encouragement has Isabella laughing again. "Oh, god. I really hope so." There's a smile as she glances down at the thesis in her hands. "I have some decisions to make if I get some good news after the viva. But I don't want to worry about them right now, I just want to be able to breathe again." There's a faint wince, pressing her fingers against her bones. "Literally and figuratively."

The draft stuffed back into her satchel, there's a smile turned up to the police captain when he joins them. "Hi, Javier! You can take mine, if you'd like. I should probably start heading back." She slowly extricates herself from her seat. "I still need to bring dinner hom-- er...to Alexan...uh..." Embarrassment starts to color her features, clearly unaccustomed to being in any way domestic. "Anyway, it was great seeing you guys, and nice meeting you, Beth."

"Bayside huh? Fancy digs." Beth says to Joe. As for how she is she shrugs a little. "Had a Christmas tree go through the window of my hearse. Got my face pretty good, but got a new hearse, so..." She takes a sip of her coffee. She must sense the tension in the air because she finally gives Ruiz a glance before looking away. After all, it is impolite to stare. The discussion about books and roman history seems to be above her head. "It was nice to meet you, Isabella." She says warmly.

"Cavanaugh," comes out of de la Vega's mouth like he just found a rather large spider scurrying across the floor. Ain't a problem yet, but might have to introduce it to the bottom of his boot, it's not careful.

"Fuck off, I always play nice," he grumbles to Itzhak, sliding right on into Isabella's still-warm seat. And because he apparently knows shit-all about books, he chooses instead to lean over and see what kind of muffin August's got. To Isabella, "Tell Alexander I said hello, yeah?"

Ruiz hasn't yet spotted Beth. But he will.

August tilts his head, listening to Itzhak sing. This is what happens when you bury your head for a couple of decades: you miss things. "Could suggest it to Thewlis for the Starlight," he tells Itzhak and Isabella. "Sounds like just the sort if thing he wants to show. Classics, not real new stuff."

He nods as she gets up, hides a teasing smile by rubbing a hand over his mouth. He threatens her, "I'll teach you two to cook yet." Then raises his mug. "Take it easy on those ribs, Isabella."

Seeing Ruiz eye his muffin, he pushes it a little closer for easier inspection: cherry almond, nice and fresh. "Well as long as there was no permanent damage," he says, glancing at Beth as though he could tell by looking. "I guess a new work vehicle isn't the worst thing you could get for your trouble."

"I wish you nothin' but luck with it," Joe says to Isabella, smiling. "Be interested to know more about it, when you're out from under the stress of things. Used to know Latin okay, went to parochial school, but....I've let it slip. Good to see you again."

Beth gets a look at that. "That sounds like a hell of a story," he prompts her. "You're all right, though? And yeah, it's been worth the money. It helps a lot, being able to swim when I want to."

Unable to keep from grinning at Itz's enthusiasm. "I still like that studio's versions of the Return of the King and the Hobbit, much as I love the live action movies that Jackson did." A wry little look at that comment, and a glance at Ruiz. "I always play nice," he agrees, tone studiously mild. "Nice as they come."

"Yeah, text me!" Itzhak calls after Isabella as she bustles off, very busy with thesis and domesticity. "Tell Alexander he's a nerd for me!" Because Itzhak loves his friends. He says with complete enthusiasm to August, "Yeah! I'll tell him. ...He's all about horror though, you think he'll show it?"

Beth's story gets a wince out of him. "Now that's a sentence that can only happen in this fershtunken town," he says to her, eyebrows impressed. "Sorry about the face." He settles back, giant bowl of cappuccino cradled in one big, long-fingered hand, and smiles sidelong at Ruiz when he sits down. His other hand slides The Last Unicorn over to him. "I got it for you," he says, and abruptly tints red. "You don't gotta read it or nothin'. Just if you want to."

When she is prompted Beth shrugs a little, "Right before the big snow storm before Christmas a gust of wind grabbed a tree in front of the hardware store and sent it through my windshield. I wasn't wearing a seatbelt like a dumbass so I kissed the steering wheel. I had a concussion and some black eyes. A cut under my eye. Nothing too bad." August's question prompts her to take off her glasses so he can see her face. There is a little scar under her eye now. Maybe some discoloration if one looks closely enough at the artfully applied cosmetics covering her face. "Mostly I felt bad for my dad and grandpa. And those poor people whose grandma was in my hearse when it happened." she puts her black-rimmed glasses back on. But the new hearse is sweet." A pause and she asks Joe, "Pool sounds nice about now. Then again anything that would simulate this winter being over would be nice."

The muffin looks pretty good. Good enough to have Ruiz rather boldly reaching over to break off a piece of it between an inked forefinger and thumb, and pushing it into his mouth. Midway through this, Joe's little slantwise comment to him. Nice as they come, and he nearly chokes on the thing. Has to cough a couple of times to clear his airway, and doesn't even acknowledge that. Instead, it's Itzhak with his giant cappucino that draws his gaze. He starts to say something about how that cup looks vaguely breast-like, when the guy pushes a book toward him. And, I got it for you. And he sits there and stares at it and can't seem to begin to know what to say.

"Uh.. thanks," is offered after a lengthy pause, fingertips run over the cover before he picks the thing up, turns it over. "For me?" He watches that blush, steady.

August flicks a look as dry as a Death Valley summer between Ruiz and Joe. "I'm sure you both do," he murmurs into his cappuccino, sipping from it. If August minds Ruiz helping himself to his muffin, there's no indication. He can't, however, hold back a smile when Ruiz chokes, bobs his eyebrows at Joe as if to say, 'well done, sir'.

He waves a hand at Itzhak. "He showed Sabrina. Starlight's for classics in general, not just horror." He tilts his head at Joe. "I think I remember seeing those as a kid. The visual of Frodo's finger getting bitten off is seared into my brain."

Like he's some sort of judge of such things, August leans in to peer at Beth's eye. He nods, content that there's no lasting damage. "Hell of a way to kick off your holiday, too." He chases that with a rueful and sympathetic smile.

Joe whistles in sympathetic disbelief. "I'm glad you weren't hurt bad," he says to her. "That coulda been so much worse. Hell, you want to come over and use it, I'll buzz you in. I'm usually up and around afternoons, at least. There's a public bathroom on the first floor you c'n use to change in."

Ruiz can see it in his eyes, that old malicious glitter. The retort rising behind his eyes: Itz, honey, don't you know, Marines can't read. But then Joe looks down into that slowly depleting lake of cocoa, and he says, looking over to August, "Yeah, it was pretty raw for a cartoon. If he's doing classics, I wonder if I could get him to do a showing of 'Lawrence of Arabia'. That's something that really shows best on the silver screen." The military adventures of a blue-eyed masochist in the Middle East - no wonder he loves that movie.

"Yeah, it's, my favorite book and all. So if you wanna read it. Or anything. You don't gotta." Itzhak's looking down at the surface of the cappuccino, swirling the foam around. He's not fooling anybody; he's slowly turning the shade of a tomato.

He also misses all the subtext flying like meteors between the other men. Just, whoosh, right over that curly dark head. "A'ight, worst he can do is laugh in my face," he says to August, and he leans in with him to peer at Beth's poor face. "Oy vey izt mir, ya weren't wearing a seatbelt? You better fuckin' learn." No, he sees no problem with scolding someone he just met. "You're lucky you still got that eye."

Ruiz, at least, spares Beth the indignity of leaning in with the others to have a look at her face. But the shift in conversation does draw his attention her way for a moment. A flicker of his dark eyes to take her in with unveiled curiosity; he's not a particularly subtle creature.

Joe just gets a look, like he knows perfectly well what the guy's thinking. And then he turns back to Itzhak, puts his knuckles to the leaner man's shoulder in a perfectly platonic gesture of comraderie. "Yeah, take a look when I get home." His thumb skims the binding absently, mind wandering for a moment. Then it's tucked into an inner pocket of his jacket, and patted down. "Where'd you get it?"

August's comment draws her attention to Joseph and Ruiz again. It's a brief look between them, curious but clearly she doesn't want to be impolite so she looks away. She says to August, "Well, I couldn't work until a few days after Christmas. Which was nice, but also terrible because..." Beth lifts her hands to motion vaguely before she says in a delicate tone, "People don't stop passing away just because a Christmas tree broke my face." Joseph gets a thankful look. "Really? That would be awesome, and I might take you up on it. Thank you." Itzhak's scolding earns a little laugh. "Oh I know. I heard plenty from my folks after it happened cause I'm in business with them, and they had to pick up the slack while I was out." Another glance is thrown at Ruiz. She squints just a touch like she remembers him from somewhere. "...Are you in local government?" She asks him suddenly.

"Oh," August says, eyebrows up, giving Joe a look, "careful with that offer. I might take you up on it, let Byron Thorne get an eyeful of me in his heated pool." He sighs, wistful. "If I could handle living in an apartment complex..."

He reclaims a chunk of muffin for himself. He can't complain, he has easy access to them, after a fashion. For once he doesn't harass Itzhak over his blushing; maybe it's the repeat of 'you don't have to' that does it.

He gets a positively wicked look on his face when Beth asks Ruiz that, tames it to something gentler. "He's a municipal worker," he confirms, tone bland.

Joe's expression has gone sphinxish, in that way it does. Still outwardly relaxed, good-natured, but with that opacity a millimeter behind the eyes. "You just hit the buzzer - I'm 303," he explains. "And retired, so I'm home more often 'n' not, if I don't sleep on the boat. Same holds true for all y'all. It's nicely maintained."

Then he's looking between them all, and says, "What, 'cop' is a dirty word here in Gray Harbor?" Voice mild, but with the faintest edge behind it. "De la Vega's police."

"That bookshop down the street, Likely Stories? Cavanaugh and me were talkin' about books. He had one a my other favorite books, that's that one." He gestures with the cup to Neuromancer. "You'd probably like that one. Kinda poetic." Itzhak, it seems, has multiple favorite books. Well, look who he's dating. Multiplicity is a way of life for him. He shoots Joe a funny look. "Everybody knows de la Vega's a cop," he says, tone just kinda puzzled. He's honestly not following.

Book tucked safely away where it won't have anything spilled on it or suffer grimy pawings at, Ruiz rubs his knuckles against his nose like he's scratching an itch, and reaches for his coffee. A quick blow to dispel some of the surface heat, and it's paused about half an inch from his mouth, dark eyes cutting to August at that wicked look that crosses his face. A wry twist of his lips at municipal worker. Technically, he's not wrong, but, "Lo siento por mis modales de mierda. Captain de la Vega."

Beth could be forgiven for not putting two and two together right away. Guy with knuckle tattoos and god knows what other ink squirreled away under his clothes, and looks like he does, doesn't immediately scream cop. "Who're you?" probably isn't meant to sound as abrupt as it does, as he studies the woman's paler gaze. Then breaks away to give Itzhak a slight smile. "I've read it." Not a word, Cavanaugh, all communicated in the way he pointedly does not look at the man.

Beth's eyes flick back and forth from behind black-rimmed glasses as the status of Ruiz as a municipal worker is discussed. No. Not municipal worker. Cop. Captain. A look of comprehension flashes across her face. The abrupt question makes her smile and touch her own chest. "Me? I'm Beth Lawson. I own and operate the funeral home on Spruce. Which is probably why you look familiar? I do a lot of pick ups of decedents." She then admits a little sheepishly, " Well, that and my dating history pretty much looks like the cast of Law and Order Gray Harbor addition so I might have seen you at stuff when I was a plus one."

"Beth Lawson," Ruiz repeats, idly watching Itzhak depart on the grounds of jonesing for a smoke. "Yeah, imagine we've talked over the phone a time or two." He watches her awkwardly a moment more, then checks his watch and collects his coffee, free hand going to pat himself down for his own pack of cigarettes as he pulls to his feet. "Nice to meet you in person, Beth." And then he thinks to add, "You can call me Javier." HAVE-ee-ay. "See you later, Roen." And reluctantly, "Cavanaugh." Then he heads for the door.

August snorts at Joe, shakes his head. He admits, "No, just a bad joke." He arches an eyebrow when Beth describes her dating history like that, has a bit more coffee. "Night yourself, de la Vega." He leans back in his chair, wincing as his foot protests. "So, you're a reader?" he asks Joe. Then to Beth, "You too? Or..." An open invitation for her to describe how she passes her time.

"'cept the lady here," Joe points out, quietly. Then he quotes, voice gone a little dreamy, gazing down into the dregs of the cup, "Then gravity came down on him like a great soft hand with bones of ancient stone....." Retreating back, a little, into that former haze - weariness, medication, hard to tell.

Watching the pair of them go, long hand lifted, before he turns back to August and Beth, blinking a little sleepily. So much for his promised ride. "Oh, yeah," he says, brightening a little. "Almost anything. Always have been. You?"

"Nice to meet you." Beth says to Javier as he departs. She finds somewhere to sit down now that the little seating area is a bit less crowded. She glances to Joe as he says that quote before she looks back at August. "I like reading but none of this highbrow stuff. You all make me feel a bit dumb." She admits this cheerfully, however, as if being dumb wasn't so bad. "But mostly I work too much and mindlessly stream Netflix when I'm not working. How about you?" A pause, "I know Joe has a boat. You own that gardening center, right?"

August laughs, the description 'high brow' amusing him. "Eh, I don't know that I'd call anything high brow, really. You like what you like. My aunt always told me, the bigger variety you read, the better. Trying to label anything in particular as," he makes a face, sort of leans a little, "more valuable, more cultured, is just gentrification." He has some coffee. "Of course, she lived in the Mt. Hood State Forest in an eighty year old cabin, so she had a variety of interesting opinions."

He considers Joe's question. "I do, but I've never read much in the way of," he reaches out, taps Neuromancer's cover, "cyberpunk style scifi, or space opera. More of the, biology and apocalypse themes. Not so much fantasy, but I'm always willing to take a good recommendation. A lot of poetry, a lot of microhistories. Nonfiction."

He nods at Beth. "Netflix. Ellie loves to watch monster and horror flicks and shows. And sometimes it's nice to watch a documentary with a good narrator, you know? Listen to a soothing voice."

"Oh, this isn't highbrow. Just nerdy stuff," Joe says, smiling. A little constraint has dropped from him, with the paring down of the group. "Not dumb in the least. What do you like to read?"

To August, "Neuromancer's a great place to start, if you wanna try cyberpunk. C.J. Cherryh's the same for space opera. She has a couple of long series it's a pleasure to get lost in. What poets do you like?"

"Well, it sounds fancy even though I have no idea what a space opera is?" Beth admits with a little shrug of her shoulder. "Documentaries are good. I most certainly don't want to have to read new information." She says with some amusement. She admits a little sheepishly to Joseph, "Harry Potter? Game of Thrones? I listen to a lot of nonfiction on audiotape while I work. Like I had the Lore books and I've been listening to this book on historic medical cases."

"Space opera's just," August waves a hand, "Star Wars, that sort of thing. You know, big, sweeping plot, based in a science fiction world set in outer space." He considers Joe's suggestions, nods. "I'll have a look," he says, nodding. "Things don't always stick, but I'm willing to try."

Between bites of muffin, he continues, "A lot of different poetry--Oliver, Milay, Cummings, Pierce, Whitman..." He shrugs. "Romance poetry too, at least, some."

He seems unfamiliar with the 'Lore' books but is no doubt memorizing them to look up later.