2020-01-20 - Unfinished

Things had settled down some and Isolde finally,mostly, had things the way she wanted them in her new place. So she invited Itzhak to come over for dinner! Take out. since she still wasn't quite comfortable enough in the kitchen to cook more than a microwaved meal and cookies. The food was carefully set out -chinese - in a buffet style so they could fill their plates with what wanted. Now Isolde was sitting in the couch, eyes on the door every so often as she waited for Itzhak to arrive.

Her hair is pulled back into a pony tail, there's just a touch of makeup on, and she's wearing her yellow parrot dress.

Itzhak knocks. When the door opens, he's standing there with his weight on one hip, wearing a sleek, slim-cut black suit. Black on black on black--his shirt is black. His tie is black. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to the elbow and buttoned, showing his pomegranates-and-olives tattoo on his left arm and his Lichtenberg figure scar on his right. His jacket is slung over his shoulder, held with a crook of one long forefinger. He's neatly shaved, even. And he's got flowers, a winter bouquet of white camellias, highlighted with hellebore and violets. (August probably put that together for him.)

He offers over the flowers with a lopsided smile. "Hiya, sweetheart."

A grin blossomed on Isolde's face when she saw Itzhak, accepting the flowers as she leaned up to give him a sweet kiss. "These are so pretty. And you look nice." Taking his now free hand and leading him into the home. Walking in was met with an open concept living/diner area with the kitchen just past the dining room and it would appear that might be a bedroom off the living room and then likely one down the hallway that ran parallel to the kitchen. She had been trying to go for a log cabin feel maybe. Rustic but comfy looking furniture - most if it a little beat up looking but in perfectly usable condition. There were also some frog and fall related decorations dotting the home here and there. "Home sweet home." She giggled, closing the door as she looked up at him. "How was your day?"

Itzhak leans in to kiss Isolde, matching her sweetness, with a little rumble. But he's not a sweet man, and those hard, rough edges of his, while subsumed, are always lurking. Still he's happy to lace his fingers with hers and let her draw him inside. He looks around, eyebrows up, interested. "Wow. Come a long way, huh? Even though I miss a little bit living next to you. This is fantastic." His expression shifts to pride and affection as his eyes find her again, and wander over her, taking in all the details. "You look terrific. I love that dress."

"It is nice sleeping in a. Regular bed and not the couch." Isolde chuckled. "But I do miss being so close to. You too." It may seem like she might elaborate or say something else but then decided against it at the last minute. "I hope you're hungry!" Leading him to the small dining room table. where the plates and such were already waiting. "Do you want anything to drink? I have water. Soda. Tea. Beer." She offers - releasing his hand so she could go over to the fridge in the kitchen.

"Yeah, I bet it is!" Itzhak says, with that tugged quirk of a half-grin. He drapes his jacket over the back of a chair and follows Isolde to the kitchen, so he can slide his hands around her waist and put that enormous nose in her hair and take in her scent. Like a weirdo. "I'm always hungry. Wouldn't say no to a beer." She's so warm and very intriguing under the light fabric of the pretty yellow parrot dress.

This woman saved his life. Itzhak winds his long arms around her.

Isolde makes a pleased little noise when those long arms wind around her and she feels him nuzzling into her hair. "Beer it is!" Relaxing into him for a moment until she finally opened the fridge to pull two beers out. She sets them on the counter and carefully turns to face him, pulling him into a another,slightly more heated kiss than the front door greeting. "I've missed you. I'm glad you could. Come over." Giving him a grin before reaching back so she could pick up one of the bottles to give to him.

Itzhak mmmms into the kiss, pleased by Isolde dialing up the heat a notch or two. He sways in place, swaying her with him, not quite dancing. But knowing him, how long can it be before dancing actually happens? "Missed ya too. My day's been kinda terrible."

He always says that.

Accepting the beer, he can't resist stealing another kiss or two. "You're so pretty," he murmurs, nuzzling up to her. He does accept the beer, though. "This place is great. Really cute. Not as cute as you."

Always, but that never stops Isolde from replying with, "Well we're gonna make it better." Returning the kisses and half tempted to just skip the dinner part of this visit and maybe rope back around to it later. She picks up her own beer as they sway a bit - more than happy to just be close to him. "I'm glad you like it."

There's another giggle and she nuzzles her nose to his. "Mm, I love you." She says softly, giving him a squeeze with her free hand. "Let's sit...snuggle...food or no food. Which ever." Nipping at his lip before she starts to take a couple steps back towards the dining table. Though she doesn't quite try to break from his grasp.

I love you hits Itzhak in the chest like an arrow. Maybe that's why all the stuff with Cupid? Itzhak's breath hitches. The fine fabric of his suit is cool and slick under Isolde's fingers, warm where she presses it against his skin.

"God, I'm a lucky sunnabitch," he murmurs, smile turning tender. Then, mischief in his gray-green-brown eyes, he lets Isolde lead him to the table. "Aww, I'd hate to waste all the effort you put in. Let's eat." A Jewish answer...or the MOST Jewish answer?

"All the efforts of picking up food and setting containers out." Isolde teased with a touch of a smirk. She steals one more kiss but then finally turns to start opening containers. Then a plate is handed to him. "Dig in!" She smiled as she retrieved her own plate. "Can you stay the night?"

"That's still effort!" Itzhak laughingly protests. "It still counts." He takes the plate, sets the beer on the table, helps himself to a lot of chow mein and orange chicken. "Sure I can stay the night. I brought stuff. Was planning on it." An eyebrow goes up as he glances down at Isolde. "If that's okay with you."

"I guess " Isolde laughed as she loaded up with the chow main as well and some general tsos and a couple dumplings. "Of course it's fine." A smile flashed to him. "You could stay over every night if you wanted." Her cheeks tinted a little pink as she picked her beer back up so they could sit on the couch. Totally smooth and casual Izzy!

Itzhak, dexterous guy that he is, can totally manage a plate, chopsticks, and beer at the same time, and not even muss his suit. He joins Izzy on the couch, crossing one leg to rest his ankle on his other knee--and then his audio processing catches up and he looks over at her with both eyebrows up. And forgets how to words.

He can't sign with his hands full, so he just stares at her, surprised as heck.

His silence and surprised expression fluster Isolde ever so slightly as she sets her plate down on the coffee table and takes a long sip of beer to stall. Then she finally looks back at him. "If you wanted." She emphasizes. Totally clarifying it is a very optional offer. "I...like having you around." She took long drink, her freckled skin still flushed.

Carefully, Itzhak puts all the stuff down too. Then he shifts, turning to face Isolde, and takes her into his arms and rocks her. His fingers twitch on her back and shoulder, trying to sign, but not quite making it. Up close, he's wearing some subtle sandalwood aftershave.

"I--" That's all that gets out. He swallows, tries again. "I like bein' around. But...I have to...I have to have somewhere to run away to, baby." There we go; words engage. "If I'm around people all the time I get mean. Even you. Even...anybody. I ain't fit to live with you. I'd never forgive myself if I got mean with you just because my stupid brain don't work."

Isolde is quiet for a long moment, just letting him rock her. Even though she had been expecting this answer she could still feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes. That childlike instant switch of feelings she still possessed. so she kept her forehead against his shoulder. Trying to collect herself and not let the tears actually fall.

Finally drawing in a deep breath, she wiped at the corners of her eyes before lifting her head to look up at him. "...there's a second bedroom.." it was a lame suggestion. A helpless one and then she shook her head. "I just. Wanted you to know...you don't...have to ask to.come.over...or stay over. Even if you stay at Stephanie's...this can be a home too."

"Shhhh, frosheleh, don't cry." Itzhak murmurs to Isolde, rocking her, stroking her pretty hair. "Ain't your fault I'm a broken asshole." He slips a hand under her jaw when she looks at him, and kisses her damp eyelids with great care. "You're wonderful. You're perfect. I'm fucked up. I'm sorry, baby."

He nuzzles her another long few moments, then looks back at her, his eyes serious. "You sure about that? What about Cameron? Or anybody else you might like over, too?"

Isolde studied him for a moment and then carefully shrugged her shoulders. "S'what texting is for." She murmured. "And the second bedroom..." Glancing towards the hallway and then back to him. "I like Cameron a lot and there isn't anyone else besides the two of you. That I have any desire to...have over." She gave a gentle squeeze to his sides. "But, you mean...so much to me...I just." She fell silent, trying to gather up her words in a more orderly fashion. A light bite of her lip before finally continuing on. "I just want you Itzhak. I know I can't. Have all of you. I respect that. But you will always...have. A. Home. With me." Words a little stilted, reminiscent of her earlier days before the power charges from Pwill.

Itzhak winces, dropping his gaze. That hurt, and not even necessarily in a bad way. Maybe some of a bad way. But also just in a way his broken heart isn't used to stretching. "I... this is just the way I am. I know you know that, just..." He bumps his forehead to hers, gentle. "I hate making you cry, sweetheart. ...I met Cameron at Winterfest," he adds. "Kinda accidentally." His emotions are making his attention slew like a racecar on a wet track. "I'd--okay, I'd love to have a home with you." He says it softly, nudging Isolde's nose with his own huge beak. "I ain't fit to be around anyone all the time, but. Yeah. I'd like that."

Isoldes draws in another breath when he looked away. "I'm sorry...you didn't...not really. I just...stupid emotions." She murmured. A tiny smile on her lips. She lifted her hands to cup his face and kisses his nose then his forehead. "Space is important. However often or not you want to be here. It's up to you. I don't...I didn't want to pressure you. I hope you don't feel pressured. " Her voice remained soft as she studied him, hands sliding down through his scruff to rest on his chest.

"I don't feel pressured. Hell, I'm honored." Itzhak smiles a little, wavery, and dips in to steal a brief, soft kiss. "That a girl like you wants me around so much. An asshole like me, you know? I know you don't always feel like it, but you could have any guy you want. Anybody you want. You're adorable in every way."

His hands are warm on her back, stroking her to comfort her.

The kiss was returned and a soft giggle escaped as she nuzzled against his neck. "You're an amazing person Itzhak. We all. have problems. But they shouldn't...they don't define us." She lifted her head and kissed him again. There's another smile. The sort that says she appreciated the sentiment but didn't quite believe it. "I'm sorry I kinda threw it on you. But..I'm glad we talked about it."

Itzhak might be biased, but don't tell him that! As far as he's concerned, all should love and adore Isolde. "Hey, it's okay. I know I ain't always the easiest to talk to." He's perfectly content to kiss her, holding her warm slim body. In this moment, she's in his arms, they're in her new home that she doesn't have to share with anybody she doesn't want to, and there's beer and Chinese food to be consumed. For this brief moment, he's content with the world.

It won't last. It never does. But for now.

Isolde lingered close to him for a few longer moments and then finally detangles herself from him some. "Foods gonna get cold. " she murmured with a smile, brushing her lips against his cheek before turning some in his grasp to pick up her plate. "Tell me about your day?"

Reluctantly, Itzhak lets her go, and scoops up his own plate. Even more reluctantly, he admits, "Garage's fucked up," and then fills his mouth so he has an excuse not to talk for a moment. After he swallows, he mutters, "Somethin' happened. I dunno exactly what, but...They came by and said hi."

Isolde frowned at that. "Is Lemondrop okay? Anything I can do to help ot it back together?" She took her bite of food and then slipped an arm around him. "Did they hurt you? Say anything?" A touch of concern still lingering in her voice m

"She's okay." Itzhak grimaces. For a few minutes, he eats with singleminded intensity. After the edge is taken off, he talks again. "She's okay, but everything's busted. Not just busted. Wrong. I have to replace everything. Everything." He sets the plate down and sighs, winding his fingers into his hair. "My tools. The lifts. The doors. The workbenches. Everything."

Isolde sets her plate down as well and it's her turn to pull Itzhak into her now. "We'll get it fixed. We will. And we won't let then get away with it. " She say quiet but confident. "When did this happen?" Running her fingers through his hair. "Just today?"

"Couple days ago." Itzhak settles against Isolde, ducking his head to her shoulder. He tenses up as he discusses what happened to his garage, shoulders tightening under the fine shirt. "It's gonna take so much fixing," he mumbles into Isolde's shoulder. "Most of my stuff gotta be replaced. It just...warped. Fuckin' warped. They told me They see me." He shivers. "Ugh, I didn't wanna bother you with this, frosheleh, more of my mishegoss."

Isolde shifted in her seat so she was straddling Itzhak, cupping his face again so he would look at her. Those wild blue eyes having a hint of anger brimming under them. Not at him, of course, but at the assholes bad guys that needed a proper dose of reality. Maybe it was time for another Veil expedition...with Molotovs. Or something. She exhaled slowly, expression softening just a touch. "I'm glad you did." Leaning her forehead against his. "I want to know about. Your trouble amoureux. Your troubles are my troubles." Spoken so sincerely as she kissed his forehead. "You don't have to handle these things...alone. You have so many people. Who want to help. You. You just have to. Let them."

Itzhak leans back, eyebrows going up in an nonverbal 'well hello there' as Isolde climbs into his lap. If nothing else, that's quite distracting. His hands settle on her hips, pull her snugly against him. Then he listens to her, keeping quiet, forehead bumped on hers. But her promise of sharing their troubles makes him tremble.

"I don't want my troubles to be your troubles. Mine are...they're too much. They're too much. You got more'n enough of your own." Squeezing his eyes closed, he rocks gently back and forth. "Look at you, you got your own place and everything. Last thing you need is my bullshit bringing you down."

This isn't terribly rational talk. These words are born out of his crippled heart.

Isolde was quiet for a moment, letting him speak his piece, a wry little smile crossing her lips. He would feel that gentle caress of her mind against his and then the same gentle easing in if he allows it. Aside it just being easier to talk like this - she wanted him to feel the love she felt for him. Her desire to help him and be there for him. Warm, fuzzy feelings. Like a soft flannel blanket being wrapped around him.

We're a team Itzhak. We handle stuff together. My troubles, you're troubles. Whatever it is we can figure it out. Her hands gently ran through his hair. We make each other better. Build each other up as we work through stuff. We're always gonna have troubles. It's gonna be messy but... There's a shrug of her shoulders. You just need to let me in.

Thousand-folded fractal origami unfurls to gather Isolde in. If she's soft and warm and fuzzy, he's spiny and pointy, the rough edges of his mind catching on the soft little threads of hers. Yet all those sharp iterative curves nestle in, careful, so careful, but needy. Itzhak sighs, quavery, relaxing into her acceptance and love like he might relax into a hot bath.

<<You're too good to me, baby.>> He rocks her against him, big hands gentle on her. <<I...it's hard. It's hard for me to let you in. To let anybody in. I'm broken like that.>> Memories of prison, memories of men who broke his heart, memories of his long, bitter struggle to cope with himself that from his point of view has borne little fruit. <<I'm scared.>> The faintest whispery brush of his mind.

Origami. That, Isolde can understand. His mind is one she's most familiar with, besides her own. Her threads settle with him, curling and caressing gently as they find their place within those rough edges. Her forehead resting on his as he relaxes. She stays quiet, letting him feel her even breathing as well. Letting him process and respond. She places gentle kisses then. Along his forehead, his cheeks. His nose. She can feel a few tears pricking at the corner of her eyes as he dredges up those memories. She has plenty of her own, similar ones. Scary ones, but she keeps them down because this is about him and she doesn't want to rile him in that way. Because this, Isolde realizes, is an opportunity for a little progress maybe.

<<Life is a scary thing.>> Isolde responds finally. It doesn't matter exactly what he is scared of just yet. She's sure they'll get to it. Maybe. <<And letting people in...that can sometimes be even scarier. Relying on other people...not wanting them to see all the bad things...>> She slides her hands down to gently cup his cheeks, blue eyes studying him intently. <<Hear me out about something? You say you're broken. But....have you ever considered that...you're not broken? You're just...unfinished? Like...a puzzle waiting for the rest of the pieces? And those pieces...are the people that love you?>>

Itzhak basks under all those gentle kisses like Iris does under her heat lamp. He tips his face into them, luxuriating, receiving when it's so hard for him to receive rather than give. Isolde can soothe him like that, like a beautiful witch charming a stag. Opening his eyes a sliver when her hands cup his long angular face, he looks at her--then his complex hazel eyes open wide, all the way, eyebrows popping up.

Unfinished?

That word rings a bell in his troubled heart. Unfinished. A puzzle needing the rest of its pieces. The people who love him can give to him those pieces, want to give him those pieces. No, he'd never considered that before. Isolde can read it plain as print in the link.

He's made so many friends (Alexander Roen Finch Easton Hya and more, many more), taken lovers (Izeleh. Bex. Javier. sung in silvery ripples), even kept an old friend despite his best efforts (Ignacio). And--yes. Yes.

She's right, and he knows it in his bones.

Itzhak makes a funny, throttled little sound in his throat and kisses her. Wetness dampens his eyelashes.

Isolde watches, careful, caring, ever quiet as he absorbs this thought. One that she has been harboring - not just for him, but for herself as well. Something she has been trying to remind herself of. An ephiphany, if you would. They were all just puzzles waiting for the right pieces to finish them off.

A smile blossoms on her features when she seems him connecting pieces, sees him at least entertaining the idea. When he kisses her, her hands fall gently to his chest as the kiss is returned, all those emotions she carried pouring over into it. She doesn't say or think anything more just yet. Letting the silence linger, warm and comfortable still even after the kiss ends and her forehead rests on his again. A smile still given to him.

Isolde adored the man whose lap she was sitting on. With every fiber of her being. He could feel that and he could see it written all over her face.

Izeleh. Sweetheart. Frosheleh, little frog. Adoring pet names pour across the link as Itzhak nuzzles kisses to Isolde's lips. His emotions are always connected to his physical form, and he's ready to adore her with his body, too. Big, long-fingered hands close around her wrists, the callouses catching gently on the tender skin.

<<You're brilliant,>> his violin-voice sings to her. <<You're brilliant and wonderful and perfect and I'm gonna make you scream for me.>>

There's a heated delight in her gaze as those words dance around her mind, grinning before she captures him in another passionate kiss. <<Then what are we waiting for?>> The thought has a tone of laughter to it, a gentle teasing even as she nips at his bottom lip. <<Make me scream, mon amour. I want to make the neighbor's jealous.>> Mischief dancing in her eyes that matches the tone of her mental voice.

Itzhak laughs in harmony, low and dark and pleased. He spends a good few moments over that kiss, making it deep, making it hot. <<Takin' you to bed, Iron Queen. We're gonna make the neighbors wonder if they oughta call the cops.>> Standing, he pulls her upright with him, grinning down at her wickedly.

"You ready, baby?" Itzhak searches her eyes.

Isolde couldn't help but giggle as he pulled her up. "More than ready." She pulls him into one more heated, eager kiss even as she starts walking them towards the door that's right off the living room. The door gets opened and the room, though likely neither of them are paying much attention to it, is simple. A green and white color scheme with a few decorations that clearly mark it as Isolde's. A queen size bed sits in the middle with a dresser immediately to the right of them as they enter. This is what Isolde settles up against, at least momentarily as her fingers start working on the buttons of his shirt.