2020-01-21 - They Live

It's that muck and unpleasantness that Thewlis escapes as he comes through the door. Dragging off his hat and stamping to shake off the snow before he actually ducks down, looking around sheepishly before starting across the room for the bar. Shifting and jerking away from the few other people he passes by as he works his way through. Not sitting down, yet, looking around before his hand raises to knock on the wood, halts, starts to move again - and then he hesitates once more. The tender hasn't seen him, others are watching. He starts to knock again, hovers, and sighs - staring at the bartop as if he expects it to hit back.

Jacob 's eyes drift over to the somewhat rougher looking man as he enters the bar. Which isn't unusual, really, given the bar itself and the sawmill nearby. But so many in this place have that particular shine to them, and Thewlis is no exception.

The doctor raises his beer to his lips through his full red beard, taking a sip while watching the man, then the bartender, then the man again, as the knocking on the bartop surface doesn't quite seem to do the trick. With a slight clearing of the throat, he calls out, "What's a hard working man got to do here to get some service?"

Which is a lot more likely to get someone's attention. But he's hardly one to shy away from using his voice when the situation calls for it. When the bartender looks in Jacob's direction, he simply gestures towards Thewlis as he stands at the bar.

The raised voice makes him jerk and duck further, eyes squeezing shut and then looking to the tender, then the man who shouted, he pauses and then nods a quick thanks before he jots down his order and slides it over on a sheet of paper. Putting down cash a massive mug and a double of whiskey is set before him.

In short order a second mug like this, a big 40 ouncer, is set before Jacob as well, with matching double shot to go with it, and the server noting "Boiler maker, on him." jerking their head at Thew before wandering off.

Jacob nods back at Thewlis, putting his mug down, and popping a couple of tater tots into his mouth, chewing softly as his attention returns to his phone. No more than a couple moments pass, though, before the boilermaker's delivered to the table. A muttered 'thanks' from Jacob as his attention shifts to the shot glass full of whiskey beside the large glass of beer. He stares at it for a long time, the expression on his face steeling somewhat.

The doctor sighs after some time, picking up the shot, arm moving the glass about half the distance between the table and his mouth, but then he pulls it away with a grunt from his throat. Slowly rising to his feet, he walks over to the bar in his white dress shirt and suit pants - specifically towards the part of the bar that Thewlis is haunting.

Jacob sets the shot glass down reasonably near Thewlis. "I appreciate it. I'm trying to stay away from that." He points towards the shot, all but his long index finger curling into a loose fist for a moment. "During the week, anyways. But no need for it to go to waste."

Blinking and jerking away from Jacob when he speaks, Thewlis nods, picking up his own shot and dropping it into his beer. "Su-suh-sorry. I." lifting his mug, long tall and shaggy downs half of it in a trio of long gulps, breathing out slowly and putting the mug back on the bar.

That done, he looks back to Jacob, making eye contact for a couple seconds before his eyes drop to the floor again. "I. I'm. I. Suh-sorry. Didn't. I didn't. Sorry f-fuh-fo-hor any offence." looking back to the bar then to the man in nicer clothes. "I ca-ca-ch-han get you suh-something else." hands folding around his mug once more.

The weather is awful. Just the kind of thing someone with compromised balance and wrecked joints needs to be out in. So, of course, there's Joe coming in. He's bundled up in that heavy greatcoat, white silk scarf (like he expects to be saddling up to duel the Red Baron), and black watch cap. Frankly kind of limping, but then, maybe he's in search of Doctors Daniels, Beam, Walker, or Jameson. This is one of the many clinics they practice in. The sailor settles himself with a kind of gingerly care on a stool, like at least some of his bones have been turned into the kind of glass that breaks if you look at it funny.

Jacob immediately shakes his head, though can't help but frown slightly at the man's seemingly frightened demeanor. "No, it's quite alright. Just the beer is fantastic. No offense taken. Thanks again." His initial impulse is to reach around and give Thewlis a hearty slap on the back to show his appreciation, but something tells him that's prrrrobably not a good idea, unless he wants to see the man curl up until a ball. Which might be impressive, given his height.

"You're welcome to take a seat at my table, if you'd like, th--" Joseph's entrance makes him pause. "Actually, I'll be right back." He does return to his table, quickly finishes the last dregs of the beer glass that he had been working on, and then scoops up his plate of tots and the fresh beer glass courtesy of Thewlis, setting them down at a place along the bar, taking a stool for himself, then looking back at Thewlis. "Name's Jacob. I opened up the doctor's office over on Maple a few months ago." He holds his hand out towards the man in offer of a handshake.

Looking down at the hand, then up to Jacob and down at his feet, Thewlis manages to reach out and take the offered hand, squeezing for a fraction of a second before he releases to draw back to his beef. "The-hoo-thoo..." he frowns and closes his eyes tight, chewing his lower lip. "Thewlis. I. Starlight Theater..." he tosses the other shot into his half a mug of already spiked beer and takes a swallow. "Caretake... Th-th-t-th-huh Cemetary."

Looking up a moment to Jacob, trying to hold eye contact, respectfully for the moment but he fails to do so for more than a couple seconds more before his eyes are on the floor again.

There's a nod for the caretaker and the doctor - he's seen them here before. But it is indeed the stomach-kindling warmth of bourbon he's after, for Joe orders one of his usuals - a Four Horsemen. He's half-propped up on the bar, shoulders a little slouched, not like his usual fairly upright posture.

A slight smile from Jacob as Thewlis gets his explanation out. "Ah, I heard about that! It's nice to have a movie theater in town. I'll have to check it out someday. Nice to meet you, Thewlis. Though I'll try my best to avoid giving you more work at the cemetery."

He won't try to hold Thewlis's gaze for too long, though. The doctor nods back at Joseph, extending his hand to the veteran just as he'd done with Thewlis. "Hi again -- Joe, was it? I wasn't exactly in the greatest frame of mind the last time we met. I can't quite remember if I made an ass of myself, so apologies if I did."

"T-t-tell the ti-hicket booth, 'Pu-put on the f-u-uh-uking glasses' wh-whe-hen you get a ticket..." Thewlis notes, "Wuh-wuh-one time tell, du-di-discount b-bb-ox seat." hunching back at the bar and taking long breaths to get himself calm again.

The rest of his boilermaker is downed and he takes out his phone, tapping out a quick message and smiling to himself as he looks again towards Joe and Jacob, brow raising.

That has Joe looking over, a little startled. But he takes the offered hand, gives it a firm shake. His hand is worn, well-callused; he must work with them in one capacity or another. "Yeah, it's Joe," he agrees, mildly. "No, not that I recall. 'fraid I can't say I caught your name, though I know I've seen you here before. You doin' better now?"

The doctor blinks a few times, then quietly, "'Put on the fucking glasses..' Huh, alright. Thanks." He hoists his beer up, taking a hearty gulp of it, though not one that'd measure up to Thewlis's pace. He spills a bit of it, causing him to curse before wiping it out of his beard with his hand, then grabbing a napkin from over the counter top and wiping his face.

"Name's Jacob. I run the clinic down on Maple." He clears his throat at Joseph's inquiry, then continues. "Yeah, had kind of a rough time over the holidays. Trying to take it a bit easier." Lifts his beer briefly, then setting it back down. "Not TOO easy, though."

Thewlis didn't expect him to know the quote. Cult movie. That helps make it easier for discount phrases though. He then looks back to Doc and Joe, after thumbing away at his phone. He can't help it though, what comes next, another tic - but at least this time he's speaking clearly. "It's from They Live. It's said by Roddy Piper as Nada to Frank, played by Keith David - reputed as one of the most realistic fight scenes in Film History... even with a suplex worked into the fight choreography."

"I'm sorry to hear it was rough," he says, mildly. "They can be damned tough, no matter all the sentimental crap people like to talk about 'em." No comment on his own. He's spent many a Christmas far from that brawling, sprawling clan in Savannah. "Hope it's better now, though." A glance over at Thewlis, blinking. That's the clearest set of phrases he's ever heard out of the caretaker's mouth. "Movie buff, I take it?"

Itzhak rolls in, funny sauntering gait and peacoat and scarf with a violin knitted on it and all. He sheds the outer layers, standing just inside the doors, looking kind of tired and annoyed with the entire world. His focus is inward; he hasn't noticed anybody in particular yet, absorbed with whatever he's thinking about.

Jacob looks back at Thewlis, the sudden.. fluency? of his speech catching him slightly off guard. Whether it's the alcohol or the change in subject, he's not sure. "Ah! I've always been meaning to see that one. I've had it on my list for ages, but.. I always seem to end up putting on one of the Kirk era Trek flicks instead when I go to watch something on the more classic side." He pops a few more tots into his mouth, munching on them, then sliding the plate towards Thewlis. "I wonder when the next big classic monster resurgence is going to happen. Zombies were definitely in for a few years there, but I think that's kinda faded away by now." A shrug of the shoulders.

And then back to Joe. "Yeah. I mean. Moving across the country was part the whole thing to try and get over it. Trying to keep busy, you know? I thought I wasn't doing too bad, but then Thanksgiving came up, and then Christmas? One damn thing after another. All those stupid little painful memories pop up, and then the commercials.." The man trails off a bit, opting for more of the beer in his hand instead.

Itzhak's entry into the bar gets him a nod. He remembers the man's face (it's hard not to, really) despite how tanked he was the last time they met. "How's it going?"

Thewlis bobs his head slightly at the question, sliding his empty mug for the tender to refill and after a long stare at the plate opts to take a few tots, tossing them in his mouth. "Nuh-neh-hext weekend. Muh-midnight sh-sh-sh-show." nodding and looking back at Jacob after a moment to regain his courage.

Thewlis says, "Use the k--ku-quote. B-b-box suh-seat. Like I s-uh-haid." he owns the theater after all. And the theater has sweet box seats with their own sound systems for full sound fidelity. The tender looks to Thew and he notes "Cola, th-th-hree fingers g-g-guh-gh-grenadine." he's had a lot of whiskey after all."

Ready sympathy in the sailor's blue eyes, at that. "That's a good question," he says, re: monsters. "Maybe another attempt at giant monsters, American-style kaiju....." He smiles at the thought, for somre reason. A bob of his head for the subject of the distant family. "I feel you. I used to be blue as a kicked dog, when I was deployed over the holidays."

He glances over at the musician, as he enters, and grins a little. "Hey, Rosencrantz," he says, beckoning the taller man, presumably to come join him at the bar.

Itzhak is tall, but among the other three men, he fits right in. He glances up, narrow and sharp, scanning for who called him, and his look is not friendly. But when he realizes it's Joe, his scowl lightens. Some. "'Ey." He comes over to the bar, upnods. "Doctor Man. Thewlis."

Jacob nods back at Thewlis once again. "Fucking glasses. Right. Thanks." Another sip of the glass of beer in his hand.

"Work's a good distraction from that stuff, I find. Can only be at it for so long in the day, though." One more sip. "And for after work, whiskey. But yeah, I loved those.. god, what were they called. Giant robots, monsters from the ocean, last few years? Directed by del Toro?" He puzzles over name of the movies for a moment, then shrugs. "Can't remember."

When his name is said, Thewlis looks to Itzhak, offers a slight smile. "For all the compasses in the world, there's only one direction, and time is its only measure." apparently quoting something again, as he did the first time he met the man. Jacob's question stirs the trivia response, "Pacific Rim, Charlie Hunam, Idris Elba."

Pondering further, Thew looks to the other three, closes his eyes and looks down as he speaks. "In the la-la-lah-hast decade, since the P--p-peter Jackson Kuh-King Kong th-there ha-a-as been an increase in k-kaiju. T-tw-o Pacific Rims, C-cuh-Cloverfield, Kong, T-Two Am-m-merican Godzillas… th-th-thats only b-b-block busters... Indie market. M-mu-monsters: D-d-dark Continent, its suh-sequel... for e-he-hexample." he trails off after a moment

"I only saw the first Pacific Rim," Joe admits, as he sips from his drink. "Giant monsters and robots aren't usually my thing, but I've enjoyed every film I've ever seen by Del Toro. When I heard that the second wasn't gonna be his work...." He shakes his head. A little jerk of his head at the empty stool next to him, for Itz. He's already shrugging out of his coat - enough bourbon in him he doesn't need the woolen layers. At least for now.

Itzhak smiles a little bit back at Thewlis. Only a little, and tired, but those quotes are charming. He signs to him, just a quick flick: 'hi', and pulls up the barstool next to Joseph. "How's by ya," he says to Joe, looking him over, as if gauging how he feels without the answer. Usually Itzhak orders something along the lines of a classic cocktail, but tonight he orders double whiskey, neat.

Jacob snaps his fingers at the mention of the name of the movie. "Right! Yeah, that's the one I was thinking of. Well, two. The second one was pretty good but not as good as the first. I didn't realize del Toro didn't do the second one. Maybe that's it? Felt a lot more convoluted than just, you know, robots kicking ass." The mention of the recent King Kong movie makes him tilt his head, not unlike a golden retriever who just heard his name, but is confused by it for some reason. Mostly to himself, "Is King Kong a kaiju? Hmm." The poor nerd's slipping into a bit of a rabbit hole.

Head coming up quickly, Thew freezes at the finger snap, looking ready to run for a moment. Taking a breath, his hands begin moving very quickly towards Itzhy, 'I didn't know you spoke sign. I'm sorry if you don't like the quotes. I'll stop.'

And then he looks to Jacob, "B-uh-by s-some definitions... yuh-yes. Kaiju buh-basically terms as juh-juh-Giant monsters... Muh-means Strange Buh-beast... literal t-t-translation." head lowering again. "S-s-so yuh-yes, Kuh-king Kong is a Kaiju."

"I'm a'right, how 'bout you?" Joe says. And indeed, he's got enough booze in him now to lose a little of that awkwardness, sitting far more easily. A wonderful insulation, even if it doesn't compare to his scrip meds. The flicker of signed conversation doesn't got unnoted, but he doesn't seem compelled to comment on it, apparently. "It was Beauty killed the Beast," he quotes, before lifting his glass. "I liked the Jackson remake pretty well. It has that poor German actor in it, the guy who always gets typecast as a Nazi officer. Even in that one, he looked like he'd wandered in from a U-Boat movie."

There is a beep from Thew's phone and he stands, slamming his non-alch drink and the water that came with hit. "Nuh-Nice talking. Emergency..." hat on, and moving across the room at speed. Go Speed Thewlis! Out to the snow, his truck, and to pull that lever that drops the plow on the front of that big green mofo

Itzhak grunts, in response to Joseph. That's how he is. Thewlis runs off and Itzhak turns his head to follow his progress with that enormous eagle beak on his face. He turns back around, says to Joe and Jacob, "I like him," without a single trace of irony. His whiskey arrives and he sips it, eyes drifting shut.

Jacob huhs. "I guess that makes sense. My mind goes to more.. I don't know, I guess Japanese-style monsters than something like King Kong, but sure." Another shrug. And then the man's taking off out the door. "Have a good rest of your evening." he offers with a wave.

The doctor slides his tots back over closer to him, popping a few more in his mouth, then slides the plate a bit closer to the two other men. "I usually go more for the harder scifi, Trek, that kind thing, myself. I've seen the original, but not that one."

The doctor's gaze shifts over to Itzhak as he gets to drinking. "Yeah, he seems alright. Makes me wonder how a gravekeeper ended up opening a theater, though."

"Yeah, I like him, too," Joe says, quietly. "A lot going on there, more than he can easily get out, with that stutter." Not inclined to press Itz - even Joe's less wordy than usual, the light a little dimmed. Content to enjoy the warmth and the company, a cat subdued by a sunbeam. "Me, too," he says to Jacob. "I mean, about the monsters. I haven't seen the original, though it's a classic. I like hard SF, myself, in film and books. My favorite's the original 'Blade Runner', though 2049 really knocked my socks off, I'll admit. I should rewatch it..."

"Buncha nerds," Itzhak mutters, but it's fairly good natured. Just, you know, shit talking the guys he's hanging out with. Like he literally was not singing the theme song of The Last Unicorn the other day in Espresso Yourself. He glances at Jacob, then at Joe, and almost he seems like he's going to say something. Then he doesn't, and sips the whiskey, slouched on the barstool.

Jacob takes a long sip from his beer. "Yeah." Agreeing with Joe. "I haven't seen the newer one yet, was busy when it just came out. Wild that they managed to come out with something decent with so many years since the first one."

Itz's soft crack about nerds makes Jacob grin widely. "Yeah, that's fair."

"Nerdy as they come," Joe agrees, serenely. "And from back in the day when people really used to give you shit about it." Then he knocks back his drink, as if tired of being sober, and looks around inquiringly for the bartender. "I was real impressed. This Villeneuve guy is good. He did 'Arrival', and he's working on a new 'Dune' movie, so we'll finally have a feature that isn't the wacky, wacky Lynch version from the 80s. 2049....it was one of the best sequels I've ever seen that wasn't the middle act of a trilogy."

"Aw, I love 'Arrival'." Itzhak suddenly gets interested. "Man, what a good movie. I keep meaning to track down the book." Nerds indeed! Joe knocks back his drink, Itzhak doesn't quite match him, but does down a little more, and then a little more little more. "So is this weather killin' ya or what?" he says to him.

"Yeah, it was great," Joe agrees, reminiscently. "I meant to do the same, haven't yet. A short story, in fact, from what I understand. I loved it. 'minds me - 'd you see 'District 9'? I keep waiting for that sequel....." then he's given his next drink, and he's working on that one a little harder. "Yeah, it's a stone fuckin' bitch. I got bones with pins in 'em and this cold drives them crazy....."

"I can hear 'em. The pins." Itzhak taps his ear, not looking at Joe. "You ain't alone. Roen's got a lotta hardware, de la Vega too. De Santos, dunno if you met him yet." Now he does glance at him, only quick, then away. The question of the movie, he doesn't answer.

Hear them? He shouldn't be surprised, but it's there in his face, for that moment. That keen, birdlike motion of the head, a distracted hawk trying to refocus on a mouse. "Roen and de la Vega, yeah. Doesn't surprise me. De Santos....no." Joe shakes his head. "He a vet, too?" The jetsam of America's appetite for foreign intervention, blood spilled on hillsides and distant plains.

Jacob sits back down, having come off an urgent phone call from the hospital. He'd been gone during the trailing off of the conversation regarding movies, but his beer is still here, and of that he partakes. The names don't particularly mean anything to him, except for the first one. "Roen.. that's the guy who runs the plant store, isn't it." He digs his phone back out of his pocket, then a business card out of his wallet, making a note for himself, then shoving the works away. "Was supposed to head over there before the holidays. Time flies."

"A vet? Nah, he's a..." Itzhak hesitates, about to say something else, comes up with, "writer. He was in an accident." He tips his eyebrows in an acknowledgment at Jacob. "Roen, that's him, Branch and Bole. Great guy." To Joe, at least, he's a very interesting mouse indeed. His power simmers in him like a geyser.

There's a nod from Joe at that, lips thinning out thoughtfully. "No, I don't think I've met him," he confirms, as if it really were in doubt. "Roen seems to be good people. I didn't serve with him, but we were in....some of the same situations, albeit from different angles."

Jacob 's phone rings again. "Fuck's sake." He pulls his phone back out, sees the number, and answers it again, letting the other person speak, and then retorting with, "When I asked you to call if anything came up, I didn't mean before your on call. Yes, that's fine. Thank you." Click.

"Seems like a decent enough guy. He put up an incredible fake tree for the charity thing before the holidays. Hard to make an argument against someone that does things like that."

"Decent enough?" Itzhak says to Jacob in a tone of ratcheting aggravation. "He's a fantastic guy. You can't make any argument against him because he's amazing. Are you a real doctor?"

That has Joe looking over in bemusement, for a moment. Then he grins, slowly, "Itzhak," he says. "Are you seriously hackling like a pit bull at the doc here because he wasn't sufficiently enthused about your buddy? Jesus, if that's the kind of friend you are, God keep me from ever bein' your enemy." He elbows the musician a little, as if to divert his attention.

Blink. Blinkblinkblink. "Hey, woah, I'm sorry. I don't know the guy." He raises his palms outwards in an act of contrition, a frown creasing the ginger man's mouth. "Didn't mean anything negative by it."

Itzhak's mouth twists. He holds his hands up, too, in the universal signal of surrendering the issue. "Had a bad day. I'm an asshole, guess you oughta learn that now, both a youse." Joe elbows him and he blinks at him, taken way too much by surprise by that. Then he smirks and jostles him back.

There's a kind of shouldercheck back at that - balance calibrated just finely enough that he doesn't tip his barstool over, or dump himself into Itz's lap. "Don't you know, man, you never damage the healer in the party? What's wrong? Somethin' more liquor won't cure?"

Jacob gets the bartender's attention, orders another round for the other two. Not for himself though. "Hopefully the night's a little better for you, at least." He's content to keep working on the big ol' beer that Thewlis had bought him. The D&Dish joke gets a smirk out of the doctor, though.

Itzhak snorts. "Yeah, yeah, never shit talk the healer." Then Jacob's nice enough to buy him a round even though he was just a total dick to him, and he raises his glass to him. "L'chaim, Doctor Man." Then he sips for a bit, and takes his time replying to Joe. When he does, his voice is low. "Nope. Sure won't cure it."

"Yeah, you give a doc too much grief, he won't let you have the Fentanyl lollipops anymore," Joe notes, tone gone dry. There speaks the voice of bitter experience, gents. "And with this kind of lubrication, I'll be having myself a fine old night, time the witching hour rolls around," He lifts his Four Horsemen to the doctor in salute, intones, "Za vas," and knocks back a good half of it.

"No worries." towards Itzhak. And a brief hand wave towards Joseph as well. He has no idea what either of them just said, aside from a faint inkling of what L'chaim means, but context clues are relevant enough.

"The Fentanyl lollipops are usually reserved for those terminal and those damn near it, anyways." Jacob gestures towards his phone which he'd set down on the bar's countertop. "Funny you should mention."

He takes a gulp from his beer with the other two men, as one does.

Liquor may not cure whatever's ailing Itzhak, but he's going to give 'er a go anyway. He tips whiskey into his mouth, holds it, eyes closed...swallows. "My garage is fucked up," he announces to the other two. "Technical term is FUBAR'd."

"That was the situation," Joe agrees, with something odd in his voice. Another of those raptorish looks for Itz. "What happened?" he asks, and his voice is low. Still putting away that liquor like someone might swoop in and take it from him.

Jacob quirks a brow at the complaint. "How does a garage get fucked up? Did someone break in and swipe some tools?"

Itzhak gives Joe a considering look, at that statement. That's a very curious look, like Joe is an ailing engine that Itzhak would just love to take apart. He sniffs, glances away. "Yeah, well, good fuckin' question. Somethin' hit it. Left everything in it ferkakt. Something bad." Hazel eyes flick from Joe to Jacob. "You know what I'm sayin'? Bad."

The day will come, one way or another, when Itz does just that. But the sailor's expression goes listening, still. Like they're a deer herd on the edge of the woods, scenting for danger. "Them," he says, quietly, "Trying to goad you. To make sure you don't have somewhere to den up. They hate order, healing, repair." It isn't a question. "Of course They did."

Jacob looks back at Itzhak for a long time, then at Joe as he elaborates for the man. He doesn't say anything at first, but then eventually, "Yeah, I think I know what you mean. Hell of a way to manifest, though.. sometimes I get in injuries that don't make any damn sense, but that's a new one."

Itzhak studies his whiskey. He may not have ever been a soldier, but that look in his eyes is the look of a man at war nonetheless. "Them. I been on their turf. They don't like that. But They love me. I'm a fuckin' twenty-four hour buffet for Them. So They hit me where it'd hurt." He lays this out, voice flat, but with a raging undercurrent like a rip tide, ready to pull the unwary out to sea.

It's honestly kind of weird how still Joe goes. Like even the mention of Them is enough to draw Their attention....and he doesn't want to be seen. Not even breathing, it seems. He doesn't burn, shine the way his drinking buddies do. Much less a presence.

But the look in the blue eyes - there's an alpine remoteness there. Like some part of him is suddenly very much elsewhere.

Jacob finds some solace in his beer for a few moments, taking in Itzhak's words. "..yeah. That makes sense, I guess." He takes a swig of his beer, then setting it back down. His eyes are suddenly miles away just like the other two, but then he speaks further. "I've had a pretty good feeling for a while that They were involved in the crash I was in, but.. can you prove something like that? Who the hell do you tell? What are you supposed to do about it other than just move on?"

"You can't prove it. That's the hell of it, right? You can't prove it, and most people think you're meshuggenah if you try to tell 'em." Itzhak leans across Joe, intent on Jacob. "But us, you can tell. I can hear the Song in you. In him. So I know you can hear it in me. People like us, we're the only ones who understand. We fight Them. We gotta fight Them." Perhaps this is not a surprising philosophy from a man with 'STAY DOWN' tattooed on his knuckles. "But we pay for it. We pay for it in blood."

"How?" His voice has gone harsh, there's a metallic note there neither have heard before, even Itz. A far cry from the smooth Southern drawl. "With what? Can they be killed? Contained? Driven off? Hurt? This conversation is like cows in a pen planning to strike back at the Man. How does that work?"

Face drawn taut, the bones stark beneath the skin. "How high can they reach?" he asks. What kind of question is that? But it matters to him, matters desperately, that's clear.

"..yeah. Like, I can tell with you two?" Jacob's voice lowers considerable so that it doesn't fill the entire damn bar, but then he looks directly at Itzhak. "You're like a regular lighthouse, but not in the same way as Joe or me.. Thewlis, though? The glow's the same color." He shrugs, taking another swig from his beer. "How do you fight something that can take away everyone you love with just a snap of the finger?"

Itzhak's eyes are drawn to Joe, and that awful fear, and then to Jacob and his equally awful resignation. "Just because we're prey," he says, low and gravelly, "don't mean we're helpless. You can't put a live rat in with a snake. It'll kill the snake." Oh he shines like a lighthouse indeed, glimmer powerful as a beacon. Defiant and proud as a stag brought to bay--speaking of prey that's not helpless. He shoots Joe a puzzled look. "How. High?"

"You haven't answered my question. Any of them. What evidence do we have that we can affect them? What proof is there that this town is anything other than a feed lot? What have we accomplished?" He makes an odd, dismissive gesture with a hand. "Doesn't matter. I don't imagine the usual rules of physics apply. Convince me that we're not pissing into the wind. I'll fight, if there's fighting to be done. I'll do it even if it doesn't matter, but....gimme somethin' here."

Jacob shrugs a little, his shoulders hunching over with the defeat of a battle that he's already lost, not that he ever knew he was fighting it until it was too damn late. "Yeah, I mean, if someone needs patching up, sure, need something accidentally set on fire.. I can't see how that helps to fight back against something that can just break a whole garage full of equipment." Another gulp of his beer, finishing it off. He waves the bartender over for another one. "I think he's asking what else they can do? As in, if they can wreck your shop.. what else can they do that we haven't seen yet?"

Now that isn't mere aggravation in Itzhak. That's fury. If it isn't explicitly aimed at Joe and Jacob, well, they're certainly adjacent. He slams down the whiskey glass, hard, but it doesn't break. Doesn't so much as chip. The liquor doesn't slosh, either; it sits in there still as a stone. Weird. Really weird.

"Youse guys don't wanna fight?" He stares at them, hard, angry. "I'll fight for you. I'll stand between you and Them and nobody can fuckin' stop me." He slithers off the barstool.

"You didn't hear a goddamned thing I said," Now Joe's angry, too. "Rosencrantz. I told you, I'll fight. I was fighting when you were still in diapers, boy." Oh, that monosyllable, laden with insolence in a way that only someone from the far South can muster. "I'm asking you -how do we do it? No one wants to stop you." A hasty flick of bills to the bartop. Apparently he intends to follow that musician right out the door.

Jacob eyes the glass as it's slammed down, but that's not the exact focus of his attention. That's Itzhak, of course, and the rage returning to his voice behind that big ol nose of his. "I didn't say that, I just.. don't know what I can do to help?" But by then the two are storming out. "Night.." Jacob shrugs, but conveniently, his fresh beer's just arrived. Sip.

But sitting there drinking's not exactly fighting back, is it?