2020-02-20 - What is it now?

(TXT to Grant) Itzhak : hey, tateleh, you okay? you need help?

(TXT to Itzhak) Grant : I need the fucking cookie that was in my damn agreement. Being hit in the head with a rock is not a cookie.

(TXT to Grant) Itzhak : let me come get you, I need to get bandaged up too

(TXT to Itzhak) Grant : Next time we bring Becca. What the shit was that. Man that deal got screwed. What was that woman thinking?We coulda had that man.

(TXT to Itzhak) Grant : Also I thought you guys were cool. Why are you chewed on?

(TXT to Grant) Itzhak : yeah, it's a long story. you know how on Buffy sometimes someone goes evil?

(TXT to Itzhak) Grant : Who?

(TXT to Grant) Itzhak : god you're like 12. I'm coming to get you

(TXT to Itzhak) Grant : I am not! Just because you did proofreading for Moses doesn't mean I'm 12

(TXT to Itzhak) Grant : I mean he was lucky to have you. You really only get one shot with stone etchings.

(TXT to Grant) Itzhak : and here I'm bringing you cookies and everything

(TXT to Itzhak) Grant : Well I won't stop you.

(TXT to Itzhak) Grant : It's been a long stupid shit day. You're not driving and texting and bleeding are you? I'm just asking because that sounds like a great plan that'll really help everyone out. But don't let me stop you. Do I even need to bother telling you where I'm standing or are you here?

(TXT to Grant) Itzhak : (ten minutes later) I'm here. Why don't you fall off the roof again so we can get that out of the way

The door of the trailer pushes open and a moment after Grant Baxter comes out with a turtle neck on, heavy army jacket, one hand wrapped with a bandanna and a over-tired look on his face. The door is pulled shut behind him. He doesn't bother locking it.

He stands outside Itzhak's window with a narrowed look. "I didn't fall. I jumped."

Itzhak, in the driver's seat of the big orange pickup, looks like he's seen better days. He's bruised and his left arm is hastily wrapped in a towel, which is bleeding through. "Get in the fershtunken car willya." He's not moving with anything near his usual energy. Worn down from pain and distress, and his tone is correspondingly crabby.

Grant climbs into the passenger seat, the cold pulling a cloud of vapor from his lungs. "You go on like that I'm changing your name from Rosenkrantz to Rozenplotz." The whimsy is absent from Grant who is usually more easy going and less irritated as shit. He rolls him a look and makes two gestures familiar enough to ask without asking Why this? With a faint growl to his words he tells Itzhak, "She shouldn't have fucking done that." (Yes she should. he's just angry about it.)

Itzhak hangs a youie, heel of his hand spinning the steering wheel around, and pull out of the trailer park. "Fuckin' tell me about it," he grumbles. "Wait, which she?" If Grant's irritated as shit, well, Itzhak's thrilled to be irritated as shit along with him. He grabs a tupperware from the back seat (long arms the guy's got) and sets it in Grant's lap. "Cookies." And so they are. Snickerdoodles, shortbread, and chocolate-chip cups filled with panna cotta. Clearly this is Corey's work. "Eat. Ya too skinny."

Grant answers tiredly, "Some.. Rita lady. I dunno. The one with the black hair and nicer ass than mine. I don't know."Arching an eyebrow at the tupperware though his badmood ebbs with the tiny box of joy. It's really really really REALLY hard to eat a cookie angry. He grouses, "Don't think I haven't been trying everything I can fucking think of. Bit a chef and that didn't do it." Cookie numero uno finds his face instantly. It doesn't keep him from mumbling, thiff iff fomfink to fry tho. "

Itzhak snorts in unwilling laughter. "Bit a chef? Did you bite Vyv? ...Did he bite you back?" He fishes a cookie out of the tupperware, too. It goes in his face. Chompf. Luckily he can drive and kvetch and eat cookie all at the same time, dexterous guy that he is.

It's not a long drive to the hospital. Itzhak pulls into the nearest parking space to the ER doors, turns off the engine, and just kinda sags back, nose pointed at the ceiling. "Oy vey izt mir."

Grant quietly chews his cookie without bitching and gives Itzhak that look of I ain't tellin you but I also ain't sayin 'no'. He looks at the hospital. pauses makes a face, then makes a face at Itzhak and then there's signing and crumbs because he's not putting the cookie down to do this.

<<Nothing more wrong with me! I will bite you too dude. Not in a fun way.>>

Itzhak's attention is caught by the signing; he looks over, reading Grant's hands, and scowls. "Quit yer bitchin'. You gotta get checked out. Come on. You can take the cookies." Without waiting for a reply, Itzhak gets out.

Grant :squints and looks to him. "And whose insurance is covering this? I go in there then they try to keep me and then I have to explain to my 150 year old dad why I'm still like 21 and shit." He takes another bite. There's a shrug and he signs through the windshield <<Already have the cookies, genius!>> Yeah he's definitely more cantankerous. Who wouldn't be crabby taking a rock o the head?

Itzhak narrows his eyes in a look known to Jewish kids all over the nation. That is a 'you're in trouble, mister' look, honed to a keen edge by dint of being raised by Jewish mothers and grandmothers.

Then he yanks the passenger side door open, grabs Grant by the back of his collar, and hauls him out (right handed, since his left is out of operation). He's doing it with the help of his psychic strength, so he just pulls Grant out as if he weighs no more than a kitten. "You took a fucking rock to the head, smartass, what do you think I'm gonna tell your pop? Oh hey your son got a concussion and I DIDN'T take him to get checked out even though I was there when he got it? He'll take a swing at me and I'll have to punch a hundred-year-old man, you want to put that on my conscience?"

While he's bitching Grant out and laying on that Yiddish guilt trip thick as schmear on a bagel, Itzhak stomps towards the ER, not taking no for an answer.

Grant is content in his silent protest when the door of the vehicle goes wide and his eyes with it in surprise. Were that not enough he's now being hauled out of the car and marched half floating half trying not to walk up to the damn hospital. The TK message is clear that he can cooperate or his jeans are going to ride so far up his hiney his voice is going to change pitch when he signs.

"Ow what the fuck, ya mashugana?! First I- dude put me down! First you stamp on my ferschtuken tail THEN I try to help your dude from biting you and how ya repay me? You try to blackmail me to my dad??! He's a lawyer ya know. That shit's illeg- owowow not so fucking high off the ground asshole!" Yup, not winning any wars, though his voice has switched to a bitter informative tone pained with how put out he is. "This is illegal to blackmail someone... also kidnapping. I'm trying to keep you from gettin sued you ungrateful schmuck!"

"Yeah yeah, ask me if I care." Itzhak's tone is bitter, too. "My boyfriend just tried to bite my fucking arm off, tell me all about how I should care." Draaaaaagging Bax along, he storms through the automatic doors of the ER. Inside it's bright and cheery and hospitally; Itzhak looks more like he's hauling in an arrest than taking a friend who's been injured to the hospital. "Because a my wish! Because of my stupid wish that I didn't think through! You think I'm just gonna let you sit around with ya brain mashed like an overripe banana, tateleh, you have got another think coming."

Grant is maybe a buck forty soaking wet in his dreams, but is in truth it is too easy for the scrapper to drag the skater's narrow ass around. He replies in a tone that's as dry as it is sharp, "Oh soooo you mess up and now I get my tuchas bit into trying to fix it. Nice. Really nice. great job. Feel bad for the next schmuck you try to help. Oh wait... it's me. Thanks." His eyes blink trying to keep focus making it apparent either he can either meep kvetching or walk a straight line but not both. Relenting to the war he will not win he goes and sits in the stupid chair with a sigh."

That one? That one gets to Itzhak. His hands roll into fists. Grant gets treated to that beaky profile as Itzhak looks over his shoulder at him, one hazel eye hot, lip curled. He points at him with two fingers, New York tough guy style. "You sit your ass right the fuck there."

Then he stalks over to the intake counter, gets growly with a triage nurse. He shows her his bloody-towel-wrapped arm, points at Grant, gestures to his head. A few minutes later, he comes back and slings his skinny butt into the seat next to Grant. Rubbing his forehead, he sighs.

"Look. You wished for him to be better," he murmurs, tiredly. "For that? I thank you."

Grant sits and is clearly not happy about it. Looking to Itzhak he says with a squint, "The fuck you do to the old man to make him bite you?" Annoyed, and usually the peacemaker or at least indifferent. At the thanks Grant looks away with a very frustrated look. He's tired, angry, and it really is a nasty egg to his hairline. He could turn his hearing aids off in protest but instead he eats a damn cookie. GOD these things turned out good. How do you angrily eat a cookie!? "Well it coulda worked great if that lady ain't messed it up. Now what? It part worked? Not at all? Our duder and that chick's dad? now they got problems when we had solutions."His hand grips his forehead and he immediately regrets that decision flinching. "Fuckin....tsuris... damn... bubbe.... fershtuken rock cookies. WHO gives people rocks!? We ain't dyin."

The conditions of Grant's wish, Itzhak remembers, too. Me. Give it to me. He squints over at him. He's so tired and his arm throbs like fuck. "She sicced him on that girl. That was my wish. Protect people. So boom, I got to protect someone." Itzhak rolls his eyes. "But Roxy--that was the girl who wished for no more wishes--I thought she maybe, I dunno. Stopped yours from happening? But. Maybe not." He studies Grant, weary without anger to fuel him. "'Cause you're acting kinda ferkakt yaself, boychik."

Grant rolls his eyes to the ceiling and slowly pans a warring look to Itzhak. The words get slightly acidic as he apologizes, hand splayed on his chest, "I'm ferkakt? Ya know, shit happens all the time when you're not standing there like a tusris powered lighthouse." His voice doesn't raise but it's not a hard imagine to feel it wanting to crack slightly. Things going on or not he usually doesn't bare his teeth when he talks.

Slowly, over enunciating all his syllables, though imperfectly, he says, "You might want to back your renegade prophet act by maybe asking 'oh, how have things been going?' but if they ain't fuckin you I guess it don't fuckingmatter does it? I'm sorry, I forgot my job was to sit here and be fine while you play martyr." Definitely barbed and over defensive. "If it mattered you would have asked."

He sniffs and coughs a laugh with a small, ironic grin, "Man, you care so damn much but I gotta wonder man, you got room to care about more than one person at a time, cause that's ferkakt. It ain't me. You don't get to tell teh guy trying to fix fourty problems he's inconveniently being not ok when you have no idea what is going on."

There's rage and there is hurt pooling up in his eyes but it doesn't break. A deep breath he mutters, "Wasn't her place to take shit away from people. Now? Now our wolf dude is messed up." He pauses signing Again.

Itzhak can't help snorting a laugh when Grant describes him as a 'tsuris-powered lighthouse'. "Most accurate thing anybody ever called me," he mutters, but lets G-Bax go on with his rant.

Which hurts. It hurts and Itzhak can't pretend it doesn't, not now, not with everything he's been through, not with a Ruiz-shaped hole in his arm and his heart. He lowers his head like a boxer trying to guard against fists, big ribcage flinching a little here and there as if he's actually taking a hit. He props an elbow on his knee and then his head in his hand, thumb on one temple and fingers on the other, and lets Bax verbally maul him. Not unlike the way he let Ruiz physically maul him. The only protests he makes are mental. I don't--I didn't--that's not--

When at last Grant winds to a halt, he huffs a single breath of bitter laughter. "Feel better?" he says, but it's ironic. He doesn't expect him to feel better.

Grant is tired. He is just fucking exhausted from his own shit and stares at Itzhak and blinks, and sniffles. "No, fuckwad. If it was that simple I wouldn't be such a damn disaster" The barbs in retort shoot back: * but you didn't--but you didn't.--it is now. He stares at Itzhak and pulls back into a defensive stance, at least socially; shoulder to the wall, slouched back in his chair, arms crossed closing himself off. As if to drive that nail in says tiredly with a croak in his voice, "You actually trying to help me or are you here because you need something to fix to make you okay?" It's not an accusation so much a rhetorical. Eyes watering he looks away to an unfixed point on the ceiling. Eyes close and eyelashes clump. "Don't be my fucking mom." Big ow. Way to dredge up the lady that's not been in the picture for 12 years.

Eyes closed, Itzhak rubs his temples. "Ikh bin nisht deyn muter, schmuck. Ikh bin emetser vos dagus vegn ir, afilu aoyb ir ken nisht opshatsn dos vayl ir zent ferkakt."

I'm not your mother, fuckface. I'm someone who cares about you, even if you're fucking ungrateful because you're a mess.

"Tsi ir trakhtn ikh gevalt tsu shlepn ir do bshes ir kvetched?" Do you think I wanted to drag you here while you bitched? Itzhak squints over at Grant from under the shade of his hand, like he has a massive headache. "Oder ton ir trakhtn afshr ikh gehat andere tingz?" Or maybe you think I had other things I could possibly be doing?

The nurse at the triage station waves them over. Itzhak lifts his good arm to her and gets up, and holds out his hand to Grant, looking exhausted.

"Kum mit. Mir veln farrikhtn ir." Come on. We'll get you fixed up.

I'm not your mother, fuckface. I'm someone who cares about you

What a phrase to have to use as a statement of fact. That it's a simple statement? Well, Bax has no retort angry or otherwise from it. His eyes open but he doesn't look at Itzhak. It's a gesture that might not mean much, but with half his input coming from lip reading and body language? Well it's not much different than putting his hands over his ears. He can hear him right now though. Itzhak can tell from the tension in his jaw. "Ikh bin nit angreytfal." His accent's never been good, but he knows the words. I'm not ungrateful.

"Zey zogn ir vet rekhenen es aoys. ikh ton nit hobn aza a getsayg." Sure they keep saying figure it out. I don't have the tools to. Taking a deep breath he murmurs tiredly, "Ain't like I haven't been futzing around with it for two weeks." He wants to ask how the hand is. There's a part of him that really truly wants to know. There's a part of him that wants to acknowledge that his best friend is busting her ass and drove across the east end to pick him up too.

So why isn't he? Why is there some fed up hungry ire that wants to consume the world keeping him from asking? What is this brain weasel driving what is the oddest last straw? he should say thank you. What comes out is, "Fine." with a 'nod' of his fist and a reluctant compliance and no further argument.

The truth is his head hurt like hell and maybe just maybe they'll but him under and he can get some damn sleep.