2020-07-20 - Street Fighter Battle Royale

Itzhak is a guy with a lot on his proverbial plate, but for an evening he's set it all aside so he can come visit Alexander. He even came earlier than the agreed time, so he could visit Stephanie and her kids for a while first. A wiser man, perhaps, would not do that, in case he's being followed, in case the people he cares about are being marked. But Itzhak is not and has never been a wise man. He visits them regularly and that's what he's gonna keep doing. So he's in the backyard next door for a time, helping Philly color in her My Little Pony coloring book and throwing a Nerf football for Hunter. Sometimes they switch and Hunter wants to color and Philly wants to chase the football. Itzhak's kept busy, until he hugs them goodbye.

So he's in a pretty good mood when he shows up on Alexander's doorstep, with a heavy canvas reusable grocery bag full of groceries ready to become dinner. He knocks and calls, "'ey yo, open up, I come bearing future roast chicken!"

And Alexander has likewise cleared his busy schedule of poking at things that are likely going to get him killed to make time to spend time with his friends. He's cleared away the map of the town and his observations of the recent crimes; there's a couple of scattered, crumpled post-it notes that have survived, but otherwise the living room is clear. Unusually clear. There's a 'new' jumble-shop coffee table, and several marks in the wall have been plastered over, but not repainted, yet. He's going through the cupboard to find unbroken dishes that they could eat on.

When Itzhak knocks, he can feel the brush of Alexander's mind on his, like a flashing search light, and there's a smile on his face when he opens it. He's dressed in an old Addington High t-shirt and jeans, and looks...like Alexander, really. He has a bandage on one upper arm. "Itzhak. Come in. Are you okay?" He gives the man a searching look.

It seems like a thousand years ago that Itzhak and August and Alexander stood in this living room, testing what they could do with the Song. It was less than a year ago.

Itzhak breaks into a brilliant smile when the door opens to reveal Alexander looking exactly like himself. "Bubbeleh!" Oh, he is happy to see him! Alexander might risk getting hugged or worse, cheek smooched. When Itzhak's demonstrative, he's demonstrative. But he makes it in without personally assaulting him. "Nah, I'm terrible," always honest, this Itzhak, "but I'm glad to see you. Real glad." He heads for the kitchen, pretending not to notice how battered the place is.

Alexander's eyes widen a little as he notes the enthusiasm of Itzhak's response, and he braces himself as if expecting a hug. Look. He's friends with Bennie, and has somehow managed not to die of a panic attack. Still, there's a flicker of relief when Itzhak refrains and heads into the kitchen. "Roast chicken sounds good. And I got ice cream. For milkshakes? Not mudslides. Those things wipe me out. They're sneaky bastards." A pause. "Delicious though." He follows him into the kitchen, stopping only to pinch off a wilted leaf on one of his herb plants. "I'm glad to see you, too, Itzhak. Always." It's just a simple statement of fact.

Setting the canvas bag on the kitchen counter, Itzhak starts pulling stuff out of it. Potatoes, big Russets, a couple of lemons, a package of chicken thighs with bone and skin. And a bottle of half-decent rum. "Hell yes, milkshakes." Into which some of that rum is undoubtedly going. He slows, when Alexander says that simple statement of always being glad to see him, and looks at him over his shoulder, smiling in that lopsided way. "Awww, tati. Me too." He's extra-free with the Yiddish terms of endearment this evening. Hey, Alexander told him it was okay, they're not nicknames.

Alexander sidles closer, always looking vaguely like an intruder who expects to be shooed away, even in his own home. He reaches out for one of the potatoes, and tosses it from hand to hand. "Baked?" He visibly lights up at the return affection. "Good." A pause. "It's a little awkward if I said that and it wasn't mutual," he admits, with a hint of light self-mockery. "And I have the Nintendo. Street Fighter, Super Mario Brothers, Contra, and a few other games." When he hears the relevant game name, Luigi pipes up from his cage, singing several bars of the Super Mario Brothers theme song before going quiet again. "Hush, Luigi. You don't get a vote."

Itzhak laughs and whistles back to Luigi, continuing the song. On key, of course. As always. Luigi has never warmed up to him (possibly on account of how loud he is) but he doesn't let that stop him from being fond of him from afar. A guy who loves reptiles has to have the knack for that. "Gonna roast 'em along with the chicken," he says, about the potatoes, and sets to scrubbing them under the faucet. "Chop 'em into chunks," he tells Alexander, assigning him a task while putting a cleaned potato on the counter. "About an inch big. Don't have to be pretty, like Javier would do it, I can't chop stuff like he can. Just get 'em there."

He's gone kind of awkward anyway and he's trying to cover it up. Hard to have secrets like that from a reader. Itzhak's mind is spiky, churning with activity, fractal constructs fitting into each other like gears and turning turning turning.

To be fair, only one human other than Alexander has ever been able to tame the stubborn, suspicious conure, and it took Isolde months of sustained effort. And treats. Lots of treats. There's still a chirp from the cage when Itzhak whistles back, before Luigi goes over and rings his bell furiously for a while. Take that, tall monkey. Alexander nods at the task given, and hunts down a chopping board. He grabs a knife from the block - every knife in there is flawlessly maintained, and this one is no different. He idly spins the handle in his hand, then starts to chop.

He's fast, confident, and precise, even if his grip is more the one used for chopping meat than slicing potatoes. His eyes flicker to the side as he picks on that static. He reaches out with his own mind, a bit tentative, but trying to share reassurance, the wordless idea of it's okay, you're among friends. But even so, there's a dark flash, like a hidden knife cutting at bits of the attempted reassurance at Ruiz's name.

Turns out Alexander is way better with a knife than Itzhak is, and this should probably be creepy, especially in conjunction with how beautifully maintained all the knives are. Oh, it's definitely creepy. But also attractive--this is the guy who fell head over heels in love with de la Vega, after all. Speaking of whom, Itzhak's hands slow again, picking up that flash of darkness. He's not half-bad in the mind Song himself these days. Must be what comes of falling in love with readers.

"You mad at him?" He glances over, eyebrows tilted.

Alexander's knife stills. He doesn't look at Itzhak, but the connection between their minds shuts down. "Yes," he says, tonelessly. Then turns and offers Itzhak a smile. "But I'm not at you. So. It's okay?" There's a moment of hesitation. "Or will you get angry at me because I'm angry at him? That would be unfortunate." He scrapes the potato pieces onto the blade and moves them where they need to go. But his attention remains on Itzhak. Waiting for the answer.

Itzhak shakes his head, though his brow furrows a little at the loss of connection. "Nah. I ain't about to be mad at you for that. Why you mad at him though?" The lemons need juicing to go in the pan with the chicken thighs and potatoes; Itzhak thought ahead enough to bring a plastic juicer, guessing Alexander didn't have one, and he works on that. After not too long a time at all, especially with Alexander mowing down potatoes like they done him wrong, the pan of potatoes, seasoned chicken, and lemon juice, all tossed with olive oil, can go in the oven.

Alexander relaxes, just enough to be seen. "Good. You're my friend. I don't want that to change if it doesn't have to." And from the look Alexander gives the juicer, he might never even have seen one that hadn't been used in a murder. It's studied with more interest than it really deserves. He keeps chopping until there's nothing more to be chopped, then carefully cleans off the blade, tests its edge, and sharpens it a little more. Although maybe that's about trying to avoid the question Itzhak asked. Finally, he says, "I don't want to talk about it. Not until I have a chance to talk to the Interim Chief about a few things. And maybe not then. Sorry."

"The 'Interim Chief,' huh," Itzhak murmurs. If that ain't an indication of just how mad Alexander is at Ruiz... Okay, Alexander being very interested in the juicer is cute, though, from the look on Itzhak's face watching him investigate it. Dawwww. "Yeah, a'ight, so don't talk about it. But, look." Washing his hands, Itzhak talks to the faucet, apparently. "You're mad at him, that's okay. He's not an easy guy to get along with. Nobody knows that better'n me. That's never gonna make me not be your friend. Yeah?"

Alexander frowns. "Yes. It's his title," he says, as if Itzhak didn't know that. The rest he listens to, and it brings a smile to him. "Good. I'm glad. I knew you first. You were my friend first." By about...ten minutes. Ten drunken minutes. But apparently it matters, at least to Alexander. "Are you protected? Not that I want to turn this about...what's going on. But August told me about Cavanaugh. You're protected, right?"

To be fair, Itzhak and Ruiz were not even friends at that point, but instead bristling at each other and playing some kind of tough-guy wary-circling dominance game. ...which they haven't really stopped since. But he hesitates at the question of whether he's protected. He's not sure how to answer it, and that's obvious in the funny angle he holds himself, all elbows and awkward.

"What happened to Cavanaugh's not gonna happen to me," he settles on. "He was stupid about it. I'm not gonna be stupid."

Alexander takes a deep breath. "But you are being stupid," he says, because tact belongs to other people. "If you think what happened happened because Cavanaugh failed, or wasn't smart. These guys nearly took out Monaghan and a good chunk of his people. Is he stupid?" He gives Itzhak a look, because they both know the answer to that one, even if neither of them would shed a tear about the guy being gone. "Anyone can have a bad day. An unlucky day. No matter how smart they are. Be careful, Itzhak. And let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

His mouth twitches. "Lecture over. Promise." He slides the knife back into the block, even though holding it past the time it was needed seemed to give him some sort of comfort.

Itzhak flushes red, somewhat miserably, and shakes his head. No. He doesn't think Monaghan is stupid. He doesn't even think Joe was stupid, come to that. Alexander has used a knife of logic on him and cut straight through his bullshit. He may fool other people with his tough-guy fronting and his fake confidence, but not Alexander, his friend.

"I know," he says, voice gone raspy. "I'll be careful." He swallows, making an effort to put away the awful thing bubbling under his breast, and smirks just a little. "Don't you worry. If I need you, I'll call. I won't be stupid about that, either."

Alexander lifts a hand, like he wants to reach out to the red-faced Itzhak and place it on his shoulder. Squeeze it comfortingly like friends do. The hand trembles in place, refusing to go the last couple inches to complete the motion. And, after a moment, his throat works and he withdraws, looking ashamed. "Good," he says. "I don't want you to get hurt." He looks away, to the living room, and takes another breath. "So. What game am I gonna kick your ass in? I'll let you choose. It won't matter." There's a sly little smile there at the taunt.

Is...is Alexander going to touch him?

Alexander is going to touch him. Itzhak holds still, like he'd hold still for a lizard he's trying to tame, and lets...lets...Alexander not, actually, touch him. But he tried! He tried and that makes the horrible thing gestating inside Itzhak sink away again, for now. He rewards him with a brilliant, if ever so brief, smile. "Street Fighter all the way."

The brilliant smile provokes one in turn, surprisingly sweet considering Alexander's usual expressions, and as bright as the sun. But brief. It's gone in the next moment, although the affection lingers in his eyes even as he snorts, and says, "A fair choice." He slithers by Itzhak as he moves out of the kitchen, not quite brushing up against him, but making the effort not to shrink away from the other man's personal bubble, either. He starts to set up the game system. It's old school, not a virtual console, which may be why he still has a cathode TV - it has the right cable hookups. But it takes some effort to get all the old equipment working right. "What else have you been up to? I haven't talked to you enough. I'm sorry."

Itzhak stands there for a moment while Alexander hooks up the console. He presses the palm of his hand over his sternum, eyes drifting closed, his face lined with tension. Then he shakes it off, coming back to himself. He's in Alexander's kitchen. Dinner is in the oven. Getting his ass whipped at Street Fighter is imminent. Everything else can wait.

"Feh, why be sorry?" he says, tossing his hair out of his eyes (it's really getting long) and sauntering over to sink his butt into the couch. "We all got shit to do. Taylor hired me to play at his bar, and he's paying me in real American dollars too. Garage's just about fixed up, you won't even recognize it. Roen and his girl are getting married."

"You need a haircut," Alexander notes without rancor. Nevermind that his own hair is getting shaggy. "Taylor?" A long pause. "Dante Taylor. The novelist. I remember hearing about the bar. Upscale place in the casino." He turns around to look at Itzhak. "And you're playing violin? That's wonderful." He smiles. "I will take Isabella and see you play, if that's okay? I like to hear you play. And I think they have a dress code." He bobs his head. "I know about August. I think it's good. Eleanor is a good person. August is a good person. They're good together. And I'm glad your garage is on the way." He smiles, grabs the controllers as the game fires up, comes to sit on the couch next to Itzhak.

One hand extends a controller. "So. Other than the obvious, things are going okay?"

"He plays piano, so we duet sometimes, too. Sure it's okay, bring ya girl! The dress code ain't too strict, not like it is in some places in Manhattan. This's the Pacific Northwest after all." Itzhak takes the controller, rolls his thumb over the control pad a few times to get the feel for it. "Man, been a while, usually I'm a keyboard and mouse guy. Yeah. Other than the obvious, things are going okay." Itzhak smiles down at the controller. "Hey, you're invited to Roen's stag party, but I guess you won't wanna come, because it's the kind of thing you hate. But you're invited."

"He plays piano?" Alexander pauses as he absorbs this new fact. "Interesting." He seems comfortable with the controller - but then, there are literally worn places on the plastic from his fingers over the years. But he says, "I have some computer games, too. But not online ones. Mostly strategy games. I have spreadsheets." He grins, briefly. "Or, had. I don't play as much lately." He moves to choose Gen - clearly rocking it old man assassin style. Real pleasure comes into his eyes at the invitation. "I am? Invited?" A pause. "Thank you. I won't...fuck it up. If I come. Promise. It's just surprises that, um." A shrug.

"Oh you bet you're invited." Itzhak glances at Alexander just so he can bask in that honest pleasure. "I gotta warn you, it's gonna be rowdy. I'm throwing Roen a Farewell to Penis party. A gay strip club is gonna be involved. Of course we want you to come. I just thought maybe it'd stress you out more than you'd like it." He picks Chun-Li, because obvs. "No surprises," he says, eyes on the screen now. "Just gettin' drunk and gay."

Alexander blinks. "August will retain his penis, you know. He doesn't have to say goodbye to it. I suspect Eleanor would be upset." It's all very solemn; only if Itzhak looks at him will he see the teasing humor lurking in the dark eyes. "But I'll ask Isabella if she minds. If she doesn't, then I'll come." A pause. "Are gifts required? I've never been to a bachelor party before." The match starts, and Alexander frowns at the screen, hunching over so he can concentrate. "And if I get stressed, I can leave. It's not my party."

And it works every time; Itzhak snorts and starts laughing and fumbles the flurry of kicks he was trying to enact on the screen. "That's no fair makin' me laugh, ya jerk!" Joik. "Nah, no gifts. Roen says he's got enough stuff. You can bring booze or food or somethin' if you really want. It's in Seattle, I booked a block of hotel rooms, so you can totally leave if you get stressed. It's for fun. Nobody gotta do anything they don't wanna do."

Alexander grins, and ruthlessly exploits Itzhak's moment of distraction. "Everything's fair with the game on the line," he replies, with a firm nod. His eyes remain locked on the screen. He plays with his body, the controller jumping in his hands as he leans and bounces with ever punch and kick. "I'll bring booze, then. No one will want to eat my food," he admits, with a smile. "It sounds like fun. And it's in Seattle. Chances of getting sucked into a murderous hellscape are lower. That's good."

Itzhak plays like a classically-trained violinist. In other words, mostly with his hands, shoulders occasionally jerking. In classical music you don't get to jerk around or tap your foot or dance in place or yell--which is why he left it. "Ugh!" as Chun-Li gets KO'd. Then, laughing wryly, "That's what Roen and me thought too. That's why he's getting married in Portland."

Alexander smiles. "Good game. I don't say that because I won." He grins. "And August is smart. So are you. It's good. And August's family is in Portland, aren't they? I don't know much about his family." He nods to the screen. "Another match? Sticking with Chun-Li? Or changing it up? I'll stick with Gen. He's flexible." A pause. "I heard that Rebecca left? How are you dealing?"

"Chun-Li is the best. Hit me." As the new game starts, Itzhak's mouth twists up. "Terrible," he says, and laughs humorlessly. "Fuckin' terrible. I mean..." he falls quiet and focuses on mauling the controller for a while. "She asked me to make a baby with her. I wanted to say yes, but...I couldn't. I didn't. So she left me because that's what she's gotta do with her life right now. And that's, it's good, right? Good that she left town?"

Alexander hits him. His fingers dance on the buttons - but he's also distracted by the conversation, or maybe just the 'terrible', and Chun-Li starts pounding the old man's face in on the screen. He winces. "I'm sorry. And...it might be good for her. It's not good for you. And that's okay. You don't have to be just happy for her. You can be everything else, too." He looks sidelong at Itzhak, and misses a block.

Itzhak bites his lip, and almost accidentally kicks Gen in the head hard enough to make him reel. Gaming killer instinct makes him follow up, trying to remember a finishing move, which doesn't come quite as easily as violin fingering. "Fuck!" Naturally enough he swears about it, too. "Ah hell with it I'm just gonna punch you to death." Punch punch punch! Here's one way violin helps playing video games; Itzhak can pull off an A button vibrato. "Yeah, well," he mutters, "I feel like an asshole. I'm happy for her, sure. But I'm also pissed the hell off and I just ain't good enough for...I dunno, for anything. It's stupid, I know it ain't true, Roen would bitch me out, but..."

Alexander scowls as Gen gets his ass whooped. He tries to rally, but there's not enough life bar remaining; soon Gen is on the floor and Chun-Li is victory posing. He sighs, then nods. "Another good game. This is fun. I usually play with Luigi." The bird whistles from his cage as Alexander confesses, "He's not much on strategy." Then he turns and studies Itzhak. "You can be pissed. That's okay. But--did you want to be a Dad right now? Here?"

Itzhak mutters, "Hah!" because hey, a win's a win. "Good game, buddy." And laughs, glancing over at Luigi. "Aww. Wait is that why he's named Luigi? Shit, I just figured that out." It only took him a year! Then he shrugs, eyebrows tilting up. "Yeah, I do wanna be a father. I really do. But...right now? Here? That's what I'm not so sure about."

Alexander grins, and bobs his head. "Yes. He's green, so he can't be Mario. He has to be Luigi." And that's the way the world works. "But it suits him. Mario is pudgy, anyway, and it's not good for birds to be pudgy." He hums to himself. "Most people don't get it, so don't feel bad. And it's okay not to be sure. I want to be a dad. Or, I did, when I was younger. But," he shrugs, "I wouldn't do that to a kid, even if there was someone who wanted to have a kid with me. You'd make a good dad, but...it's okay to not be ready. Even if she was. That's a hell of a thing to commit to if you're not absolutely sure."

Itzhak grins, all kinds of pleased that he figured out Luigi almost all on his own. The expression changes into something vulnerable, something soft. "You ain't the only one who told me I'd be a good dad. Hell, de la Vega was into it." He lifts one shoulder and both eyebrows in a Yiddish shrug. "Bex is almost as strong a reader as you. And I'm, well, me. Would our kid have the Song real strong? I couldn't take it if they did. I'd have to leave, bring 'em somewhere safe, and I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving de la Vega, I'm not leaving Roen, and I'm not leaving you."

Alexander shrugs. "You would be a good dad. I've seen you with Stephanie's kids. It's good. You're good." The rest, he frowns at. "My parents don't have a hint of ability. I guess I get mine from that Baxter line, but it's not in my father. But the Addingtons have a lot." He sighs. "I don't know if your kids would have any ability at all. But it's not usually...people like me, or Thorne, are the exception. Getting it early. Most people don't get it until they're adolescents. If that helps. I don't know if it does." But the last, that softens his frown a little. "You're a good man, Itzhak Rosencrantz."

"Roen had it early too. I didn't get it till I was nineteen. It fired up in prison." Itzhak thinks about that...only to get utterly derailed by Alexander calling him a good man. He scowls at him super ferociously. "Ahhh play the damn game will ya. I wanna win some more. If Luigi's who you play against, I'm gonna wipe the floor with you."

Of course, he doesn't.