2020-08-27 - The Silver Fox Club

Normally, Niall is more of a coffee man, with the occasional beer a few times a month. But it's been a rough few weeks, what with the murder and reality being askew and all. So he's seated at a table on the deck, looking out over the water, a beer in front of him with only a few sips out of it and condensation on the glass. That suggests he hasn't been here very long. He's got a pair of wayfarer sunglasses pushed up on his head, and he's wearing a mottled gray t-shirt that looks quite soft and a pair of blue cargo shorts. One flip flopped (aka thonged) foot is jutted out. His phone is nearby but he's not looking at it. He seems lost in thought.

August comes in from the bar proper, looking for a table to relax at while he waits for Eleanor to be off work. He's in denim jeans with a few grass and dirt stains, a Led Zepplin tee with a purple UW hoodie over it, and heavy hikers. Someone did some actual physical labor today! (As much as he could get away with, which wasn't a whole lot, but it was something.)

Spying Niall, he takes a seat nearby, wincing as he does so. Yes, he has to ease back into this whole work thing. "Hey," he says, tone somber. He can't help it; seeing Niall reminds him of Henry. "How you holding up."

As is his wont, Cecil is stopping by for a pint after work. He's in khakis and a button-up, and he's got his over-stuffed computer bag slung on one shoulder. He collects his stout at the bar and comes out to the deck to look around. Whoever he was expecting, it isn't Niall. It's a pleasant surprise, at least, and he smiles at the man. "Hello," he says. Then he nods to August. "Good to see you, Roen."

It takes Niall a second to realize he's being spoken to. He slides out of the reverie and inhales. A smile appears. "Oh, hello. Good to see you up and about. Feeling better? You're looking better." And then he nudges over an empty chair in invitation. "Holding up. Work's been a little strange. Been a sea of rotating stress leave, which is tricky in the high season. We've brought people in from other parks."

When he hears a familiar British voice, he looks over backwards, for a moment looking at Cecil upside down. Then he twists his tall body in his chair. "Hello hello. You waiting for someone or do you feel like having a seat?" He nods to another empty seat.

August raises his beer to Cecil in a greeting. "How you doing." He has a sip, grimaces to hear about the stress leave. It's not a surprise in the least, come to it; Henry was well-liked and regarded. "Thanks," he says, of looking better. "If you need any help with that, let me know. I might be retired but I'm sure I could put in a little here and there to help out."

He smiles at the suggested chair, shifts to it. "Definitely feeling better. And just in time to get married." He glances from the table to Niall. "Figured I'd head out to have a look at those trees tomorrow or so, now that I can manage it."

Cecil takes a seat at Niall's table and says, "I'm used to seeing Joe here, but I'm not exactly waiting for him. I just stop in sometimes after work." He raises his pint to Niall, then takes a drink. Mmm, after-work beer. "I was going to ask you if you had any plans for dinner," he mentions.

To August, he says, "I'm doing pretty well, all things considered. Say, when is the wedding? I'd like to offer a proper congratulations."

"I wish I could go with you. But given the state of things..." the short-staffed-ness, and also the fact that the cops might be side-eyeing him, "...might be best for you to take the lead on that one. I sent you a photo of the map I've got marking the trees we know of. I've got to tell the..." he drops his voice, "...police soon, but I can give you tomorrow." But then there's the talk of marriage and his expression lightens. "Congratulations."

He scoots his chair around so that Cecil can take the chair closest to the edge of the patio. "Em, my plan for dinner was to eventually eat food. I'm pretty shit at planning to put sustenance in my body, if I'm being honest. Someplace in mind, or here?" He looks between the two men. "I'd introduce you two but it sounds like you already know each other."

"Not a problem," August says, of both Niall not being able to come with and needing to tell the police. "Got the map, marked off our fastest trek to the various spots. For talking to the cops, Detective Wilkinson's your best bet." He pauses. "Did I tell you that already? She was Alexander's suggestion. She has," he rubs his fingers together, "so if there's anything hokey she won't be put off."

He grins at Cecil, happy to discuss the pending ceremony. "Why thank you, and it's this coming weekend," he says, and has a bit of his stout. "Stabbing or not, I'm getting married in my damned month." Yes, the entire month belongs to him. No, this is non-negotiable. There's no frenzy of wedding prep stress evident in him, and thank God for that; his sisters have been helping Eleanor out, and everything is running like clockwork. Nothing else is, but come the 30th he's standing under a canopy and breaking a damned glass.

He lifts a shoulder at Niall's comment, looks askance at Cecil. "We know each other from here. Not sure what that's called. 'Alcoholically' knowing someone?"

Speaking of the sailor - Joe's a regular. He's got that one stool by the corner he tends to favor. He comes in, the roll of his stride exaggerated by the limp. Might be too long a day at sea before he scudded in ahead of the storm, might just be the pressure changes making his implants act up. But his expression's amiable enough, as he wanders up to the bar. Cuba Libre's his poison for the evening, it seems.

"That was my plan, too," Cecil says. "Find food and consume it. I'm not much of a planner, myself. I was thinking we could shove food in our gobs simultaneously in some quasi-social setting." He nods then toward August and says, "Yeah, we've met. Drinking here, in fact."

He tilts his head at August. "So soon? You must have nerves of steel. I'd be a wreck. And good for you, not letting that unpleasantness stopping you." He laughs at 'alcoholically.' When he spies Joseph, he says, "There you are."

"Glad you're getting hitched, and not letting anything stop you. We all gotta grab happiness where we can, ay?" Niall says to August as he picks up his beer and sips from it, then gently jostles Cecil. "Sure. Put me down for gob-stuffing." And from the little grin, he absolutely knows how that sounds. He looks over when Cecil speaks to someone else. He lifts his beer in greeting.

August upnods at Joe, turns it into a tilt of his head towards a chair. Sit, that motion says. Drink. Bitch.

He gives serious consideration as to why he's not a nervous wreck. "I guess maybe the whole part where so many people were convinced I'd dumped her is involved. I've been way too busy being angry about that to be nervous about the ceremony or anything that might go wrong with it. I want it to go right for her more than anything else, and all these jackasses trying to get in the way of that's just," one hand forms a fist, and he shakes it. "Less nerves of steel, more stubborn like a mule. And," he raises his beer to Niall, "here here. Passion and joy are rare things, you gotta grab 'em when you can." He has a healthy drink.

"Whatcha been up to, Cavanaugh."

A wry little cant of Joe's brow for the comment about gob-stuffing. "Hey, y'all, here I am," he says, affably. "How's it goin'?" He's got that sort of wind-blown look that means it's been a day outdoors; his hair's grown long enough to get a bit wild and mussed with it now. A far cry from the old brutally short crop he showed up with, nearly three quarters of a year ago.

To August, he says, "Oh, y'know, wastin' away again in Margaritaville. Pokin' at the new book, but bein' kinna half-assed about it, truth be tol'. What 'bout you, Bear King?"

Cecil gestures at Joseph's little heat-tilt with his pint as he says, "Behave." He then says to Niall, "This is my friend, Joseph Cavanaugh. He can't inherit the cats beause he lives on a boat." He then tells Joseph, "This is Niall Tokoronga. We met over a case. Probably because I only leave home to work or come here."

To Niall, he says, "Joe writes books. Good ones, from what I've read. He might have some bad ones I haven't found yet."

"I was absolutely trying to figure out how I could put you to work in the park before you said you were getting hitched. And now I'm thinking your attention should perhaps not be divided, sir. I do not know your intended, but something tells me that's not wrath I want to invite." Niall grins as he tips back a little more of his beer. Then he looks from Joe to August, brows raising. "Bear King? That's a hell of a nickname."

He nods to Joe as introductions are made. "We've been in similar orbits the last while, but if we've spoken before it's completely fallen out of my slippery brain. Hiya," says the Kiwi. "Books, ay?"

The weather's turning to rain again, as it's wont to do, and a certain surly Mexican has eschewed anything resembling an umbrella. As he is wont to do. Ruiz rifles fingers through damp, dark curls as he steps inside, probably underdressed in a ratty old hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his tattooed elbows, and a pair of snug-fitting jeans sloppily shoved into equally ratty converse. His ballcap's replaced a moment later, and he angles toward the bar while drying his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. Fucking rain. Fucking Pacific Northwest.

"'Behave'? Cavanaugh?" August gives Cecil a look of deep sympathy. "That's a lost cause if ever there was one." A teasing smile for Joe, which becomes an uncomfortable wince when Niall mentions angering Eleanor. "Eh, I mean...I practically live there, so it wouldn't be much of a commute..." He waggles a hand. Okay, it could be risky. She started shouting at the brunch, after all.

As to what he's been up to, "Oh, the usual--keeping watch in the Cafe, reminding everyone I didn't dump her, raising some kittens, that sort of thing." He flicks a grin at Niall's comment regarding the title, and spying Ruiz, can't help but say, "Now that's a hell of a story."

"I think we ran into one another time or two," Joe says, musingly. "But I don't know that I got your name." He cocks his head, eyes Niall with that faintly bird-like air, like he's a shrike considering pouncing on a mouse, even as he proffers a callused hand. "Name like that, you from Aotearoa?" Wonder of wonders, he doesn't mangle the pronunciation. "I'm Joe Cavanaugh. Yeah, I write novels, now." As an aside to Cecil, he says, "Well, I keep the bad ones confined in my desk drawer, Soviet style."

Then Ruiz arrives, and the sailor grins, broadly. "Hey there, mi rey," he says, affectionately. "C'mon over."

Cecil glances over at Ruiz and gives him an upnod, tentative about being al that visible when the chief is in a mood. "I know, it's asking too much," he tells August with a crooked smile, "but a man can hope. One of these days, my good breeding and civility will wear off on him. I'm sure of it." His good breeding and civility has him drinking with these miscreants, but never mind that. "Soviet style, eh? I've heardt hat about you."

Niall grins quite a lot when Joe uses the Maori name for New Zealand. "Yeah, man. Wellington. By way of here." He places a finger against the table. "Was born here, but my parents packed me off back home when I was a sprout. But I found my way back here, as most tend to." He takes the other man's offered hand and shakes. His is also calloused.

He grabs another chair from a nearby table and kicks it around by Joe, then does a little scooting. He ends up pinning Cecil in that way and he murmurs an apology. "Let me know if you get dripped on?"

Honestly though, when isn't de la Vega in a mood? He has a look about him tonight like a big cat that hasn't eaten in a day or two; enough to make him snarly and annoyed, and put him on the prowl for something to sink his teeth into. Something like Cecil, maybe, trying to make himself small over there. Or Joe, with that big broad grin of his. There's a flick of dark eyes from one to the other, then to August, when he spots the botanist. "Hey, Roen. Harvey." He slides into the seat next to Cavanaugh, knocks a couple of tattooed knuckles on the bar to gain the 'tender's attention. Tequila? You betcha.

"Who the fuck are you?" is Niall's greeting, complete with a down-up sweep of his eyes.

"Oh God." August runs a hand over his face at mention of Joe's 'Sovietness'. "Please don't. Itzhak already had some guy come at him about 'we don't speak commie here' when he was using Yiddish in the hardware store. Thought he was gonna throw every screw and fastener in the aisle at the moron."

He can't say he's surprised this is how Ruiz greets Niall. Not one bit. What he can and does say, to Niall, is, "Don't mind him, he's just like that." Then, to de la Vega, "Take a load off, de la Vega, and don't harass the Park Ranger. Or he'll curse you with a Ranger Rick." A lift of his eyebrows, maybe to suggest Niall is the source of said vile concoction (well, Easton is, in Niall's honor, but that's not relevant).

Cecil's comment makes Joe's lips thin out. "Man, yeah, rumor mill's workin' overtime on me, innit?" He does have things written on him in Russian, after all. "People'll believe the damnedest things."

Niall gets a firm handshake. "Place does have a way of keepin' people here." It's not wholly a good thing, by his tone; he sounds a little resigned. He moves over enough to make room for Ruiz, but he's still close by the cop. "Niall Tokoronga. Originally Gray Harbor, but by way of New Zealand."

August's reply, however, makes the grin return in spades. "Man, I can just fuckin' bet. 'least no one here's got me mad enough to swear at 'em in Russian." Ruiz has heard him in full flow, but only at sea, when Surprise is being particularly obdurate.

"Hello, chief," Cecil says, and he smiles at Ruiz, just a little sunnier than usual, and he tells Niall, "This is my boss, Chief de la Vega of the GHPD. Chief, this is Niall. He's a friend of mine." He smiles at Niall and says, "Are you going to keep me out of the weather? I don't mind a little rain." He scoots a little closer, though, not seeming to mind invading the man's personal space, just a little.

Niall blinks a few times at Ruiz's 'greeting'. "What he said," he says a bit hesitantly as Joe fills in his name. "I see you're as warm and fuzzy as your reputation suggested, Chief." He swallows another mouthful of his beer, then nearly snorts it at the mention of the Ranger Rick. "The only saving grace of that damned drink is he didn't use my actual name. I was a little put off at the time, but now I'm relieved. I heard it keeps popping back up on the menu?" He glances over his shoulder towards the bar, then gives Cecil a grin as his head swivels back.

Tequila delivered in record time, Ruiz thanks the bartender with a rumbled gracias, sniffs once as if to clear some residual dampness out of his nose, and settles in with his drink. Knees splayed wide, he doesn't much seem to have a problem with eclipsing Joe's personal space. Or whomever else is sitting on his other side. "Park Ranger?" He glances back up, brows furrowing as he seems consider Niall in a slightly new light. "So you're the one ruining all my fucking fun. And what reputation?" He downs some of his drink, and turns to give Joe a sly look. "Eres un maldito mentiroso."

"As a threat," August says of Niall's semi-eponymous drink. "Also I think Bennie does it sometimes to see if Easton comes back to make her stop offering it." A small, sad smile for their lost friend.

He gestures at Joe. "Look, why not. They all think you're a Russian spy. Might as well enjoy it, in as much as random guys who are the Pacific Northwest cultivar of a redneck yelling at you about speaking American is enjoyable."

And around a drink of stout, he murmurs, "Your reputation as a mild, sweet man of docile temperament and tranquil nature, obviously."

Joe splays tattooed fingers over his chest, assumes an exaggerated expression of wounded innocence. "What?" he says, lifting his chin. "I haven't....." And then memory supplies example, and he has grace enough to turn sheepish. "It was just the one time. And in my defense, you had thrown the bottle of JD overboard. There are still fish drunk in the harbor as a result of that incident," he tells the cop. He's still nursing his own drink, lazily. In sociable mode, rather than determined to get drunk. He rests a hand on Ruiz's shoulder, informs Niall, "He's a teddy bear. A heavily armed, bloodthirsty teddy bear."

Cecil nods to Niall and says, "Yeah, he's a good guy." He then asks Ruiz, "Is Mr. Clayton supposed to have access to my lab? I'm not complaining, I'm just curious what his actual clearance is. We had an interesting conversation." He takes another drink of his stout, working through it pretty quickly. Today might be a multiple-beer day. "Oh," he says to Niall, "I found my car. It was in the diner's parking lot."

"You're trying to have fun in the park?" says Niall to Ruiz. He looked a bit perplexed. As August goes down the list of the cop's virtues, the lanky Park Ranger snap-points. "That, except, well, the mirror universe version of that." And then to Joe, "That's a hell of an image. Sounds like something out of a horror video game. Which is sort of appropriate given this town. Careful. You might've just given the things that go bump in the night ideas." And maybe Ruiz will fall into a Dream where he is said heavily armoured teddy bear. He looks to Cecil, and says, "Oh? That would've been my guess. I mean, presumably you drove there when we ran into each other. You didn't get a ticket, did you?"

"Is Mr. Clayton an employee of the GHPD?" Javier returns, on the heels of a sip of tequila. He doesn't look up at Cecil, and also doesn't seem overly concerned about this development. Amused, maybe. Vaguely irritated, perhaps. The fact that his phone is coming out, and a text message is about to be sent may just be coincidence. Or it may be that Alexander is about to be chewed out for skulking about where he shouldn't be. To Niall, without glancing up from his phone, "We're not having this conversation." About where he has his fun, presumably. To Joe, "I threw it overboard because it was fucking JD. The fuck were you trying to get me drunk on that shit, Cavanaugh?"

Itzhak schleps in looking like he needs a drink, or maybe five. Some guy by the door tries to surreptitiously raise his phone and catch some video of him and Joe in the same room; Itzhak doesn't even look around. The phone slips ("slips") from the guy's hand and shatters on the floor, making the guy swear, surprised and angry. Itzhak just goes on his way, oops, funny how many people's phones are breaking around him. "Boys," he says to the assembled, eyebrows hoisting wearily.

(TXT to Alexander) August : warning, de la vega might be about to yell at you about a thing

(TXT to Alexander) August : not my fault though

(TXT to August) Alexander : What?

(TXT to Alexander) August : wait for it

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : The fuck were you doing sneaking around Harvey's lab?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I don't think I was sneaking. He saw me.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Probably because you're shit at sneaking

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : ::frowny face emoji::

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Hurtful.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Either get better at sneaking, or ask my permission next time

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I can't talk to people if they don't see me, Javier. He seemed fine. It was a very productive conversation.

August winces when Cecil asks Ruiz that, makes an exaggerated face. He surreptitiously tugs out his phone and swipes out a message. He's in the process of pocketing it when it dings, and he swipes back another response, then mutes it. All while giving Ruiz the most innocent, bland look possible. "A teddy bear," he finally agrees with Joe, smiling.

He half-turns to look over his shoulder at the cursing and broken phone, eyebrows up, which becomes an even bigger smile. "Hey you. Sit the hell on down." He gestures at one of the few remaining chairs. He knocks back more of his stout. "We're discussing the sweet and gentle nature of the Acting Chief of Police." He flicks a glance at Niall. "Or his twin brother, or you know, whatever."

"How'd you lose your car?" Joe has to ask Cecil, tone momentarily bemused. Then he's back to argument with Ruiz, " It was what I had! It's not like I was pinchin' your nose an' tryin'a pour it down your throat like dosin' a kid with medicine. All you had to do was say 'no'. The fact that your palate's too burnt by all that tequila to appreciate a decent bourbon ain't my fault." But his tone's amused, not really offended. Niall gets a wink.

Then he's beckoning Itzhak over. "C'mon, comrade." Apparently he's decided to lean in on this spy thing. "Though my attempts at authenticity don't extend to orderin' actual vodka. Had enough of that shit when I lived there. That's how I ended up with that fuckin' tattoo to begin with, I swore it off ever since. Haven't had it straight that day to this."

"Er, I don't think so, no," Cecil says. "Though he does have some interesting ideas, Chief. I just think that next time, we'll meet over coffee or something like that." He smiles sheepishly. Some people around here are still cowed by Ruiz's moods. To Niall, he says, "Oh, no, I'm a very safe driver. I was just a little out of it, what with the bonfire and all, and..." He turns his attention to Joe. "Sometimes I just get out and walk. I was doing a lot of walking that night, and I got pissed out of my gourd." He's quick to add, "But I didn't drive." Itzhak gets an amiable smile. "Hello."

Niall looks rather perplexed by Ruiz's brushing off of a cryptic comment he himself made. "O...kay then." Brows go up, down, and he swigs back the rest of his beer. He picks up his phone, turns it over, checks a message. He makes a soft sucking sound of air between his teeth. "Cecil, I have to pop back to the park. Long story, not a particularly interesting one. Just fun with staffing issues with all the stress leave. Shouldn't be too-too long if you still want to do dinner." He looks over as Itzhak is beckoned over to the growing group. "Here, mate, you can have mine. I've got to be heading out."

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : We'll talk about this later.

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : I was helpful. Isn't it good to help catch murderers?

There's a brief yet punctuated text exchange between Ruiz and.. someone, that ends with him frowning slightly at the screen and shoving his phone away again in the back pocket of his jeans. The outline of that nasty-looking Sig he tends to carry on him at almost all times is briefly visible as he shifts to re-settle, and reaches for his glass of tequila. Which is hoisted in Itzhak's direction as he approaches. The shattered phone gains a glance, and then the imminently departing Park Ranger gets a glance. And then Cecil gets a glance. "Mm," is all he says to that. Seems he's cogitating on something, there. Then, "Yeah. Coffee might be better, next time." The tequila's finished off, and another summoned with a flick of his glass toward the 'tender, and a hitch of his chin.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : What about we'll talk about it later didn't make sense there

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : The whole thing seems rather nonsensical, if you ask me. I was helpful. Did I scare Mr. Harvey? He didn't seem scared.

"That's not funny, Cavanaugh," Itzhak grouses, speaking of men with sweet and docile temperaments. "...okay it's a little funny." He offers Niall a fistbump. "Hey, man. Sorry about the, uh, everything. Yeah, a'ight, see ya." Cecil gets an upnod with a hitch of those expressive eyebrows. "How's by ya. Bet you ain't bored in this fershtunken town." August, Itzhak gives a wordless one-armed rough hug. Then he claims a seat on Ruiz's other side, slinging his long lanky frame into it, and sags back with a sigh.

August grimaces as the Niall and Ruiz introduction continues to disintegrate on take-off. Well, maybe next time. Or the time after that. Or, you know, not. "Good to see you Niall. I'll text as soon as I've had a look at the trees." A brief lift of his eyebrows as he doesn't specify what trees verbally. "Take care. And seriously--if you need help, let Cy or me know. We can put in for a few days here and there."

He leans into the hug, patting Itzhak on the back. "Just think, 'wedding reception party', and will it into being," he advises. He gives Cecil a weak, semi-apologetic glance, maybe about how Cecil has accidentally stepped into the (teddy) bear trap which is Alexander gleefully hopping into police business.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Yes, you tend to be helpful. And break the rules. So I'm asking you to break the fucking rules off of police property next time

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Only police get to break the rules at the station house, then? That doesn't seem fair. But I guess staffing would become difficult.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Did I fucking say that?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : (...)

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Fine. Next time I will invite Mr. Harvey off of police premises, although it's more difficult to carry the evidence some distance without tainting it.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : God, it's like I'm talking to a 12 year old sometimes

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : I'm sorry, that was unnecessary. Thank you, I would appreciate that.

"Fair enough," Joe says. "Don't own a car myself, these days. Jus' a bike. Hell, I'm lucky enough to be able to walk to both my boat and my apartment from here." Maybe that's why he's such a regular at the Twofer. He lifts a hand in farewell to Niall. "Good to meetcha, man. Take care." The last not merely empty sentiment - this is Gray Harbor, after all.

"Oh, c'mon, it's a lot funny," Joe says, good-naturedly. "Hell, half the Russians I met when I was there was sure I was a spy. Which is, y'know, stupid - we share info with the Russians when it comes to space travel." He shrugs, takes another swig of that drink.

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : ...did someone take the phone from you? Itzhak? Is that you?

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : Oh fuck off

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : ::smiley face emoji::

(TXT to Ruiz) August : are you getting into it with him? here, use this gif, it's useful: https://thumbs.gfycat.com/PaltrySmoothAtlanticridleyturtle-size_restricted.gif

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Anyway, I'm sorry if I frightened or disturbed Mr. Harvey. He seemed fine, but I suppose he was just British.

Cecil nods to Niall and says, "Okay, sure, mate. Just give me a call. I don't have any pressing social engagements." He says that with a wry smile. When does he ever have pressing social engagements? He takes another drink, blithely oblivious to the hornet's nest he's unwittingly busted open. To Itzhak, he says, "I haven't had time to get bored. It's not just the murders, either. I saw ghosts. I think I saw you there, too."

"S'all good," says Niall. He pulls out a polite grin to the gathered. He shakes a finger at August's offer. "Newp. Not gonna happen. Maybe someday down the road, but not leading up to your wedding, mate. You deal with that business, I'll keep the park sorted. And message if you need any more info, yeah?" He lifts a hand to the gathered gents. Cecil gets a gentle bump of his shoulder. "Call you later. If you get real hungry, eat though and I'll join you for dessert. I might get stuck." And with that, the Kiwi is paying his bill and making for the door.

Ruiz, meanwhile, has dug his phone back out and is furiously texting back a certain someone while the others converse about Russian spies and wedding receptions. Brows furrowed, jaw hard, he looks mightily irritated about whatever it is that's under contention. There's the occasional snort, and reply mouthed along as he types, and then his phone is slapped back atop the counter, and an attempt at a smile sent Niall's way as the guy makes to leave. "Encantada de conocerte. Nos vemos." His Spanish comes much more easily than his second language; rough and warm and musical, r's rolled, vowels lingered on.

(TXT to Alexander) Ruiz : It's fine. You didn't.

(TXT to August) Ruiz : I don't even.. what the fuck is that?

(TXT to Ruiz) Alexander : Good. And I'm sorry for upsetting you or disrupting the operations of the station, as well. Thank you for not arresting me.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who Ruiz is bitching out over text; Itzhak tries not to smile. "You two are adorable," he murmurs, not looking at the phone. He fingerguns at August. "You fuckin' bet. Gonna get drunk and dance the hora." He lifts his head to squint at Cecil. "Yeah. Ghosts. Saw my pop. He comes around sometimes." Itzhak says this in a suspiciously neutral tone, then abruptly orders a drink. And reaches around Ruiz to shove Joe. Just because Joe needs shovin', apparently.

August pulls out his phone and after a little tapping here and there, sends another text. He gives Ruiz a small, secretive smile, tells him, "My nieces assure me this is how to effectively communicate. And you know how he can get." 'Obnoxious', in Alexander's own words.

His phone dings anew, but this is the awaited text. "Ah. Time to head home and make some dinner, feed some kittens." He gets up, writing a response as he rises, winces and adjust his left shoulder. This winter's going to be great, he's looking forward to it. "Gentlemen," he says, saluting them with his beer and finishing it off. "See you all around."

He pauses to clap Itzhak on the shoulder and give him a long look at the mention of his father. He glances at Cecil, nods and says, "Saw a guy we lost in Sarajevo." He glances a aside a second, shakes it off. Then he nudges Itzhak in the leg. "Come on by tomorrow if you have a chance? Suit's in, I wanted you to have a look at it before." And then he's off, pocketing his phone and swinging by the bar to drop off his glass on the way to the door.

The idea of ghosts has Joe going a little pokerfaced, in that way he has. For those who know him, it's as much a betrayal of upset as any scowl. But then he shakes it off, and leans over to shove Itzhak back, gently. Willing to play along, for the sake of being jolted out of any kind of unhappy reverie.

He lifts his glass in farewell to August. "Sorry, man," he says. Like being beset with the ghost of your dead comrades is just daily business in Gray Harbor. But then, he's heard his lost RIO's voice from the mouth of a monster in the Veil, so.... Joe nudges Ruiz a bit, not in the least coincidentally.

Cecil's eyes widen. "I saw my da, too. He doesn't tend to turn up, but it was him, sure as anything. It's funny, my sister emailed me the next day. We haven't spoken in years, and she emailed to tell me she was thinking about him." He shakes his head, marveling. So innocent, so naive to supernatural shenanigans. "Anyway, that's why I lost my car. I was thinking about other things, like my da."

Ruiz seems a little preoccupied with something. Maybe his conversation with Alexander; maybe the shift he's headed out to in.. his watch says fourty-five minutes. Which means no more tequila, unfortunately. Maybe this talk of ghosts. He doesn't mention any, and surely he's got plenty dead to account for, if those names etched into his body are any indication. "Cuídate, Roen," he tells the botanist, low-voiced, before extracting himself out from between the two so-called Russian spies. He's still not entirely comfortable with public displays of affection, so a brush of fingers to the shoulder of each seems to suffice as a token of his affection, before he's digging for his pack of cigarettes and heading for the door. "Need a smoke before my shift. Got a call with the DA, and that man makes me want to blow my brains out on a good day." Cecil's chair gets a thump with his booted foot in passing, and off he goes.

Itzhak upnods to Ruiz, too, all super casual like, and then shamelessly watches him until the other man has prowled out the door. Then he's presented with his drink, and he takes it while spilling himself into the chair Ruiz just vacated, so he can sit next to Joe. "My cousin texted me," he says, smiling a little in one corner of his mouth. "Was nice. She screamed her head off at me for movin' here. So we got to yell at each other about why the new Cobra engine is crap." He takes a nice long sip off the whiskey sour.

"Man, they need to get someone in to be Chief for real, 'fore he has a heart attack. He is not meant to deal with underlings he can't always give direct orders to, and he is sure as hell not meant to wrangle small-town politiciians. Truth be tol', I'm amazed at how high he's gotten in the ranks. He musta learned patience in the years we were apart, 'cause lemme tell you, he kept gettin' his ass busted down for losin' his temper, when he was a Marine." Joe shakes his head, as he watches Ruiz go. Oh ho, the magical threshold of Lieutenant Commander Motormouth has been passed, apparently.

Then he's turning that guileless blue stare on Cecil. "This place will fuck with you hard, won't it?" he says, bluntly, even as he bumps his shoulder against Itz's. "Won't scruple to use your worst memories to do it."

A grin for the mechanic. "Yeah? I'm picturin' a female version of you, to be honest."

"See you, chief," Cecil says. He then looks to Joe and Itzhak. "He's a good chief," he says. "It doesn't seem like the job he wants, but, I mean, I've worked for a few, and he's certainly not the worst. I trust him. He saved my life, but it's more than that. Maybe he'll be happier when there's another chief, but I'd rather work for him than someone else." With a shrug, he tells Joe, "This place already has. But I don't mind. It's not Texas, so it has that going for it."

"I'm not gonna let this fuckin' town burn him out," Itzhak murmurs, quiet-like, but with the resolve of steel in his tone. He drinks while Lieutenant Commander Motormouth motors his mouth, then glances at him, wry and low-key amused. "Picture me but five feet tall and blonde curls, that's my cousin Goldie." The news that Ruiz saved Cecil's life makes his eyebrows pop up, but it's interest, not surprise. Itzhak is never surprised at Ruiz going around saving lives and being awesome. Snorting, he says, "It ain't Texas, I'll drink to that," and does. He's putting that away fast.

Joe, for his part, is being deliberate. If he wants to be drunk, it's not here, not now. He gives Itzhak a look, but just nods, sympathetically. "I c'n see it," he says, and grins. "I bet she's a firecracker."

To Cecil, he says, "He saved my life in Afghanistan. I couldn't name him in Nadir and Apogee, 'cause of classification stuff, but I bet you remember the story, if you've read it." Marines dragging him wounded out of the mountains of the Hindu Kush, during what ended up being a nearly week-long running battle.

"Amen to it not bein' Texas. Man, I'm glad to be outta there."

Cecil raises his glass to it not being Texas, and he takes a swallow of his stout. "I got thrown into a torture crate by a few thugs," Cecil says, as if this sort of thing just happens. "I shouldn't be surprised he came to get me, that's the kind of man he is, but I never thought... it's just that... you know, I don't know a lot of people, and I'm not close to very many, so there just being someone who would get me out of that place left quite an impression." He's quiet a moment, then admits, "I'd rather this town not burn him out, either. Even if it means working for someone else."

Itzhak tips his glass at Joe, like, you bet. He drains it and beckons the bartender for another. A bartender who still isn't Easton. Just more reason to get drunk. "Yeah?" he says, about the torture crate. It doesn't seem to surprise him, more glumly confirm that everything ever is bad, in the Jewish fashion. "If anybody ain't given you the 'you oughta leave while you can' speech, you probably figured it out by now."

Joe's shut up abruptly at that, flow of words neatly stemmed. His hands have vanished to his lap, as he nods. Idle agreement....and then he's lifting one to motion for another drink. Apparently he's reconsidered that 'getting drunk ASAP' decision, for what he orders now is a Four Horsemen.

"I've thought about it," Cecil tells Itzhak, "but I don't see myself leaving any time soom. I have cats now to consider, and I've actually made friends, like Joe here." He gestures to the writer and offers him a small, fond smile. "And Niall, Olivia... all right, I've made three friends. And the cats. Besides, if I left, I would always want to come back just to see what was happening to the people I care about."

Itzhak shoots Cecil a wicked side-eye, like he's being difficult on purpose. "You can take the cats with you," he feels the need to point out, like Cecil is not already aware that cats are portable. Joe's sudden silence gets Itzhak's hand on his near wrist, in a wordless gesture of steadying. "Hey," he leans in to murmur to him. "You okay?"

Once he's got the drink, Joe's heaving himself up. "I need some air," he says, quietly. The bar's cool enough, but he's got sweat at his temples. "I'mma be out on the deck, have a smoke." ......hadn't he quit? "'cuse me, please," he adds, a sort of last ditch attempt at manners.

He does seem to be in earnest about the smoke, for he's got a Lucky pressed between his lips as he rises, and Zippo in hand as he shoulders out the door.

Cecil's brow furrows at Joe as he gets up. "Joe?" he asks, but then Joe's getting to his feet, and Cecil nods a little. "All right, mate. Take whatever time you need." He finishes off his stout and glances at the glass as if trying to decide if he wants another one.

Itzhak unwraps from Joe's wrist, eyebrows up in alarm now. "Cavana--Yossil," he calls after him, to no avail; his mouth twists unhappily. For a second he sure seems like he's going to jump up and chase after Joe, but he doesn't. Maybe he's figuring he can let Joe have a minute to himself. He's worried, though, that's obvious. Turning to his fresh drink, Itzhak takes a healthy swig. "So, uh," he says to Cecil, with the air of attempting to pick up conversation. There's no followup though. Just that. Itzhak waves one hand as if to indicate that Cecil should know what he means.

Cecil watches Joe go, then he nods to Itzhak, and he seems to know what he means. "I'm glad you got to see your da again," he says, "if that's a good thing." He glances at his glass again, then says, "I'd better stay sober enough to drive. I need to pop by home before dinner." He gets to his feet. "Good to see you again, Itzhak, was it?" He doesn't entirely suck at saying the name. He's the kind of guy who pays attention to things.

Given pause, Itzhak actually thinks about it. "...I dunno if it's a good or a bad thing," he says, after a moment, quiet. "It's just a thing. Itzhak it is." He offers a handshake, big calloused hand with long inked fingers. "Take care out there."

Cecil smiles and shakes Itzhak's hand. "You, too. Don't let this town eat you alive." Then he heads out, checking his phone on the way for a text that may or may not be there, from a New Zealander who may or may not be free yet.