2020-10-06 - Less Punchy Wellness Checks

Itzhak promised he'd come over as soon as he could. It's taken him longer than he wanted, but now! Now he is here, violin case over his shoulder, a homebrew bottle of beautiful golden liquor in his hand. "Open up, Marshall!" he yells from the porch, the grin in his voice audible. "I'm here to spoon the living Christ right outta you!"

And when Easton lays eyes on him, he looks just like he always has. Tall, skinny, lanky, with a mane of black curls and a beak on him that could double as the prow of a ship. He's got all his limbs, and no new ones appeared. He looks like Itzhak Rosencrantz, bigger than life, a long stretch of Jewish fiddler, ink, and scars.

Easton has his fake leg back in working order which means he's not constrained to the couch, so he answers the door in person. He's dressed casually in a pair of gray warm-ups and an olive green tee-shirt with a Marines logo on the sleeve, a big departure from his usual black/gray logo-less apparel of old. The call from Itzhak gets a laugh as he opens the door, "You fuckin' better. But if you take a swing like your man and I'm tossing yer scrawny Jewish ass out."

He takes in Itzhak with a look, like he almost forgot what he looked like. But that moment only lasts for a second or two.

"Get the fuck in here."

Itzhak gets the fuck in there, taking one leggy step and wrapping his arms around Easton, violin case, bottle, and all. He hugs him hard, pushes his nose against Easton's scalp and inhales shamelessly. No big deal, just smellin' him up. "You still smell the same," he mumbles, his huge nose mashed against Easton's temple. His voice tightens up. Oh no. He might not take a swing, but he very well might start crying.

Easton gladly bear hugs the bigger man, lifting him up off his feet briefly thanks to the lower center of gravity. He isn't in a hurry to break the embrace either. The fact that he smells the same makes him laugh, "Yea well you missed my initial reappearance where I smelled like a zombie's taco shits." He's still the same charmer, obviously. He finally pulls back but doesn't let go just yet, holding onto Itzhak's arms for a bit before nodding. The memory of hearing him, knowing that Itzhak was out looking for him and that he couldn't do a damn thing about it threatens to get him all choked up with emotion, but he pushes that down with the old tried and true, "Great, you brought a bottle of piss. I didn't realize it was gonna be that kind of night but I'm game if you are." Booze and jokes, thankfully help repress those weird emotion things.

Itzhak's long calloused fingers wrap around Easton's forearms, hanging on, as he stands back and looks at him. His eyebrows are at maximum tilt, giving his long face a yearning expression. "It's honey mead, ya gauche asshole." But his voice is all stroppy New York, coming back at Easton like oh yeah, wiseass? "One of Roen's neighbors makes it, she got her own bees. Our neighbor now, though. I don't even remember if you knew I moved in with de la Vega but I did so we're neighbors now too."

"Yeah yeah you and Gunny shacked up. I was here for that." He doesn't say anything about being surprised they are still shacked up, but he certainly wasn't going to ask if that was still a thing. "Yeah, I figured you knew me well enough to bring booze." He finally ushers Itzhak into the cabin, which despite having nine thousand more throw pillows than any space ever needed, isn't as hippy-dippy Bennie-fied as you might expect. She did a good job of honoring him in the decor even if he wasn't there to veto some of the more egregious feminine touches. Others might have missed it, but Itzhak would probably hear that there is something different with Easton, something stronger than when he left. He didn't exactly take a few month long vacation, he's been at work and his craft if stronger than before, not at Itzhak's intensity but just maybe at his skill level.

Whole town might continue being surprised on that one. Neither Rosencrantz nor de la Vega are exactly known for their mild, calm dispositions. Yet they're still going, still living together, still haven't killed each other yet. A minor miracle.

"Ain't just any booze, it's special. Tastes like having sex on a perfect summer day. So too good for you, clearly." Itzhak hands it over nonetheless, smirking lopsided. He's got his head turned a little, as if trying to hear something just on the edge of what he can catch. "You're stronger."

"Clearly. I'm more of a dirty fuck in a back alley kinda guy." Okay, he may have at one point in fact been exactly that guy but since he blew into town it's been almost exclusively him and Bennie which would surprise most anyone who knew him before.

The comment on being stronger gets a look, because physically he looks slimmer. He's lost a good amount of bulk and is looking leaner then he would like. But Itz's is dead on that something has changed. "Yeah, I didn't exactly have the luxury of relying on heavy-hitters like you out there, so I had to nut up and figure some shit out." He takes down two glasses and puts them out for them. "Not that I was totally alone. I had a dino buddy." Yes, he had a pet dinosaur, so obviously it wasn't entirely a hell-scape, or at least it was one with a small sense of humor. "Granted he got torn to shreds but.. ya know, for a while it was me and Clint." a beat, "Eastwood." Because what else would a gun loving Marine name a vicious dinosaur familiar.

"How have you been?"

The one thing that he's been eternally grateful for is friends who are willing to ask about him without asking for details. It lets him share what he can and then quickly switch back to safer topics like the bonkers side-show that is life in GH.

Itzhak doesn't mean physically stronger, too, that much is obvious. He's looking at Easton, at how much weight he's lost, but he's not seeing him. He's listening. "...Aww, Clint Eastwood," he murmurs. "May his memory be a blessing. I haven't found mine yet." If Easton forgot that Itzhak has this side to him, this powerfully-glimmering shaman who crosses the border fearlessly from both sides, here's his reminder.

Surely he did not forgot, though. Not when They let him hear Itzhak trying to find him.

Still unfocused, standing there hands loose at his sides and staring through Easton, he smiles a little, faint, lopsided. "Roen just got married to Ellie, you know her right? She owns Espresso Yourself, everybody knows Ellie. Everybody took care of Bennie. The whole town's adopted her at this point. Isolde and Bex broke up with me, went to go do something productive with their lives. De la Vega kept me, so can't complain too hard, right? I think he might be the one, Marshall, terrifying as that is. I think we're in this for the long haul."

"Amen." Easton is hardly religious so he does his best with a meaningful nod when Itzhak blesses the fallen dino buddy. The comment after though gets an eyebrow quirk, "Found your... dinosaur? Is that a thing? Because I thought I had just fuckin' lost it from loneliness and was so glad that one damn thing over there wasn't trying to kill me that I just accept it." Goodness knows of all the people here, Easton was probably one of the most equipped for survival and least equipped for the mental pressure of being alone.

But no, he will never forget the pain of being able to hear Itzhak open a door, get a whisper of the song as Itzhak once showed him in a kithe and not be able to do a damn thing about it.

"Yeah and apparently matching handguns is out for a wedding gift, so I think a glock 34 for him and maybe a nice knife for her. " Yes, there are other more traditional wedding gifts, but Easton's not really what you would call a traditional gift giver. "And she's great, though somehow I've managed to avoid spending much time with her. I think Roen's worried ... because of the abs." Yes, that's the only reason why Easton hasn't spent time with Ellie obviously. He grins and shakes his head, "Yeah, I woulda lost money. No offense. Not on account of you." He reconsiders, "Well, not just on account of you."

The fact that Bennie has been pretty much adopted by the entire town makes Easton look down at the ground, a little overwhelmed in gratitude for everyone. The fact that Vic was ready to murder people, give up her job, do anything to protect Bennie was touching enough, add to that Ruiz coming in all growly about how Easy's return impacted her and now Itzhak talking it up, it's all a lot for him to take. He just looks at the ground and nods, his eyebrows knit up together. He can't even make a wisecrack about it, and finally has to point at the booze and lift his chin, silently demanding they start this party.

"Found my...yeah, dinosaur. Or whatever, I guess. The one that wants to be with me, like Clint Eastwood wanted to be with you. I can hear there's something out there. Just haven't found." For Itzhak, this man of power who transgresses so many borders--the borders of reality, the borders of gender and sexuality, even the borders of law and lawlessness--what could such a creature be? Even he doesn't know, it seems.

He obeys Easton's chin, popping the stoppered seal off the glass bottle while he listens to him talk about wedding presents. And they make him smile. "You shoulda been here for the stag party, man. We went to Seattle. There's pictures. I was his best man. There's also pictures of me crying a lot at the wedding."

He makes it sound like Easton was just shipped out, maybe, and the dates didn't line up for him, while he pours. The scent of the liquor is ambrosial: honey, but not too sweet, rich with wildflowers and yeast.

Easton tilts his head at Itzhak as he expresses not just understanding but more knowledge about having a dinosaur side-kick. He nods, still confused but willing to roll with it.

When talk shifts to the stag party though Easton is on more firm ground so to speak. "Aw man, I'm very, very sorry I missed this. I would love to see photos. And I bet you wept so damn hard." He grins at the thought of August and Ellie being unmoved and Itzhak absolutely losing it, loudly.

And really it's a lot easier for Easton to think of it like he shipped out too. He's very much treating this as coming back from a conflict zone. Just a conflict zone that happens to be magical and not follow the rules of reality as most people on earth know them. The liquor is sniffed tenatively before he takes a big gulp, no tasting sip here, and pulls a face that fades quickly into one of thoughtfulness and then acceptance. There was very little chance Easton wasn't go to drink this, it's just how much he's going to enjoy it that was in question.

"So Cavanaugh got roughed up and your man's in deep?" He doesn't bring up specifics but if Ruiz is telling him, Itzhak has to know. Right? Let's hope so. "Sounds like a less whackadoo and less fun set of problems rolled in without me?"

Itzhak takes a long drink himself, less gulpy, but deep; he knows how good the stuff is, and he sighs blissfully when he comes up for air. The question Easton poses him next, though, has him furrowing his brow, eyebrows going unhappy. "Yeah. But let's...let's not, yeah? Not tonight. Tomorrow's soon enough. Lemme show you pictures. Let me play for you. Let's just do our things. Yeah?"

He looks at Easton, anxiety simmering in his eyes.

Easton wants very, very badly to do just that. To be able to drink and relax and enjoy the company of a good friend, and yet? He's also really twitchy about it in some ways. Itzhak wants to avoid talk about those issues tonight, Easton definitely wants to avoid any talk of the veil. Drinking. Music. Embarassing Photos. That sounds like a plan. He nods, "Fair enough. Not then any idea what kind of proof this is because I'm gonna need something like horse strength." Horse strength? What does that even mean?

He takes another sip of it and says, "It's tasty. A liittle sweet for me to want to down cups of it." He glances over at Itzhak, "But yea, what are you playing, happy hillbilly music was it? Banks loved him some twangy fiddle shit. I didn't love it then..." He gives a half shrug and says, "But it's grown on me." And by grown on him he means that he has multiple country playlists and favorite country artists and bluegrass bands he listens to regularly. The fact that he would rather mention Tom than talk about the veil is pretty telling.

Itzhak snorts laughing. "Horse strength, the fuck that mean, ya yutz?" The mead's like strong wine, but 'knock Easton Marshall on his ass' potency, it isn't. He brought it anyway and he's making him drink it anyway. "Happy hillbilly music it is, Marshall. ...You know, you never mentioned Banks to me so much, before." Before, as if they're exes, or perhaps mutual survivors of an apocalypse. The Before-Times. And Itzhak handles it, of course, without any grace or tact whatsoever. "A couple times, but only, yannow. His name. There was that time you went to see his widow and I totally kinda told you to bang her, sorry about that. Not who he was, the stuff he liked."

"Horse strength, that's how I imagine hillbillies testing their moonshine." His face curls slightly into some character-esque snarl and he affects a terrible 'southern?' accent, "One jar should drop a horse, if don't, it ain't strong enough." Thankfully this is kept brief but he still finds it amusing to fill in backstory for the phrase he made up on the spot. When Itzhak comments on Banks, Easton's eyebrows raise. And for a moment he considers either playing it off or asking for a subject change of his own. But really, it's been long enough now so he downs the rest of the mead, which is not what it's for really, and nods. "Yeah, well I was fucking mess." Was? Really Marshall? "He was the only person I ever considered family and then he gets blown to shit, with my leg and my career and .. there just wasn't much to say about it." Which is a terrible lie, there's tons he should say about it. And while he's not quite as reticent to use his words as Itzhak's main man, he's certainly not one to talk about it sober. "I woke up in the hospital and saw him.. thought I dreamt that he died cause he was right there looking unperforated and fuckin' pleased as punch with himself. Turned out to be his ghost.."

He pauses a moment to go grab a bottle of something stronger, and it lets him say over his shoulder, "And you were there for what happened to Ghost Tom." What happened. He silently criticizes himself for taking his own actions out of that statement and clarifies, "What I did, with Gohl." He sacrificed Tom. He chose to put that shirt in the grave, knowing it would sever the connection. He pours the whiskey into a glass and sets the bottle down by the mead. Desperately needing to change the subject he cracks, "Oh yeah and thanks for that bit of shitty life advice you numbskull. What are you trying to do to me?" He's smiling when he says it, but it's clear he's only half-joking about ruining his life.

And while Easton might be getting better about telling the facts of Tom's story, he manages to do so with very little details about who Tom was. Why he was considered family. What really made him a person. Maybe without realizing it, he holds that all back.

Itzhak frowns; he doesn't know, at first, what Easton means by 'what happened'. But then--the eyebrows go up. "Oh," he says, soft, an involuntary sound of comprehension. "That's who...I saw him. I didn't know who that was or what..."

Easton sacrificed his beloved ghost. Itzhak swallows. He himself crushed the violin that had been his companion for half his life. But Easton's sacrifice seems far more enormous to him, far more a piece of him ripped out and stabbed on Gohl's crappy altar.

He's as grateful for the subject change as Easton. "Yeah, well, the really important question is, why are we talkin' about this while standing around?" He promptly slings himself on the couch, long lanky dude, and beckons the other man over, arms spread. "C'mere and fuckin' snuggle me."

Easton doesn't notice any confusion on Itzhak's part because he's pointedly looking at the whiskey when he talks. Which is still an improvement for him from just drinking the whiskey and not talking. He finally takes a drink at the end and just nods as it dawns on Itzhak who the other Marine in dress blues was and what actually happened. It's not like Easton was in a hurry to explain that to anyone. And of course he would argue that it was partially selfish, once he found out Tom's ghost wasn't actually a remnant of Tom just some Tom shaped memories given life he wanted it to be gone... he thought.

Easton looks at Itzhak ruefully with his glass. Yes, he fully intends to cuddle up with the big guy and no he would never have done something so vulenerable as 'ask' but even saying it out loud is uncomfortable. Tom wouldn't have said it out loud. Easton lets himself admit that. It's the same wall he keeps hitting with Ruiz or Geoff or Alexander, things that need to be said or boundaries that others need. But he also doesn't say no, just grabs the bottle and grumbles something about his couch and then tucks himself up under Itzhak's arm.

"They tried to fuck with me over there..." Which, duh, that is literally their entire goal so why he feels the need to say that isn't clear. But eventually he gets around to, "Kept seeing Tom. Just like a in a crowd or... walking away."

It's a gift Itzhak has, to say out loud the things that most men wouldn't. Not Ruiz or Alexander or Easton or, well, he doesn't know Geoff much but probably not him either. Itzhak says it. C'mere and fucking snuggle me.

He wraps his arm around Easton's shoulders, not as dense with muscle as they once were. Itzhak himself, though? Just the same. A lean layer of muscle over a tall bony frame. He smells like coffee and cigarettes and spicy soap, tinged with the rich wildflower honey of the mead. "There, that's better," he murmurs, settling in, wrapping long fingers around Easton's bicep, his mead in his other hand, resting on his knee. Resting his forehead lightly against Easton's skull, he sighs honey wine down the other man's cheek. "They do that. They know. They always fuckin' know."

With a bottle of whiskey to help balance out the cuddling Easton can let himself actually relax into the couch. He is definitely thinned down from before, less bulk, more definition and more scars too. He gives a small nod of agreement that it is better. Easton shakes his head and says, "I know, and I make it so damn easy. Like all they gotta do is push that same button.." knowing you have a weakness doesn't really make it any easier to overcome. He wishes that he could make it something they couldn't exploit but he's yet to find a way.

"What about you? What did I miss in the world of Itzhak Rosencratz. Did you get your shop fixed up?" Last he knew Itzhak's shop had been irrevocably broken down to the last wrench. And it feels like a safe question to ask. Maybe.

In this case, it's safe. "Mmmhm. All fixed up. Thinkin' about hiring a couple of the kids to do some of the scutwork, I can't even tell you how tired I am of oil changes." Itzhak sighs again, happier this time, softer. "I built me a workshop in the backyard of de la Vega's place--well, his and my place now. Our place." The big idiot is in love, with the unlikeliest candidate in town. "Both of us, yannow, sometimes we got problems just being around someone else and that way we kinda got our own places to go. My new violin is done, gonna pick it up a few days from now. Can't hardly wait."

Easton happily leans his head back and is relieved to hear mundane details about life progressing. No talk of dead serial killers or superpowered dowagers or exploding actresses, none of that, just life moving on. He makes appropriate "Nice" responses throughout. And laughs at the 'our place' line, partially because he and Bennie now have an 'our place' as well but also at how unlikely the fact that Ruiz & Itzhak successfully navigating cohabitation is. "Oh really? My broken nose knows nothing about your man's inability to be around someone else sometimes." And Easton weirdly has the opposite issue, a 'neediness' that he despises to have someone around.

"That's great! You want a showcase night at the Deuce when you get it?" Easton's ready to help celebrate, especially since he knows what happened to the old one.

There's nobody better than a Jew for knowing that life goes on, and it's the small things that make it happen. Itzhak groans theatrically over Ruiz breaking Easton's nose. "Christ. I thought I was bad about punching my feelings out but that was before I met Javier freakin' de la Vega." But he doesn't apologize for the guy. That's Ruiz's job, to apologize for the shit he breaks (including noses).

"A showcase night?" Itzhak's tone ratchets up--that's an offer he hadn't expected. "Well. Shit, yeah, let's do it!"

"Fucking same." Easton readily agrees about the fact that punching out feelings was a specialty of his until he met the master. And it should be noted that Easton broke his own nose with a poorly placed drunken headbutt gone wrong. But he also doesn't feel the need to point that out. There was punching, his nose got broken, why get into details. He shakes his head, "I mean he really doesn't pull his punches." It's not a complaint, more a statement of truth that almost borders on compliment.

"Good. What fun is having a bar if you can't inflict your friends on patrons who are just trying to get shitfaced in peace." Easton grins and takes a sip from the bottle, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Grateful to get to make mundane plans again.