2020-10-28 - Second Best (Or How A Snake Finds a Hot Body)

(TXT to Itzhak) Ravn : Got half an hour? Had odd dream. You were in it. Punched me in the face. Feels like we should talk. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♂️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♂️

(TXT to Ravn) Itzhak : whoever taught you to use emojis is in big fuckin trouble

(TXT to Ravn) Itzhak : yeah. had that same dream. where I punched you in the face

(TXT to Itzhak) Ravn : That'd be Mac the Knife. I'll get bagels. Your place or mine?🧇 Can't find a bagel emoji, have a waffle.

(TXT to Ravn) Itzhak : I swear to christ I'm gonna sugar her gas tank. come to the garage. get lox and schmear too, pay ya back

It doesn't take more than half an hour or so before one Danish guy wanders up to the garage with a bag of bagels and well, two Danishes. Even on foot, Ravn must have been out and about already -- heading, perhaps, to the bakery even as he texted. Maybe he's one those annoying people who hold up traffic everywhere by text-walking, eyes fixed on his phone like some kind of sluggish zombie. Or maybe this conversation was just important enough for him to get on with it on the off chance that the mechanic was home. After all, where would one expect a mechanic to be during work hours, if not in his workshop?

Nothing unusual here except that for once, he's not carrying his violin case.

Ravn wanders in and looks around, trying to determine where the mechanic in question might be hiding. He's got a mildly puzzled expression like a man still trying to sort things out in his head. Also, he's wearing a purple -- well, scarf is a generous word, but it's not posh enough to be an ascot. Maybe he really did take Itzhak's advice on brightening things up a little if he wants to avoid attention and curious looks.

Might be hard to spot Itzhak, because Lemondrop is out and she rather commands the attention of the room. Fifteen feet of brilliant white-and-yellow, she's part draped across the loveseat (and Itzhak, it turns out), and part spilling around on the rug. Itzhak has her in his lap, at least, what of her he can hold in his lap, and his arms around her, while her big blunt head noses around in the cushions. He's cuddling the python as if she's his favorite teddy bear, his cheek mashed against her scales.

Lemondrop doesn't look around when Ravn comes in, but her tongue starts going flickflickflickflick. She rears up a couple feet, 'periscoping'. Itzhak looks around. "C'mon in," he calls, "don't mind us." He looks tired.

Ravn wanders over and places his bag of assorted foodstuffs of a generally European origin -- not going to say style here, because bagels and Danishes are both decidedly American takes on concepts that originated in Europe -- on the table before plopping himself down unceremoniously. The Dane proclaimed himself not bothered by reptiles on his first visit and from the looks of him, he wasn't lying about that. He holds a gloved hand out for the snake to sniff-lick if it wants and just generally admires her for a bit -- she is an impressive piece of nature's art. "How's she doing? Eaten any customers this week?"

The Dane looks a little tired himself; not so much physically exhausted as wearing the expression of someone who woke up at 3 am and spent the rest of the night ruminating on big and important things from his distant past. Or had a bad case of indigestion -- physically or emotionally, or both. Either way he stretches his legs before crossing one over the other and cants his head. "You look pretty much how I feel."

Itzhak grunts a wordless thanks for the food, though he doesn't yet stir, closing his eyes. Lemondrop flicks her tongue at Ravn several more times, then oonches her way over Itzhak to investigate the other man, trying to probe down his scarf. "Prepping her to brumate for the winter. Letting her out one last time until spring. Lemka don't be rude," Itzhak says, in the world-weary tones of a mother who's just had it with these kids. The snake ignores him, of course, nosing around Ravn's shoulders.

Itzhak cracks an eye to squint at Ravn, then opens both eyes because this, he has to see. "Ya wearing purple. Nice. Looks good."

Ravn finds himself invaded by snake. He doesn't seem to particularly mind. Reaching up to touch the animal he doesn't have the experienced touch of someone who's handled snakes a lot -- more just a pretty relaxed air about it, as if he's confident that Itzhak would indeed tell him if the situation inferred any danger, and as he's not saying anything, it's just an interesting experience. Also, he did just come in from a brisk walk so from the point of view of an animal that relies on external heat sources for its own biological functions, he's probably quite interesting at the moment. Portable Danish oven.

"Figured it was worth trying to take your advice," he agrees with a small, lopsided grin. "I'm not sure it's working as intended but at least I now dress like a male model instead of like the angel of death, or so Vic tells me. It's probably an improvement."

Then he shoots the other man a speculative look over the head of the fifteen foot animal exploring his shoulders. "So that dream I had about you punching me in the face. It wasn't just a normal dream, then. Not if you had it too."

The snake is very heavy, a roll of pure muscle covered in sleek satiny scales. She has a terrible strength in her, but she seems completely uninterested in using it on anything people-shaped. Instead she just investigates, tongue flicking. Ravn petting her she doesn't react to at all. She does, however, try to ooze further into his lap.

"Ugh, hussy," Itzhak mutters. "She likes anyone running hot. Let me know if she bothers you." He hoists his eyebrows, shrugging with them alone. "Yeah. Wasn't a normal dream. Uh. Sorry about slugging you." He sits up, easing an awful lot of python off himself to the floor, then picks his way free from her coils to go wash his hands. Awkward. So awkward.

That means an awful lot of python has to go somewhere else and guess who's the warmest option available. "I don't mind -- it's not every day I get sat on by fifteen feet of snake. I'll just tell myself it's not personal, it's my wind breaker." Ravn leans back and, unsurprisingly, ends up camped on.

Then he looks after the other man. "It wasn't real, you realise. I was never an exchange student in the US. Never set foot here until this year. You never actually did punch me, and even if we go along with the idea that you did, you didn't exactly break my face. How were you supposed to know that unexpected touch might have that effect on me?"

"'Real' is a kinda shit measurement," Itzhak calls back from the head. He returns, unhappiness drawing all the lines on his face into creases. Lemondrop, meanwhile, is busy crawling more of herself into Ravn's lap. Not too much more until she seems satisfied, winding around Ravn's shoulders and letting her head rest drooped down on his chest, as if she's a very large scarf herself.

Itzhak fetches paper plates and plastic utensils from the sideboard, but then props himself on it, hands flat on the wooden surface, and sighs a sigh that sounds like it comes from the soles of his boots and works its way up. Then, reluctantly, he laughs, shaking his head. "I was such an asshole when I was that age."

"I think that makes two of us," Ravn observes drily. "I was so pissed off at you in that dream. For walking in and catching me practising, I mean. I really wanted you to just go and drop dead somewhere. Didn't even think to ask why you were hiding from that administrator, whatever she was, or what kind of trouble you were in. Basic human decency and compassion, that was me at age seventeen. So wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself that I never paused to consider what other people's day might be like. Sure, that was just a dream but that part, at least, was real enough."

He pauses. "Of course, I probably wouldn't have been able to ask. My English was... questionable."

"Really? Is that what crawled up your ass and died?" Itzhak peers around behind himself. Then he gathers the stuff and settles on the couch again, getting into the take-out bag. "I mean, it wasn't real for me neither. I was in youth orchestra though. I was even first chair for a little while, but, well," half a shrug, as he slices into a bagel and applies cream cheese. "Got knocked off pretty quick. Couldn't compete with some of them other kids. Sure as hell wasn't no invincible first chair like that dream made out. I was feelin' pretty fucking sorry for myself at that age, too, man, it's universal."

"What, that I couldn't make myself understood? Yeah. I went to England a few years later, drove me bloody insane. If I sound coherent today, that's why." Ravn shakes his head and tries to decide on a bagel for himself. "Or did you mean my having my head so far up my own backside I didn't even think to ask what your problem was? Yes, that bothers me too -- now, as an adult. It certainly wouldn't have bothered me at seventeen. The only person I thought was worth caring about when I was seventeen was me. Everybody else was just a random encounter in the online game of life. An obstacle, an annoyance, whatever. I liked being alone, it was a hell of a lot easier."

Astute, Ravn. Nothing ever really changes.

"So it was a big deal for you to be first chair. Why?" Curiosity comes to roost in grey eyes. "It wasn't just a matter of pride to you. You were ready to stuff that bow down my throat if I wanted to try and elbow you out."

"I meant about catching you practicing, but I guess all that other stuff applies, too. Wow your English was terrible." Itzhak glances up, a hint of a smirk in one corner of his mouth; he's just giving Ravn a hard time. "I dunno what I would have said if you asked what the problem was. 'Cause there wasn't really no problem. It just spawned me in knowing I really pissed that lady off and I had to get away from her or, yannow, doom. They drive you like that sometimes. Don't need an excuse."

He quiets, piling soft thick slices of gravlax on the bagel with so much attention to detail that it's obvious he's avoiding answering that question just yet. And he makes Ravn wait until he's eaten one of the halves. Lemondrop lays heavy and silent across Ravn's shoulders, head on his chest.

"Thought it could be my ticket out," he murmurs, eventually, and sucks a smear of cream cheese off his thumb. "In the Dream, it was. They put it in my head that if I could keep first chair, if I could put in some really good work in high-level pieces, prove I could handle the solos...then, I could get outta there. Yannow? Get into a conservatory, maybe, study with real masters. The worst fuckin' part is, that's something I thought back then, too. For a little while. Realized pretty quick I couldn't compete. I only started violin when I was fourteen. I couldn't stand up against kids who started when they were, yannow, six. Even someone who started at ten had four years on me. It just wasn't gonna happen."

"Probably wouldn't have happened even if you'd had a private tutor work with you twenty-four-seven," Ravn agrees and scratches the snake's jaw, not that he expects her to respond or care much. "Because that was the whole idea of that dream, wasn't it? To kick you where it hurt. Introducing yours truly in the role of privileged kid who doesn't begin to understand how it works."

He pauses again and looks at the other man before leaning forward a little -- not that Lemondrop gives a fig -- to finally reach for the bagel he has his eye on. "I had that, you realise. All the private tutoring I could be arsed to ask for. Life's fundamentally an unfair bitch like that since all I ever wanted out of it all was a place that was just mine. Instead, I got endless arguments with my mother about her wanting to show me off and at the same time, telling me to start focusing on important things. Looking back now -- we should have switched places, really."

"Exactly. And me kicking you where it hurt, kinda more literally. What else was asshole seventeen-year-old-me gonna do when tossed in with asshole seventeen-year-old you other than pop you one for mouthin' off?" Itzhak snorts, laughing some, unwillingly. "Christ, what a pair we made."

Listening, he takes a few more bites. Lemondrop stirs when Ravn scratches her, nudges around a little, then settles down again. "She's totally falling asleep on you," Itzhak says, as an aside, fondly. "She likes you. She likes de la Vega, too. He's warm. --You had a lot of tutoring? Man, no wonder you can play like silk." It's only a little envious. "Eh, no trade. Your ma sounds like a piece of work, no offense.

"Pissed me off hearing you only played for yourself," he adds, wry. "I didn't have that kinda luxury. Not real life, not in the Dream. Always had to prove what I could do."

"I like her. Best kind of girlfriends, the ones who don't argue. Ask my cat, she moved firmly into girlfriend territory -- she doesn't argue either, she just instructs me so I can suitably fulfill her needs." Ravn doesn't seem to mind one bit being buried under giant scaly animal, as long as he's able to somehow add cream cheese to that bagel. "And yes, I did. And I often wished that I hadn't because the whole point of learning to play, at least to me, was not to get better but to be left alone in my own headspace. Which is probably why the them thinks we're a hilarious match -- both of us wanting what the other had, it's a miracle we didn't actually end up duelling with our bows for swords."

He looks up and allows himself a sigh. "But. Yes. No offence taken. Some people are simply not good people. There are many ways to ruin somebody's life without physically harming them. I've spent more hours listening to therapists than I care to remember. But at least I won in the end, yes? I play for me. And you did too, after a fashion -- Gray Harbor may not be the centre of the world, granted, but you did get to be the biggest fish in the musical scene pond. So take that, them."

"I mean, don't get me wrong. I always played for me. Just, I couldn't only play for me. After I was outta prison, sometimes the only way I had of making a few bucks was busking and pick-up gigging. So hearing you snottin' off to me about how you had the option of not caring what anybody thought?" Itzhak grins at Ravn, lopsided, and wobbles a hand. "Didn't feel so good. That's abso-freaking-lutely why They threw us together. So They could watch us fight over the thing we loved most. Bet They got some real big jollies outta that."

His eyebrows lift, melancholy amusement in a very Jewish fashion. "Yeah, I'm the best violinist in town by dint of being the only violinist in town. Or, I was. But shit, bruddah, I'm glad you're here. I missed playing with other strings real bad. We don't gotta fight over nothing, you won't even play in front of people. Don't think I'm in any danger of losing my gigs to you anytime soon."

Ravn laughs softly, though it's hard to say whether it's at the idea of competing with the other man over available gigs, or simply that he shares the other man's view -- it is good to have someone else who understands what it feels like to lose one's heart to a string instrument. "Think you're pretty damned safe on that account even if I didn't have the hangups I do, Itzhak. We've talked about this before -- you perform. I don't. I've done my share of busking, sure, but I'm not going to put down my violin case on the street and start playing simple reels to people whom I might end up serving drinks to the day after. Might be I decide I can play with an audience sometime, but it'd still be a private one, and probably a very selective one at that. I have hard enough a time explaining that I actually like being a loner a lot of the time. But I am feeling a little smug about us not fighting then or now. Feels like we won this round, yes?"

He looks at the bagel, still not getting around to actually eating the thing; at this pace, Lemondrop is probably going to develop a genuine interest in it before the Dane does, and she supposedly prefers bunnies and chickens. "The way you talk about your past sometimes -- makes me feel very privileged. It's a bit of a reality check for me. Not in a let's find out who had it worse kind of context. More a realisation of how much I would have hated you if you'd pointed out to me back then just how privileged I was. And on some level it amuses me, too, that the theys missed that opportunity. If they were going to screw with us, I mean, why settle for second best?"