2021-01-25 - Snow In The Park

Itzhak's here with a couple kids, a girl around eleven and a boy around seven. He and the kids are playing in the snow and going pretty hard; Itzhak's brought a shovel, which he's using to pretend to pile up snow for a snowman but is actually throwing shovelfuls of snow at the kids. "What, over there?" he's saying, while tossing snow at them to squeals of delighted protest. "Oh, over there? Wait I thought you said over here make up your mind!" He's grinning. The three of them are having a great time.

A young blonde woman sits on a nearby bench, cradling a cup of hot something, watching them play, wearily smiling. She looks tired. She has that harried air of a young mother who has to do far too much on her own.

There's nothing WRONG with snow. Snow is fun. Alexander is having fun. Just look at him, trudging through that pristine white in his ratty jeans and homeless chic, head down, muttering to himself like a crazy person. This is fun. Right? Of course it is. He sniffs the air, pauses. His head comes up and swivels towards that cider table. After a moment of hesitation, he starts heading in that direction, although he comes to a halt again when he sees his neighbors, and former neighbor playing in the snow. "Hey," he says, to all four of them.

Out and about, enjoying the day as much as anyone can when it's so cold, Turner is bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf, and a rather fetching pair of mittens that are a lovely shade of red. His curly hair is up in a knot, and his ears and the tip of his nose are pink from the cold, but... he seems to be enjoying it, all the same.

He pauses in his walk to watch the hijinks involving the snow and the shovel, his apparent resting bitch face being wiped away by a rare bright smile that reaches all the way to his hazel-brown eyes. He pauses to take in the scene, stuffing his hands into his pockets and trying NOT to laugh.

Stephanie aims that tired smile at Alexander and lifts a mittened hand (bright purple with teal stripes) to wave at him. "Hi, Alexander." She used to think he was a terrifying creep, but then Itzhak made friends with him. Now she thinks he's only moderately creepy. Like shouldn't he wear clothes without holes in them? She frowns a little. "You should wear warmer clothes." Mom senses activate!

"Hey there!" Itzhak says, chipper as hell, to Alexander. Philly, the girl, gets shy and hides behind him. Hunter, the boy, yells, "ALEXANDER" and throws snow in the air out of sheer crazed exuberance. "Hunter don't throw snow at people who don't like it, that ain't nice," Itzhak tells him. He looks over at Turner and grins. "Hey, it's the new guy! You and Alexander here oughta have lots to talk about."

"Ma'am," Alexander says, solemnly, to Stephanie. Admittedly, 'moderately creepy' is as high as he usually aspires. He smiles a little when she frowns at his clothes. "It's fine." A long pause. "Once everything turns blue, I stop feeling it." His eyes twinkle briefly, and then Hunter is throwing snow at into the air and he actually laughs, giving the boy a warm look. "Hello, Hunter. Enjoying the snow?" A glance at Philly, but when she hides, he doesn't press forward with talking to her. Instead, his gaze shifts towards Turner. It's a small town, and Turner is local, and Alexander is a regular - if moderately creepy - visitor to the library, who usually needs help finding books on crime, forensics, murders, human anatomy, and weird occult things and conspiracy theories. "Mr. Quinn," he says, with a non-threatening sort of nod.

The librarian looks mildly confused at being called 'the new guy', but smiles all the same. His face doesn't even shatter! He moves toward the group, as talking at a significant distance is weird, and Turner does as much as he can to appear normal. "Mr. Rosencrantz, Mr. Clayton." Did the young man model his manners out of some regency novel? Sheesh.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" he's much more animated, today, more relaxed and comfortable. After all, no one is pressing him about any odd things, just now! He favors the children, and their mother, with a smile. While research is his strongest suit, he does love helping in the kid's section, too! "Hi there."

It's snowing and awful outside. OF COURSE Grant Baxter is in the thick of it. He is sneaking up on his prey, snowball in each hand. He's being so quiet (he is not quiet at all). Grant is the quiet equivalent of someone with their eyes closed in belief that they're hiding. He's trying though! The GOOD news is it's loud and sloppy right now and Alexander is between he and... the target. Alexander might be empty handed but there is a snowball with Itzil's name on it that comes whipping from behind trying to find center mass or... maybe hopefully just not a baby or something. Thaaaat would suck.

"Oh!" Stephanie scoff-laughs at Alexander's parts turning blue therefore it's fine. Her smile grows a little more genuine at the humor in his eyes.

"YES!" Hunter says, because he talks in all-caps all the time. "We didn't have to go to SCHOOL on FRIDAY! I LOVE the SNOW!!" Squealing, he galumphs around in circles.

"Never mind that I have to give him those lessons at home now," Stephanie murmurs into her cup, dryly. She looks at Turner, and hesitates visibly. Then she grants him a wave and a smile, too. "Hello, I'm Stephanie. That's Philly, and that's Hunter. And you already know Itzhak. ...Everybody knows Itzhak," she adds in another bone-dry murmur.

"Ah yeah, this here's Turner, he's," Itzhak stresses the pronoun more than a little, to give Stephanie the most unsubtle cue in history, "a librarian. Oh Ch--uh, cripes, buddy, don't call me that, makes me feel like a judge is talking to me. You can call me Rosencrantz, just no Mister." That's when Grant's snowball hits him SPLAT right in the middle of the back and he yelps in a thoroughly undignified manner. "Gevalt!" Spinning around, he glares at Grant. "Oh it is ON." He stabs the shovel into the snow and drops to start packing together a snowball.

Alexander just stares at Turner a beat too long to be polite. Then another beat after that, before he inclines his head. "It's a pretty day. You seem to be enjoying it." A pause, then a hopeful, "I don't suppose the library got that new book on poisonous local plants and their effects on the human body?" Because why NOT bug the librarian on his day off about work stuff? Luckily, Hunter is very distracting, and the shout does draw his attention. He smiles, not seeming to mind the all-caps. "Is there a snowman in your future, or just--"

SPLAT

Alexander stops when the snowball arcs over his shoulder and smacks Itzhak in the back. Then bursts out laughing as he turns around. "...Baxter. Hello. I hope you're not expecting me to shield you from revenge." A glance back at Itzhak.

On one level, Joe's from a town where snow is a very rare event, and is greeted like a minor apocalypse when it shows up. On the other, he lived for years in Russia and trained in Kazakhstan, where this would be considered pretty penny ante. The balance seems to have come down in favor of the latter this evening. The sailor's in his heavy greatcoat, white silk scarf, new blue-shaded mitts, and his black fleece watchcap. Which today bears an absurd patch on the front, in monochrome embroidery: Space Shuttle Door Gunner. He's rolling with that limp, and distracted from the possibility of cider by the running snow battle. "Git 'im," he orders Rosencrantz, cheerfully.

Apparently, Turner is used to being stared at, because it doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. There was a lot of it, growing up, after all. "Sorry, Grams stressed manners." He smiles at Itzhak, though his eyes widen as he spots Grant's plot... but he doesn't spoil it. This is going to be amusing, for sure. To Alexander, "I think so, but if they haven't, I can check it out tomorrow and make sure we have it in by Tuesday. If you can't wait that long I can try to see about getting another format in, like a PDF..." As he says this, he's slipping off his mittens, to tuck into a pocket, leaving him in a pair of thin gray gloves. He turns more fully to Grant and signs, fluidly, far more expressively than he speaks, 'Were I you? I would start running.'

Philly squeals too, more in panic than anything else, and dashes behind Stephanie's bench. "Don't hit me!" she yells. "I don't like it don't hit me!"

"We won't, sweetheart," Itzhak calls back to her, while packing snow with a freakin' vengeance. Hunter 'helps' by pushing snow up in a big lump, yelling "SNOWBALLS SNOWBALLS SNOWBALLS!" Itzhak finishes packing his with the speed and skill of a native to someplace where it snows a lot, stands up and uses that long damn arm of his to whip it at Grant like a missile.

Even Stephanie squeaks a little and ducks--Itzhak is a tall dude and he flings that snowball like he means it.

Grant snickers, "Sup, cuz-uhhh Alexander." He leans around the outside as it's clear Operation:Human Shield is a bust. He had eyes locked on Itzil but when Turner is signing back to him it's all hands and no attention span until way too late. Little has really changed since school. <<Hey. Yeah he's got good throw->> The rest of that sentence doesn't stand a chance as he goes to dodge out of the way which is really only sort of hopping in place figuring out where to go to and gets pelted right in the ass as he tries to arch out of the way.

That's a sour look with a squint. The stink eye? Yeah with no heat behind it as it is arguably (there's not argument) that it's his fault to begin with. One glove swats the stuck snow off his jeans as he grouses all in sign to avoid offending the kids, and because it's far more expressive as it should be <<Maybe seeped into my shorts. Thanks. Veeeery cold. Thanks boss>> To the rest of the world? Oh yeah that's a lot of waving around for saying 'you won. I'm not happy about this instant justice thing'. It's all right there.

"There's no rush," Alexander assures Turner, quietly. "Not unless someone poisons someone else with something local in the next couple of days. If they do, I'll let you know." He doesn't appear to be joking. And then Grant is peering around him, then abandoning his cover to try and escape JUSTICE. Alexander looks briefly satisfied to see that JUSTICE WILL NOT BE ESCAPED. But then? Then he goes to one knee and starts scooping up enough snow in gloved hands to make a sizable ball. Joseph is given a brief sort of nod as he arrives, but Alexander's main focus appears to be on making one, big, perfect snowball. Not too lose, not so packed it turns to ice. Perfectly round. He hums quietly to himself as his eyes dart around the adults.

The sailor's watching, eyes bright with amusement. "Man, Itz, I'm glad you like me," he drawls, turning to go get cider. Not about to jump in on that fight, by the look of things.

Once he's gotten himself a cup, he comes ambling closer, though not so much so as to be in the line of fire. Alexander gets a faint upnod, and Turner and Grant a wave of his free hand. Then he's settling himself on a bench not far from the young mother, as if getting ready to observe a sporting event.

Old habits die hard, and Turner is soon slipping back into his familiar role of interpreter as he's done for most of the last decade with his Grams, though the laughter, and the sign indicating it, are from no one else. <<You *did start it. He's got like five inches on you!>>* To Alexander, "I really hope nobody does, because then the police will come asking me who's been asking after books on rare poisons and I'll have to lie to them to protect my patron." He is definitely in better humor than at Espresso Yourself. Joseph gets favored with the same bright smile, then Turner is casually crouching to start packing his own snowball, since it seems war is coming.

"HAH!" Itzhak crows. He signs <<You're welcome>> in a flourish of rainbow-knitted fingerless glove, grinning like an asshole at Grant. (Hunter yells "HAH!" in perfect imitation, and in a victory dance, throws himself down in the snow and rolls around.) "I only KINDA like you, Cavanaugh, you better watch it!" Itzhak informs Joe. Then he realizes Alexander's packing a beaut of a snowball, and somewhat alarmed, starts working on another. And now Turner's joining in the action and Itzhak eyeballs him up, gauging the new competition. "Oh you wanna play rough, huh?" he says, mock-menacing, but it could be menacing, even though he's wearing rainbow gloves and packing a snowball while a little kid rolls around next to him.

"Hi, it's Joe, isn't it?" Stephanie asks Joe, while Philly crouches at her feet to make a snowball too, but probably one she has no intention of throwing. She just wants to make snowballs. All the cool kids are doing it. "Itzhak lent me your book."

Grant laughs and signs back to Turner glibly comfortable enough can pick up. All the damn mentalists in this town. <<Only standing up he does.>> Big words from the human Pokemon there. He might end up eating an extra snowball for that. It's all in good fun. <<How you been? Also you might want to stand...there>> he points just a bit off the sidewalk as it looks like reprisal is totally happening. It then registers and he stops combat (read: becomes a standing target) "Spaceman!" OH happy fucking day, bitches! If he wasn't living his best life already he is now. "Careful," he announces(?) "Clayton is an ace baller, Itzil."

Alexander shakes his head at Turner. "Don't worry about lying for me. The police won't be surprised. They never are," he says, with the serenity that comes from having a lot of conversations with law enforcement about his reading habits and other hobbies. His eyes flick among the moving hands, following the speech. His return signs are halting, dragged with difficulty out of the collective unconscious of the fluent speakers who surround him, <<He is standing up.> Just in case Grant didn't notice.

He smiles at Baxter talking him up, and now he can't NOT throw, can he? He moves and hurls a fastball of snow right at Itzhak, trying to give the lanky and athletic mechanic as little warning as possible.

Joe's settled in, comfortably, holding his cup in both hands. To Turner, he says, voice mild, "Well, 'least you don't have to give 'em anythin' less they show up with a warrant, right?"

Itzhak's comment is greeted with a playful arch of his brows, and "That so, Rosencrantz. Well, thanks for warnin' me, I'll be layin' for you sometime, then. I may not have been a sniper like Javier, but I bet I c'n sneak up on you. You'll never see me comin'." Stephanie's comment makes the blue gaze dart her way, and then he's leaning over to offer a gloved hand. "It sure is. I don't think we've met. Oh, yeah? Which one?" He has more than one?

Grant receives a little salute, two fingers to temple.

<<Wait, was that a...>> Turner's right index finger starts to point to the first knuckle of left index finger, only his index finger sticking out, before he shakes his head, hands negating the sign before it's completed. It's the proper anatomical sign, but Turner's always been shy about such things. <<... joke about size? Things have been difficult since Grams, but I'm coping.>> Snowball finished, he moves on to another, apparently prepping ammo for the war in between self imposed interpreting duties. Signing while speaking, "True, but 'come back with a warrant' just seems hostile."

"Yeah I know he is, that's why I'm worried!" Itzhak says in response to Grant--then doubletakes and gives him a hell of a stinkeye. It promises vengeance. So much vengeance. Possibly vengeance of the 'accidentally' eating Bax's lunch variety. Distracted, he only too late catches Alexander's move and tries to whip out of the way, only to take it on the side. PAF! Snowsplosion everywhere. "Ah darn you to heck, Clayton!" Hunter shrieks in total glee. "Whose side are you on anyway?" Itzhak asks him, laughing.

Why yes, he is watching his language around the kids. He points at Joe, with all that tough-guy swagger he's got at his disposal. "You talk big for an old guy." But will the non-cussing stop him from the New York style trash-talking? No sir, no it will not.

Stephanie didn't know there was more than one book, by her blink. "Oh, uhm, the astronaut one." Of course that's the one Itzhak gave her. She shakes Joe's hand gamely with all that mitten. "I'm Stephanie. Itzhak used to rent with me." So... of course, of course Itzhak got bonded to her little family and now he does this kind of thing with them. What else could you possibly expect?

Grant is just smiling SO pleased with himself. He's clearly hung around Vyv long enough to learn some primo casual smug. The answer to Turner is an eyebrow waggle. That's a yes. Yes it was and it was grade-A hilarious ask him. But now there's people starting to gird for snowy snowy war and that means it's time to reload. He can do that by feel. His focus shifts between Alexander and Turner now with an openly sympathetic look. "Sorry about your bubbe, man. You're at the library now yeah?" Spoken as his hands are busy. His eyes briefly leave Turner and go back to let him answer. He puts a pin in his cap to flag down Cavanaugh when he's not amid snowy warfare.

Alexander grins, pleased at the paf of his snowball hitting Itzhak's side. But he doesn't dive down to gather more ammo. Instead, he backs up a little, and his hands go back into his pockets. "There. I've avenged my distant family member," he says, with the faintest of smiles for Grant. Mind you, that's not exactly the most ringing endorsement - but considering how vehemently Alexander usually denies any family membership at all...well, he must be warming to Bax. "I should keep heading home. But it was nice to see you all again." He turns and walks away without another word or even waiting for any other parting. His head down, his trudging gait steady.

Joe concedes Turner's point with an inclination of his head and a tip of his cup that nearly spills an inadvertant libation onto the snow. "Fair enough, fair enough," he allows.

"I surely do," Joe admits, without a hint of shame. "But I am the best."
Stephanie gets a firm handshake. "Pleased to meetcha, Stephanie. That's right, he's mentioned you. Who're your young folks there?" A jerk of his chin indicates Hunter and Philly. He watches Alexander go with no comment - used to Clayton's habits, perhaps.

Stephanie smiles at Joe, a little nervous. He's an astronaut! Itzhak has been very clear on this point. "This is Philomena, we call her Philly," to the girl at her feet, "and that's Hunter over there, 'helping' Itzhak."

Philly can't get her snowball to be a ball, instead getting it to be more of a heap, and abruptly bursts into tears. She starts quiet, but within a few seconds she's wailing, red-faced. Stephanie gets up. "Sorry, she's overwhelmed."

Itzhak abandons plans of retribution and says to Hunter, "C'mon, buddy, we gotta go home."

"AWWWWWWWWWWW!" Hunter yells.

"Yeah, I know, I know, but your sister don't feel good, we gotta make sure she feels okay, right?" Itzhak pulls him up out of the snow and briskly dusts him off, while Stephanie collects Philly, who's sobbing. "Hey, see youse guys," he says to Joe and Grant and Turner and...oh, Alexander's leaving, "Don't die!" he yells after him, and then this odd little family unit heads off along the sidewalk.

Watching first Alexander, then Itzhak and his little found family head off, Turner's expression turns a bit wistful, but he continues shaping snowballs after a friendly wave. Even if the war is over almost as soon as it began, someone will find them useful... or they'll freeze and become a deadly weapon that sparks a civil war.

<<Yes, started a few weeks ago. I like it. What about you?>> He's speaking as he signs, so nobody will need to feel like they're isolated.

Grant is like a goddamn dandelion in concrete. It takes so very little to make him fucking happy. Having family claim him? Pretty high on that list. This is not wholly new news. The battle is dissipating so instead? Well there's snow packed and he starts making a tiny snowman diorama. They're starting to reach up now but when they're melting later it'll be funnier with that smowman 'help me help me' look.

<<"Couple months back the trailer I was living in with friends? Burned. Gone. Then week after? Job burned. Gone. Someone's been setting fire to places. It... sucks.">> There's the body langue that's resigned like what can ya do about it? There's a pause and a small smile. An upturn in the story. <<"After? Moved in with friends. Got to see England. The real one.">> (There's a fake one? New England maybe?) <Now I'm working for Itzil there. Painting cars. Doing an art show soon so... I got a job job? Weird. All of it weird. The Library is good. I want to do another sidewalk drawing -there-library- you need to join me.">> There's some nodding there as if he's planned this out and has agreed with himself that yes, yes more people should be in on this; specifically Turner.

Itz heads off, and Joe watches him go. There's enormous fondness in the long face, as he does. Then he looks back to the others, glancing between them. No sign that he understands the soundless speech going on before him, but it doesn't seem to bother him. Instead, he's watching Grant work with evident interest, sipping at his cider.

<<What's with the bad luck in this town, anyway?>> Turner asks, head tilting slightly. He's still vocalizing as he signs, and is still making snowballs when he isn't talking, apparently just enjoying the childlike activity. <<I'm sorry about things burning, but I'm glad you got to see England. I went to the Faroe>> he fingerspells the word <<Islands for a month after I graduated college. It was beautiful... If I ever live anywhere except here? There.>> He turns, catching Joe's expression, smiling a little as he does... apparently reading something into it.

Grant watches and a small smile widens more at islands <<Cool!>> "Nice man. Hey, Mr. Cavanaugh, come check this out." Looking up his hands busy he can still lip read pretty damn fair. His eyes go to Joseph then to Turner, "He still wins. That is Mr. Joe Cavanaugh. He lived in orbit. Legit spaceman. Totally helping me set my retirement plan tor tour the cosmos." That could be also just some good drugs he's vibing on too, or, ya know, pretty big goals. "Mister C, what happened to your leg anyways? This is Turner. We went to school together."

Joe heaves himself up from the bench to come ambling over, still with that limp rendering his stride uneven. "Well," he says, mildly, "I was in a wreck. Specifically, my last landing. No one died but everybody came back with injuries....and after all that time up there, bones are real weak. I broke my hip, embarrassing as that sounds. Turner I met, but I didn't know y'all were friends. Good to see ya."

"Likewise, sir." Turner says with a smile, still signing away as he also speaks. No matter how many people tell him not to call them 'mister' or 'sir', he's going to keep being formal until folks tell him not to be. "I'm sorry to hear about your accident, but I'm glad you seem to have healed so well from it." he smiles at Grant, a little shyly, "We don't really run in the same social circles, but Grant is a good person." it's said with fondness. Turner never even went to a high school party, after all. It's a miracle he had ANY friends.

Grant listens soaking up the details for later use. Good to know. "Well, it's not every day one can say they're such a badass that they crash into meteors instead of the other way around. May they drift out there in crumby crumby fear." He's quieter than he should be. It might beat shouting as he ballparks modulating volume right now. Amazed at his own words his hands amplify by the gregariousness of the endorsement how weird this is for him admitting, "My social circle got weird in the last year but... better?" And serious faced as any he says "Mr.C if you're around downtown tomorrow you should come by the patissere so I can show you the stuff I've been working on. Totally making a whole gallery based on those lil aliens we were helping out." That's a metaphor right?

"It was... super successful since you explained now chart navigation works." There's a pause and he looks to Turner, "What we need... is an intergalactic Grub Hub as an excuse to do more travelling to cool places. Maybe Space to Face? Needs name. Man I'd so deliver for that shit." He doesn't even drive but fuck it.

"I was very lucky, and I got the best of care," Joe allows, quietly. "And so I've found." He grins at Grant, before glancing back at the librarian. A chuckle for the purple-haired one. "Crazy, huh? Wasn't how I pictured my career ending, but...." It's been long enough he can be philosophical about it. "I'll do that, Baxter," he says. "I'd like to see it." Then he's grinning. "Makes me think of Pizza Planet, from Toy Story...."

"Little aliens?" he fingerspells the word, tilting his head quizzically at Joe and Grant. People in this town just get weirder and weirder, while Turner clings to normalcy. "My social circle is definitely getting weirder..." he admits, laughing... not that he had much of one outside of his Grams and the cat.

Grant looks to Turner and puts both index fingers at his temples wiggling them. Aliens or bug people apparently. Still he seems willing to throw a lifeline out there and tries to find a place to start, "Art show of some of my work. Soon. Couple months away. I had to figure out a theme. I'm doing a collection that follows non-humans through the struggles of a political and moral situation highlighting the beauty in things we don't normally consider but clash that against their crumbling urban landscape. Sort of a living metaphor narrating people. period. all share common emotions, struggles, and the inability to find a good monocle when you have eyestalks."

"You've met Itzhak Rosencrantz more'n once. That's enough to shoot the weirdness level into orbit," Joe says. "Grant, I'll be by soon." Then he's lifting his cup to them both. "But I gotta get on home, see about dinner. Turner, good to run into you again."

"I look forward to attending, though I worry about if most of the locals will get it." Turner says with a smile. "Those poor aliens deserve their monocles."

"It was nice to see you again as well. And Mis-... Rosencrantz seems like a very nice person." There's a significance to the look he gives Joe, perhaps hinting at something he's perceiving, if not outright stating.

"Oh, he can be an obnoxious bastard, but he's really good people. Have a good evenin', gents," Joe agrees, serenely. And with that, he's meandering off into the growing winter dusk, whistling something jaunty. A march of some kind.