2021-03-20 - Fortunes in the Garden III

Conner has never come to one of Baba Yaga's readings before. It is perhaps a strange time to start now, with a chill miasma of fog curling all around them, thick enough to feel palpable. At least once on his walk over it was palpable, holding him like jelly, like quicksand. He had gone still, slowed his breathing, waited it out, and started walking again when the hold had released itself, but the whole thing was...unsettling. Perhaps he's as drawn by the lamps and the solace of other people as anything else...a hardware store bag in his hands says his original purpose was to get to or from somewhere else entirely. Even when things are freaky, people still need maintenance done at the apartments, and though it is not his forte he has been compelled to learn quickly until he can find himself a maintenance man.

Cautious by nature, prone to sort of seeing what others are doing or how they are handling things before charging in to any situation, he draws close but not all the way up to the old woman's table just yet. He just enjoys the sudden clear spot, the sudden lack of fog, his shoulders relaxing a little as he realizes his impulse to come into the park today was perhaps one of the better ones he's had.

No skateboard today. The purple haired scribbler of sidewalks, one Grant Baxter, has had enough of being hit by very confused traffic that really has no business driving in this shit. He's walking, Kitty in tow signing something about tacos being important and the truck possibly in peril. Apparently this is some hunt to see 'if they're okay' and not just use it as an excuse to eat his way around the park for lunch. The Mensch of Munching waders with her muttering with a sigh and a look about, "Ya know I'd play Marco Polo with them but somehow I always fucking lose that game." Big shocker there. Truly. "If we can find it then we can find Vyv's place too. It's just at the edge of the park on the downtown side where the sewing supply shop used to be before the old lady disappeared herself." So casual in that these things just happen sort of way.

Another very casual fog wanderer is a tall copper blond in a black leather jacket -- make that black everything, the man clearly has a monochrome theme going. It's not a bad look -- just a bit sombre, maybe, and it contrasts a little with the very nonchalant way Ravn nods at the old fortune teller before plonking himself down unceremoniously on the bench just a few paces off her stand. "Still in town? I thought you might be. Nice weather, isn't it?"

Kitty shoved her hands deeper into her bright yellow coat and squints into the fog. Grant is being very insistent about this taco truck. He says the truck may be in peril, but she suspects that it is in fact his stomach that is facing the peril. Either way searching for the errant taco truck givers her something to focus on other than the feeling of... something unpleasant the she refuses to think to hard about. She may not be able to shake it, but she can studiously ignore it. She taps Grant on the shoulder, gesturing to a vague silhouette that could maybe qualify as a food truck in the distance - "that it?" she signs.

Roxy has heard the Baba has been here several times in the park, and she's been waiting to see the old woman again. In deference to the chill in the air and the fog, she's wrapped up in a vintage pale blue coat with heels. She carries a large purse over one shoulder as she explores the misty walkways of Addington Park, looking for a familiar face to emerge from the grey nothing. And there she is, in an area strangely devoid of fog.

The ballerina smiles brightly as she crosses towards the spot. "Syöjätär, I see you are still here. I am glad. I have brought you some gifts, if you will have them?" Her accent is Finnish, her hair black as soot, and with the grey coat she almost seems to blend with the fog around her.

The lifted eyebrows produce a ducked head and a quick grin. Yeah. She's right. He is. He drifts closer, finding a tree, raising his hand in greeting. To her, to Ravn, who he distantly recognizes from that day in the library, to anyone else who happens to be looking that way at the moment...it's kind of nonspecific. He's not going to interrupt the two who have already approached, that's not his style either. He seems content to patiently wait his turn...and to see what happens in the meantime.

A quick glance at Roxy, one that seems to ask 'Wishes?' But of course it's none of his business, for all that he's essentially peering into these glimpses of their lives. Not enough to pry past whatever is already being spoken into the open air, here.

"She doesn't bite, you know." Perdita murmurs to Conner, appearing at his side as if by magic. The young woman's long hair is in a side swept braid, and she wears an oversized men's shirt like a dress, gathered at the waist by a corset belt, with a pair of black jeans and sturdy black boots. For her, it positively looks like she rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing that came to hand. She's not even wearing any make up, for once.

"Go, say hello to her. She might challenge you, but she won't hurt you."

Grant stops and looks around. He waits. He sniffs. He points. He signs, <<"Tacos are that way.">> Trust him, he's an expert. It's this travel though that brings him upon Ravn sitting first as he keeps an easy plod. Then he sees some 'oldish guy' (sorry Connor, he's 22), Perdita and- the usurper ballerina. He squiiint curiously. The air is clear here though and that's a reprieve. He signs to Kitty <<"Hi. Friend Ravn, him. Not the taco truck.">> He looks up first and to Ravn who presumably is the man with the answers, "What're you doin sittin around in the fog man? Ravn, Kitty. " Sure now he looks.

Ravn at least seems in no rush to actually approach the fortune teller; he crosses one leg over the other and makes himself comfortable on his bench before dipping into a pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. His is the expression of a man who has every intention of watching this show. What's so exciting about an old woman in a park is anyone's guess; maybe life in the trailer park is just that dull.

He lights the cigarette before nodding amicably at Conner and Perdita alike. The lighter wanders a few times back and forth on the knuckles of a gloved hand before deciding to hop back into the pocket it came from; parlour tricks, no doubt.

When Grant and the unfamiliar woman approaches he smiles at them as well and signs the one sign he knows: <<"Hello">>. Then, resorting to regular speech he says, "You can't expect me to miss this show, Grant. I'm a folklorist. Folklore is paying a visit. Hello, Kitty -- good to meet you. Ravn Abildgaard." He has an accent that is decidedly European; it probably wishes it was British but doesn't quite make it.

"I do not need another wish, Forest Mother. I believe one was more than enough for this lifetime," Roxy says with a soft chuckle. "I wouldn't refuse my stone, though." She still longs for that stupid rock that called to her.

She digs into her purse and pulls out a woven shawl, clearly vintage, and passes that over. "First, to keep you warm." Then comes a few battered paperbacks, "Second to keep you entertained." And finally, a bag of carrots and pears, "Finally, for your darling goats."

Kitty smiles, <<"this doesn't look like tacos>">> her expression is clearly amused, poking fun at her brother for the lack of any visible taco vending establishment. <<"Think your nose is a little off.">> She then turns her attention back to the new person and extends a hand to Ravn, "Good to meet you too."

"Bite?" Conner asks, giving Perdita a startled, owlish expression. "Oh. No, I didn't think she did, she was just, you know, talking to other people. I was trying not to interrupt."

But now he feels relatively foolish, just standing there. Still, now gifts are coming out, and he leans back over to Perdita. Softly. "Though...I didn't bring anything for anybody's goats."

It's an odd thing to latch onto. He could have latched on to shawls or paperbacks, but what he latched onto, in his awkward, stammering way, is goats. But then the old woman is asking for hair, and he furrows his brows and tilts his head. "Though I take it that doesn't matter."

"Don't give her anything you can't afford to part with. Don't give her anything too personal. I don't know if sympathetic magic is real, but if it is, that bowl has enough stuff in it to hurt most of the people who shine in this town." Her voice is low, soft, not that The Old Woman can't hear her, she's sure. There's a slightly wistful expression on her face as she glances at the bowl. She has new ones already, nicer ones, but those opera glasses have come in handy a few times, to be sure.

"Just... go introduce yourself. She probably already knows who you are... and those goats eat anything. I saw one crunching down on rocks on the beach." Perdita smiles softly, sympathetically, to Conner.

The park's being patrolled by a couple of cops tasked with keeping an eye on things. Not that any of the normies see any point in minding the business of some old lady reading peoples' palms or whatever the fuck she's doing, but de la Vega's the Chief, so his say so goes. He's opted to put in a rare appearance, himself; off duty, presumably, given the badge that's unclipped and tossed into his cruiser before he slams the door and trudges toward the entrance to the hedge maze. GRAY HARBOR POLICE across the back of his jacket, and the big, ugly Sig strapped to one hip leave no question as to what he is, though.

Well, that is something Riika...er...Roxy had not considered, that there would be a higher cost for the trade. She ponders a long moment, but then nods her head. From her bag she draws out a small pair of sewing scissors, and swiftly cuts a lock from beneath so it won't mar her style much. She ties it with a pale aqua colored ribbon also from her purse, before she hands it over.

"Given in good faith, for fair trade, Syöjätär," she says quietly. She has defeated the old woman once with wits, she trusts if Baba misuses her hair, she will outwit her again.

Grant catches it. That glint. His head turns at Ravn's directing his focus to the old woman looking at him returning that stare to the old woman frowning , "You again?" Someone is not in good faith. His signs to her with some irate gestures, <<"You stiffed me on our deal, Bubbe! Uncool!">> Dryly he says to Kitty and Ravn, "He doesn't do touchy things...and yeah...we met. She still owes me. Last time we did this dance I helped her out and He," He gestures to Ruiz, "And I got hella screwed over." Bitter, but still not lacking manners he says "Hey Hoss." And points in Ruiz' direction. "Taco truck is there, Kitty...on the other side of...Not you man the truck thereish behind you." There's a sigh and a mumbled "Fuck my life today."

Ravn looks tempted for a moment; who if not the resident folklorist to point out that actually, the idea that goats eat anything, cans included, is an urban leg--nevermind, it's Baba Yaga. Her goats probably eat whatever they bloody well please.

He nods at the (acting) chief of police instead from his seat on the bench a few paces from the fortune teller's stand. "Didn't get to say thanks for last time," he tells the officer quietly. "So, thanks. Owe you a rather big one."

Then the Dane takes Kitty's hand in his own gloved ditto and shakes it. "Grant's not wrong, though I do shake hands. I have a touch condition -- it can be very unpleasant for me if I don't see it coming. Pleased to meet you, I did not mean to be rude."

Kitty gives a small shake of her head, "You haven't been rude at all. In fact, I apologize if I put you on the spot." She is both curious and concerned at her brother's turn of emotion upon seeing the fortune teller.

A tall dark stranger emerges from the fog--wait, that's just Itzhak, rolling up on his funny half-sauntering stride. He looks distracted, eyes far away. He looks annoyed, like maybe something has been singing in his ear all day or possibly all week. It's this half-here, half-not expression that makes a magician out of him, a wild thing coming to investigate. But his head is turned in Ruiz's direction, fog or no fog, magnificent beak pointing right at the police captain.

He rolls to a halt at the edge of the space the old fortuneteller has claimed for herself. His hands fidget in his coat pockets. He's dewy; he must have been roaming around in the fog for a while.

Roxy closes her hand around the stone, and presses the hand to her breast, protective of it. "Thank you, Syöjätär. No doubt I shall see you again." She nods to a few familiar faces, then takes her leave, drifting back into the fog.

"Thanks," Conner tells Perdita, and this sounds heartfelt. "That sounds like good advice."

The pointed stare gets him moving. He walks up to her and says, "I would, indeed."

He thinks about what he might have to offer, and then digs into his pocket. He turns the resulting coin over in his hands for a few moments. It's a Morgan Silver Dollar, of a fairly common year, ungraded, not likely worth anything in a numismatic sense given it is well worn. But he says, "This has brought me some luck since I found it, years ago. It's something I've carried with me for awhile. Would it be an acceptable gift?"

There's a small nod of approval from Perdita, but she continues to hang back, dark eyes watching the man muster his courage and step forward. The others get a nod of acknowledgement, at last, though she hangs back, merely watching Conner and the old woman begin their bargaining process as though it were the most interesting thing she's seen in a long while.

Itzhak's spotted as the off duty cop ambles closer, and given a twitch of a smile. Javier's hands stay shoved into the pockets of his jacket, dark eyes pulled from the tall mechanic to rove over the other faces assembled here. Closer he prowls; closer and closer, fidgeting with something in his pocket, then eventually digging out a cigarette and lighting it up.

Out of the mist comes the sound of someone whistling. With birdlike facility, someone's tuning up on 'Anchors Aweigh'. It trails off onto a last fluttering note, like a screech owl's stuttering call.

And there's the third of the Three Caballeros. Joe's in his greatcoat, the enamel pins in the shape of the Little Prince and his Rose gleaming on its lapel. No cap on, so the mist has pearled in the curls of his hair. He looks delighted by it, for some reason. There's an air of mischievous pleasure, lips curling in a little grin, blinking against the moisture. "Matushka," he greets the fortune-teller. "Good day to you!" Itz and Ruiz get a sidelong, impish glance. Someone's in a mood.

Grant looks back to Kitty. She's still there, yes, good. Ravn's still there and...oh hey the boss. Cool. The young 20-something looks wounded and betrayed. Ruiz, buddy, you are getting dragged into this. The skater walks over to the crazy lil old lady, "You said I get a wish, and I used it to help him and I paid for it and everything and you let someone else redefine my contract with you to help that guy there.-..hey man," Ruiz gets a wave and in disappointment he continues, "-and you let that pointy toed daft dancer squelch our deal that she had no authority to do. He got hurt. I got hurt. And you threw this," He fishes one hand around in his pocket pulling out a rock with a turtle on it, "at my head. NOT. OK. Bubbe. So yes I would like a proper refund after... ya know... you help this dude out cause cutting in line is some crap. That's... no." That's rude. He steps aside so Connor can sit down.

He mumbles bitterly stepping aside, "Itzil, Kitty. Kitty, my boss and wolf-cop, and Spaceman...Not a euphemism. It's super cool." He's at least trying to talk himself out of being hurt and pissed and work through this while standing over by Perdita and waits. Looking to Ravn he murmurs, "There's rules about that ain't there?"

Ravn flicks his cigarette away and stands. "Don't do anything you'll regret, Grant."

Gloved hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket he nods a silent later to whomever might feel it applies and heads off into the fog again.

Itzhak smiles back at Ruiz, mostly via a crinkling of his crow's-feet. He's in a fey mood himself, wary and watchful, but he sidles closer to him. And holds out two fingers in a silent request for a drag from the cigarette. The old woman's glance catches him, of course; he bows a little to her, one of his abbreviated soloist's bows. "Didn't happen to bring no gift for you today, Bubbe," he murmurs, quiet, but with utter assurance that she hears him. "Wouldn't wanna insult ya generosity." Smooth. Someone else, however, has no compunctions insulting Bubbe's generosity and Itzhak's eyebrows quirk as Grant goes off. He nods to Kitty with that look on his face, wry dismay. "Nice to meetcha. You got a spare brother?"

Grant's given a wink when he's spotted, but at least he isn't greeted with his moniker of crotchbiter today. Just a salute with Ruiz's cigarette, and a casual salute for Ravn, and he's happy to share his smoke with Itzhak. Along with a brief arm around the musician in a roughhoused hug that's relinquished a moment later. Spare brother gets a chortle out of him, dark eyes on Joe as he makes his appearance.

Kitty raises a brow at the latest introduction. Curiosity has taken a back seat to the growing concern, and a distinct feeling of wrong. Her voice is calm, if a little tightly controlled when she responds, "Unfortunately, no spares. The one we got broke the mold." She is now watching said brother with a wary eye.

Conner grimaces as Grant calls him out. "Oh, you know, you're right man, I'm sorry..."

Mild mannered as he is, he half stands up in response, but only half, because the old woman is beginning, and he is caught having to choose which party to be rude to. Of the two, he chooses Grant (sorry Grant!) over the old woman... And sits back down after a moment's thought.

At least his grievances are being addressed.

He frowns thoughtfully as he considers the question, and whether or not he'll voice it. After this moment of hesitation, perhaps one that will even be long enough for Grant to answer uninterrupted, he reaches over and cuts the cards with a hand more decisive than some of his maneuvers here today. "I think I want the wisdom and insights I most need, no more, and no less, without prejudgment on what I think I need," he says, solemn, quiet. While it's not phrased in the form of a question, it is a question all the same. And a measure of trust, perhaps, that she will be able to deduce for him what that is, with her cards and her arts.

Itzhak bends his head to Ruiz's for a moment when he's hugged, a real smile breaking out on him for a second there, and he whispers something to him. He takes a drag off his cigarette, then another before he passes it back. To Joe he upnods, and he laughs low and rueful at Kitty's reply. "Sure did, didn't they?" He's watching Conner and Grant's wrangling and the old woman. Could he do anything if things went tits-up? No, but still he'll stand watch like some low-rent Jewish version of Batman.

"I can see you just fine from here, Deya Dey." Perdita offers with a smile, glancing over to Bax and nodding at the young man, her head tilting to one side. "Your last reading is still fresh in my mind, after all." There's a little hint of a curtsey, "And other things are pulling my attention away..." She looks out toward the fog, frowning slightly. Turning to fully face Grant, she smiles. "Anything you wish, think through carefully. Especially the wording. It's easy to twist someone's words." Again, she's frowning at the fog, "I... need to check something." And then she, too, is wandering off into the mist, swallowed up almost as if she was never really there.

Grant looks...mollified at her suggestion. His fingers hug the rock with the turtle on it carefully, and he nods. Grant's got no grievance with Connor and seems intent that he goes first anyhow. Dark brown eyes lift up to Perdita and seem to take this to heart as his brow furrows and he admits, "Yeah. Good plan." he goes and perches in Ravn's now unoccupied spot on teh bench and gets the wheels turning.

He thinks to himself (which turns out is low volume out loud), "Could wish for a lifetime of tacos...but they might come all at once and some might go bad... or then I'd be paranoid knowing how long I have to live and I still have to retire to space..." There's a sigh and his eyes close. Looking to Kitty there's the silent insistence of See, I learned something and then back to Ruiz, "How you doin with that anger management stuff? You haven't like bit anyone you didn't mean to lately yeah?" Does he need to reuse that wish that went bad?

Joe....he got a reading last time. He doesn't need another one. But of course, there he is. One gloveless hand dives into a pocket, and he comes out with another coin. It isn't money, though. It's a challenge coin of dark bronze and bright enamel. One side bears crossed tulwars and the service ribbon for Afghanistan, red, white, green, and black. He holds it up between second and third fingers, in wordless offering. Looks like he wants another.

But he slides at look at Grant at that. "He only bites the ones as ask, these days."

Has he.. bitten anyone lately? "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Javier grumbles to the punk ass kid asking him weird questions, giving him a little up-down with his eyes as he drags off his smoke. Then Joe goes ahead and answers for him, and he rubs at his nose with an inked thumb, and shifts his attention to the old woman as she speaks to Conner. Bitten anyone lately. The nerve of the guy.

Itzhak, from the wincing expression he gets, knows perfectly damn well what Grant means. He rubs his left forearm as if it aches, then rolls his eyes at Joe. He's quiet today, the way he'll be sometimes, when he'll speak in sign more than words, if he speaks at all. He's not still; he's fidgeting, his mouth pressed flat, his hazel eyes (almost the same color as the fog) alert.

It is safe to say Conner wasn't entirely sure what to expect. It's also safe to say, given widened eyes and a muted expression of startlement, that he feels...rather pegged. He looks at all the cards, memorizing them, and then inclines his head. "Thank you," he says, because in this case, he's not just called out, but given some rather clear direction. In his case, this reading was exactly what he needed.

He vacates the chair, looking thoughtful indeed, and recognizing one in this sea of faces, if only because he has met him in passing, draws close enough to politely say, "Hey, Joe."

Not in a way that seeks to insert himself into Joe's current conversation, just enough to acknowledge him.

Kitty watches as the old woman starts her scam, or rather reading. She is trying very hard to determine if everyone is taking this as seriously as they seem or if Grant has organized some kind of practical joke as a welcome back present. She notices the list with once of Grant's characteristic doodles in the bowl of things - where the offerings seem to go. "Grant, you don't seriously believe this woman can grant wishes, do you?" she both asks and signs, severe skepticism radiating from her being.

Grant looks up, kid to cop and says entirely oblivious to how scary as hell teh guy is (since he did help hide him from the cops before to his knowledge), "Last time we saw her you were a wolf roid raging and bit the shit out o Itzil. And he was mad and you were bent out of shape and everyone has shpilkes in their genechtagazoink." He just blinks at Ruiz in that and that's what Christmas is all About Charlie Brown Linus level of simplicity. Also his dad was an SNL fan by the seriousness of that delivery. There's a sigh and he looks back to the bowl. His eyes go wide and then squint, "That's my doodle." Well, it's hers now technically. Standing up he walks over frowning to her, "You can keep the doodle, but my boy stays out of the bowl. Agreed?" He's keeping Vyv in this. Looking back to Kitty he says decidedly, "If there's an opportunity to change things for the better we should be doing it?"

Grant walks over and sits down and looks at teh bowl and considers, "You're not getting my quarter. That's non-refundable. Uhh..." he pulls out his wallet and gives her one of the moths his skate key tucked inside, now goes in the bowl. "Kay. I think I got the wish thing sorted but... this first." Looking back to kitty he shrugs, "What do we lose?"

Itzhak does speak up at that, fingers flicking in half-signs that don't quite make it to full. "It wasn't his fault, Bax. That was my wish. ...and don't talk about my genechtagazoink." When Bubbe Yaga looks right at him, he flushes scarlet. So called out.

Joe, for his part, still looks sleekly self-satisfied. He waves a hand at Conner, a ripple of fingers. "Hey, there," he says, chuckling. "How you doin'?"

Then he turns that blue gaze on Kitty, smiling that curling smile. "Hello," A glance between Kitty and Grant. "She sure does grant wishes," he assures her. "Just maybe not how you want. I mean, ain't that the warnin' in so many of the best tales? Be careful what you ask for?" A moment's wry pause at that. Isn't he a walking example? He's gotten nearly everything he ever went for save the Moon itself, but what has it cost him in the getting?

He ranges himself with Itz and Ruiz, on the other side of the cop from the musician.

"Dang it," Conner murmurs, of the garbage disposal, because that was news he didn't need. Not to mention the big M word. The Mold Word. The nightmare of any property owner anywhere. He looks mournfully down at his hardware store bag and his bounty of screws and nails and brackets. He sure as heck didn't buy a replacement garbage disposal, but it looks like that's what's up next for him.

Is he surprised the old woman knows his name? No. He takes that bit right in stride. To say nothing of the other things she knows about it. "I appreciate the warning," he tells her, even if he isn't thrilled about the content of it.

"I'm doing good," he tells Joe. "Thanks for asking. You?"

He nods to Itz and Ruiz, standing near Joe as they are.

Javier's not going to protest being bracketed by the pair of taller, lankier men while they watch Grant getting his cards read. His cigarette's dragged off of, and a few words spoken low into Itzhak's ear while he puts an arm around Joe for a quick, rough embrace. Then, as an aside to Grant, "You'd have bitten him too, if your mind was on fire, and it was the only way to put it out." Maybe it'll make sense, or maybe it won't. His dark eyes find Conner briefly, whom he doesn't recognise. But acknowledges with a flinch of something that tries to be a smile, regardless.

Kitty raises a skeptical eyebrow at Josephs assurance. She turns to watch her brother receive his reading, arms crossed. She is becoming more convinced that it has to be a con of some sort. But she can't figure out how it could possible do him (or really anyone) any harm.

Itzhak might feel a little defensive about that time he made a stupid wish and he was immediately granted it. Javier murmurs to him, and he reacts with a surprised little jump, then a sidelong smile at him. Promises trouble, that smile.

He glances at Conner with dry sympathy for the reading (and the mold and garbage disposal), and nods back to him. "How ya doin'. I'm Rosencrantz. This's de la Vega," with a nod to the stockier dark-eyed man beside him. Whose cigarette he steals for a last drag, as he considers Conner, and then Kitty. He considers them with the look only one who shines knows how to give another. He stands out. He's brimming with the shine, swimming in it, it's impossible not to know it about him.

Grant looks up to Ruiz with some comisseration, "Well I almost bit my best friend after that, Lobo. I get it. Seriously, man, glad you're doin better." He's a dipshit, sure, but he means well. Looking to Connor he says "Might have a question for you if you flip properties."

His eyes look back to the old woman and his shoulders relax as she's been agreeable to his grievances. Carefully he takes the cards and both eyebrows go up, He signs <<"Amazing! Beautiful, these!">> He takes a moment to show the back of the cards holding them up. "Hey, Spaceman, check it out." Alright, grievances over and there is some delight in those constellation patterns. Finally he finds his question and shuffles handing it back to her. "Thank you for helping me out, Bubbe."

Joe, being Joe, has to stir up a little trouble. But he gives the old woman a positively doe-eyed look, as well as a fractional nod. What, who, me?

He leans into the hug, grinning. Joe's the dimmest of the trio - Itzhak and Ruiz are like bonfires, though Joe has his respectable share of that light. "This is Conner," he tells the pair of them. "Met him in the library." To Conner himself, he notes, "I'm doin' all right." A tilt of his head to the old woman, "Lady here knows her stuff." Kitty's obvious skepticism only makes him grin...and now it's his turn to pat himself down for cigarettes. So much for being quit.

But before he can light up, Grant's showing him the card, and he takes a pace or two over, cranes his neck. "Ooh," he says. "That's pretty. I own a couple decks myself, but mine are just European style playing decks, nothin' so cool."

"Nice to meet you guys," Conner replies, as introductions commence.

Grant asks about flipping properties, and he gives that owlish look again.

"Ah. No. I just own the Broadleaf. Inherited it...I've never actually dealt directly. In real estate. I don't know that I could help you with your question."

He goes silent as Grant's reading begins though, and sort of politely looks up. He can't help hearing, but he can at least pretend not to be listening or paying too much attention.

Grant shifts in his seat and if he wasn't sober before when that card turns up he certainly is now. It's a mood Kitty knows well. When she asks about the family power to shut the door he murmurs, "So they keep telling me." The Death card isn't doing a lot to comfort him right now. This is the face of distress. The next card flips and he murmurs, "He looks pretty sweet." He listens and sighs, "yeah...A lot of people aren't happy the family does...that... it's why I needed to talk to you about funny enough. So... figure out a plan, make a choice on the thing." He frowns and he looks up to Kitty with a nod. "I'm gonna do it." Not that he's had a discussion on how or what 'it' even is.

"Placer conocerte," Ruiz offers to Conner with a hitch of his chin, and a brief once-over. And then there's Joe hunting for a cigarette, and he gets such a look from the cop. Before being offered what's left of his own clove on the heels of that admonishing glance.

Itzhak also gives Joe the stinkeye. "You quit." And then he's diving into the other man's coat, reaching into an inner pocket unerringly, like a snake who knows where an egg is. Out he comes with his prize, Joe's cigarettes. Well, Itzhak's cigarettes now. As he's tucking them into his own inner jacket pocket, he realizes Bubbe is reading him for filth and he blushes hotly again, ducking his head, curling his lip. "She ain't wrong," he mutters to the men nearby. When he hears what Bax is saying Itzhak looks over at him with a look known to big brothers and uncles everywhere. It's been way too quiet over there, what are you up to?

The mention that it's the Baxters who can shut the door makes Joe's lips thin out. A moment of narrow-eyed concentration, like he's willing the choice to go that one way.

Only to be startled out of it when Itz rifles his pocket like an importunate raccoon. "I suppose I did," he agrees, with a sheepish mildness, as the younger man purloins a pack of unfiltered Luckies. "Guess they yours now." He looks resigned. Perhaps a hint defiantly, he accepts the clove Ruiz is smoking, takes a deep, luxurious drag, and hands it back. "Man, you givin' me flashbacks to the goth girl I dated in college," he teases. Then he directs the cop to the table with a jut of his chin. "Your turn, baby."

Grant looks back to Bubbe and squeezes the rock with the turtle on it and sets it down. He thinks through it really hard but asks, defeated, but still trying, "Can I use my wish to repair the souls of the Baxters that got broken by the abandoned sawmill? I want fixed what the sawmill broke. That wasn't fair. No one should be doomed for all of fucking eternity like that. They should be able to rest too." Yeah the request sounds insane and it's a sore point for him.

Casey needed to get some air, and so he decides to go take a bit of a walk around Addington Park, even though it's extremely foggy and one might question what scenery there is to see when you can barely see in front of your face. He seems unbothered by the weather, but finds the clear space around the card table intriguing, as well as the cluster of people gathered there, and so he approaches slowly, hands in the pockets of his jeans, dropping eaves like the eaves dropper that he is.

"I should go take care of that garbage disposal," Conner murmurs, even as he shoots smiles around. The longer he stands here waiting to take care of it, the more his anxiety grows about not taking care of it. "I'll see you guys later."

He looks mournfully down at his hardware store bag one more time, sighs, steels himself, and goes heading back into the mists. He's got a lot of walking to do, and he doesn't want to waste time.

His turn. Joe gets a sidelong glance from the cop, the clove is accepted back with his thumb and forefinger. A long look of dark eyes to blue before he withdraws, drags once more from the stub of the smoke that remains, and drops the thing to grind it out with the heel of his boot mid-stride. Brushing past Itzhak, the old woman beckons him, and he comes. Because isn't this their way? They have their strange and twisted history, the pair of them. He's done her bidding once, and now he does it again. Or she does his.

"Hola de nuevo, anciana," he greets her as he approaches, voice rough and smoke-strewn.

Itzhak is staring at Grant, those hazel eyes wide as they can go, eyebrows about to achieve liftoff. He hisses at him in Yiddish, hands flashing in ASL. "Nit vi mir zi dertseylt ir tsu zeyn!" She just told you not to be like me! And yet...can he help but be proud of the pisher?

When Javier brushes by him, Itzhak doesn't yield for him in the least, just lets him shove his way past. He calls to Bubbe, "'ey, whaddaya mean, he paid already?" trying to cover the honest fear in his voice by slathering it over with New York attitude.

The sailor's savored his one drag from the clove, but he doesn't try to cadge another. He is quit, as Itz reminded him. Some of that impish gleam has faded from his face, though, as he watches Ruiz approach her. He wasn't there for that previous encounter....and she hasn't done anything overtly malicious to him. But still. He flicks a glance at the others, lingering longest on Itzhak, and looks like he wishes he had something to occupy his hands. The coin he brought out earlier will have to do - he flips it over and over.

Grant takes a deep breath and turns to Itzhak getting great mileage out of his Yiddish that's been under review, "That Abandoned sawmill broke. my. family. I'm taking it back and everything else the Addingtons fucked up too playing God. I don't want to be like that and I've been a ghost long enough to know that's not what anyone deserves. No. I'm fixing it. I've been thinking about that since Vyv told me about your meeting. That's my wish, Itzil." He takes a deep breath confident in this one and says to his sister, not that it makes much sense for her, "Exorcist thinks she knows it all. We'll see."

He looks to Casey wandering up and offers him a faint grin, "Amazed you found this place in all the fog, man. I'm gonna go on a limb and guess you were trying to get elsewhere and here you are. Either way? good time to get your cards read. Get out of proverbial fog, neighbour."

Casey wanders a little closer as he realizes that there are readings going on, studying the old woman as he gets closer. He doesn't immediately recognize anyone else that's present though, so he stands off to one side, just studying those gathered. That is, until Grant addresses him. "I uh, no. I was just kind of wandering. I wasn't going anywhere in particular," he explains to Grant, but then he nods toward the table and asks, "You get yours done?"

Itzhak storms over to Grant, furious tension in the line of his long spine. "You. Come. HERE." He grabs him in a hug, tight, his hands in fists. "So fuckin' proud of you," he growls into Grant's hair, then lets him go, scowling. His eyes find Javier and don't leave him.

He does, of course, cut the cards as requested. Half of them set aside, inked fingers hovering above them a moment, dark eyes flicked to the old woman's; Ruiz smiles in return, and the corners of his eyes crease with it like he's been waiting to do so for some time. "No he encontrado lo correcto para abrir. Pido disculpas." And then he withdraws his hand, and watches her, and waits. Apparently, he'll keep his question to himself.

Grant looks over and examines the table and back to Casey and says "Yeah. Yeah I did." There's a chuckle and a faint wry grin answering Casey, and Itzhak's unspoken what did you do? question, "Looks like I'm going to make a plan to move in with my boyfriend like he asked aaaand find a way to not blow up what we got." now if only he went about immediately applying that solid advice to other things like, who knows, wishing? That'd be really swell.

And then Itzhak is grabbing his hair and hugging his head with a small flailing of stiff arms for balance. There's a murffled reply that might be 'thanks'. "Yeah I'm gonna need like a week off when we do find a place to get it fixed up and cleaned."

"Good for you, man," Casey says when Grant explains what he's going to do. Then he blinks a little bit, startled when Itzhak comes storming over to Grant and grabs him. He takes a step or two back from the pair, not quite knowing what's going on there but having the good sense to know it doesn't concern him. Instead, he moves over a little further to the side to watch the reading as it is taking place.

He's still, the wolf as she's called him, for a long while after the old woman has read for him. Jaw tight, brows furrowed, he contemplates her words. And then nods slow and - meeting her gaze for but an instant - begins to withdraw. "Pensaré en lo que has dicho," he murmurs. And, "Gracias," before he glances at his watch and turns to go. He, presumably, has a shift to get back to. "I'll see you both tonight," he murmurs to the pair he'd been sharing the cigarette with, before prowling off.

For the third farshtunken time Itzhak turns red when the old grandmother smiles over 'The Magician.' He finds himself looking down at the muddy ground or around at someone else or maybe just at the fog or, you know, anywhere except at her and at his lover. Beet. Red. He rubs his fingers together, swallowing, trying not to...something. Laugh? Cry? Probably cry. That look is in his eyes when he lifts his gaze to Ruiz. "Yeah," he says to him, then something too low to hear, before the other man prowls away.

Grant pats Itzhak on the back muttering, "Yeah if only we didn't mage up the place." Damn shame. He's let go though and fingers push back though his hair watching the invite but finally moving. He pauses and considers Casey murmuring, "Thanks, I...sorry about. That. But thanks. She does good work." he leaves off the 'when it works' part because she's at least trying to amend her customer service here. Fine, she can fix it. He drops into the seat and says "A'ight, Bubbe, let's talk about un-dooming the Baxters, please."

When the old woman looks at Casey, he glances around at the others gathered, and then he makes his way over to her asking, "Um, what is the fee for a reading?" He fishes his wallet out of his back pocket, checking to see how much cash he might have on hand, since he doesn't see a sign with any kind of price on it. "I've never had a reading before but.. seems the thing to do." He grins a little crookedly. But then she's calling Grant over and he hesitates again, "Wish granting?" He raises both brows, curious, not sure exactly what's going on.

Itzhak gasps out loud, spine straightening. Not a great change, no--but one he can feel in his bones and his teeth and the base of his dick. "Oh. Oh, tateleh, what did you do." His voice is a whisper.

Grant can feel it. He looks down at his hands but doesn't look up, "Enacting my damn birthright on behalf many a broken Baxter, Itzil." Looking up he sniffs, a bit verklempt, and says, "Thank you." Looking around he gets up so Casey can sit down and takes a deep breath looking actually relieved, and probably sounding like a madman. ""You know I feel no small satisfaction doing this in the middle of fucking Addington Park too?" Looking around he says "I need to tell Vyv the good news."

Casey looks a little bit uncertain about what all is going on, glancing from Grant, to Itzhak and then to the old woman as though reconsidering just how weird everyone in this town really is. Not to mention that everything suddenly /feels/ weirder than it has, and it raises the hair on the back of his neck. "What just happened?" he finally asks, very confused.

Grant looks to Casey and says "Change. Healthier weird change. I told you she was good at this." Pausing, "And apparently me moving. I shoooould really let Vyv know that part. Hey everyone, Tiny pastry on me... If we can find the Patisserie.: