2022-05-10 - Orcas Like Fish and Chips Too

> I'm thinking it's a fried fish kind of day. Meet me for lunch?

Off goes the text to Itzhak from the redhaired barista of Espresso Yourself. At the designed time, Ariadne is comfortably ensconced on one of the benches along the boardwalk just down the way from Fried Fish. She hasn't been to this little boardwalk eatery, but the changing seasons and nicer weather means it's now open in earnest. The brisk wind off the water means she was wise enough to wear her windbreaker over her light long-sleeved shirt, this outer layer a cheery salmon-pink. Her hair with its underpaneling of color is up in a clip to rooster-tail down in a cascade of hues. She leans back against the weater-worn wooden boards of the railing behind her as she watches the water across the way. She looks, frankly, very introspective with her mild little frown.

Itzhak was kinda surprised to have lunch suggested, but Ravn is probably asleep from being up at Europe hours or something, so he shows up. The weather is really nice, after all.

He rolls up looking like a hungover rock star, mirrored aviator shades on and black curls wild. "I can see your hair from across town," he remarks, slumping on the back of the bench, forearms loosely crossed. "That ain't a complaint. What's up?"

"Wah!"

Ariadne jumps in place on the bench and puts her hand on her heart. A lean to one side, that she might give Itzhak a friendly glower-smirk, and a sigh. "Christ on a cracker, Itzhak. I need a bell on you and Ravn both. But hey, I'll take the compliment." Look at her pretend to primp with threadings of fingers through the rooster-tail of colorful locks. "Let's have some lunch? I haven't tried this place." She looks towards the boardwalk's eatery in quiet curiosity. "I know it probably seems sacrilegious for a marine biologist to want to eat fish and chips, but I'm not fussy."

She looks back at Itzhak again. "Unless you want to sit and chat first? Or get fish and then chat? Where's your stomach at?"

Itzhak startles a little too! Then he's snorting, shaking his head. "Usually people hear me coming a mile off. Nah why is that sacrilegious? Orcas eat fish, why shouldn't you?"

He looks over his shoulder at the fried fish joint. "I'm always hungry," he admits, "and I used to know the girl who ran this place. Great cook. Or chef I guess I oughta say, she went to school for it and all."

"Well, hey, if you're saying good things about the gal who ran the place, it should be good stuff as well. Fish first and then chat. We'll eat and you can pretend you didn't see me steal one of your fries, how about that? Ravn's been teaching me a few things about sleight of hand," the barista reveals with a grin after she's risen to her feet. A tilt of her head indicates the far taller man should follow along as she begins meandering towards the eatery.

A glance up at the circling flock of seagulls who likely haunt the shack on the regular. The birds, not the haircut, and nobody around here is sporting one anyways. "You normally wouldn't have startled me, I was just thinking really hard, I guess. I'm usually paying more attention, yeah. Still. A bell for you, sir. How have you been then?"

"Did he ever tell you I took him on a date and made him try to pick my pocket?" Itzhak straightens up, one corner of his mouth curled, and rolls along after Ari. "Eh, don't ask," this to how he is, "but I gotta know what you're thinking so hard about."

Look at the glee on Ariadne's face. She takes about a step and a half for everyone one of Itzhak's as they close distance on the Fried Fish, but it doesn't bother her in the least. She's busy dimpling up at the far taller New Yorker.

"Swap you what I was thinking about for this story about the pocket picking. You first," she exclaims with the tone of 'no nose goes' -- minus the actual self-snoot boop.

Itzhak's snoot is magnificent, if crooked, like maybe he's broken it several times. Could anyone resist booping? His smile grows a little. "Well, he told me he's an expert at it and I told him I wanted him to show me my own driver's license before I knew my wallet was gone. We were on the boardwalk so he's like, hey, bet you can't mess with that game, you know, the ring toss one with the ducks. So I did and while I was distracted he tried it but," another snort, this one of laughter, "he messed it up and next thing I knew he was grabbing my ass."

Itzhak turns red over this story, but he's snickering so clearly he wasn't too tramatized.

Chiming, the barista's laughter, and she toss her head back in a frisson of colorful hair. "Oh my god! No! How'd he manage to fuck that up -- no way, Ravn's hands are way more clever than that," Ariadne claims as they take their place at the end of the short line. Somebody turns around to look at her and Itzhak, but not for long.

It's probably only more than a glance because the redhead too has very lightly pinked at what she said. "Anyways! So he didn't get your wallet, huh? I'll have to zing him about this one," she dimples.

"Just nervous?" Itzhak guesses, smirking. "Never picked the pocket of a guy who wanted him to before? It was our first date."

Itzhak and Ravn are not dating, unless it's in the best bros bro-date sense, he's just being his outrageous self. He winks at the guy who looked around. At the window he orders in Spanglish and is rewarded with an obscenely big slab of fried cod, light and crispy.

"And here all I did was make rice pudding and feed the man strawberries. I've clearly got to up my date game." Another smirking grin from Itzhak as they reach the front of the line. Looks like lunch is on her by how she fishes (pun intended) a few bills out of her windbreaker's pocket. Spanglish? She doesn't know that, but she manages to order herself two smaller pieces of cod and a little carboard container of fries -- crinkly fries, even. Bills are handed over and after she pockets the change, the barista indicates that they should head back to the bench.

"You asked earlier what I was thinking about anyways... I was just wondering...hmm." Her pert nose wrinkles a bit as she watches the boards pass by beneath her feet for a moment or two. "I guess how different lives are and how it's unfair how people turn out to be the way they are sometimes."

Itzhak has fries. So many fries. He starts protesting when Ari goes to pay, then visibly decides not to. "Are we on a date, because I didn't bring my violin." So much attitude.

He slings himself on the bench again and is promptly accosted by hopeful seagulls. "Beat it," and a little flex of his Song and they anxiously patter away to a safe distance.

Settled down now on the bench as well, Ariadne watches the New Yorker make quick work of the lurking gulls. She feels that little flex like the tingle of too much sun, there and gone, and gives him a considering look.

"Impressive," she comments before biting into a fry. Mmm, deliciousness; she can tell the fried cod strips are too hot to risk still. "And fine. Next time, you bring your violin. I'm holding you to it." A quick grin which fades. "Can I ask you something, Itzhak? Or...I dunno, I feel like I'm being too nosy." Her brows quirk and she eats another fry. The gulls are now eyeing her hopefully. The lady with the colorful hair doesn't seem about ready to send them scattering in an explosion of screeching feathers.

Too hot, way too hot to handle, but Itzhak handles it anyway, breaking off a chunk of steaming cod and necking it like a pro. Also like the heat doesn't bother him in the least. "Mmnf," he remarks, coming up for air. "Girl, you can ask me anything, I just don't promise to be nice about it."

Itzhak is again considered.

"...man, you can't just give a chick openings like that, it's going to get ridiculous and you won't be able to complain about it," Ariadne notes with a half-smirk. Still, she looks out across the water again and sighs slowly. It's a gathering of thoughts -- and courage. "So, with...Ravn." An eyeroll at herself, like she's already embarrassed at how not-surprised the New Yorker might be about the topic at hand. "What do you know what makes him happiest? I just...he's had so much happen to him and a lot of it was such...bullshit." One can hear her hackling by tone. A huff of a sigh and she grabs up another three fries or so. "I want him to be happy. That's it. It's really that stupidly simple and yet, sometimes, I feel like I'm still guessing and I don't want to guess because I'm afraid he'll pull back. Like...startling off a deer with a sudden movement." Eat fries, shut mouth.

"Who says I can't complain about it, I'll complain if I want to." Itzhak takes another mouthful, which it turns out is fine because Ariadne has plenty to say. He listens to her, mirrored sunglasses showing only her own reflection but Itzhak is listening.

Then it's Ari's turn to eat and shut up. Itzhak swallows. "Mmkay, look." He sucks grease off a finger. "If there's one man in the world you can ask how to make him happy and he'll just fucking tell you, it's Abildgaard. So you oughta ask him. That said..."

Itzhak looks out over the harbor. "That said, he wants just two things in this world. To be treated like nothing out of the ordinary, just a guy who's real good at history and folklore and stuff. And violin, much as he freaking denies it. And he wants to be loved. He wants to love someone. Someone good, who's gonna treat him right."

A pause, like maybe he's said too much. Then he grunts and looks down at the paper tray of fish and chips. "Figure that ain't a surprise for you."

"...yeahIknow..." One mumbling string of words very much under his breath at Itzhak's first wisdom because, really? He's not wrong at all. Ask Abildgaard. Ariadne nods and continues eating fries while not looking at her fellow fried fish connoisseur. She poke-tests for the heat of one of her slices. Maybe she won't burn her tongue or roof of her mouth.

Seeing his face move in her peripheral, the redhead glances over. Her eyes, sans any sort of covering, follow where she thinks his own regard has slipped off to. Her lips pull to one side as she listens, nods, looks down at her own tray of fish and chips in turn. The pull turns into a shy half-smile. Her voice is quiet. "Nah...it's not a surprise, but...at the same time, you know how you kind of can't ask family members about things sometimes because they're family? Because you're too close, y'know? I'll ask him, don't worry, it's just...good to hear that I was on the right track so far." Itzhak is then given a gentle smile. "You're good people, mister."

"He's complicated, I get it. He's complicated and he's got a lot of shit going on, a lotta shit from his past. And he loves his damn masks." Itzhak turns that noble beaky profile to focus his mirrored lenses on Ari. "Don't let him scare you with all that. He feels scary, you know what I mean? He's like, scared he really is that scary. I grok that," he adds ruefully.

Then he wrinkles his nose at Ari calling him good people. "Yeah well, not to put too fine a point on it, but you don't know me so good."

The redhead's smile deepens. Uh oh. "I don't know you so good, but it doesn't mean you're not good people. Good people don't have to be all...spit-shined and free of tarnish. So what if you're going to complain if you want to and you're apparently an asshole to some extent? You're sitting here helping out your best guy's girl with questions about your best guy. You could have called me out for being nosy. You gave me answers."

Ariadne then shrugs, returning her attention to her fish strips. Steam rises from one as she breaks off a third to nibble. "That's an excellent way to put it though...scary shit. I mean, how he talks about his ex makes we want to carry around a squirt bottle of holy water or something." Her chewing slows. A heavy sigh and she then glances past Itzhak. "Oh, hey, do you know that guy?"

You know. That guy. Over there. One of the many in line. Should Itzhak divert his gaze from his tray? Yoink: Ariadne tries for at least four fries.

Itzhak grunts through his nose, a very Yiddish sound, and dedicates a few minutes to demolishing the fried cod. (Locally, sustainably caught.) Then, gruff as a billy goat, mutters, "You ain't the only one who wants to see him happy."

He glances up, then around, following Ariadne's gaze, but already saying, "Hell if I know, I ain't so good with faces."

Fries, yoinked, five of them. To try for more seemed foolhardy. Ariadne can't help the little burbling cough-giggle anyhow; she tries to hide the evidence by shoving her purloined fries into the pile on her tray in turn.

Pro tip: the two different cuts of fries means she might want to try harder to hide them.

"Yeah, me neither, never mind." How even her tone is as she eats one of her own fries like nothing happened. At all. Nothing. Except for this is a barista saying she doesn't recognize faces. "I really am glad to have you around though, Itzhak. Seriously. I hope Ravn understands how lucky he is to have you as a friend."

Itzhak looks back, and it would take a guy way more oblivious than him to not clock Ari has achieved some mischief. He scowls at her, very seriously... then laughs under his breath, not unlike Ravn. "Cute, you got farther than he did and I was a lot more distracted then."

He steals a few of Ari's fries without bothering to distract her. Yeah he's gonna come in and take fries back, whaddaya gonna do about it?

"Heyyyyyyyy, I was serious about -- "

Ariadne then blurt-laughs. "HEY!" Scoff. Scoff. "I was serious about that! He's lucky! Freakin' fry thief, I'm watching you now," says the total hypocrite. She literally gestures an eye-point, her eyes, his face, the warning is thrown down. She takes up the comfortably-cooled slice of fried cod and bites off a piece of it. "And besides, Ravn's not a barista with a black belt in being charming. That's why he didn't manage it." Itzhak gets an eyebrow waggle, patently both friendly and ridiculous, followed by a laugh.

Itzhak flashes that rare unrestrained smile in response. He does it a little shyly, ducking his head. "You like him for who he is, even though there's a lot about him you don't know, you like the guy who that shit happened to. Nobody can ask for anything more."

Perhaps expecting more patent Rosencrantz sass, the smile as well as the honesty to follow disarms Ariadne. She laughs once more, far more quietly now, and can't help the return of that pastel-pink, as light as cherry petals on her cheeks.

"I wish people could see what we see...beyond the neuropathy and the masks. The walls." A tilt of her head while she turns the last third of her fish strip over in the nest of fries, purloined and not. "Then again, those are part of him too, yeah. I get it. I don't understand to the extent he has going on with him, but any sense of being overwhelmed? Of needing space and writing off the rest of humanity because they don't pay attention? This...this I get all too well." Another bite of her fish. "You still need to sing a song at karaoke night, by the way." A little smirk over at the New Yorker.

"He'd tell you we're totally different, but actually we ain't so different. We both went through a lot of rough times and we both came out kinda messed up. I wish people could see him right, too. Got no idea why it's such a mystery, but... You know what Roen, also my best buddy, told me?"

Then it has to wait until Itzhak finishes up, crumples the paper tray and greasy paper into a ball, and fires it into a trash can fifteen feet away. Perhaps there was the tiniest flutter of his Song, but he doesn't even seem to know he did it.

Ariadne silently promises herself to see about getting this man to sing. In the meanwhile, she waits for the answer while polishing off the last bit of her cod. There are fries to eat at this point. So many fries. Delicious bought and stolen fries.

She watches the tray plus paper disappear with uncanny accuracy and looks back at Itzhak, eyebrows raised. "Nice shot. But what did your buddy Roen tell you?"

Itzhak waves it off, "Yeah yeah, I'll get around to singing, you just went to the one when I was distracted." Distracted by the Chief of Police, that is.

He leans back and pulls off his sunglasses. He looks tired, dark circles around his eyes, but his gray hazels are sharp when he looks at her.

"He told me that sometimes the right people just walk into your life. You put up a bunch of barbed wire and caution tape and no through street signs and it works real good for most people. But a few people, the right people... They just walk past all that stuff. Don't even see it. They're looking at you. Not your Kuiper belt of mishegoss."

After a moment, Ariadne nods and smiles mostly to herself. "Sounds like a wisdom to me."