The bookstore closed maybe an hour ago -- the hours are erratic, according to 'when Gisa feels like it and doesn't have other pressing business to see to,' after all. The back room smells like rich, sharp spices -- curry, saffron -- and there's a large clay pot sitting on a trivet in the middle of the small dining table, its lid cracked and steam rising from it. The golem is puttering around the back room, taking blue bowls with doves around the edge from the cabinets, setting out a wine bottle on the table, and generally making like it's dinnertime. Because, well, it is.
Alonso has been lounging on the couch since closing time, his enormous hat flopped over his face. Possibly catching a power nap. His ankles are on the arm of the couch, crossed and booted. Once the smell hits his nose, he lifts the brim of his hat with a fingertip and peers out from under it at Gisa and her food. There's a couple of sniffs at the air, and that's enough to have him stretching his arms and rolling up to a seated position. "That smells delicious."
If the entrance was unlocked, Max would make her way into the bookstore. And then, upon seeing that the place was empty, she'd make her way into the back. The door was nudged open first, enough for her to peek her head inside. "What are you making?" she wonders, offering a light smile to her before stepping in fully. The enchanted mortal was wearing her usual casual attire, a tank top underneath a flannel unbuttoned shirt, denim shorts, and sneakers, with her hair worn down in loose curls, her messenger bag hanging from her shoulders. A curious glance is made to the unfamiliar Lost, whom she lifts a hand to offer a wave. "I agree. It definitely smells good. I should learn some basic cooking skills sometime," she says with a faint chuckle.
The back door to the bookstore is the way in after hours -- and a known way to come in for Freeholders. "It's made," Gisa answers, "I put vegetable biryani in the oven upstairs before the store opened this morning. It has a saffron sauce. Are you joining us for dinner, Max? If so, there is wine, water, beer. I will get another bowl." And the golem does, fetching a third fork, a third napkin. "I can teach you to cook. A long time wandering means you learn a lot of different foods."
"It still smells delicious," Alonso maintains as he rolls up to his feet. He leaves the hat behind, trading it for a pair of sunglasses instead, plucked from his vest pocket. Once they're in place, he finds himself a seat at the table and stands beside it, waiting for the women to find their chairs. "Everyone should know how to cook! It's a survival skill. And an important one." He offers no segue between that statement and offering Max a hand, "I am Alonso. I do not believe I have had the pleasure."
The hand is looked at apologetically. "I can't touch people, otherwise I'd totally shake your hand," Max explains, sighing lightly. "Nice to meet you, though," she tells him, shifting her demeanor to a more positive one, flashing him a friendly smile. "I'm Max." Then she looks over to Gisa, her smile widening a bit more. "If I'm invited, I'll definitely join you for dinner," she replies, because free food is awesome, especially when it smells so delicious as it does now. She peers at the table, then steps over to find an empty seat and make herself comfortable. The bag is slid from her shoulders and set down on the ground between her feet. "You new, Alonso? Or I just haven't had the opportunity to meet you until now?"
"It is, at that," agrees Gisa. She opens the large clay pot the rest of the way, setting the lid aside, and then goes to fetch a large spoon. Wine glasses, a bottle of white wine (with Hebrew writing on the label because of course she buys Israeli wine), and then she finally settles down at the table. "Why can you not touch other people?" Gisa's eyeflames flicker off and then on again as she tilts her head to the side. "I did not take you for frum. Do you have a similar tradition?" Whatever that means. The golem starts dishing out the veggie dish; it's spicy, the rice golden yellow, with a creamy yogurt sauce on top, and chunks of veggies scattered through.
Once both women are seated, Alonso takes a seat himself. The sunglasses stay on for the time being, regardless. "New to town? Yes, I am. Only in the last two days. Miss Cohen has been kind enough to provide me a place to sleep in exchange for my help around her shop, so I am making myself useful here for the time being. I'm in no particular rush to sort matters out, however, on account of her cooking." Alonso gives Gisa a grin when that is noted, as though it were a joke of some sort. He clears his throat a bit when Gisa goes after the elephant in the room, shooting Max an apologetic look for the topic. He keeps otherwise quiet on that count.
"What is 'frum'?" Max questions in reply first, a brow raising as it's clear she's never heard such a word before. Though, most of the Hebrew dialog that Gisa occasionally speaks is unfamiliar to her. A brief glance is cast to Alonso, as if to try and ensure that she takes no offense to such a question, especially since it's been asked by a friend. Then those bright blue eyes of hers return to the golem, quiet for just a moment as she decides how to phrase her response. "When I touch people, I basically steal their luck. Bad things happen to them and they somehow know that I'm to blame. If you guys are familiar with the X-Men, kind of like Rogue," she says, glancing slowly back and forth between them as she speaks. "Sometimes, if I have enough energy and concentrate hard, I can temporarily curb the effect but... usually I can't. So, I don't touch people." Glancing to Gisa, she smirks faintly. "Last time people touched me was when they were stopping me from bleeding out after I got shot. Can't really remember the last time before that, though."
"Hmm. I do not cook like this when I am not providing hospitality, for myself it is often much plainer," Gisa clarifies, shaking her head slightly as she dishes out the food, passing the bright blue, wide, shallow dishes heaped full of food to each of them. "Frum means ... pious, in Yiddish. Many Orthodox women do not touch men to whom they are not married." Her shoulders rise and drop. "I hadn't heard that goyim had a similar tradition, but there is more variation in goyische tradition than I thought when I was young, especially American traditions, so how do I know?" Her subtle accent becomes stronger the more her speech is sprinkled with Yiddish and Hebrew terminology, and her shin glows faintly brighter. She pours a half-glass of white wine for each of her guests, and then for herself, setting the glasses out in front of them.
Her eyeflames blink off, and Gisa's head tilts slightly forward. She murmurs a single long sentence in Hebrew, and then her eyeflames pop back on and she picks up her fork. It's a habitual thing, she probably doesn't even think about it anymore. The golem certainly doesn't treat it much like an interruption to conversation. "Ahum. I do not know much about the X-Men, but I trust you when you say it is not a good idea to touch you unless you are bleeding or something of the like. That is an unfortunate thing. How did it come to pass?"
"Does the glove trick work?" There's Alonso, already trying to game the system. "Seems an unfortunate curse to suffer under. Any chance of undoing it, do you imagine? I suffer from rather the opposite affliction. I can see meaning everywhere, intuit people's future's. Divine meanings in every day objects. And proscribe misfortune upon others. They tell me it's a blessing, but... enh." Alonso gives a tick of the shoulder as he reaches to accept his serving from Gisa, "It doesn't feel much like one. In any event. Do you think you can lift it somehow?"
"Oh. I try not to even think about dating and marriage and all that, because who wants a girlfriend they can't touch?" Max is happy to accept a full plate of food from Gisa. Once she has it set back down on the table, she picks up some silverware and takes a few bites. There's a look of approval and a brief smile as she swallows. "That's delicious. You might give Hazel a run for her money," she lightly teases, not enjoying staying too serious for too long. However, the topic does shift back to such easily enough and the brightness fades from her face. "It doesn't," she answers Alonso with a small shake of her head before taking another bite. And as she's polite, she waits until it's finished before speaking again. "I have a few other tricks up my sleeve. I can 'divine' the future, peer into the past... other abilities." There's a thought that crosses her mind, the edges of her lips tugging into a frown as she glances to Gisa. "Did you get my message? About the latest victim?"
"It is not an unheard-of affliction, nor, especially among our kind, is love without contact unheard of. I knew of a woman whose skin was water, and her husband was ice. They were married for many years, until she was lost in the Hedge and he went to find her. He never returned. But their marriage was a happy one, from all appearances." Gisa's shoulders rise and fall, that slow mountain-range motion she has. She gives Alonso a long, considering look at his curse, and adds, "So we should never ask you to tell us the odds of something." This may be a golem joke. She silences herself, spooning up mouthfuls of the biryani. Gisa's always an efficient eater, as if she's got to get back out to chores somewhere on the kibbutz. "I did," she replies. "CJ seemed to have news for me, also, and I have tried to talk with someone who might be able to follow up at Market, but -- when CJ was here, Alonso was also, and unfortunately, he is not yet sworn." The 'he' comes with a small gesture toward Alonso. "And so, CJ was rightly hesitant to give me the news."
"On the contrary. Only ask me the odds if it is very important. Never let me tell you the odds unbidden, and when I am angry. That's when it gets ugly." Alonso takes a bite of his meal and reaches for the water. Wine or beer get a pass this evening, it seems. His attention returns to Max and her affliction, his expression souring a bit at the news the glove trick does not in fact work. "So worse than Rogue, then. A shame." He might be about to say more, but Gisa's suggestion his presence was an inconvenience draws a small frown. "If there are matters you need to discuss that you cannot discuss around me, I will happily absent myself, Gisa. Now, or any other time." His mouth opens to say more, but his head just shakes instead. Nope.
Max is quiet for a moment as she listens to Gisa, about both topics that come up. There's a thoughtful expression, her brows furrowing lightly. Then the young woman shrugs and takes another bite. "Well," she starts, swallowing her food before continuing. "I've never had anyone interested, so it's not really /that/ much of an issue," she says. Another bite, omnomnom. The enchanted mortal has almost finished her plate already. In spite of being such a small thing, she can put away a lot of food apparently. A brief glance to Alonso, her brow raising slightly. "Why a shame?" she wonders, curious of the man's opinion. Her head tilts slightly, causing a few strands of her hair to fall in her face. She promptly fixes this by reaching up to brush it aside. Then she looks between them and shrugs. "I'm sure such a matter can wait to be talked about until later. There isn't... much to do about it at the moment."
"I think there is everyting to do for it. I would hope we are still within the window where there is something to do about it. But I do not know what we could do about it." Gisa takes in a deep breath and holds it, then lets it out. She lets the topic of romance drop entirely, only giving Max a wan sort of half-smile at the 'never had anybody interested.' "It can be a mixed blessing," is all she has to say about any of it. Mostly, she eats her food. "We should take you to speak to the Monarch soon, Alonso." Because stabby Spaniard's help might be useful.
"No kings, no masters," Alonso replies to Gisa rather automatically, "but I suppose I will meet whomever you wish to introduce to me." There's another bite of his meal taken, which ends with a smile towards Gisa. Teasing her, perhaps. "More seriously-- if you know anything about this man, I may be able to track him down for you. Or, rather, I can track him down for you. Interrogate him when we find him to make certain it's the right person, and then deliver him to you alive. The unfortunate side-effect of foretelling misfortunes is feeling responsibility for the misfortune you've foretold. I'm less a sellsword as an apologetic sword who is very sorry for divining the rain drops on the window." He gives Max a look that seeks to share that particular burden. Prohesy, amirite?
The two chatting gives Max more than enough time to finish her meal. A few more bites and the plate is cleared. She nudges it lightly away from her, leaning back in her seat as she relaxes. Those bright blue eyes of hers shift back and forth between the two as she listens, though her gaze ends up resting on Alonso. "I know what he looks like. I've seen him a few times now," she says. Then she explains a moment later, "One of my gifts, being able to look at people and thing from a distance. I'm not exactly sure where he is other than a library that's attached to his... sterile looking torture room." She shudders, obviously disturbed by whatever she's seen. "I could try to look into the future to see when the next time he'll be in the real world is. And where." She glances at Gisa to see if that's a good idea or not.
It's impossible to tell if Gisa is rolling her eyes or not -- goylomim eyes aren't really conducive to that. She does, however, shake her head a little bit, indulgently perhaps, toward Alonso. Finishing up her biryani, she leans back in her chair and lifts her wine glass for a sip; her ceramic skin clinks almost musically against the thin glass. "I have seen his footprints. I know what direction he went in the Hedge after he left the most recent body. That is what I know." Max, however, knows more, and she gestures toward her with a free hand. "You could do that. If you think that it would be safe for you, relatively speaking. Acceptable risk." Another one of those glacially patient shrugs.
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