2019-09-18 - Pizza Night Weirdness

Given that it's a pleasant if warm evening, one that doesn't have the threat of rain, it makes it a wonderful opportunity to people watch! This is clearly why Dylan has come out, in addition to getting a couple of slices of pizza. He's propped up against one of the booths in the front window, wearing a pair of old, faded green cargo shorts and a white t-shirt that has splotches of long ago dried red paint upon it that he seems to not have been able to get fully out.

His face also sports, upon his forehead, fading bruises, almost gone and healed, along with stitches in his scalp that look to be several days old now, well on the mend. His pizza is only partially ate, explained by the fact he seems to be distracted by the sketchpad laid out before him, idling drawing something or another while those brilliant, blue eyes lift up to peer out the window on frequent occassion.

It is a pleasant, if warm, evening and Ash is dressed for that in a pair of jean shorts, flipflops, and a t-shirt from one of the local bars. Two if by Sea, to be exact. Hanging from her shoulder is a black backpack, her phone in her hand and the sort of world weary look of college students having a long night of homework in front of them everywhere. Once inside the very first thing she does is head towards the counter to give them her money for what is likely to be subpar pizza.

The pencil draws to a pause, hovering over his pad as the sound of the door opens, and up Dylan's head comes to cast a peering, curious glance towards Ash. It doesn't take much for him to recognize that look, one that he surely has a touch of himself. His mouth quirks up into an expressive smile full of mirth, "Long night," He comments loud enough to be heard if she isn't overly busy with that pizza order. It equally jostles his memory for why he came here in the first place, picking up that slice of sausage and mushroom to have another bite before it goes plop back down on his plate.

She hears, but there is a long time between the saying and the acknowledging, as she orders the pizza, pays, makes a change, confuses the poor kid at the register, ends up with the original order, and a drink to go along with it for her effort. Then Ash turns around towards the source of the question, taking a moment to look him over before she makes an executive decision, and she invites herself right to his table, dropping her bag next to her as she settles in, "It's always a long night...just tonight is my least favorite class to deal with." She then leans over, offering a hand out to him, "Ash."

When that silence takes place, it doesn't seem to bother Dylan in the least, settling in to continue to sketch. That once more comes to a pause when he hears the bag put down and the sounds of someone else sliding into the booth across from him, eyes flickering up to catch sight of the owner of that hand. "Dylan. Rink." There is a definite pause between the two, either name one he'll answer to as his hand reaches to take her own for a firm shake. Up one eyebrow arches with interest, asking the obvious question left lingering with her statement. "Which class?"

"Rink?" Ash wonders, amusement dancing in her eyes as she returns the shake, then takes her hand back before she leans back in her seat, slouching down a bit, "Advanced Symbolic Logic." She rolls her eyes to accompany the declaration of which class it is that she finds the worst of the semester. "Who really wants to take so many classes about logic? Not me...nope. But here I am. What are you drawing, Rink? That's cute...by the way, where'd you get a nickname like that?"

His features scrunch up when she asks the question about that particular name, and he goes down to fish into his own messenger bag, finally pulling out a different sketch pad. "Ugh," He says, at just the name of that class, before explaining, "Art major," Out that pad comes, flipping through until finally he finds one that is pushed over towards her. It looks to be drawn in a skating rink, and there is a comically overly large skate that has a baby stuffed into it, as if newly born. "Anthropology minor," He adds on after that beat, before his fingers return back to his other pad. "What major?" Both eyes go up, waiting to share that second page until she's seen the first.

"History." Ash replies, sitting up straighter to reach for the sketch shown to her, pulling it over so that she can look at it, "Philosophy minor.." She slides the sketch pad back over towards him, "So I'm going to use my masterfully learned art of advanced logic here and take it to mean that you were given the name as a baby?" She gestures towards the picture, citing her very visible evidence right there.

"Prematurely born," A tap comes against that sketch, and the pattern might becoming clear. Never more than two word sentences. He seems bright enough, but it is just an impossible struggle to do more at a go, those pauses coming to distill down into two words his meaning. "Skating rink." A brilliant smile comes to his features, those expressions more than making up for the lack of his words. That other sketch? It's slid over, even as he inquires, "Senior?" That other sketch? It's really surreal. It's like a comic cover, the female portrayed upon it all in greyscale with a lovely dress. It's her hair that is the splash of color in blonde, along with a touch of blue on fairy wings that sprout out her back. She's blowing a puff of hair up with a look of, 'This again,' while holding an overly large brush like a paddle and a pair of sissors too. Beneath her, in all caps, is the name, 'STYLE'.

Lucky for him Ash seems like the type to fill the world with the sound of her own voice, and like it. "Oh, that sucks. I heard that those kinds of kids sometimes end up real sick." Which leads her to studying him for an all of a tenth of a second before declaring, "You don't seem to have that problem." Which, might be a weird statement, and one that could have enormous amounts of potential for insult to be taken, and she seems oblivious of that. "Mmmhmm, senior. Me, Astrid...who is like, my very best friend. Very. Best. And Marius, we're all seniors. I think." She leans forward to look at the second drawing that he shares, her brows lifting upwards before she glances up, then down, then back up again, "That's really great. I couldn't draw my way out of a connect the dot situation. Like, it's bad."

"Two weeks," He comments, holding up two fingers just for good nature. "Not bad," His eyes form crescent shapes with the big, beaming smile that comes from him at that, no offense taken in the least. A hand lifts to prop up his cheek, all so he can get a better look at her as she talks. Astrid doesn't seem to resonate with the fellow, but Marius? It's the tiniest flicker of recognition, as if maybe something way back in highschool. "Making comic," He explains about that one she has, his finger pointing towards it as he chimes in, "Thanks!" A beat of a pause as he studies her, those fingers taping upon his cheek, a bob of understanding at her own lack of artistic talent. "Good at..." He prompts, letting it linger out there as if she should fill in the blank.

"Two weeks doesn't seem bad, yeah. Barely even counts, I bet." Ash has zero frame of reference here, but two weeks really doesn't sound bad to her. "Comic? Cool. Is it going to be about a fairy?" She points towards the wings on the fairy stylist, then she follows that up with filling in the blanks for him, "Me? Well. I'm good at a bunch of different things." She leans back once more, stretching her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankle, "I can mix amazing drinks, for one...then there's drama. I'm fantastic at being dramatic, super good." She lifts a hand to give him an OK symbol. "I'm also pretty good at writing...that's my whole hidden art thing, I guess. Written word."

"Hardly barely," Comes Dylan's coo of agreement with her, a twinkle of mischief in his features at that. His head wobbles back and fourth when she inquiries about the coming, and it's the flip of a couple more pages. There is the title, 'Grayscale', and it holds a small cast of characters, far more than just one. So to are there a handful of notes scribbled as he had brainstormed. 'Action comedy', 'anti-heroes', 'surreal life'. Certainly not your average, every day fair! What he lacks in talking, he makes up to in listening, his head bobbing up and down dramatically as she lists off each one, blue eyes watching her face attentively. "Enjoy it?" Comes the next question, though he doesn't specifiy which in particular he's talking about. "Writing," This gets a small face from him, clearly not his best strength, but manageable nonetheless.

"I love all of it, honestly." Since he didn't specify which she should love, just which he was going to give a face to. She leans forward again, then just tugs the sketch pad closer to her to look at the cast of characters closely. "Grayscale...Interesting title." She then flips towards the STYLE fairy, then back to the one with the notes and cast of characters, "So each one is going to be done in gray, except for splashes of color? That's super film noir, you know. Very awesome, very impactful, too. Like...it really drives home the feel of something." She gets nosy, then, starting to look through the sketch pad. "I like writing, though. I find it like...relaxing and stuff."

One of those other casts of characters is called 'Inquisitor', a woman dressed in a far more casual t-shirt and skirt. She holds in her hand a book, intitled appropriately enough, 'Book Of Questions'. It's her expressive, almost crazily smiling face that has red lips added in, and a golden halo above her head that is held up by a wire that is slightly bent, making the whole thing appear crooked. It's a touch further forward he leans when she speaks of that impact, and there is a certain excitement that comes across his features that shows how delighted that splash of color had just its intended effect. "Express yourself," Comes a touch of understanding, a hand lifting to tap upon his temple, as if it is all a way to get things out that shouldn't be in there. "Just started." He explains about it all, and why it is still on a sketchpad, rather than something more polished up. A crooked smile comes to life upon his features. "Where from?"

"Seattle." Ash replies with a nod, not for where she's from, but for the rest. One tip of a finger idly follows the crooked path of that wire holding the halo up, then she starts to hand the sketch pad back towards him, "There's something great about being able to put everything out on paper. I mean, I can only assume that it's the same for drawing as it is for writing. But there's none of that pressure of getting the words right, and you can take your time to really, really plot what you can say. Or, just, writing everything down as a stream of thought, uncaring what you write, and not having to worry about saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. It's just you. Where are you from?"

"For yourself," He murmurs in understanding for that as he takes the pad back, flipping it shut so that Ash continues to have all of Dylan's attention. It's her question that has his eyes crinkling at the corners, a wry smile curling as a hand lifts, one finger poking out to give a whirling 'around' gesture, meaning their immediate surroundings of the town. "Here." His shoulders lift into a hapless shrug, "Parents left," He explains, at least in his own way as that hand drops back down, a puff of air blown out, which ruffles a bit of his mussed up hair. "I didn't." Those eyes flicker outside, soaking in that night atmosphere, before he looks back towards the woman with a considerate, curious gaze. "Why here?"

"Mmmhmm, for me. I mean, I'm going to write a novel one day, and that'll be for everyone...but for now, mostly it's just me." Ash picks up her drink to tuck her straw into her mouth, taking a sip from it before she smiles at him and his answer of here. "So you probably know Marius and Jens....and Sparrow and Corey? Oh, and Alfie I think?" She shrugs a bit, uncertain about the last part for some reason. "The former I live with, and Astrid. The latter live next door." As for the why, that takes another moment of consideration. "It was cheaper to live here while going to school."

It's the small things that he picks up on in those words now and then, one eyebrow arching upwards as he repeats one word about whom she writes for. "Mostly?" That list of names as a hand lifting, giving a small wobble back and fourth. Know? Yes. Well? Some of them. In fact, if she's met Sparrow before, that drawing of 'Inquisitor?' has a few similarities to that particular woman. "High school," He explains about those names she lists off, a hand drifting up to point towards himself as he explains, "Was quieter," As if now he's all talk, all the time. He's quite self aware of it too, that big, cheesy smile flashed her way speaking volumes. "Good place." He murmurs about Gray Harbor, though there is a but there. A beat of a pause, unable to say it so quickly, until finally it comes. "Weird place."

If she puts the two together, it doesn't show. It didn't show, at least. "Right, high school. That time in our lives we all loved to hate, and hated to love...and will look back on with either loathing or longing in twenty years." She leans forward, resting her chin on her hands, brows lifting upwards a moment before she nods, "Right. Weird. That's like saying that water is kind of wet, and the sun is sort of bright. But you know? Weirdly the weird I never noticed until recently...so maybe I'm just really oblivious to things going on around me." She shrugs her shoulders a bit, looking unconcerned about it, though. "Mostly, because I do some writing for school...and I'll share with some people, too.

He can't help but let out a rumble of laughter as she waxes on about weird, something all to appropriate about it found within those words. "It's weird." He confirms about this place in particular, obliviousness included or not. A low breath is pushed out as his hand drapes down to pluck off a piece of sausage from his pizza, popping it in his mouth to chew and swallow before he murmurs, "Even still," After having lived here all these years, is that clear implication. "Like it?" He asks, casting a flick of his eyes out the window to indicate the city, before he observes. "Lotsa friends." And that finger points to her, with all of those names she'd rattled off.

"I do...except..." Ash pauses at that, frowning before she shrugs, tucking the straw into her mouth to buy a few more precious seconds before she continues about it, "There was this really weird thing that happened the other night at work...like, I mean, not just creepy drunk guy grabbing my ass weird. I'm used to that. But really weird, like freaky horrors from the shadows coming to eat your face weird. You know?" Does he? She hopes so, otherwise he's probably going to run away thinking that she's not just weird, but crazy.

A low rumbling 'hmm' comes from him as she explains, and a small frown downwards tugs. It isn't in that, 'oh great, another crazy one' expression, but in that view of frustration at his own lack of words of being able to tackle such a conversation. Instead, he takes the sketchpad that is still out and flips through it, until he nudges over a rather spooky, frightening thing. It's of the Firefly forest, at night, glimmers of moonlight peeking through. And between the trees? Lurking shadows can be seen, vague things but they just /feel/ menacing with how he's captured them. "What happened?"

"I was at work, and the lights went out...and these...things were attacking people." Ash leans forward, her voice dropping as she does so, and the look she gives him is the one of someone that knows they sound crazy. Real crazy. But they haven't yet figured out how to make this sound uncrazy, or if there even is a way. "One got me, and was like, hugging my face babbling about wanting me to shine. Like, seriously? What the fuck is that kind of shit...And no one bothered to help." That she saw.

It's a strain further forward that Dylan gives to make certain he can hear it all, those features contorting this way or that at the description of the thing, but it's the mention of wanting to shine that has his mouth scrunching up, a worried tug down on one corner as he listens to it all. "Didn't see," He muses about the others, wondering if that might explain it all, but it isn't an /accusation/. "Got free?" It's a prompting for what happened next to her with that face hugger, since her face now seems perfectly normal, without some little goblin trying to peel her eyes off.

"Yeah, like the lights came back on, and everything sort of ran away." Ash refrains from mentioning her own less than rational and logical response to the entire thing. Instead she shrugs, "I guess, maybe. I mean, I was screaming." There is zero embarrassment for her screaming, at least. Then she reaches down for her backpack, pulling out her own notebook, flipping around until she finds a blank sheet, dropping it down onto the table in a silent offer in case he wants to use it.

It's a huff that comes when that paper is slid over towards him, but it isn't irritation as he voices his thoughts on it, but sheepishness, "Cheating." He comments, but he drags it over his way anyway, his pencil plucked up. "Other weirdness?" He inquiries, brow furrowing as he begins to do something, but clearly it isn't writing words. "Dislocated shoulder," He explains, pausing just long enough to tap against his own left arm to mean he did, in what seems to be the most abrupt change of conversation ever. "Days ago," Now that... isn't right, it doesn't seem, given he has perfect use over it, no sling to keep it in, and not an ounce of pain to match the stitches and fading bruises on his head.

"I ...one bit of other weirdness. I had a dream where I was burning alive...well, darkness, and fire coming to consume me. It felt really real." But she clearly did not burn alive. The mention of his shoulder, though, does garner an odd look, then she shakes her head, "You couldn't have. Could you?" Cheating or not, the notebook isn't taken back, even if he's not actually using it to write things on. "How did you dislocate your shoulder?"

"Realistic nightmares," This he latches onto, familiar, even as he continues to work away on that blank piece of paper, his brow furrowing up in thought as he sorts through those questions. "Did. Healed," And the how? His mouth twitches, Dylan's turn to think he might sound more than a bit crazy, before finally he just huffs out, "Wiccan magic." It doesn't sound like he believes the 'Wiccan' part, but the other? Well, his arm lifts, moving all around, and a clearly bewildered look crosses those expressive featuers to show he can't quite believe it should be doing that. "Bad seafood," That's the how, or at least as close as he'll get to explaining at the moment. "Tell anyone?" He inquiries about this particular story she's told, curious to see what reactions she's gotten.

"Realistic...yeah, really realistic." Ash agrees, resting her elbow on the table, her head in her hand as she watches him with a thoughtful look, "I told Jens, right after the dream happened. And Astrid..." Which considering they haven't committed her yet might be a good sign they didn't think she was crazy. "Bad seafood?" This is a whole lot less easy to swallow than even Wiccan magic is, and she doesn't look as convinced of that one, either. "You threw out your shoulder because you were throwing up from bad seafood?"

"Too realistic," Comes his muttered words, too much sympathy in that voice to be anything other than able to relate to what she went through there. With a twist, he turns the page around so she can see it. It doesn't have a ton of detail, but he's quick enough with his work that she gets the basic jist of it all. There is one Ash, with a small goblin atop her head, holding onto two fistfulls of hair. It's of her from the waist up, her arms crossed, and a look of utter annoyance on her features. That goblin? It seems to be having a horrible time of being effective, with that sketch seeking to give an outlet to take back a touch of control from what was a horrific experience.

"Uhm." Gulp. No, not from throwing up.He just stares at the woman for a few long moments, clearly trying to figure out just how quickly he wants to run her off before slowly he reaches for his old sketch pad, flipping through a few more pages., looking for something. "Crab invasion."

"That is kind of cute compared to the guys the other night." Ash reaches for the notebook with her and the goblin drawn on it, studying it a moment before she sticks her tongue out at the goblin, like the drawing can then pass on the irritation to something else. Then she glances at him, there is a significant pause.

"Crab invasion? Like...the ones that come from the ocean that we eat, and they just really decided that they wanted to come up and get eaten?" Hopeful doesn't even begin to cover what is written across her face. But there doesn't seem to be any sense that she's going to run any time soon.

The appearance of her tongue brings out a broad smile from the man, eyes twinkling with delight as she takes it up in her hands. "Was dark," He points out about the lights being out, as if it might have secretly been cute muppets trying to murder her face, but it's all a light and playful tease to not let one dwell on the whole dark side of it all too much.

The page he was looking for is found and flipped around to show her. "Eat us," He corrects about her phrasing, and that picture is quite something else. It's like a drunk film student took Saving Private Ryan and The Little Mermaid and mashed them up into one film. Crabs dressed in tri-corner hats ride shrimp boats - LITERALLY boats of big shrimps - whose tails on the back of the boat are being used as catapults. Flounders pull each boat towards the beach as they ride the waves high. And there is one crab in particular, posing like she's George Washington crossing the Delaware at the front of the lead boat. "Seals, lobsters," He points out, because, well, of course there was even more than that.

"That..."

What can be said to that? Really. What could possibly be said to the news that crabs and seals....and lobsters are going to come out of the water and eat people? Posing like Washington. Because she is entirely believing the fact that what he's drawn is exactly what happened, right down to the shrimp boats. "I'm not sure I know what to do with that..did you guys get rid of them? Am I never going to be able to eat seafood again?"

It's a clearly apologetic look that creases his features, and he tries to help at least, in his own way, "Dead crabs," He assures, a beat of a pause before adding in hopefully, "Seafood specials?" As if the local restraunts might have a glut of flounder, crabs and lobsters all dead to deal with now. Yum? The pad is pulled back over towards him and quickly closed, a touch of a blush gracing his cheeks as he looks downright horrible at having pushed that line too far in answering her question. "Uhm,"

Gulp. He fumbles for a moment, before out his phone is slid, and after a few clicks it is pushed her way, though with no expectation. There is his number, right there. You know, in case she needs goblin therapy or a reminder why she now hates seafood.

"At least we're a sea town." Or something. Ash leans forward when he pushes his phone over, her brows lifting upwards before she laughs, "Sure." Evidently she's just starting to read the silence and filling in blanks that make sense to her. Wrong or not. "We can totally go out and have a seafood special sometime. Show those weird crabs who the boss is."

Her own phone is drawn out, and she unlocks it to plug in his number, then she shoots a text to him so that he's got her number in return. Then she pushes the phone back towards him after the initial text is sent. Just a name. "So, this town is really fucking weird. I want you to know, not that you probably don't know. It's just fucking weird."

Dylan's mouth opens, and then closes, and then opens again when she talks of totally going out for seafood to show those crabs whose boss. He doesn't even know how to distill a response down to two words that won't make it even worse of a proposition, and so a resigned look creases his features, something that borders between sheepish and outright amused. "Cause phones?" It's clear he isn't serious, giving the playful nature of his voice, as if people exchanging numbers is the /weirdest/ thing in the world, when clearly it isn't. Up he plucks his, checking that text, and a few taps later to make sure it is all stowed away has that thing shoved back into his pocket. "It's weird," He concurs finally, and there is an air of mystery to that, as if it may yet still be weirder. "Should go." It's a tug of his head out the window, wanting to indicate the time, but who knows what she'll fill in for the blanks on that one.

"Yep, because of phones." Ash agrees as she rolls her phone around in her fingers, then she glances towards the window before she nods, "I get it." Does she? Who knows what blank she's filling in, honestly. It could be literally anything. She reaches for her backpack again, dragging it up since he's leaving, and she's going, that means that she can take over the table. And thus, her text book is dropped onto it, "It was really nice to meet you, Rink."

"Enchantee, Ash." Comes the french rejoinder from him, and for some reason Dylan seems truly pleased with this particular bit of french added into the conversation on his part. His bag is pulled up and over his shoulder as he starts to slide out, "Good luck!" It's a glance to her text book, a look of utter panic at the thickness of it, before a hopeful, optimistic look is flashed her way. Out the man heads, but right before he gets to the door he chimes out, "Text me!" Because calling, it seems, is probably a Bad Idea unless she just wants to have a one sided conversation!

Text him? Well, that just seems like an invitation to do it right now. Since she's avoiding actually doing her work, and not yet received her pizza, she unlocks the phone and does just that. Mostly emojis. Innocent ones, really. Sushi seeming to be a very prominent one of the emojis. He'll probably regret ever meeting her by the morning if this is her method of coping with homework avoidance.