2020-02-18 - Ignorance, Vice, and Dinner

The clock is only a few minutes past five, but in the winter drizzle, it's already nearly dark outside. Harper is dressed in her own inimitable library-chic with a blue jacket over her navy-blue skirt ensemble, red tights, funky boots, and a green knit hat. There is a satchel over her shoulder and across her body. She finishes a text and slides her phone in her pocket then heads over to a booth to slide into the bench seat. No, she doesn't look at the menu. She simply watches until a pseudo-server comes into view and then holds out her hands palms up and gestures with the fingers of both hands in a come-hither motion. "Open Sesame. Expelliarmus. You're getting very sleepy."

Harper gets an over the shoulder look-behind from the waitress and then smiles encouragingly when she turns back in the librarian's direction. "Yep. You. I want food. You know you want to get me some. I'll be so easy. And I tip generously." Harper earns herself a server, reluctant and trying to be grumpy. But still there's a woman at her table now. "Hi, I'm Harper," the librarian adds, as if the woman wanted small talk. "If there's any of that vegetable beef soup that was on the menu last week I want some of that. And a grilled cheese. And hmmm. A chocolate milkshake." She looks at the woman's nametag -- which is more than likely not the correct name. "Thanks Gertrude. You're the best."

Eventually, "Gertrude" will pay attention. And even agree to get Harper food - it will not, however, be a beef vegetable stew, but some sort of extra-hearty smoky beef and lentil stew served with a small dish of rice. She does get the grilled cheese sandwich, though. And an appropriate milkshake! But before any of those things actually make it to Harper's table, in comes Gina. She's in her usual winter wear: the long, well-tailored dark grey woolen coat with its deep hood that looks almost cloak-like, with the slender chains going from the final thin button to the pocket, with all its charms. The hood is thrown back as soon as she's inside, revealing her usual smoky eye - today in black and dark golds - with her purple hair pinned up behind her. She makes her unhurried way towards the counter, though she slows and stops when she sees...Harper, there. Wanting food. Alone.

And Gina definitely sees her. She stopped to LOOK at Harper.

But of course, being Gina, instead of nodding, or smiling, or saying 'Hi Harper!' Gina just continues right on to her route of getting behind the counter, and making herself a coffee.

Harper pulls her satchel strap over her head and settles it beside herself in the booth. Then -- of course! -- she pulls out a copy of Mark Z. Danielewski's 'House of Leaves'. Setting it on the table in front of her, Harper flips open to a bookmark that reads 'Gray Harbor Public Library: Check it out!'. Maybe it's the breeze from outside. Or perhaps the motion of Gina's arrival catches at Harper's peripheral vision. Whatever the case may be, she looks up from the tome to cast a gaze toward the diner's owner and a musing smile curves her lips. "Hi, Gina." She won't demand Gina's attention. One only gets a wild Gina's interest if one doesn't mind either way whether they'll get it in the first place.

Wild Ginas enjoy coffee. And it's only after Gina's grabbed herself a cup (complete with caramel sauce) and stepped inside the kitchen, emerging with a bowl, does she head towards Harper table and, without even asking, sets herself across from Harper. Gertrude arrives a bit later with the edible items. Gina's bowl has some sort of muesli-granola-porridgey-something in milk half-burried in fruit and nuts and are those bacon slices? Just ignore it. At least Gina seems happy. "Yo." Gina says, which is as much greeting as Harper or anyone can expect. "Sup?"

Harper has returned to reading by the time Gina emerges from the kitchen, only lifting her gaze when she nears the table. The bookmark is returned to its spot and Harper closes the book. "Well, well, well. I'm the lucky winner?" Harper's brown eyes dance with warmth and the invitation to sit, which Gina could do whether she had permission or not. Gina slides in across from Harper and the librarian lifts her elbow to the tabletop -- how gauche -- and settles her chin atop her palm. "It's marvelous to see you, Gina. Geoff said you'd been vacationing." He might have said that quite some time ago now, but Harper hasn't seen the woman since then. "I was glad to hear that your cats didn't eat you. How's 2020 treated you so far?" Harper looks up and then leans back into the booth as the items she ordered (for the most part) arrive. "Is that a lentil stew? Brilliant." Her words aren't loud. But first things first! She reaches for the milkshake and a spoon and offers the waitress a smile. "Thanks, Gertie. You're a peach."

Gina's looking at her bowl, but at the talk of 'marvelous' things, her gaze flicks over towards Harper with an expression in that can only be described as skeptical. About winning or marvelous things or just Harper's general cheer? Who knows. But since Harper is an old acquaintance and dating one of her least hated people, after a spoonful of her weirdly unhealty healthy dish she finally confirms, "Did the holidays with my dad. Visited some old friends. Hit up a few countries." Casually stated. There's a moment, heavy with mulling, before Gina also adds. "I got Vee and Iggy," The cats, "An autofeeder. Would take weeks for them to get to me. They don't even like human flesh." So casually spoken, too, that little nugget. "You?"

A third spoonful of chocolate milkshake goodness precedes Harper's response. She's not visibly bothered by Gina's skepticism. That's like the tide continuing to follow the pull of the moon, or rain on a February evening in Gray Harbor. "How's your dad?" Harper's father died (badly) senior year of high school. She might just vicariously be hoping for a paternal story. "What was a highlight of all that country-hopping?" Harper's brows tip upward. An autofeeder? "It seems like cats --" Gina's cats. "Might object to being fed by an automaton. Were they put out when you returned? Because I'll always make cat housecalls."

Harper tips her head with that offer and then picks up the triangular half of her diner grilled cheese. Is there anything so wonderful in the world? She takes a bite. Fortunately, she wasn't swallowing when the dry and probably truthful statement is spoken. "I'm wondering how big your sample set was." Of human flesh.

Harper's 2020? The woman in the navy cardigan regards Gina for a little longer than that question might need contemplation. "It's been disturbingly safe. Geoff keeps it interesting, though." Does that imply Harper prefers things more precarious? "I told him we should entice you to do something social with us. He agreed, of course." Because Gina.

Talk about her dad might be the only time there's... it's not a softening, or a pleasantness. No, that woudl be too much. But there's less of a sense of ambiguity, when Gina responds. It lacks Gina's usual abrasively pointed ambivalence. "He's enjoying his retirement way too much. He was talking about taking up zumba classes to pick up dates." Oh yes, still dry. But fathers are inherently embarrassing even for adults. "Also apparently has taken up grilling. He talked smoke nuances or some shit." Another spoonful of food. Because she can't with that.

She washes it down with coffee, before she taking up the next part of the question. "The cats are sluts for whoever or whatever feeds them on time. And speaking of sluts, I saw an almost-step-brother of mine. Still a fucking asshole. Had to bail him out of jail."

The talk of some sort of social outing has her spoon pausing as she stirs, looking at Harper. A long, unblinking look of those dark brown eyes. Measuring. Considering. Until finally, the spoon lifts, "We'll see what you come up with." Bite.

Hey! It's NOT A NO!

Zumba classes alone. Gina's father. To pick up dates? Harper abandons her grilled cheese to cross her arms against the edge of the table as she regards the complex woman across from her, drinks in that minute shift in demeanor. "Smoke nuances. Sounds vaguely shamanic. And very dad-centric." Maybe surprisingly so. But it certainly hits that need for Harper. "Are you and your dad very similar?"

An almost-step-brother. Harper's mind trails out after the different possibilities. "If he was a fucking asshole, whyever did you bail him out of jail?" Harper can't help it. Her questions are too direct, and she knows it.

She'll see what Harper comes up with? "You want to ... ah ... give me any hints about what you'd enjoy? Bowling is fun in a retro-pop sort of way. Dinner or drinks are always an option. We pretty regularly watch movies and wrestling and pretend we're back in high school again. You could join us for that. Geoff tends to get unexpectedly philosophical at the most entertaining times when we do that." Harper considers Gina, measures something silently for a few moments, then adds, "We could always go for a hike or do something else outdoorsy." From the way the options spill forth, it would be easy to infer that Harper has another dozen options ready to lay out in front of Gina. "We could always try smoking human flesh. You know. For the cats."

"Pops has faith in humanity. So no, we're shit-all alike." A pause, as Gina stirs her bowl again, lazily and unconcerned. "Well. We both like action movies. And good food." Really, they don't even share DNA - it's no secret Gina and Kalvin share no DNA. It's just the two of them are so convincingly familial it's a detail in the back of the community consciousness. But Gina moves on from talk about her father with a small snort at the question about her almost-step-brother. "It's complicated family shit. Blackmail, secret love children, the usual." Gina says in a casually dismissive tone, scraping the sides of her bowl and glancing at Harper with a little curl at the corner of her lips -- that dangerous little curl that makes all her words suspect, the mocking ambivalence that suggests she could be teasing, misleading Harper - or telling the truth, or being sarcastic, or-- well. It's so hard to tell.

The question about what she likes earns a shrug. "Not a fan of people. As long as you don't expect me to be nice or try and convince me to be social or some fucking good sport, it's mostly the same for me. I do like movies. And I take shitty photographs sometimes."

Harper soaks in the pop-talk. She truly does. Whatever variety Gina doles out, she'll eat up, believable or not. Complicated family shit? Harper's gaze is pretty inscrutible for a moment before she slides easily back into her amiable charm like a favorite coat. "Sounds complicated. And worthy of all the questionable tales." But that's as far as the librarian will push that. She watches the evolution of Gina's expression with her own particular brand of fascination. Truth or lies, Harper's equally fascinated. Which is not to be confused with gullible. She has her own affinity for artificial truths.

"Oh, goodness no. Spending time with us does not require you to like people. We wouldn't change you, either of us. And I can speak with some certainty there. You being nice? Gina. I'd worry." Harper helps herself to some of those lentils and they're as good as they looked. Perfect for a drizzly February evening. She shrugs out of her jacket as she warms up. "Then we'll do a movie at home. Perfect." Another bite of lentils as she listens. "Maybe you'd show us some of your photographs, too. That would be a definite hit." So very offhandedly, Harper asks, "Are you seeing anyone, Gee?"

Truly, the best part about Gina's life is how fine the line between believable and unbelievable is, and how much the truth likes to flutter around on both sides of that line. But Gina doesn't clarify, instead focused on evenly distributing the last few spoonfuls on her plate so every final bite is tasty. "Figured not. Geoff is-- okay, more or less. And you're less fucking annoying than you seem." Which is a... compliment? Probably. Setting down her spoon - though she hasn't quite finished - she picks up her coffee, having a sip before it grows too cold. "Yeah, the photos suck, so I wouldn't hold my breath."

The question about seeing someone, though, has Gina's brows both rising, "Seriously?" She asks, tone dry, before she has another long sip. "Not really the romantic type," she says 'romantic' like it's a dirty word - she stops just short of a sneer, but it's a close call. "And even if I could tolerate that shit, I want fuck-all to do with ninety percent of people or people-like shit at any given time, and I live in a small town with a fucking stupid high population of dead and disappearing people. Not really an amazing dating scene to find one of the few people I don't want to shove in an oven."

Harper heartily agrees that Geoff is okay. The statement about how fucking annoying she might or might not be evokes the beginning of a little laugh that she swallows with another bite of her sandwich. "Mmhmm." That's the equivocal answer. It doesn't look like Harper took the words badly at all. "Believe me. If the photos suck, Geoff will make all the best, absolutely direct and likely sardonic commentary. And I know you'd enjoy that. So it's totally up to you." Harper's made her bed with the persona she wears. She's not about to apologize for it.

"Who said anything about romantic?" is the pragmatic response, mild and perhaps even faintly mystified. "I was more wondering if you had a partner in crime. It's not at all required. Or expected." Harper watches Gina with a briefly sharp gaze that is easy to miss in all the Harper she puts out there. "I won't disagree about the lack of variety in Gray Harbor." The 'but' is in there, but the librarian leaves it unspoken. Reaching to the side, Harper fishes her phone out of the satchel resting on the bench beside her. "You willing to risk your phone number on the chance of a vaguely tolerable movie?"

"Seeing anyone implies a certain level of fucking and ga-ga eyes." Gina points out, before having another spoonful of food. "Haven't really been good at the whole teamwork and partnership thing since I was a kid." Scrape, scrape. The last few spoonfuls of her dish are finished in short order, and Gina leans back, straightening her legs and crossing her ankles while she does so. Coffee is sipped. Mmm. Coffee.

Moment of post-meal serenity achieved, she looks at Harper and raises both brows. "If you've got something to say, say it. Then I'll give you both my numbers."

If Harper disagrees with what 'seeing anyone' requires, she doesn't say so. She dips her chin in response to her own evaluation. Oh. Harper would love to know more. But she just might be better at choosing time and place than she seems. "Hey!" she calls out as the waitress returns to the front space of the diner. "Gertie! I'd be your fan forever if you brought me a to-go container for these lentils." She lifts her hand to her chest and patpats above her heart with a ridiculous smile before looking back to Gina with a more even expression. If she has something to say? "I like to choose my words carefully with you, Gina. So I'll just promise you a not-unpleasant time if you choose to watch a movie with us. I know Geoff enjoys your company. It can be as simple or as complicated as you'd like." Harper returns her attentions to the chocolate shake. No. Certainly the librarian didn't mean that to sound like the entendre it sounds like. Her phone is ready, resting on the table beside her milkshake.

"Well, he is my one true love in life." Gina says, her inflection and and tone not changing from her last few statements at all. Again, so ambiguous! Even that sly little lift of her lips, so slight. But she pushes herself to sit up and reaches for the phone, casual as can be. Hopefully it's unlocked. If not, once she notices it's locked, she'll hand it over to Harper to have it unlocked. "At least until I see my other targets. You're probably overthinking this, though. Can't go wrong with action or bad horror movies." If and when she's given the phone, she'll toss in the two numbers.

Harper's fingers tap the screen to unlock it. She then hands her phone back over to Gina. "Welcome to the club," she replies with a wry smile. The club whose membership is hopelessly enamoured with Geoff Turner. Tattoo artist. Ex-con. Bad boy. Sometimes-philosopher. Charming motherfucker. Overthinking it? "Possibly," Harper accedes. "But I'm enjoying myself either way." Nothing ventured. "I'm sure we'll come up with just the thing."

"Geoff knows I'm special." Again that casual tone as she plunks in the number. "Mostly because I'm down to murder anyone he acknowledges reaches the same searing passionate depths we feel. Or just murder him, not really sure." She doesn't hand the phone back, so much as drop it on the table and slides it over back to Harper. And that half-smile, mocking and/or teasing and/or sarcastic, still there. Before it just smooths away again, as she pulls out her own phone. "Send me a text so I can add you. Or I'll never pick up. Tell Geoff I said hey."

Harper catches the phone that is slid back across the table to her, a charmed and mildly fascinated smile touching at her lips. "He's got a sense for such things," Harper agrees. If Gina's feeling around for a hot-button she's going to come up wanting. If she's looking for amusement, she may see a glimpse of it. If she's simply cultivating her reputation, Harper is happy to recognize it. "And he has excellent taste." Once again wry. Harper lifts her phone and taps out a short text. Hits send. Her to-go box arrives and she quickly grabs a twenty from her purse and pushes it in to 'Gertie's' hands. "Keep whatever's left, you beautiful creature." Geoff once schooled Harper in the ways of apathetic service demands. Harper simply uses the other side of that coin tonight. She slides the lentil stew into the container. "I don't say this to many people, Gina. But you're far more entertaining than Danielewski." And if one is speaking about metafiction, that's quite the compliment. "I will. And you feed those cats and whisper my name." Harper's smile is slow as she pulls on her jacket once again, slips her phone into her satchel and pulls the leather strap over her head.

(TXT to Gina) Harper : Check your calendar for (weekend date in 2 weeks). Let me know.

Gina sips her coffee, listening and watching as Harper interacts with "Gertrude." "More like he's just that kind of guy. He's on my list of people most likely to murder me." An actually amused little scoff, before she reaches into a pocket to check the message on the phone. And...shrug, at Harper's commentary. "I'll drop off Ignorance adn Vice for you to cat sit sometime. It'll be an experience." And with that, she checks the text-- and then unravels the earbuds wrapped around the phone, popping them in. The diner is already playing folk rock songs... but apparently, Gina is not here to change the music. Not tonight.