2020-07-23 - Blowing in on the Wind

It's a bit after lunch time at the well known art gallery. There's no food offered in a place like this, but for anyone who enjoys painting, pottery, and the arts in general, this appears to be a good place to visit. The main room is huge, very huge and to the far right are shelves of pottery and a quiet kiln not too far from it. Across from the shelves are a few easels hosting amateur paintings, likely ones that were done by students showing off their growing talents. In the far left area are a series of tables and chairs and a sofa nearby showing plenty of space for groups to come in and visit and chit chat about the small town and the gossip and goings on.

Something else notable is that Vivid Dreams is a place where animals and their owners are welcome. To show this, a large German Shepherd sits on the couch and appears to be resting. Now and then he looks over the place as if to make sure all is secure. Then a very cute, but typical cat, brushes against the metal easels to claim them as his, no matter what painting might be there. Then, in what may be the center of it all is the owner tending to the coffee pot, readying a pot for anyone who wants to come in.

The door opens to admit a new face; a tall man in his late twenties, early thirties, doing a perfect Johnny Cash imitation when it comes to wearing nothing but black -- which honestly isn't the best choice for pale skin and blonde-ish hair, but there you go. He carries a bag slung over one shoulder and a violin case under one arm, and has a 'just blew in from God alone knows where' air to him which goes quite well with his somewhat puzzled expression.

Looking around for a moment, the stranger murmurs, "... This is not a tourist information office, is it? I'm a little lost."

He's got an accent; not quite British, not quite Boston, but with overtones of both -- someone who is clearly not a native speaker but learned the language at a place of education that strove towards teaching people to talk like BBC studio hosts; it's not a perfect success.

Hera begins to find the coffee filters to try to officially get the cup of coffee going, but new people are always welcome. She does pause to examine the 'man in black' not to be rude per se, but to be curious. It doesn't take long though and her smile turns into a kind one, "Oh hello." she says, "Welcome to Vivid Dreams." Then she notices, he's thin, wow, a really skinny guy. "If you are lost I hate to hear that, are you looking for anyone or anything in particular?" Her voice is very proper and polite but she definitely doesn't have any British roots to her. There's not an obvious twang to her voice either but for anyone who knows linguistics well, she might have a bit of a southern accent.

The pets don't speak up though but the dog studies the man carefully. His scent is unfamiliar but he reacts as needed watching in alpha's cues. If she's not worried, Hans isn't worried.

The stranger eyes the dog as the dog eyes him; one could get the impression that not all large dogs he's met have been quite so willing to wait on their owner's cue.

"Yes, er -- oh, this is going to sound bloody ridiculous." He runs a slender hand through his hair and offers a sheepish smile. "I don't suppose you could me where I am? I hitched a ride out of Seattle and I thought I was going to end up in Portland but... this place isn't quite big enough to be Portland, is it?"

Absentmindedly the tall man reaches out to attempt to pat the cat's head, though he has to put down his bag to do so.

The cat is a typical cat for the most part, but even the most typical cats are unpredictable. In this case Queso's eyes go wide and he reaches up a soft paw to playfully bat at the newcomer's hand. Hera just rolls her eyes and tells him, "Behave." As if the cat would listen.

But then a question, and a good one. "Well, this place is not nearly as large as Portland, but welcoming." She pauses at the gentleman and sees a bit of brightness that she does in those who have glimmer, but she says nothing at the moment. "If you want to head to the larger cities that will be a bit of a ride. I take it you didn't mean to come to Gray Harbor?" But, if he glows, the township may well pull him in whether he likes it or not.

"Well, I got to admit, until now I'd never heard of Gray Harbor," he admits and reaches for the cat's paw to theatrically shake it. "Hello there, kitty."

He looks back at the presumed proprietor and offers a small smile. "I don't mind staying in town for a few days though. Came out to see your country, and one place is as good as another. Name is Ravn -- I don't suppose you could direct me to somewhere to stay, perhaps? Would I be imposing if I stuck around a bit, petted your cat and asked you questions about this, ah, Gray Harbor? Seeing as that you don't seem to be quite busy with customers at the moment, and all."

Hera makes an effort to be polite, especially to friends, newcomers, students, and potential patrons of the arts. Queso, for a change, wants to play with the strange man by offering up the paw again to try to do 'patty cake' motions. The dog just watches, not too sure what to make of the man. Either way the animals are not a threat to him. "Please, stay around as long as you wish. Would you like some coffee or something to eat? I'm not a really good cook but it's easy to serve up left overs if you are hungry. I have water too if you don't like coffee. I know there's got to be some sort of bed and breakfast around." But, an instrument, now that intrigues her, "I take it you play?"

"Oh, coffee would be awful nice, miss." Ravn's smile is near-blinding at the possibility of caffeine-based libations. He scritches a cat ear and obviously seems to take a liking to the animal, and rests the violin case on top of his bag with the other. "I do, a bit. Been earning my way doing a bit of busking here, a few beginners' classes there. It's a bit of a hobby of mine, nothing serious."

Then he glances around, taking in the details of the room -- particularly the artwork on the walls. "This is an art gallery, isn't it? Goodness. The driver said it was a tourist's office. I do wonder why - he must have been pulling my leg. Good thing I didn't chip in for gas."

Hera chuckles a little and goes to turn on the coffee pot. "Hera." she says, "Owner and the main teacher here. I offer art classes throughout the week. I pride my place on being a haven for artistic and creative minds. I'm not a musician though. I'm fortunate enough to meet those who are. My speciality is pottery believe it or not." She casts her eyes down on the strange feline reaching out another paw for the man, "He likes you. That's rare. He's a very picky cat. Fortunately, he's also a pretty kitty so he can be quite charming. So, you said you were a teacher?"

"Oh, not formally," Ravn smiles and offers the cat his hands, letting it decide if it wants to be picked up or not. "I'm... a bit of an explorer, I suppose. Going where my feet take me. Tutoring kids is one way to earn my stay, busking is another. It's the only artistic talent I have though -- I could probably manage to hit your wall with a lump of clay if I took very careful aim with it first. And I am rambling -- pleased to meet you, Hera. I'm not usually this... breezy."

Hera nods as she continues on with the conversation. "Busking, I remember those days." Maybe she wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth? "The streets can be kind but they can also be vicious. Expressing your art is the way to go though. I don't think you're rambling though." A few more 'drip drips' and the coffee is ready. She goes to find a cup and asks, "Cream? Sugar? My cousin takes it black. He says I have the best coffee around but I'm no Starbucks. The violin though. That's fascinating. They say it's the one instrument that mimics the human voice." Queso offers a 'meow' not quite saying he wants to be picked up, but he's not protesting either.

Ravn makes the decision on the cat's behalf, carefully lifting it up and not appearing to mind much that he's getting cat hair all over his black coat and turtleneck. "Black as sin, please -- and honestly, not so fond of coffee the way Starbucks does it. We've got them at home too but it's not coffee, it's dessert in a paper cup."

He glances at the windows, or more likely, the streets on the other side of the glass. "So, are the streets particularly rough here in, what did you say, Gray Harbor? It looks like a quiet place, very... Americana? I'm from overseas, you probably guessed from the accent anyhow."

The kitty doesn't seem to protest much but there is a brief 'mewow' response. Hard to tell if he's aggravated or playful from the start but the more Ravn interacts with him the more comfortable the kitty becomes. "Starbucks is a bit overexagerated to say the least. Now the Espresso Yourself, that's a good coffee shop. When I could finally afford dessert in a paper cup I found the price ridiculous really. Here the streets are actually kind, unless it's too cold in winter. The city is kind as well." Sure enough, the black as sin coffee is offered over and the cat goes into serious purrrrrrrrrrr mode. Queso seems to be happy for now.

Ravn grins slightly and looks down at the cat while settling on a chair. "Looks like I've made a friend already. Does he or she have a name?"

"It's a bit of a running joke back home," he says, nodding at the coffee cup. "People buy Starbucks cups and keep them -- then refill them with regular coffee, making it look like they've spent a small fortune on fancy coffees. People are silly, you know?"

Politely informs him, "Queso." she says, "He fancies himself as the real owner but, until he pays the bills he helps make them." Yes, there are stories of a certain cat knocking things over and all. Damage could be a good middle name, "I agree people are really silly, stupider than they should be at times but, it all depends on who you are working with and such. For me, home is Texas but I won't go back there. Gray Harbor has become my real home."

"Queso, that's Spanish, isn't it? Don't speak a word of Spanish beyond dos cuervos, I'm sorry to say." Ravn smiles. "Home's Denmark for me but... I'm in no rush to go back either. There's a lot of your country I haven't seen yet. Lots of stories I have not heard. I collect folk tales -- blog about them a bit, you see?"

Hera sighs a unique sigh, not one out of sadness but the mention of folk tales immediately interest her. "Yes, it is Spanish. I picked it up on the streets of Austin as time went on. Denmark wow, that's the country of Hans Christian Anderson isn't it? I think one of my favorite stories were The Little Mermaid and the red shoes story. I never had a thing for red shoes myself but, those legends, they really teach us many things. Part of me always wanted to be a writer too, a good one. I'll tell you what." she grins, "Tell me a good folk tale and, the couch downstairs is yours, as long as you need it." Wow, seems as if she really would love a good story!

Ravn can't help a grin at that. "That's the first time I've had that offer. The red shoes, though, do you mean the Andersen tale about the girl who had to cut off her feet to get rid of them? That's definitely one of his more gruesome stories -- not that I'm really an expert on Andersen, my period is the 1700s. Studied folklore back home before I decided to throw everything to the wind and go experience the world instead."

He cants his head. "Hmm, a story... Most of our folk tales are kind of cautionary in nature, more than they're fairytales as such. Let's see... There's a story I've always liked, about a poor boy who served with a cruel farmer who didn't feed him enough. He took care of the cows, shepherding them at pasture. That was pretty common back in the day but of course it was very hard work for an eight or nine-year-old. The farmer had a prize cow -- stop me if you've heard this one or it gets boring, yes?"

Hera settles herself down into a seat as she's suddenly transfixed upon what the gentleman says. Hans notices her change in behavior and he pads over to her, wondering why she might be acting a bit different. "Yes, that's the tale. She was just so obsessed with the shoes that she had to have them and she couldn't stop dancing but, a poor boy who took care of the cows. I doubt any good story would get boring but, is it Jack and the Beanstalk or, another one?" The dog just whines a little at her questions. Crazy hoomans! They should speak dog!

"No, no. I think Jack is a British story originally," Ravn says, shaking his head. "No, our old folk tales usually are very much about something you shouldn't be doing or some taboo you shouldn't be breaking, and what happens when you do anyway."

He pets the cat, scritching ears. "The boy lost the prize cow one night, of course. Just as it was getting dark and he was herding the flock home, the cow wasn't there. When he came home with the others, the farmer beat him and sent him back out, telling him not to come back until he'd found the missing cow. And off he went -- an eight year old alone at night. You can probably tell who is the person breaking taboos here."

Hera apparently is interested in the tale more and more, especially since it's one that she hasn't heard before. "Sorry." she apologizes as she's corrected regarding the origin of the story. "I think I can." he says, "But, you're the storyteller, don't let me interupt, please continue." Of course Hans nuzzles his owner's side in a bit of a strange way. Hey Germans can tell good stories too! Especially if they could talk. Poor Hans.

"The boy wandered off into the night, looking for the cow which was of course nowhere to be found," Ravn says, smiling. "He was terrified, and cold, and hungry, and the farmer had given him a few good wallops too. Just as he's finding himself a piece of grass to lie down and cry on, he notices this little old fellow looking at him. And since he's a very polite little boy he greets him."

"Well, what is a sprog like you doing out here?, the little man asked. The boy told him why he was there and what he was doing," the foreigner continues; he's clearly used to telling stories from the easy way he goes about it. "That's silly, said the old man. Little boy like you needs food in him at least. Come along now, and we'll find your cow before the sun is up."

"So he opens up the hill -- he is clearly one of the faerie people -- and brings the boy inside where a big pot of soup is boiling on the hearth. He takes out a spoon and offers the boy one mouthful. And of course the boy is hungry and begs for a second spoonful which he gets -- and then a third because really, two spoons of soup is nothing when you haven't eaten all day."

Hera begins to pet her dutiful dog on the top of his head as she continues to listen. "Poor little fella." Hera says, "Poor thing. He probably didn't even think of the dangers of eating some of the fae's food. When you're that hungry, especially as a child." She could ask more questions but, she's meant to be the audience. With a nod she gestures for the storyteller to go on. He is the focus after all.

The cat could care less about any stories though. He just goes back to purrrring.

"Well, says the old man. If I give you a third spoon you'll have to promise me you'll never harm anyone who doesn't deserve to be harmed. The boy, of course, just wants to eat, and he isn't exactly in a position to harm anyone so he readily agrees. He gets that third spoonful and strangely enough, he feels full and warm and happy after that." Ravn continues to stroke the cat. Queso has claimed another minion.

"The old man opens up the hill again and they go back outside. The kid wonders why he's not cold, but he's not -- and there it is, the cow that went missing, sleeping right there in the briars. So he thanks the old man for his hospitality and takes the cow home. The farmer sees him coming in the morning with the cow and decides that he's earned another beating for 'running away'."

Ravn shakes his head. "The boy isn't quite sure what makes him do it, but he feels so strong and so good that he says, you're a very bad man and you should treat your servants better. Then he picks him up -- and remember, this is a child and a grown man -- and throws him up on the roof where he stays all day until he finally finds a way to get down. The boy never ever threatened his master -- but somehow, after that day, he never got beaten and he always got properly fed."

"And that, of course, is why you shouldn't beat children, and you should always be polite when little old faerie men offer to help you out." He smiles in a fashion that sort of will have to make do for a flourish because cat.

Hera clap clap claps and she claps some more! The tale has truly delighted her and she might be some overzealous that she might offer the man a hug for his love for storytelling and folklore. However, she does behave herself while her dog gives her a very very strange look. "Oh that's so true, so very true! I have to admit I've never met a fairy and, maybe they exist or maybe they don't? They do make for excellent characters though, on multiple levels and children should always be protected. I may never have another child again but yes, they are prescious and they should be treated as such. I'm glad that this was a good fairy though!"

"Most of our traditional faerie aren't quite Disney," Ravn says. "They are -- people. Magical people, granted, but basically they have the same concerns and ambitions as the farmers they're neighbours to. Some of them are good, some of them are bad. You should always be careful to stay on their good side, though, because unlike you, they have magic."

He sips his coffee. "The belief in faerie, or 'hill people', was certainly alive in Denmark up until the middle of the 20th century, believe it or not."

Hera looks over at the couch and says, "You've earned yourself a place to sleep." she remarks, "And free coffee though, I will be honest with you, I offer coffee to anyone who comes in and wants a cup. It's a cheap drink. I remember the unseelie and the seelie. Granted I'm not a folklorist but I did study what I could in college. All of those magical tales are interesting but, Gray Harbor has a magic all its own. You can trust me on that."

"See, this is where I could lecture you on the Seelie and Unseelie courts being Celtic folklore rather than Scandinavian," Ravn says with a smile. "But instead of being a prat I'd rather ask about Gray Harbor's stories -- that's what I do, after all, I travel around the world listening to stories."

Hera nods and gives Hans another scratch behind the ears and says, "Well, I'm what you call someone from out of town so, I didn't grow up here. A good amount of the people in the area did though. In fact, the most prestigious family here is the Addington family. They are very influential, many of them into politics of course. The hospital itself is named Addington Memorial Hospital and there's a park right next to it. That tells you a lot up front. There's not many hospitals named after families. For the most part they seem to be good people. Though, since you're into folklore, you really need to check out the park. There is a story that a long time ago many prominent members of that family were murdered there. That would be a good thing for you to research."

"Sounds like fodder for a mystery writer." Ravn quirks an eyebrow. "I take it you mean that there was something strange about it? Some kind of story come from it, since it might be of interest to a folklore student?" He does not comment on the -- to him -- bizarre American notion of naming hospitals after the people who build them.

Hera shrugs and says, "It could be but, I think the rumor is that there was an escaped convict who killed family members there. I always wondered if it was true and who the convict was and, what's the deeper story beneath. But, I'm not sure. Speaking of history though, there is some sort of historical society there and we do have a good library. You should check that out. A friend of mine named Harper works there. She's a nice woman, my girlfriend's best friend."

"If I'm staying in town for a bit I could definitely do that," Ravn agrees as his hand is claimed by a cat paw -- pay attention to me, damnit. Cats will be cats. "It's not like I have anywhere I need to be -- anywhere that isn't home is good, as they say. Harper, right."

Hera looks down at the interaction between him and the kitty. "She's really cool. I still have some books that I owe her most likely, since she's a librarian and all. That tells me I really should go to the library more often. If you like books there is a book store and Grace, a good friend of mine, runs a really good eatery. That's a good place to eat and I'd really recommend it. She works there with her sister." The canine gets another scratch behind his ears, "Hans and her pup Winston are best friends."

"Hans is a very common Danish name, did you know?" Ravn looks at the dog with a sort of polite dislike -- as if he doesn't feel that it's the dog's problem that he's not a dog person, and perhaps even feels a little guilty about it when the dog is sitting right there and being very well behaved. "I'm starting to think that maybe it's not a bad thing that that driver kicked me out of his truck here. I was rather annoyed about it, but it seems to have been a stroke of luck -- already found a story to pursue and got minionised by a cat. That's not bad for a day's work, is it?"

Hera continues on with the pleasant conversation and says, "I think that's a good thing as well. Also, there's another violin player that often plays at the coffee shops and all. I don't really know him that well but, he's talented. I also admit I don't know much about Danish names and such. I figured Hans was a common German name but, I've never been to Denmark. Jessica took me to Parish though. Now talk about an artist's haven. That trip was amazing. I assume you have been to Paris?"

"Actually, I haven't," Ravn admits. "I headed straight across the pond -- Europe seemed... not far away enough. Everything in Europe is kind of just around the corner, compared to the distances you have over here. I can't think of anywhere in my home country you can go where you can turn all the way around yourself and never see a house of any kind."

Hera may appear on the border of blushing as she seems to admit her lack of knowledge of many European things. That may not be the best thing to note for an artist. "I guess so. It is different. Things are also connected differently. Then again America is so vast. That's not necessarily a good thing. So, how is folklore different from what you studied as compared to other times? 1700 as compared to 1800?"

"I think the main shift lies in the stories moving from being sort of quasi-medieval to the industrial era, " Ravn says. "It's more about a shift of focus, really. To a farmer, nature is really important. To someone who's telling folk stories just for entertainment in the city, it becomes more important to tell an interesting story than to reinforce cultural taboos and similar. That's why writers such as H. C. Andersen started writing new stories, longer stories. And of course, the more industrialised and secular society got, the less people in the stories consider their destiny unchangeable -- because you can make yourself more than you were, or fall all the way to the bottom, but it's no longer God's ineffable will."

Hera listens to the expert talk and remarks, "I am not an expert of course. I wouldn't consider myself to have the right credentials to write about folklore as you but I do remember the original stories always being quite different. In a lot of cases I think they were grusome, really really bad stuff. Stuff that you wouldn't tell your children if you had sense."

"Oh, I'm hardly a university professor," Ravn grins. "I promise you, I slept through most classes in university, mostly to annoy my parents. But yes, I have to agree -- I mean, even your story about the red shoes gets edited out of childrens' editions of Andersen's fairytales, and probably for good reasons."

Hera leans down to kiss Hans on the top of his head and then goes back to the chat. "Wasn't it Rapunzel who was a bride of Satan, or to be a bride of Satan or something like that? Then, I think Cinderella's sisters actually cut off part of their feet to try to fit into the blasted shoe. I'm not sure though. I was one of those geeky students in college. I read a lot."

Ravn nods. "I'm not sure about Rapunzel to be honest, but it was definitely Cinderella's sisters who slashed ankles and toes -- and Briar Rose didn't wake up from her sleep before she gave birth to twins after being raped by the prince. The old stories were rather gentled down by the Brothers Grimm when it comes to that."

Hera appears to be in agreement, but something else does watch her attention. "That's what I thought." she said and she begins to stand up. "You'll have to forgive me. I need to check on somethings in the back room but please, stay around as long as you would like and the couch is yours. You might see people coming and going but definitely, check out the park. If you want anything to eat, let me know." Yes, it seems to be a friendly town.