2020-07-24 - Lay of the Land

It's early, but not too early, mid-to-late morning, perhaps, and Lilith is still wearing her running clothes and making the coffee shop part of her return route for the day with detouring. She's clad in a pair of pink and black Nike sneakers with schemed and matching little athletic shorts and a semi-cropped t-shirt with that's blotchy with perspiration, runner's tank seen beneath. Her dark, pulled back hair is damp at the base of her neck too given exertion and summer heat and humidity, so when she's inside and yanking her earbuds out of her ears, she tells the barista on her way toward the counter, "Iced, iced, iced latte today, two extra espresso shots..." Pause, "And ice water, definitely ice water, I think I might be dying and you don't need a body on the floor as decor."

The coffee counter girl apparently is familiar with Lilith, because she laughs and doesn't even need to know what kind of latte to start pulling and icing for the woman. While tugging out her phone from wherever she happens to have it secured while out running, she turns off the low blur of noise coming out of her displaced headphones and shoots off a text before leaning on the counter and taking a time out. But eventually, she slubs over to drop into a seat while waiting on her drink to fully have a sit and rest.

The man who wanders inside is not a familiar face; he dressed in black jeans and matching turtleneck to the point where he'd have made Johnny Cash proud and carrying a tote bag under one arm. The stranger has that air of wandering randomly about that people typically have if they don't really know where they're going -- probably blew in from the bus stop or is just passing through on the highway between Portland and Seattle.

The stranger pauses once inside and looks around carefully before saying, "Hello! It says free wi-fi on the sign -- but I can still buy a cup of coffee, I hope?"

He's in his late twenties, early thirties and while well groomed, pretty ordinary of appearance -- if anything draws attention it's the accent. It's not pronounced, but he is clearly not a native speaker.

Lilith doesn't often pay a lot of mind to people around her, either she knows them or she doesn't, she's not one to people watch or keep tabs on who's new or in and out of town like an old timer or highly social person. That said, she is a local, she was gone a good while, but has been back in town for over a year now and generally knows the difference or 'look' of someone that's all fresh-faced and wide-eyed when it comes to Gray Harbor and the ways of their quaint (hah) little town. She also happens to be doing absolutely nothing but zoning out and breathing while waiting for the caffeine surge to be prepared, feeling a sheer and absolute need for it now that her runner's high (which she swears is a myth) is fading.

Therefore, while the appearance and order that's placed by the foreign man doesn't really trigger her into any state of paying mind, his accent partially does and she's a little curious for her own reasons, suddenly, as to who he is. There's not many people from other countries in town because why? It's not really a tourist location, but lately, with the opening of the casino on the water, there's been a pickup in that whole department, though most of them stay among the amenities of the hotel and shops inside the floating premises.

"I hope you can buy coffee, because if they give that to you for free too, I've been getting ripped off for a while now." Lilith comments to the fellow from a good few paces away where she's seated. Then her iced latte comes up at the counter with her water and she rises to wander over and get a straw to hold between her teeth while unwrapping a second one to stab into her water. Then the coffee is stabbed by the drinking straw too and she turns with both cups in hands to really look at Ravn, "What kind of accent is that, anyway? It's subtle, I can't..." Pause, "Okay, wait, if you keep talking, I bet I can guess."

Ravn can't help a chuckle at the woman's comment. He flops himself down on the nearest available surface and looks hopefully at the counter girl; "I'll take anything that's hot, black, strong, and comes in a cup," he tells her. "But please, no caramel or sugar or whatever else some Americans think they need to mix into coffee. Absolute savagery."

Then he looks back at Lilith and cants his head, still smiling. "So, if you prefer to guess, I shouldn't answer that question, is it?"

He seems amicable enough as he dips into the tote bag for a cell phone which he taps, probably to connect it to the wi-fi network; for the moment, though, his attention is on the woman talking to him -- and very much on the girl about to provide him with caffeine. "But yeah, you heard right. I'm very much from out of town. Drifted in yesterday more or less by accident -- truck driver told me this is Portland and left me on the curb outside that very nice art gallery you've got. Name's Ravn." He pronounces the name something along the lines of Raown, and heaven only knows how it's supposed to be spelled.

Lilith chuckles at the comment on the savage way Americans ruin their coffee, flitting her eyes toward the barista to watch her walk away for tending to someone else once Ravn is poured for, easy mode. Then easing over to sit down nearby at the coffee counter since she's apparently playing an accent guessing game, she drinks long from her water before swapping it out in favor of her coffee to swish around and stir with a straw, "... we do that because most American coffee tastes burnt and we have to hide the taste to drink it to mass effect. Speed over slow percolation is prime processing for us people fueling the go-go-go of America. I prefer black out of the espresso machine at home, but... that tastes like it should. Not to say this place doesn't have good enough coffee, but I was in France recently and there is a notable difference."

She shakes her head stubbornly at the no-tell terms of Ravn's accent, then after stirring her iced coffee around, she takes a drink while listening to the how and why of how the man ended up in Gray Harbor. That actually makes her squint once he's explained, a subtle cut of lashes with pensive mien there for a beat because... truck drivers generally KNOW where they are and the way people just end up in town sometimes by way of coincidence is... well. Coincidence isn't a thing as much as people tend to blindly think it is, not here, she knows that. In fact, the longer the brunette woman looks at the man, it's more like she's looking in to him instead of at him, it's a semi-strange hyperfocus.

But again, it's momentary and she doesn't lose stride in conversation, instead she holds up three fingers, ticking off count, "Okay, three things. You're probably from Scandinavia, though I couldn't say exactly where. Second, I'm going to need you to repeat and spell that damned name. Third? Were you hitchhiking with retarded truckers?" While the woman is incredibly forward and casual and very dressed down at the moment, there's a platinum diamond solitaire on her ring finger that's probably a whole luxury car worth of metal and stone and design. It's not gaudy, carefully sized to walk the balance of expensive and elegant when it catches the light.

Ravn's grin broadens as he raises one finger. "You're not wrong. I'm Danish." Another finger, "It's spelled R, A, V, N, and if you think that's bad, let me get you started on my last name sometime." The third finger goes up too, and then back down, as the man laughs softly. "Kind of doubt it was an accident -- the driver, that is. Must have said something that ticked him off. He wore one of those red caps, Make America Great Again, people who wear those seem kind of ... volatile? Not very fond of Europeans -- called me a pretentious shitmonkey, in fact."

He sips his coffee and leans back on his chair a little, seeming on the whole quite relaxed for a simian of a supposed fecal orientation. A steel grey glance dwells on the ring a moment when the light sparkles in its precious stone and the man's eyes wander to his own hands a moment -- gloved, but there is clearly some sort of band sitting on a little finger under the black kidskin. "So, what's to see in Gray Harbor? Met a lady at the art gallery who told me to go see the library. I'm a folklorist -- she told me you've got the usual stories of haunted cemeteries and the like here?"

Lilith tips her ponytailed head into a brisk and brief nod as Ravn both confirms as she suspected on whereabouts, with more specific notation, then repeats and spells his name. If she seems satisfied by those things, the third thing has her suddenly grinning with a proxy satisfaction that comes with amusement, "Oh good. You're getting the American small town roads treatment. It's really one of the more authentic experiences and 'shitmonkey' is a pretty innovative term, really. It's right up there with 'asshat' and in trucker speak, it's basically a compliment." It's not, really, from the dry tone of her voice, but she also kind of sounds like you don't have to be a Euro to be called a shitbird or equivalent by a trucker.

"Anyway, my name is Lilith and it sounds exactly like it's spelled." The woman pauses here, though, to consider the man's inquiry and how to exactly answer it without pointing out he's in some secret murder and abduction seaside anomaly. "The library is fine, but it's mostly just a library. You could always go diving and see the dead bodies in the park pond, the bones are starting to collect a nice muddy, mossy patina that's akin to coral reef." Oh look, Lilith is full of shit and good at deadpanning it, but also you couldn't PAY her to dive in that pond. She doesn't say that part, of course. Instead, she says, "I guess I know a few local ghost stories. Really, though, if you want stories of gore and haunts, Alexander Clayton is the man to speak to, he can give you some good brain fodder and nightmare fuel you'd be tempted to believe in full."

That's because she knows it all to be true, of course, and while she has terrible horror stories of her own from personal experience, those are not what you get into on first meeting. It's the GH way of being generally polite until someone hits that place where reality borks out. Instead, she suggests, "There's a writer too, lives in the Bayside apartments where I stay, he has a restaurant running in the casino now. Name's Dante... something." Pause, "The Casino is our most recent attraction, full resort style out there floating on the water. I might be biased when I'm calling it a beauty, though, some people were up in arms about it disturbing the fish. My fiance owns... I mean, there's other investors, but he kind of owns the whole shebang."

"I shall have to add 'shitmonkey' to my stationery," Ravn says in a very serious tone, grey eyes sparkling with amusement. His interest seems piqued and he leans forward a little. "I'm guessing someone actually died in that pond? My specialty isn't horror stories, though -- I've spent a couple of years studying older folklore, back home, so unless you've got supernatural guardian spirits and faerie folk running around..."

From the tone of his voice, casual and amused, it's pretty obviously a joke. The man has no idea what kind of place Gray Harbor is, bless his innocent heart.

"So, is this the kind of place where a man should spend a few weeks before travelling on, you think?" Ravn sips his coffee once more, clearly enjoying the fact that it contains water and caffeine, and perhaps a bit of percolator tar, but no syrupy substances. "I'm kind of... well, playing tourist, I suppose. Might sound a bit funny to you, but to me, this is unexplored country. The US is very different from what I'm used to. I've been kind of staying in places for a bit before moving on, working whatever small jobs were available, or setting up as a busker or street magician if there was no work available. Do you know if there's any kind of hostel or cheap lodgings somewhere? The nice lady at the art gallery let me borrow a couch but I don't want to impose on her indefinitely."

"... yeah, a good few, and the ones that didn't die there probably got dumped there. Granted, that's what I've been told from a wee thing and couldn't give you the exact specifics, but I know there's more than one body called water under the bridge, so to speak." She'd explain how that bridge is called the Hanging Bridge too, right over dead body pond, she could give a VERY specific example or three in that case, but it's too much, so the thought pulses up, then ebbs away with a little mental effort on the woman's behalf. Conversational poker face intact, she sips from her coffee while shoving the personal bits inside back where they belong.

"Anyway, if I think of any creature stories that are worth bringing up..." Lordy, she has those too, but none proper for suitable consumption, "I'll let you know. You probably have the good kind that are far more interesting, imps fiddling under waterfalls and selkies drowning people." Pause, "Actually, I think selkies are Scottish, but I know you lot have the drowners too." Another pause, "Pretty sure my jerk cat is something supernatural, but damned if he's talking, he just sits with that face and looks like he's judging us for being mortal." You know, like cats do. But this cat really does it, and Lilith pulls out a picture of him sitting in an office desk drawer to show, "See... total jerk."

After showing off her animal with a little scoff at the picture before tucking her phone away again, she considers the actual question of opinion on Gray Harbor, "Here's the thing... should you leave? Probably, you'd do better seeing all over America collectively instead of just hanging around here." Also staying around might kill you, but you know... tact and all. That and Lilith knows given the way he ended up here, the town is no doubt going to sing some hidden siren song to get him to stay, at least for a while, she's also in the business of minding her own business and letting people make their own damn decisions, "But... if you do the whole side-cash hustle with busking or street magician work and do it well, there's always the Boardwalk to use. We also have the Sea View Suites in town, must be awkward being on a stranger lady's couch. I mean, yeah, it's nice of her and all, but..."

Weirdly trusting to just let some random in-town Scandinavian crash on a couch! Lilith doesn't fly with that much caution to the wind, her life's been far too much for all that, in general and it's clear from her dubious expression she thinks it stupid with a much bigger city mentality, despite Ravn being perfectly amiable, "I think they're acceptably priced, but it depends on how long you stay."

"Selkies are Scottish, yes -- and Orcadian, I believe." Ravn nods amicably. "We've got mermaids, though, and contrary to what Disney would have you believe, they're not little adorable redheads in sea shell bikinis."

He listens carefully to the names of properties that she lists and nods at her observations about couch occupations. "The gallery lady -- Hera -- is very kind and I certainly appreciate her generosity, but yes. I don't want to impose on her for a longer period of time, and I wouldn't mind having my own shower, or at least a door to lock."

"I -- don't know how long I want to be staying? So far the town seems nice." There's a speculative look in the man's grey eyes as he considers the state of affairs. "It's a little strange -- I've walked around the roads today and while I haven't really been talking to people as such, I get this strange feeling... People seem very intense, somehow, some of them looked at me like I'd fallen out of the sky. It's probably just me being silly but I get this strange feeling some of them thinks there's something off about me, and I can't quite figure out what it is." He trails off a bit there, possibly realising that maybe telling a complete stranger of the female persuasion that other people think him strange or creepy could leave a wrong or questionable impression. "I just get the feeling people here know something that I ought to know too," he finishes lamely.

"Mm, this place..." Lilith thinks how to explain after sitting pretty quietly and looking at Ravn while he's speaking and trying to explain his own observations about town and the inhabitants in general. After a graze of her bottom lip with her teeth, she thinks visibly, takes a long drink from her coffee to drain it off of the ice with her straw, having been whittling it down during conversation. Then she switches to her water when that's gone, like she needs the straw to play with as a thinking crutch between her fingers.

After that significant pause, the seated woman looks at the man levelly to assure first and foremost, "Your intuition isn't quite crazy and it's probably a combination of a few things. They aren't looking at you as a person, so much as they're gauging, maybe, what sort you are. There's two kinds of people in this town, with an outlier third that's comprised of pass-in-and-out tourists that aren't worth mentioning-- they're a constant back and forth or in and out, especially given location and some amenities for summer and vacation woods homes, the casino, so on. I'm talking about the people that live here, though, as you no doubt are."

After that prelude, though, she denotes, "People here will never know what's biting them, they're happy to do things like let strangers sleep on their couch or leave their doors unlocked, they're all growing and working and playing and curious. Then there's the ones that have been through the wringer, you're going to see some study and paranoia, this is a place that favors the damaged." Lilith thinks about how real that is, how there's powers that feed off of their damages, and it's really the best way she can explain without explaining much at all. Then with a little shrug and a smile, she starts to rise up into a stand, "Small towns all have their things about strangers, no matter where you are in America. They'll welcome you or wary you, this one just... works both ways, I guess. More personality variation."

"Anyway, I should get going. I'll see you around if you stay, I'm sure. And I own the Pawn Shop in town if you get a little hard up or want to browse, I'm there a lot."

"I guess I'm still in the tourist category," Ravn says speculatively. He is paying very close attention for someone who gave off the pretence of just wanting to strike up a casual chat over coffee; maybe he did really notice unusual stares and mutterings over the day whenever people thought he wasn't paying attention.

Then he offers Lilith a cheerful smile as she gets up. "I might look you up at work. I've never seen an actual pawn shop outside of on TV -- I mean, I'm half expecting to see beefy men with gang tattoos and shaved heads trading curious powdery substances like you'd see in a Hollywood movie."

The Dane rests his elbows on the counter as he finds himself alone, thinking for a moment or three. Then he picks up his cell phone and starts typing away on it, taking advantage of the advertised free wi-fi; the girl at the counter gets asked the occasional quite harmless question and if somebody was to ask her later, she'd probably guess that he was updating a traveller's journal or writing to someone at home about his explorations.