2020-08-06 - The Girl in the Fast Car

August 6. I'm finding myself in the middle of nowhere, Washington State; a place that looks vaguely like the backdrop of Twilight, God forbid. A place of stories. A small-town community, the kind of which I know from home. Everyone either went to school with each other, are cousins, or are married -- and in many cases, two out of three ain't bad. Although, Grey Harbor is a town of what, some 15,000 people, I think -- but by US standards, that's practically three sheds and a shared lavatory in the woods. And they tell stories here -- do they ever.

A tall guy in a black t-shirt and blazer seems to be tapping away quite intently at an Android cell phone in a sparkly pink Hello Kitty casing. Every once in a while, Ravn stops from making some inane observation on the blog that few people barring a few fellow academics at home actually reads, just to look around and sip the coffee the barrista keeps supplying him. They seem to have reached some kind of truce; he will not lecture her on how to make proper percolated coffee, and she will not add vanilla syrup to his coffee in revenge. Currently, it's a regular latte.

The growly sound of the sports car pulling up outside is the first announcement for the Addington's arrival. Once the car is in park and the engine cut off, the door opening and closing on the vehicle is the second. Once the door opens of the Espresso Coffee shop she's got her phone in her hand and is tapping out a message almost absently.

Oh and she's dressed in name brands you can't purchase in any town within at least a hundred miles of this one. She looks more like she stepped from the shops of Rodeo Drive. Which is entirely possible.

The text sent, Erin slips the phone into a hidden pocket of her dress. It's an aquamarine color and looks sort of amazing with her darker complexion. There's also a waft of expensive perfume. Nothing overbearing, mind you, but she smells nice!

Despite all the outer trappings, there's a warmth to her dark eyes as they land on the barista behind the bar taking orders. Also a hint of the same from the lift of a corner of her lips when she's asked. Your usual? "Yes please, half French vanilla cappuccino and half hot chocolate. Large to-go cup." Oh! And there's a newspaper tucked beneath an arm. Taking a look around while she waits for the concoction, she notices the occupant all in black. With the pink sparkly phone. Unfortunately assumptions are made. "Good morning." Friendly, in a sense, to the outsider.

The outsider in question looks up and quite obviously refocuses his attention to this reality; wherever his thoughts were, one could get the impression that they packed a bag before going there and were intending to stay a while, maybe spend the night, don't call me, I'll call you. He returns the smile with an easy enough one of his own and says, "Good morning!"

There's a moment of silence as he looks at her; probably a look that the girl from uptown has seen before, on the faces of people of, shall we say, less elevated circles; the look of someone who's wondering if the person standing in front of them is someone whose name they ought to know. Then the blond guy seems to decide that maybe she is and maybe she isn't but either way, she's apparently friendly. "Fancy car," he offers by way of a greeting, speaking with an accent.

Oh yeah talk about her car! Erin takes a moment to glance through the window at the love of her life. The smile inches up into a more full one. "Thanks. Maserati. My mechanic despises that it's foreign but it's nice to find someone who appreciates her beauty." Her attention is taken by the barista and she accepts the drink in hand before turning to go have a seat. It's at a table just adjacent to that of the man in black.

"New in town?" It has a soft lilt at the end as if she'd intended it to be a question but turns out to be more of a statement. She knew he was new. "Do I detect an accent in your voice?"

"Guess your mechanic wouldn't like me either," the man in black murmurs with obvious amusement. "I'm Danish, though, not Italian. And indeed, very new in town -- been here just a week. I'm not a car expert by any means but I've got a few friends back home who will happily have the Maserati versus Porsche argument any time they get a few beers under their belt. Can't help pick up a few things, listening to them."

"My mechanic is a Ford man, but he takes care of my baby for me when I need. Unfortunately in this town, it's more often than not." There's a delicate shudder at some random memory or other. Now that she's seated, she places her coffee and paper on the table before her, opening the little folding part of the lid out of the way so the steam can release and the coffee can begin cooling. "I suppose everyone has a preference when it comes to personal vehicles. I have mine when it comes to most things. Vehicle. my home, shopping." She's what they call high maintenance, for the most part. Or it's how she appears anyway. "Denmark? What brings you to our quaint little town?""

"A trucker in a red hat," the man replies, blue-grey eyes glittering with amusement. "Literally dropped me off in Main Street. I was supposed to be going to Portland but he and I turned out to have a few... differences of opinion. It's all right though -- your quaint little town certainly has a few stories to tell. And well, stories is kind of what I do -- I study folklore. Can't say I'm really an expert on cars at all; I used to live in Copenhagen and it's really not a very car friendly town. Was a lot easier to take the metro or a bike, most of the time. Probably end up with something Japanese when I go home since that's what's most common -- or Korean."

"That sounds a little dramatic." Erin says about the dropping off in the middle of town. "Perfectly understandable when it comes to Gray Harbor." His amusement is noted and even reciprocated in some capacity. "Lucky you. You missed Portland and landed in the most charming and welcoming town there is." There may even be a touch of sarcasm detected in that last part.

"Folklore? So have you come to put your finger on the pulse of the town and learn all of our secrets?" Sort of waving away the mention of the cars and transportation for that mention of home, even as she asks, "Does the reference to going home mean you're only here on a temporary basis?"

"I'm probably going home at some point but I haven't exactly looked at plane tickets yet." The Danish guy's eyes continue to look amused; he seems to be the sort of person to whom laughter comes easily but at least it is not a mocking or disparaging kind of laughter -- more along the lines of someone who knows that people are strange, life is strange, everything is strange, so roll with it because that's all you can do. "I was going to get on a Greyhound and onwards to Portland but then I've been spending a week here now, running into all kinds of interesting people and the stories they have to tell. Before I knew what hit me I had a job and a place to stay so... I'll probably be here for a while. There's a lot going on here, for a town that's so small. You're a local, then?"

"I wish you Godspeed then on your return home, but while you are here, I entirely wish you the best on digging into the things here and maybe learning a few things in the interim." Erin does seem to be genuinely cordial in all that she says. The amusement he seems to emit is a draw to her and her eyes crinkle gently at the corners as she smiles more fully in response.

"A Greyhound. That's not a terrible idea. What has your reception been thus far? Plenty of warning to get out while you can?" Using a thumb she absently traces over the lettering on her to-go coffee cup. Most notably the words Gray Harbor beneath the lettering of the name of the establishment. Finally, she looks over at him with a more studying expression before a single brow lifts. "You feel drawn here, do you?" Perhaps putting words in his mouth that may not otherwise be there. "Yes, local. I am Erin Addington." The name spoken like a celebrity may. As if expecting to be recognized for it, possibly.

"Ravn Abildgaard," says the owner of the pink phone casing and tucks said device into a pocket, only to cradle his cup with both gloved hands instead. If his reaction is anything to go by he has no idea what the name of Addington means; he really must be from out of town. "And yes -- quite a lot of that. Usually hand in hand with, 'but you won't leave, it's already too late'. So I guess they're right about that. The town does have a strange way of making you feel like you should have come here a long time ago, doesn't it? People are mostly very friendly though. A bit eccentric some of them, but eh, who am I to talk, backpacking across the States because why not, and so on. Not my place to judge, I figure."

He does have that special something to him; just not a lot of it. Compared to a lot of people in Grey Harbor, actually, very much not a lot of it -- but it's there. The Veil seems to have been doing its thing, again.

Erin pronounces his name as he says it, definitely not the way it's spelled, but then again she's not aware of the spelling. Her gaze is a little intense as she studies him, hopefully not obtrusively so and the lack of recognition of her name does either place him as very foreign or her as very snobby for making assumptions. "Addington is the founding family," she informs him not with any self-importance, but for a folklorist, he should at least get the beginning noted.

"It is never too late to leave. I have family members all over, outside of our little town here." Erin finally lifts her cup and blows into the little opening before chancing a tiny sip. Still a little too warm, but she only replaces the cup back on the table. "Perhaps it is a good thing you were not here a year ago. We have a history, our town. Not all of it is good. Very little of it is. But it is home."

Recognition of at least the term sparks in Ravn's eyes and he nods in understanding -- at least partial understanding because he's certainly in a different social strata from the looks of him. "First cabin in the woods and all? I'm in a somewhat similar position back home -- home town kind of grew up around some distant ancestor's place. Guy farmed apples, I presume -- at least that's what my name means, 'the apple farm'."

He leans forward and rests his chin on a hand, elbow on the table. "And now you have my undivided attention. Dangling words like 'history' and 'a year ago' in front of a folklorist, that's somewhat the equivalent to putting a very juicy worm on a hook and casting out in the pond."

"I am related to so many that are buried out at the Church in town. Saint Mary's is where I've gone all my life." Erin attends church! "Having a connection can be a good thing, but sometimes it's like a weight you carry. I can empathize with your wish to get away at times."

His obvious interest has her hesitating but what she knows.. well most of it.. is documented in places. Maybe just some of it. "I am almost certain you know there are things about this town. Non-traditional things."

Ravn winces slightly in recognition; he too comes from a place where the local cemetery has a section for people who aren't related to him, rather than the other way around. And a crypt under the church. And a crypt at the estate. Relatable, yes. Moving on. He's not quite certain whether to sympathise; these things are very important to some people, even if he is not one of them. "It can be," he finally cedes, going for a neutral tone of voice.

Better to ask about the things that make Grey Harbor interesting, then. "Very non-traditional, from what I am finding. Apparently, urban horror stories don't pop into existence out of nowhere. I gathered there's at least one person in town who makes his living writing them -- and from what I've seen, he can't have to look very hard for inspiration."

While her posture always is straight, Erin slumps just a little and for a moment there's something haunted in the depths of her dark eyes before it's gone again and she is looking at him with a mild curiosity, "What is it you would like to know?" Not giving anything away immediately, but sort of gauging what he knows already. "Perhaps a coffee shop is not the best place to speak of such things though. There are those among us who would subscribe more to the term ignorance is bliss."

She's not making it so easy really, but anything good is worth working for, isn't it?

"Everything," Ravn says quietly. "But. I collect stories. I'm not a morning paper journalist -- I'm not looking for a scandal or to incriminate anyone. I listen to the stories that people want to tell, I don't pressure anyone to tell me things they'd rather not. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, miss, and I apologise if I came across like I was trying to pry. I've met a lot of people here in Grey Harbor who seemed very eager to talk about these things. Unload on a stranger, I might even say."

"Then I suggest you start with the newspaper and the microfiche machine at the library. Follow up with the Historical Society and Addington House then some good footwork on checking with the locals. That is a lot of information to gain in limited time." Both brows lift this time. "I am far from uncomfortable talking about the town and some things, but I was only curious as to which direction your interests lie. Something along the lines of the serial killer from last year? Or the more haunted areas? I'm uncertain where you would prefer to begin."

The Dane sips his latte. "I think serial killers are of more interest to a criminologist. Haunted areas, on the other hand -- that's something that ties in very strongly with folklore; ghost stories are folklore. Kids may have made up the Slenderman as a joke but let me assure you, a hundred years from now there's still going to be people reporting meeting him in dark places. That sort of thing seeps into the collective consciousness."

He nods thoughtfully at the woman's advice on where to get started. "I have a name at the library and I was rather intending to spend a few nights there if she'll let me. I didn't know that there is a Historical Society but I suspected there would be -- at least back home, you won't find a hamlet that doesn't have some kind of local historical archive, even if it's run by two old coots who mostly sit around swapping stories of the World War Two occupation forces and how they could have won the war singlehandedly if only the government had let them take up arms. It makes perfect sense that Grey Harbor has an archive or society of the sort. And I take it from your introduction that Addington House is the -- original apple farm, so to speak?"

Usually not one for the shock factor, Erin throws one out there now. "Even if the serial killer was my very much alive Uncle being possessed by a very dead serial killer from the area quite some time ago?" While the words are spoken calmly, dark eyes shift to him to sort of gauge his interest in it. Or lack thereof.

After only a moments pause she adds, "And the city hall on the other side has a whole plethora of information, but the Archivist had been keeping tight tabs on that. The cost, traditionally, has been rather high in getting to that particular information." Lips curve and Erin offers quietly. "Something like that. Ground zero may be the Saw Mill though, but I highly recommend going with someone else if you do visit."

The Dane blinks and straightens up in his seat although his expression is honestly more fascination than horror. At least he has the decency to sound sympathetic as he says, "I'm sorry to hear that. About your uncle, I mean. That's... one of the reasons I tend to focus more on the folklore aspect; every murderer and every murder victim has a spouse, a kid, a parent. I can only imagine how that must have been, for him and for the rest of you. I'm curious, obviously, but again -- not trying to pry. Possession is... I don't have a lot of personal experience. Our ghosts tend to be more personally hands-on, traditionally."

"Everyone's warned me against the saw mill," he muses after a moment. "I'm not going to be the suicidal guy from out of town who declares that he can take on anything, puts on a red shirt, and goes into the woods never to be seen again. I have... I've seen a thing or two already that's made it pretty clear to me that all of this isn't just some local legend. There are some things going on in Grey Harbor that are literally very dangerous. I'm not going to rush headlong into things. I'd be a very poor researcher if I did, I suppose. Probably end up losing my PhD post-humously or something."

"To avoid overlapping, would it be easier if you told me what you've heard or what you know? It would avoid a wealth of useless knowledge being repeated to you if you already know it." The drink had cooled enough that Erin could sip at it regularly now and she does so, all the while listening to him. After several moments she asks quietly. "Are you a folklorist by trade or hobby?" Glazing over the other for now, just leaving it where it is so that they could possibly talk in a more suitable place.

Ravn raises a hand at the barrista, signalling for a refill of his own cup, before nodding. "I've got a PhD in folklore," he says as the girl does indeed wander past to top up his cup. "I don't know if one can call it a trade though, since you can't quite get a job from it unless you want to teach it. I can't quite picture myself in a class room playing professor, so... I guess it's a hobby."

Once the barrista has indeed wandered out of earshot again, the blond fellow says, "I know about -- Dreams. And that people disappear, a lot. But mostly I've heard about the things people can do, or think they can do." From the tone of his voice it's pretty evident that he is keeping the door open for this conversation to go back to something normal, to pretend that this is a normal town where people talk about normal things and they definitely don't chat up strangers talking about decidedly not normal things.

About to suggest going somewhere else to speak of things, he is getting a refill so Erin squints a little and glances towards the door and the humidity beyond the safety of the interior of the building. Even so, she does suggest it. "Perhaps a stroll along the beach." But to her, the beach is near Bayside. Nearer her home. "There's a stretch called the Rocky Beach, just off of Bayside. We could likely talk unhindered this time of the day. Possibly."

The Addington doesn't seem adverse to relaying information or sharing things. Just more discreet in the way she goes about it. "And what is it that you do, Ravn," trying to pronounce it like he had. "With your.. abilities? Do you use them for the betterment of people?" A pause. "Or yourself?"

"I live there," Ravn volunteers. "Near the Rocky Beach. Well, I will. I'm getting a boat in the water there, and I intend to live on it. So, I live there."

Then he shakes his head. "I don't really do much with it at all. I'm not -- some of the people here seem to be really good at what they do. I'm not. I do a bit of stage magic for a hobby and sometimes I... cheat a little. That's pretty much it. I don't think that qualifies as betterment of anything except perhaps getting a few laughs out of people."

"I have a close friend who lives there on a boat as well." Erin allows without giving a name. His own relaying of the power and what he does with it brings her to ask. "Something to do with now you see it, now you don't?" While she does seem interested in how he goes about it, she doesn't press for more. "I am a nurse at the hospital, so if you do find yourself exploring in your red shirt, or find yourself in something that causes you harm, perhaps there's something I could do to help you." Of course she can detect the slight aura around him, she realizes he has it and the knowledge is there in her eyes.

"Don't take this the wrong way," the Dane laughs. "I really hope I won't need your services. I mean, I'm sure you're very good at you do, but I really hope to not end up in a hospital bed. I'm not exactly a combat soldier type, anyhow. I've gone hunting a few times in my life but apart from that, I wouldn't even know how to use a firearm properly. I'm... far more likely to end up run out of town for asking all the wrong questions. Although I'll admit, the church shooting was... not something I'd expected."

"Honestly, I hope you have no need for it either. I'd much prefer to avoid the consequences to using it. But I do when it is necessary. Or to help friends." Says the one who has encountered the Dark Men before! "You don't have to be a combat soldier to find yourself in need of .. medical attention though." Dark eyes drop to his chin before Erin looks up again towards him. "Cut yourself shaving?"

"Ran into a tree when a dead guy on a horse was trying to lop my head off with a sword," Ravn says bluntly. Well, if you're playing the game, why not throw all the chips on the table, indeed. "I think that was the time I decided to just... believe in all of this. Or maybe it was when a girl glued me to that chair right over there by the seat of my own pants, just to show me what she could do. It's a little... difficult to argue with that sort of thing. But from what I'm seeing and hearing, there are a lot of people in Gray Harbor who have had these kinds of experiences -- and Gray Harbor reaches out to them, draws them in from elsewhere, just like it did with me. What I am asking myself is why. There has to be a reason for it."

"Dead guy on a horse. Strangely enough that doesn't really surprise me in any capacity." Dark eyes drift over towards the offending chair in question, or something near it since it seems to be the one indicated, Erin gives a hesitant nod. "Maybe there really isn't a reason at all. Perhaps things just happen. Really, I've tried seeing the reason for it for many years now and all I seem to find is carnage. That and people trying to assist others through it as even more come. What if the only reason is to feed the Dark Men?""

"Well, then I guess we should find out a way to tell them to do their dinner shopping in another way? No offense to your local community here," Ravn murmurs and for a moment there is a shimmer of steel in his grey eyes, "but people don't exactly seem happy about it all. Most people I've talked to already come across like they're pretty terrified or angry, or both. I can't help think that we have all these Old World legends about not messing with the faerie world for a reason, you know? They're not nice."

"There's really not anything nice about the veil or anything associated with it. Except for those powers we're somehow granted. Things change, people change, they come and go and the supply is replenished. Is there some meat locker on the other side with food for the guys? I somehow doubt it. I wouldn't discard the idea in its entirety though. Maybe there is a reason. Maybe you'll find it. There are as many stories to tell as there are minutes in a day, every day, since the town was founded I'm sure of it." Erin doesn't seem to be so easy going about it all, she's tempering herself some."

"Not the most fun place to grow up, I imagine." Ravn blows on his coffee and reigns in his fascination a little; the woman in front of him obviously does not share his enthusiasm for the stories of Grey Harbor. "To me, it's all terribly exciting. But I didn't live it. I haven't lost anyone. And I've not really got anything to lose, either. I guess it's a matter of perspective. Have you ever thought about picking up and getting out? You don't look like you can't afford a bus ticket, or a gallon of gas for that Maserati out there."

"I could leave. Where would I go? What would I have when I got there? I have roots here at least. I have a home, a car, a job. I have a past, a history. When do I stop sacrificing everything I have for them? When do I stand up for what I have left and not allow them to take that as well?" Erin doesn't look bleak but there may be a touch of it in her tone before she casually sips her drink and regards him once more, but this time over the rim of the to-go cup. "I refuse to quit. It's likely as simple as that. I will not give them any more of me. They cannot have it."

Ravn studies her with eyes that are a pale, very Scandinavian shade of can't-decide-whether-blue-or-grey. Slowly, he nods. "I get that, I think. Not letting someone else tell you who you are, what to do with yourself. Not even if that someone is not, well, someone but something. I'm the other way around -- packed up and left for pretty much that reason, because everyone was telling me what I ought to be doing with myself. My way of giving them the proverbial finger, I suppose."

"So you left home because you were being told what to do. I'm staying for the same reason but neither one of us are content with following the directions given to us. It makes sense." Casually, dark eyes rake over his hands. The gloved hands. When Erin lifts them there's question. "Is there a reason you wear gloves in the summer? And a blazer? If the folklore thing doesn't pay what is it you do for your wages?"

"I've got an acute sense of touch," Ravn murmurs in the voice of a man who's been asked this every time he's met somebody new for most of his life. He doesn't seem to mind -- it's more of an automatic response by now. "I'm not really comfortable touching things without some kind of protective layer."

Then he flashes a small grin. "I found a job cleaning glasses and wiping tables down at a beach bar, actually. Fancy it's not, but it's kind of fun. I get to meet a lot of people, hear a lot of stories. You should drop in some night, it's a pretty decent place." Although posh it is not, his smile seems to convey.

"I see." Again, the gloves are given a once over and Erin shrugs lightly. "Everyone has something, I suppose. So why not?" The drink is twisted in place on the table, turning the logo to settle it straighter for no reason at all. "Two if By Sea? Easton's place?" The mention of the owner brings with it a slight twist of her lips. "I have been there before. Even managed to not totally embarrass myself at karaoke once. It's a good place to go if you ever want to get your drink on. Probably not a bad place to work."

Eleanor hasn't been in the shop very much, due to August being hospitalized. It's not that her fiancé isn't well on his way to healing up after being stabbed, but more due to being part of a rotating group of her and a few others who come in to clamp down on his PTSD symptoms about being hospitalized, so he doesn't bring the whole building down around him. She had to do payroll today, however, so she emerges from the door marked "employees only" with a laptop bag.

The redhead has her hair in a tight braid, and she's forgone her contact lenses today to wear her glasses. She looks tired, with dark circles under her eyes. Clearly poking a piece of plastic into her eye with a finger sounded like an unwise idea in her state. She's in khaki clam-diggers with a white peasant blouse with green leaves embroidered on the collar and hem, and sandals. She is handed a cup of coffee by one of the kids at the counter.

"Well, the men's room ought to be on some international report on potential sources of the next international pandemic. Apart from that obvious health hazard, though, it's a pretty neat place. I'm enjoying my time there, even if they're not letting me near the actual bar. Apparently, being able to 'mix drinks' is a requirement." He even does the air quotes.

"I once ordered a mimosa in there and got a bottle of some wine cooler. I'm guessing mixing drinks isn't really high on the list of priorities there." Erin is amused all the same except for the mention of the mens room. "It sounds terribly bad. I've always heard if you want to see the condition of the kitchen in a restaurant then look at the bethrooms. I hope that is not the case then." Seeing the movement she notices the owner entering. A smile is given towards her, but not one too exuberant or amused. After all, she'd seen the woman dancing naked while checking a book in Portland! And sprawled across a piano in Addington House. Still, it's a friendly smile with only a touch of hesitance in which Eleanor may be able to read those thoughts into it, should she look closely enough. "Eleanor is August's significant other. The Botanist. And the owner here." The last in explanation to Ravn.

At this point, Eleanor is personally convinced that They are just trying to embarrass her to death by dragging her into dreams naked, almost naked, getting naked, or glimmering her to mortifying acts on this side of the Veil. And she was swimming naked, not dancing! Stupid Veil dust. Don't lick the rocks in Dreams. Seriously.

The woman gives Erin a small, tired smile and a wave, heading over to her table. "Miss Addington, how are you today? Haven't seen you in ages, though I've been spending more time out at August's cabin lately." She looks to Ravn and gives him a nod. "Eleanor Lake, owner of Espresso Yourself. New to town?"

The man in black, Steve Jobs Junior, raises a hand in a lazy, good-natured wave. "Ravn Abildgaard. Resident Danish blogger leeching off your wi-fi and probably driving your barristas to tears trying to explain to them what American coffee is supposed to be like, like a good non-American should."

Or don't try and read the books either! Erin watches her approach and the smile comes more easily. "I am doing well, thank you." Which is likely a pat answer, but since she looks well it may even be believable! "I've just been working and staying home for the most part. I've heard about the cabin. Are you both doing well?" A look between Ravn then Eleanor and she gives a slight nod.

Eleanor looks amused at Ravn's words and a brow arches. "So, what are we doing wrong, in the opinion of the Danish, when it comes to American Coffee that is clearly Italian and/or French in its various beverage origins?" She doesn't seem bothered by the WiFi leeching. That is sort of what coffee shops do. They're what internet cafes inspired to be. Places bloggers, writers, and gamers come to not be alone, but do their own thing, while spending money on beverages.

She beams at Erin at her question. "We're doing great. Well other than the stabbing bit and the Police Chief being murdered bit and the game shop burning down bit." And her ghostly visit from a long-dead childhood friend. "Finishing up the wedding plans. It's exciting. And so not being held HERE." Because she is smart.

Ravn may appear to just be some laid-back thirty-year-old with a penchant for black but he's visibly paying attention to the shop owner's little list of recent incidents, adding them to his mental folder of Things That Are Apparently Normal In Gray Harbor Why The Hell Are You Still Here. Aloud, though, he just notes, "Well, to me, an Americano is percolated black coffee. Or if you don't have that, half espresso, half hot water. Absolutely no syrup, vanilla, hazelnuts, almonds, oat milk, soy, whipped cream, ginger, pumpkin spice, or whatever else somebody might drop in there by accident. Congratulations on your wedding plans."

Erin brightens, a smile given right back. "I don't blame you for not having it here. An exotic location somewhere? You don't have to give away the location, but I hope it's somewhere romantic and beautiful. I'm sure you could both use the time away." The stabbing is the only thing she hadn't heard about in the list of recents. "Is August going to be okay? Does he need me to pay him a visit?" The last holds a wealth of meaning behind it, unspoken things!

Ravn's explanation gets a chuckle from Ellie. "Well, technically you are correct, Mister Abilgaard, but when it comes to Americans and their coffee, it is much more about the spirit, rather than the letter of the law so to speak. America is about freedom of choice, so people get to have it the way they like it. It's also a case of location. Like, if I am in Western New York, I can enjoy what they call a 'Texas Hot'. A hot dog with a sort of chili sauce topping that has finely ground beef in it, with mustard and onions. In Texas? There is no such thing as a Texas Hot, they've never even heard of it. So I imagine an Americano overseas is not the same as an Americano here in the States, and that what I serve in Gray Harbor isn't the same as what you might get served in Miami."

At the congratulations she shakes her head a little and nods to Erin again. "We found this gorgeous farm in Oregon where they rent out the barn for weddings. Just glad we decided to have an outdoor wedding. Pretty sure August is never setting foot in a church again." The stabbing was only one incident. There was that whole flowers thing at the funeral with Isabella being used as a Glimmer battery too. "August will be fine. Ah, and a visit isn't likely to help much. Visits don't seem to be as, ah, effective as they used to." Healing has changed, a lot.

"If you ask for a Danish in Copenhagen we'll stare at you blankly until some internationally minded person points out that you're actually asking for a slice of Viennese -- and if you go to Vienna to ask for that next, they'll ask if you're drunk because there was never such a thing." Ravn sips his latte -- a beverage which he has apparently reached some kind of truce with the barrista about. "Ravn is fine, by the way. And August is -- is that the fellow who got stabbed in the church? I'm so sorry if it was. That was... not a very good time."

Erin had been present at the wedding where things had gone wrong also! At that church. "I know what you mean about the visit." Having almost panicked the first time she'd realized the change too. "I wonder if it had anything to do with what happened after the Gohl funeral." The words are quietly spoken, but most had felt the shift in it all then too. "The wedding venue sounds really lovely and I'm sure it's going to be such an amazing experience. I'm so happy for you both. Truly."

The coffee talk teaches her a few things also, but she realizes the time almost belatedly. "I should go for now, I'll be on duty at the hospital a little later, but for now I've got to run a few more errands. It was so good to see you." And a look to Ravn, "And a pleasure meeting you."

Eleanor smiles when Ravn gets it about the different expectations for coffee. Then the smile fades when he puts together August and the man who was stabbed in front of him. "Yes, that is August Roen. He owns Branch and Bole, and Out on a Limb, he's a horticulturist and botanist. You were there, when it happened? What did you see?" She's heard August's perspective on the attack, but she knows her soon-to-be husband. He tends to not see the forest for the trees, always looking out for everyone but himself.

To Erin she murmurs, "I think the running theory is that things here changed after some of our friends went to visit a certain hospital." The Asylum of course. They set the patients loose to run amok, and another door closed between the worlds, just like after Gohl's funeral. "But similar to what happened after that, yes." When Erin excuses herself, she gives the woman a quick pat on the shoulder. "Good to see you too, Erin. Be safe out there."

Then she looks back to Ravn. "May I sit with you, if that's all right?"

Ravn looks up at Erin and offers a last smile her way. "It was a pleasure to meet you. Maybe we'll run into each other again? I hope I'll see you before you see me when it comes to that car, I don't think I can outrun that."

Then he glances back to Eleanor and the smile doesn't fade. "Sure thing. I like meeting people. And yeah -- I was there. A girl named Lyric was showing me around town a bit. We saw that tour being advertised and went inside, and things kind of got a little..." He trails off.

"That makes sense. The things we are doing here is altering it, changing things and not for the better. I wonder if one day we'll close it all off and everything would become unbalanced with them versus us and somehow we're the ones falling short." Something to ponder and likely Erin will. Too much. "You be safe as well, and good luck with everything. All my best to the both of you. I'm happy for you both."

Ravn is given a more hesitant smile but it lacks none in friendliness. "Despite what you may have heard about me, I'm driving a lot tamer now-a-days." An amused look given to the Dane. With that, she takes up her coffee and goes back out into the humidity of the day.

Ellie watches Erin go then comments to Ravn, "She used to drive like a maniac. Like passengers clinging to the dashboard screaming like cheerleaders!" She can see his shine. Not as bright as hers, but hers was not very bright until later in life, when she actually stopped avoiding its use like the plague. The conspiracy theorist settles into Erin's vacated chair, setting her coffee down and wrapping her hands around it as she hunches a bit to speak quietly to the new arrival.

"Did you feel something, or hear something strange on that tour, not from the guide or the people, from the environment?" she asks, cryptically. The statues, she's talking about the statues that called them there.

Ravn trails a gloved finger around the rim of his coffee up, and then shakes his head. "No, not directly. But it's also worth noting that this was my first visit to a church in the US and I was busy looking at everything in full tourist mode. I did catch the mood. Everyone who went inside was pricklier than a flock of hedgehogs. And I caught on to the fact that the guy was carrying a weapon before he went for it, so I must have been aware on some level that not everything was as it should be. I got to admit, I'm still a bit in shock about it all. I've never been in a shooting before. We have... a lot less guns in the streets in Denmark. Could have floored me just by telling me that my co-worker carried a firearm, I mean."

Eleanor ponders with a small frown, her brow creasing and her lips pouting in thought. It's the expression of someone who isn't great at being social, trying to breach a touchy subject with a stranger. "Did you notice anything strange about the statues they were displaying? Anything at all, a feeling, something you smelled or tasted in the air?"

"No. But again, I'm new in town and new at this. I suspect that just after this first week... Next time I get that feeling that something is about to go pear-shaped I'm going to be paying a lot more attention to my surroundings, if that makes sense. I had the strangest feeling when we walked inside that there was something wrong in the cemetery itself -- mostly based on how everyone kept looking at a particular spot in the grass like there was something wrong with it." He considers the memory of the church for a moment, then adds, "I think what tipped me off inside was other people. Among them, your August. People looked at me like they wanted to tell somebody to get the kid out before the manure hit the windmill."

The mention of the graveyard gets a grimace from the redhead. "William Gohl's grave. It used to be there. Then it vanished. If you do a bit or research on the town's past year in the news, you'll find some terrible things. A string of murders that were reminiscent of a notorious serial killer in the town's past. He died, but he was never properly buried. Some of the townfolk gave him a real funeral last year, but the grave has since, ah, been unmade, so to speak."

She smiles at the words about the others, especially August. "Some of us have been here our entire lives. I'm a local. August isn't, but he's been in places like this one, maybe not quite as...other...as here but to some degree, all his life. We don't like to see new folks, especially good new folks, get taken by surprise by the town's eccentricities." She sips her coffee. "Are you planning to stay?"

"Well, for now I am. I'll probably need to go back to Denmark at some point -- if not before, then when my visa runs out." Ravn sips his coffee and looks pretty laid back about that part, at least. "I was still telling myself to amble down to get on a bus when I realised I'd found a temp job down at a bar on the beach and somehow I'd rented a boat to stay on too. So I guess I'm not in any rush -- truth of the matter is, I'm deeply fascinated with the stories of this town. Part of me wants to know the how and the why and the where. Your barristas will probably put up voodoo dolls of me out back."

There is a sadness that passes across Eleanor's face when he mentions suddenly finding himself settling in. The town has its hooks in him, clearly. "Honestly, Mister Abilgaard, I wish you'd gotten on that bus. Has anyone spoken to you about the um..." She fidgets, looking around with a touch of paranoia. This is a woman with murder boards and police reports in a room of her house. "...unique aspects of Gray Harbor."

The foreigner studies Eleanor's face with eyes that are a pale shade of grey and blue; for a moment his gaze is pretty intense, as if he's mentally evaluating her. Then he slowly nods. "I've seen -- some pretty unusual things. Abilities -- people who can do things I thought belonged in stories. Things I thought I was the only person who could do -- though in fairness, people here make me look like an amateur, too. And the -- dreams. Had a taste of that. A very -- powerful experience. The rational part of me is still trying to claim that this is all crazy talk but I'm honestly very open to the idea that this place does things to people. Being chased through the woods by the Headless Horseman will have that effect on somebody, I guess."

Ellie seems relieved that someone has already broken the news to the man. She's been seen as the more loveable of the town's resident conspiracy crackpots and weirdos, but it's still tough to be that person. Alexander Clayton definitely has it worse though. "Some friends and I are looking to rebuild a group who investigate and discuss these odd matters, mostly small groups meeting in public spots, a lot of it online and in text chains to pass along important information. Would you be interested? There was a paranormal society here, but the lady who ran it left and it always worried me that it was just too public and too large of a gathering at once, and that we'd become a target."

"I wouldn't just be interested, I've been looking all over town to find people like that," Ravn muses. "I guess that's a definite yes. I don't know how much help it'll be, but I'm a folklorist. Old world folklore but, I figure there are similarities. Parallels. Of course my studies have always been from the assumption that folklore is an expression of a cultural collective consciousness, a means of instruction and preservation of values -- and everything here is a little bit more hands-on. Still, when I was running through the woods with another bloke, knowing to find a stream of running water probably saved our tails. Nice of the dream to play along the rules with on us at that one, at least."

"A folklorist? Do you know much Scandinavian or Norse ones? I've been ah, dealing with one since I was a child." Eleanor digs in her laptop bag and finally pulls out one of her business cards for Espresso Yourself. "You can reach me by text anytime mostly. Talking on the phone isn't my favorite thing so I prefer text or email. But if you can give me a way to reach you, I can contact you when things are set up for the group."

"18th century Scandinavian folklore is literally what I got my PhD in," the blond man chuckles. "Do I want to ask what you mean by 'dealing with one'?" He picks the card up and tucks it safely into a blazer pocket. "I'll be sure to send you a text later so you have my number. And if for some reason that fails, I've gone and rented a boat down by the docks -- older sailing boat. And I work a bit as a barback at Two If By Sea, so you'd be able to find me there too. Waging my personal war on the mens' room."

Eleanor digs once more into her bag, and pulls out a small binder. She flips through it, and then sets it on the table, shoving it across to him. On it is a sketch of a creature. "So far the only thing I've been able to dig up is that it might be related to something called the Jotunn?"

Ravn studies the drawing, giving it his due and undivided attention. He trails a fingertip along the surface of the paper as if by its structure it might tell him something -- which it probably doesn't. At length he says, "It's obviously some kind nature or primal spirit -- the whole animalistic side. And if you tell me it's related to the Jotunn, I'm going to say that it probably represents some manifestation of chaos powers, because that's what the Jotunn are -- the forces of nature, untamed nature that seemed very powerful and threatening to humans unable to control them. The fact that it doesn't resemble any natural animal gives me some pointers -- it's perverted, somehow. There is something about it that isn't right -- because the Jotunn, even at their worst, are relatable. They're giant men, or giant wolves, giant something -- but they're something you'd recognise. This is not -- I'm not sure what it's supposed to be, but there's never been a natural animal that looked like that. Does this make any sense to you?"

"An elk. The body looks like an elk or a moose. Something large, the branches are clearly antlers, more like an Elk's, but the rest, is human. The torso, the hands. It was in a forest on the Other Side. The forest was dying or already dead. It was angry, or in pain, I couldn't tell, but I was just a kid, and so was my friend, and we freaked out and fled but it hurt us as we did. We got out but Addie...she died a year later of Lymphoma." Eleanor closes her eyes as she explains the memories, the ones that molded who she was, and who she would become. They open again, green like a living wood, and sighs. "I think it wants my help. I think it wanted Addie's back then."

Ravn winces; he may be a man who finds smiles coming to him easily but there is nothing amusing about sick or dead children. "That would fit the mold -- it looks wrong because there is something wrong with it. It wants your help because there is something wrong with it. But it can kill, because like many forces of nature, it doesn't think in human terms. We have a saying -- a bear's favour. You do someone a bear's favour when you're not helping them at all. It comes from a fable about a tame bear wanting to wipe a fly from his master's face and well, in doing so, knocking the man's head clean off. Forces of nature, at least in myth, often fail to understand just how squishy we mortal people are."

He seems to take it all quite seriously. Then again, if he literally got chased by the Headless Horseman a few days back, maybe he's not the first person to start calling other people crazy for seeing things in the woods.

Honestly, the analogy to the bear thing seems to give Eleanor some peace. The damage was unintentional. It was just trying to stop them, to explain its need, but it had not been in the presence of squishy mortals in so long, it could not remember they were so fragile. She rubs at her shoulder, the back side of which has a tattoo covering the scars from where those antlers pierced her back, and lifted her, to throw her. "That's...actually very reassuring, Mister Abilgaard. Thank you. If you can find out anything else, I'd appreciate it. Alexander Clayton is looking into it as well. Maybe you two could pick each other's brains. I need to get back to that place and help the creature. August and I are working on how to do that part."

"Please, Ravn is fine. I wash glasses for a living." The Dane nods. "And I'm glad to help. If I can help more, I'll be happy to do so too. It's... I don't mean this to sound like I'm some kind of crazy adrenaline addict, it's just -- very gratifying on some level, to put some of this to actual use. I've had my nose in books for a very large part of my life and I'd be lying if I said there haven't been times when I'd ask myself if I could possibly find a study more irrelevant to the real world. Maybe that's why I'm here -- I'm hardly a combat soldier, or a psychic, or something like that. But I do know a lot about how stories work, and this whole dream thing, it seems to run on stories a lot."

"Having your nose in books is never a bad thing. I've been that way much of my life, so has August. I think it helps us reconcile this world with the Other one. Knowledge is power, as they say, and yours may come in very, very handy in this town." Ellie glances at her phone. "I'm sorry, I have to get back to the hospital and make sure August doesn't rattle the foundations out from under it. He should be discharged soon, I'll watch for your text. It was nice meeting you, Ravn." She rises and offers him a hand to shake. If she's noticed the gloves, she's too polite to comment on them.

"Tell him hello from me. I think I met him briefly at the bar and besides, getting stabbed must suck. I hope he gets better soon." His grip, when shaking her hand, is firm but not finger-crushing. "It was good to meet you too. I'll see if I can drum up something more specific on your creature, I do have a few contacts at home who specialise in Norse mythology."