2020-08-12 - Revenge Sushi

Post kelp burns like sawgrass in the water the one pack of mermen descend on Sushi House (or is is supposed to be House of Sushi??!) to extract edible revenge and say 'no no, nori, Not today!'. Likely the easiest person to find is Vyv since his name is on the side of his shop and is incredibly easy to locate as the only Brit that fits his description in Gray Harbor.

Waiting inside at the table, in clothes not scales, is one impeccably dressed former fishman in all of his fastidious facets (Vyv), and one no-longer-a-Marlin skater dressed in loose layers and skinny jeans that one ma expect of a skateboarder in summer. While he's speaking now, he's still signing as he goes. "You'd think they'd separate seafood not the categories of stuff that had bones and stuff that didn't. It'd make it easier to find." Looking over the menu he points making a small exploding gesture with this hand (spirit fingers!!!), "I want the firecracker roll fo' sho' but aside from that order whatever you want. I can throw in."

He's checking periodically, but spotting their third hand reaches up to wave... wave again... and then make hand puppet gestures in greetings. Who doesn't go 'oh, naked Muppet. that's got to be the table I'm looking for'?

Ravn Abildgaard has gotten some pretty strange texts in his life. There's been a couple of girls making some very interesting offers -- and a few men for that matter, since his penchant for personal grooming sometimes lead to interesting assumptions. There's the occasional scam. Hell, there's the occasional bizarre business proposal from some clueless individual who is unaware that he's on the other side of the planet and entirely out of fucks to give about his family enterprise. It's the first time, though, he's had a text inviting tuna dude to revenge sushi. There's a very Grey Harbor feel to that.

And he can't pass that up, obviously. That's why Tuna Dude turns up at the appointed place and time, looking much like himself except with legs and dry hair, and an outfit consisting of black on black, with some black. The blazer and turtleneck are stylish, definitely -- in that kind of Steve Jobs way that is intended to look very casual and probably never was. He looks around curiously, perhaps still wondering on some level if this is a bit of a joke or setup.

Then, the very recognisable face of the fish with the face piercings and the jewellery, and the other fish. He's in the right place. Swimming upstream among the tables Ravn wanders over to the other two and waves. "This a private kelp party or is there room for one more in the shoal?"

Oh god. He fancies himself funny.

Grant warms a grin up to Tuna dude, speaking on dry land, but also having advantage of his hearing aids in when having a conversation with Ravn this time. His hands move with the answer; foot nudging the other chair out for him. "Tuna dude!" This is the right place. There's some overt gesture to sit embedded in there. "We're not being shellfish with the sand bar. Beach yourself up here with us. we're just floundering on what to order. Grant Baxter, or just Bax. Whatever floats your boat. This is Vyv Vydal." He preens an ear to ear grin so damn proud of himself at Vyv knowing he's either going to get an eyeroll and a sigh, or outdone. It's Grant's other favourite game truly.

Tuna Dude settles on the proffered chair and grins slightly; from the looks of him he's a fairly laid back individual when he's not entangled in giant stranglekelp. "Are you two all right? I came out of it with the kind of rope burns that made a co-worker ask if I'd found a new BDSM club she hadn't heard of yet but otherwise good. From what I've seen -- people aren't always that lucky. Saw a bloke earlier who looked like he'd had a head-on collision with a truck, arm in a sling and whatnot. And attitude all casual, hey, just another dream."

He studies the two other men momentarily, taking in their appearances; neither of them are Joe Ordinaries. There's nothing judgemental in his blue-grey gaze, more a general acceptance that yes, people are probably strange everywhere -- and if you get to know them, everyone is strange, some just clam it up more than others. His own penchant for wearing gloves on a hot summer's day no doubt qualifies for strange to some as well. "Anyhow. My name's Ravn Abildgaard. Resident tuna, and when I'm not flailing around the deep sea like incompetent roe, I work as a barback at a beach bar and do some blogging."

Joe Ordinary is not a look Vyv generally aspires to. Nor, frankly, is Very Casual, though he does manage to appear comfortable enough in what he does wear that one might, now and then, briefly forget. Neither does he go for the sort of sprezzatura currently popular in some parts that passes itself off as all the way to carelessness; the dark purple suit is not only perfectly cut but traditionally buttoned, the pale purple plaid shirt properly cufflinked with a pair of simple amethyst cabochons, the tie in its grid of medium purples bearing no bar today, and the pocket square of several purples itself neatly folded, the angle just verging on insouciant. Aside from being clothed and having legs today (and no fabulous iridescent fins, alas), he looks much as he did beneath the waves. The hair's less floaty, but being rather short, the slightly tousled effect isn't too terribly far off.

"If any of your sushi has bones in it, you've definitely walked into the wrong shop," he replies to Grant, signing back -- less fluently, by far, and with a tendency to make the movements a bit smaller than he probably ought to, but the only person likely to be trying to read it is also likely to be used to it. He's settled comfortably into the chair he's picked, the sort of elegant just-lounging that doesn't quite manage to spoil one's posture. "Anyway, you can if you like, but it isn't necessary."

What he's considering ordering does not get discussed as yet, because he's following the look toward Tuna Dude, whom he greets with an appraising look as though it were possible permission to sit at their table might yet be revoked, then a slight upward quirk at one corner of the lips and inclination of the head. And then, the puns. Puns from all sides. He gives Bax a flat look, then scans the menu he's holding. "Do you suppose they serve fugu? Generally I wouldn't even consider it outside of Japan but suddenly I feel death holds far fewer horrors."

Despite this, he looks up again and makes a small gesture to the proffered (and already accepted!) chair in what can thus only be welcome. "Vyvyan Vydal," he says, despite Bax having already done so, "Generally Vyv, as he says. Pâtissier. And, apparently, I believe, siamese fighting fish. I'm fine, thank you. In fact, could not be betta."

"It used to! Fish have bones and whatever... Unagi is... did not... I think..." Grant pauses and looks back at the entry got Unagi making a vague what gesture trying to figure out what it even is. He pauses and looks up tracking the bits of the conversation he's able to just back in and follows. There's a pause and a smile "Awww, you landed that one. Seal of approval, man." Okay puns are welcome. He looks back to Ravn and squint tilting his head and says, "Heeey when we said welcome to the Harbor, man, didn't mean like... drown in it. The city is sometimes kinda... reactionary." He looks back down to the menu and tilts his head.

"That wasn't even my first dream and I haven't been here two weeks yet," the older man murmurs; there's a slight smile playing on his lips but it's hard to tell if it's the puns that amuse him or something else. "Still, you have to give it to Gray Harbor: For a small town in the middle of nowhere it's certainly not boring. Then again, by the standards of my home town, Gray Harbor is a medium-sized affair. Have you ordered already, or are we just getting bloody revenge on anything that can in any way pass for kelp? I still have rope burns and I am starving. Also, if my ears do not deceive me, I'm not the only European in the room for once."

"Eel," Vyv informs Grant, glancing sideways from the menu to the younger man, and raising his brows a fraction, "Freshwater eel, specifically. Saltwater is anago. Both absolutely have bones. They make most fish look as though they've downright phoned it in on the bone-having front. Your average salmon might as well be sitting on the corner with a 'will work for bones' sign, as far as eels are concerned." It's an idle tone, the expression deadpan but for a glint of amusement around the eyes. "And thank you, darling, but I wasn't fishing for compliments." There's nothing in either tone or expression to set off that pun, as if he won't even deign to acknowledge his own, at present, but even so any plausible deniability is stretched toward breaking point by an addition of, "Then again, nor do I mean to play coy."

It's only when he looks to Ravn again that the corner of his mouth twitches upward once more. "No, it's certainly not boring. Arguably both the best and worst quality of the place. And we've not ordered yet, so feel free to take delicious vengeance on anything you like. I feel we require at least a good few makizushi and temaki. They do say revenge is a dish best served cold."

The Dane gets another assessing look over, this one possibly for said kelp burns, but Ravn's outfit displays even less skin than Vyv's own, what with the turtleneck and the gloves. The latter get a lingering look, unsubtly noticed. Hm. "Bit late, perhaps, but aloe seems to help. With the kelp burns. Your ears don't seem to have been harmed, though. There's a few others around town, too." Presumably Europeans, not ears; there are several more of those just in this room. "I can't quite place your accent, though." His eyes narrow a touch, head tilting thoughtfully. "I'd guess some flavour of Scandinavian, with that name. Norwegian or Danish, perhaps?"

Grant looks up and lets his eyes follow the conversation looking from one to the other and back. Bonus points today for puns aquatic and alliteration it seems. His eyes cast downward again taking the dry erase marker and making little hash marks on where their selections are. He pauses and rolls a look up, one eye squinting thoughtfully like the expressive fellow he is and puts another one down. After another moment and a couple more marks the menu is set down and then the marker deciding, "I should probably never be in charge of ordering food."

And now the discussion of the interestingness of Gray Harbor wherein he adds, "Yeaaaaah, we went to Pasadena and it was really...Hmmmm quiet? Still.? Everything felt really still. Heavier? I dunno. Like," His hands come up with no expectation of this helping Ravn, but really a natural extension of his natural process, "when you are swimming underwater you throw something from one person to the next and it may fall up or down but not really on the same trajectory as one might assume. It's just how things surrounded by a lot of water work; different. And sure, you could drown in it and sometimes there's sharks, but diving is fun and if you do stuff responsibly you might find you have a knack for surfing,. Maybe it's just a part of one's scenery from shore. " He shrugs and smiles with a thank you gesture when the hot tea comes. "Same with snow or the desert. No one's ever really prepared for it and the weather will always win if you're not prepared. Can be suuuuper scary sometimes though." He stays quiet while the order is placed and he blows on the surface of his tea. As if to agree to the point the skater pulls the collar of his button up shirt back to show a pink ligature scar that orbits his neck that looks unrelated but faded, and the more recent familiar kelp burn that flares up the side of his neck and down into his shirt shiny with aloe but reducing in inflammation and irritation nicely!

"Danish, yes." Ravn answers the questions of his origins and then cracks a small smile at Grant's little soliloquoy on water and weather. "You're not wrong. Denmark has cold winters -- or used to, anyway. And yet, every single year, traffic collapses on the first snow day. Every. Single. Year. Trains stop running, cars pile up on the highways, people run around in a panic like they've never seen this strange white fallout before."

"I think I like that analogy. Swimming with sharks. I do feel like swimming got a lot more interesting lately, if we're sticking with that one. Like my usual swimming took place in the kiddie pool but now it's the Great Barrier Reef and sure, that big white thing over there may be hungry but at least it's not some five year old turning the water yellow." He winces slightly at the faded scars on Grant's neck and nods before pulling up his own sleeve slightly to display similar rope burns still lingering on pale, Scandinavian skin. "Don't get me wrong, I've been here long enough to realise how dangerous these dream experiences are. Bloody well near lost my head in the first one I had, getting chased by an undead guy on a horse. It's just... interesting, too. Shark kinds of interesting."

The Dane belatedly peruses the menu. "I'm partial to salmon but honestly, as long as lots of onigiri is involved, I'm happy. Payback time for kelp."

"Oh, I don't know. I can't deny it's simpler to just say 'one of everything, and three of those." Vyv gives Bax a small, sidelong smirk, claiming both menu and marker from him as they're set down and giving the former a quick, critical once-over unlike the previous, more casual glances. This time he has the pen, and clearly isn't afraid to use it. Quick, neat number placement, and quite a few of them. Either he's quite hungry, he suspects they are, or he's pretty serious about this whole revenge thing and not about to let it get underplayed. Of course he should be in charge of ordering food. He lifts the menu the next time a server moves in his peripheral vision, which turns out to be the arrival of tea. She takes the card once the tea is down, giving the trio an absolutely effervescent smile as she does. A quick inquiry regarding any other drinks, and she's gone again.

The chef looks fleetingly pleased at having guessed correctly; unlike his purple-haired companion, his expressions lean subtle, but they're certainly there. "Never had the chance to spend much time in the Nordic countries, alas. Pleasant, though. Mn. Maybe I'll do a rabarberhorn next time rhubarb comes into season."

Picking up his own tea, he lifts it to where he can feel the heat off the liquid, but doesn't immediately take a sip. Possibly because he can feel the heat off the liquid. The analogy gets a faint smile, one that widens a touch at the mention of snow traffic, though the bit about the five-year-old makes him look momentarily ill. It passes. "The amount it doesn't rain in LA is somewhat exaggerated, and yet whenever it does, yes, one'd think it was the first time it's ever happened. Of course it bears noting that when swimming with sharks on purpose, one usually does so in some sort of protective cage. Be rather nice if we could figure out how to build one." The smile doesn't spread any further, but his eyes do brighten at the remarks about it being interesting. "It's fascinating. The amount we don't know about all this is-- well, entirely aggravating, frankly. But also intriguing." Another sidelong glance to Bax, and a bit more wry, "As long as one doesn't lose one's head."

Grant eyes the list. It gets longer... and long....and longer...and a hash mark over here, and another numeral over there. Helpfully he points to another line pleased the suggestion is taken into account. See? He's helping! Tongue running over his bottom lip pauses taking the faint moment to look smug as hell. Yes he was right. The method of ordering everything is sound.

Distantly he pipes up, "Sometimes dreams don't make sense and sometimes the spaces we are pulled out of the Waking are... unpleasant. I think though the environment is sort of... not a reflection but it's organic. Like this city, the state of a coutry, Earth. Sometimes I think it reacts because it's scared, and sometimes scared things lash out trying to protect itself the only way it knows how to protect itself. Other times? Other times we find ourselfves leading a revolution because we're the only ones who can help make change. Looking at it that way? Not so bad all the time."

"And some of us just live on a boat," Ravn murmurs with some amusement. "I don't think I'm quite ready to go all vigilante hero yet. I'm just curious about how all this works, and I've got some vague idea that I would indeed prefer for my head to stay on my shoulders and my tail fin straight in the water."

He glances at the list as it does indeed grow, and nods his approval. One might get the impression that he's not really an expert on sushi -- more the kind of bloke who goes 'oh, fish, I like fish' and then eats anything you put in front of him. Not everyone's got the refined tastebuds of a chocolatier; some people just eat.

"It's less Batman and more Campbell, really," Vyv murmurs. "Or what I recall of it, at any rate. And I'm afraid it's either already too late for refusal of the call, as you seem not to have yet left town... or it's simply as unlikely to work as in any narrative. Now and then, perhaps. But generally once one's in-- well, you're likely to hear people say 'the only way out is through'. Sometimes, one might be able to chart an unexpected course. Usually...?" He arches a brow, a skeptical thing. "Mn."

He finally does sip his tea, a careful experiment that proves slightly too early but not distressingly so. Probably not fatal to any of the refined tastebuds, at least. "We're rather curious about it too. Hard to see how anyone who'd encountered this couldn't be, really, bar some truly tragic synaptic deficit." He considers for a beat, head tilting. "Though there is plenty of evidence in the world to suggest that's affliction's not terribly uncommon." His shoulders lift half an inch, then relax again. "Still, heads on shoulders and tail fins straight where applicable are nearly always goals I can endorse."

Grant looks up in interest, "You live on a boat? That's bad ass. Is it a submarine?" He pauses realizing he just broke Occam's razor by leaping to the least likely and looks to Vyv arguing before prompted, "I can hope." Turning his head back to Ravn there is a small nod and the skater reasons with him, "Anyone claiming to know a lot about there has not even chipped the tip of the ice berg. We don't even know all about our own ocean yet."

Sitting back there is the hand off of the menu. the waitress is food gateway and herald of miso soup and is lauded accordingly. "Only think I can say is just... deal with what's in front of you best you can. That's what Greggo told me and... I'm not worse off." he's not okay and was killed three times in a half hour apparently, but will settle on ok. There's a pause and he adds, "Some don't come back though soooo be ...careful? I guess? Tell me about the boat. Did you sail it over? Is it a big big boat or like WaterWorld or...?" so many damn questions. The answers are awaited for, however

"Hell no," Ravn replies with a laugh. "It's a small sail boat. Somebody did sail it over from Finland, but it was probably before I was even born. I'm just renting it because the alternative was taking a room at a place the locals call the murder motel, and that honestly didn't sound very attractive. Had to put in a fair number of hours getting her sea-worthy too -- someone did her over as a floating whorehouse at some point. Reeked of pot, decorated like flaming 1982. She's decent looking now, though."

Vyv does indeed give Grant another sidelong look, brow quirked to the appropriate extent to suggest it in itself can at this point be considered an effective shorthand for all that tedious debate regarding horses and zebras. And probably other arguments as well. It's an eloquent eyebrow. "You can," he allows, "and the odds are only slightly lower that it's yellow and occasionally needed to defeat blue meanies. Although... if he were a Navy man your chances might go up. As I recall they're one of the few sorts they do call boats." A small sip of the tea. "Also most likely to have access to one, I suppose."

He sets down the cup, looking to Ravn. "He's been building one." As a matter of interest. One might expect it to sound dubious, but it's faintly pleased, if anything. The glance Grant gets at being 'not worse off' is less so, a flicker of focus to the younger man's neck, then away. No direct addition to the advice, bar a soft, sardonic exhale through the nose at the admonishment to be careful, joining with a matching tiny smirk to shade the tilted nod's This is wise, of course toward and best of luck managing it.

His interest in the boat is far subtler, but exists enough that he's clearly paying attention. A nosewrinkle at the description of its prior status is a particular clue. "I suppose it's for the best you didn't solve it by turning the flaming literal. I might have. I hope you ripped out any surfaces that couldn't be powerwashed. Preferably with bleach."

Grant looks to Rav eyes larger, eyebrows aloft. "Yeaah I know my homie deals to a lot of people out there. It's called that for a reason. Unless you're an aspiring crackhead? Uhhhh I'd avoid it. Boat's safer. Lots...lots safer." There's a pause and the half grin gets formed when Ravn describes the old finish o his boat. "Shit, wounds like my house." He dodges the inevitable withering glance from Vyv on that one in such a way he might be joking but it is not outside of the realm of possibility.

"Hey, Spaceman was a Navy guy and he's got a boat. I wonder if his is submersible. Summer's always got some kickin things happening in late months. We should have a welcome to the Harbor homecoming thing for you." Because any reason is a good reason to have a beach party.

"I'll admit that the idea of simply giving her a viking funeral did occur to me a few times," Ravn murmurs, sampling the contents of his cup very carefully as to not burn his tongue. "A friend offered to try to -- read -- her. I declined her offer. I'm not going to inflict Disco Inferno on anyone I actually like. Whatever happened on that boat is better left in the annals of history, I suspect. And," he adds with a grin to Grant, "I am neither a crackhead nor aspiring to become one, indeed. By Spaceman, do you mean Joe Cavanaugh? We're on the same pier, as it turns out."

He mulls a little before adding, "So this -- fish thing. Is that -- regular? I mean, as far as these experiences go. Fish is normal? It's betta where it's wetter?" A glance to Vyv, possibly to decide whether he needs to duck flying tea. "Getting chased through the woods is one thing, at least you're still in your own asthmatic body. Being turned into a fish from the waist down, though -- I'm not even sure how fish biology works. Or what tuna even eat."

"Probably a good choice, yes." Vyv definitely means the not-reading-the-boat, though if it spills over onto welcoming parties, why not. He does not appear to particularly approve of homies dealin', but nor does he react to it with as much visual disapproval as one might have expected. Nope, indeed he saves that for the house remark, so Grant shall not be disappointed. Just favoured with a remarkably good live-action recreation of the 'unamused' emoji.

Whether or not this actually means Vyv is unamused is up for debate, given that his response to Ravn's pun is a slight nod and entirely deadpan, "Take it from me." A sip of the tea, and he answers more-- well, not more seriously, but perhaps more genuinely, "I wouldn't say it was regular in the sense of happening frequently. I've been a merman twice now, but the first time wasn't long before that, and it seemed clearly related. That seems to happen... reasonably often, I suppose. Connections between experiences, arriving in the same... place. But it seems not entirely unusual to be, hm, not quite oneself. Usually, I have been myself, but there's been one where it was my normal body, I believe, but I thought myself to be a vicar, in a sort of Cluedo situation, and then there's been being a merman, or a cat. If you try to think about it in what we'd consider normal terms, you'll break your brain. Which is rather irritating, frankly; things may not behave as one expects. On the other hand, you probably won't end up needing to sort out what a mertuna should eat nor what it means for one's marriage prospects."

Grant brightens a grin to Ravn when he mentions Cavanaugh, "That's him. That's the Spaceman. He's like one of my two personal heroes. Great guy. " and that cheerful addition added he dives into the food. Revenge best served cold. So complete you can feel the anchor in its eyes. Ba dum ting. "Oh! Yeah that's sorta when we actually first met isn't it? When you were a Vicar and I was a Coloneland hit on my therapist."Looking to Ravn he adds quickly, "In my defense I had no idea about my life on the outside and she was super cool about it." Looking back to Vyv and then his food there is a bit of a snicker that escapes, "I dunno worrying about marriage plans as a fish, but it is at least fun> Eh mostly. I mean there was that time there that nether beast hatched out of that egg and was all tentacles out of ink that burned my leg. Honestly that one was the super scary one for me in a while but... I still argue it's the environment there trying to defend itself.

"I suppose I'll leave off worrying about my romantic prospects until some lady fish starts eyeing me up on my boat," Ravn murmurs with obvious amusement and picks up a roll generously wrapped in nori. "I was myself in one Dream and a fish in the other. I guess all bets are off as to what it'll be next time -- but there's pretty much a guarantee that there will be a next time, isn't there? I'm told I rank pretty low on the scale of shine, but if it's found me twice in as many weeks, then odds are I'm in as deep as everybody else. If anything, I'm mostly concerned about not being a burden for everyone else -- like being stuck to kelp, not being able to fight or run, that sort of thing. Don't want to be a liability, you know?"

"Yes, Colonel, it was," Vyv replies, with a touch of amusement that fades away at the bit about the therapist. "Not heard from her in ages, now," he murmurs, "Do hope she's all right." And in Los Angeles, say. Not somewhere lost in the Veil.

It's time for delicious revenge, but he doesn't seem to be in an extreme hurry. Instead, what they've been brought gets a sharp, critical eyeing over. "Really, though, you were yourself in both Dreams," he points out, "you were merely yourself as half-fish in the second. And that bit of things was rather fun on its own, I suppose, yes." Appraisal made, he claims one slice of a suitably seaweed-clad roll and moves it to his plate. "I always have said self-fishness was underrated." Chopsticks deftly pop the piece into his mouth, and he chews, not showing the slightest glimmer of the shame he manifestly should.

It's not bad, that sushi, and the chef looks reasonably satisfied with this first bite of vengeance. "I don't know whether it's the place defending itself, a malicious attack on us, or one sometimes and the other at others, but yes, I'm afraid the odds are always good there'll be a next time, if one sticks around. I'd say that not being able to run is unfortunate, and I suppose it is, but... as I think about it, running's really only been a factor a time or two. And I'm a lover, not a fighter." One corner of his mouth twitches upward with that claim. "Though I suppose I have a fair bit more weaponry than I arrived with. But don't underestimate intelligence and creativity." A faint wrinkling of the nose. "Trite as it may sound."

Grant grins at Ravn and muses, "That what I've been doing wrong? Needed a boat?" He shakes his head and stuffs that piece of the firecracker roll with that slice of jalapeno on it in his face to start setting it on fire happily. The talk of shine vs. abduction gets a tilt of his head. "I dunno. Could be a skillset or some bully kid spirit thing I still lean on that the other side is trying to tell us something or it's a total cry for help. I mean sometimes it plays nice. Sorta. Reckless but nice and other times you're watching an ichorous nothing hatch- try to consume you whole. Other times? Well Vyv is a candy coated kart jockey. So I hear." The chef gets a side glance.

Looking back to Ravn he considers, "Some friends of mine and I go poking around in there. Always good to go with those ya know. Just... always assume you're going to learn something new. Like being a first time parent you can only do your best."

"Well, there's a Dream that could make me wake up screaming," the Dane murmurs with a small, theatrical shudder. "Me, as a parent. That poor kid. Definitely not adult enough for that, me." He's only thirty, come on now -- practically a teenager.

"I have thought about what you're suggesting, though. That something is trying to communicate -- I mean, it's a fairly obvious theory." He carefully selects a tuna roll; a masochistic choice, all things considered. "Something decidedly alien, trying to speak to us in a language it hopes we may be able to interpret. Symbols that perhaps we can understand if only it can find the right combination. A bit like the Voyager probe -- if that thing ever makes its way to another solar system and there are actual aliens there, imagine what they're going to make of it. I had a professor use it in a lecture on symbol language once. Made us all try to interpret the symbols on it -- you know the one I mean, naked man, naked woman, arcs, circles, numbers, text. The only guy in class who came anywhere near NASA's intended message was the local UFO nerd. It could be something like that, just more... personal. After all, that's what language is -- a sequence of symbols and sounds that we have agreed upon the meaning of."

Vyv's comment on weaponry earns the pastry chef a glance though. "And when you say weapons -- do you mean literal weapons? I'd imagine that in most cases, you wouldn't have them in the Dream? I ended up in a Regency frock coat the first time, and the second, well, you saw that. Fins all the way down. Not a lot of places to hide a knife or a gun." Mercifully, he's got too much manners to make the obvious joke there.

Bax has earned himself another arched brow, and Vyv is just the man to bestow it. "Oh, I'm sorry, have you been looking for a lady fish?" he inquires with the sort of innocence that definitely isn't, before turning his attention back to the array of sushi before them. "I was unaware of this unresolved longing," he muses, plucking a piece of rainbow roll up with his chopsticks, and uses it to give a negligent little wave that could also be read as a gesture to the rest as he adds, "Perhaps you'll be in luck, and she'll join us for dinner." The roll's popped into his mouth with a slightly more emphatic bite than the first got.

He chews while considering the potential reasons mooted for unexpected Veil abduction, clearly interested in this topic, though the first thing that comes out of his mouth once the sushi's properly finished going into it is, "I've never been candy-coated outside of a training kitchen. And one very odd party. But yes, I've been drawn into a few confectionary-based racing dreams, pitted against various other people in town." Another bit of sushi is chosen, this one transferred to his plate. "I believe I remain the champion." It's all in the same casual tone, expression almost deadpan, but there's still a hint of pride in that final claim.

Ravn is not the only one that small, theatrical shudder runs through at the first-time-parent analogy. "No, thank you. Children should exist in some nebulous other-realm away from the rest of humanity until at least the age of 18. Maybe 20." A sidelong quirk of a brow toward Bax. "Possibly 22." A corner of his mouth twitches upward a degree.

"I rather like the idea of it trying to communicate to us in actively symbolic language, I think. Though with the frequency it leaves us broken and bloody, I have known more scintillating conversationalists. And as for weapons..." He sets down his chopsticks, picking up the tea. "Some people go armed at all times. I've seen guns used. But one never knows what might come with one and what not. When I say weapons, I mean that-- well, when I arrived here, I could move things about. Smallish things, mostly. Once I used that to fly several nearby knives at a... creature of some sort. I have a good number more options, now. Larger things, for one; electricity... things, mn, develop. But if you ask me, and you ought to, I would say the ability to think creatively is more valuable in the long run than a particularly savage right hook." He lifts the tea toward his mouth, where it threatens to eclipse a small smile. "From what I hear even a tiny fennec fox among wolves and pumas can find a way to do his part."

Grant arches both eyebrows sloooowly as Vyv comes out and starts firing of the proverbial prow of the ship with a verbal harpoon gun. There is just a slow grin as he chews shaking his head. "Uhhh once. Goddamn." Looking back to Ravn his chopsticks swirl in the air, "Gotta love it when betta get territorial. Their fins get all puffed up ready to get their fight on." He blinks and says, "To fight like everyone."

On the note of Vyv being a chocolate churro champion of the delectable derby he adds, "Nicole said he's got a little snoopy scarf that flap behind him too. So sad I missed it. I'd pay good money to see V 'Snoopyfied'." looking back to Ravn his head dips in a nod following along, but watching him to do so successfully.

"Like alien signal. Or that movie Interstellar. Maybe trying to get us good in the most ...jarring and traumatic way possible for things that may threaten us while something of 'it' may need help... or it's a total dick and like to see us miserable. I kinda refuse to believe that. I mean as kids we all think our parents are assholes for telling us don't go riding our bike after dark, but none of us HAVE BEEN eaten by a gremlin, am I right?" Or hit by a car in the dark. But let's just watch Grant go with the 'obvious threat'.

When the analogy about a tiny fennec finding a way to make great impact his ears turn red and he doesn't mean to but he looks damn proud of this analogy.

"I've heard of people Palpatining other people with lightning or throwing furniture or walls around. Never been able to do anything like that. However, if you ever need someone's car keys stolen in a Dream, I'm your man." Ravn smirks slightly and considers Grant's very obvious choice of monsters in the dark because obviously in this town, a kid would worry a hell of a lot more about monsters in the dark than random traffic accidents. And probably with very good reason.

"I used to think my parents arseholes for locking me in at night," he murmurs and sips the green tea. "Turns out picking me up at the police station every other week or so got tedious and they were trying to stop me running away from home every chance I got. Guess how I found out I can open windows and locks without touching them? I'm quite certain there were times my parents gave serious thought to making real on the threat of selling me to a circus. Heaven knows I wished they would. Anyway. Yes. It's not an unreasonable analogy, Grant. And if you go a few decades or four back in time to 2001: A Space Odyssey you get the exact same theme: Something alien trying to influence us, change our evolution, communicate. And failing rather hard."

"Don't make me tear your fins, darling," Vyv murmurs Baxward, the ghost of a smile playing around the edges of his mouth, and he gives a small scoff when the mention of the scarf comes up. "I do not have a 'little Snoopy scarf'. Nor do I resemble a cartoon beagle, thank you. I have a racing scarf when I'm there. Doesn't seem the wisest accessory for it, but I can't deny it's got style." And that forgives a multitude of sins.

Another sip, studying Ravn over the cup. "I could do either, now. Furniture, anyway. Not so sure about a wall. But I couldn't even sense the paths of electricity until I'd been here a while, and it wouldn't have been particularly large furniture when I arrived. Not quite a year and a half ago. But my point is, even if one insists on simply the very direct, a car key stolen and directed firmly through an eye does not become ineffective simply because it doesn't require much CGI to replicate the look of or four hours a day in the gym to achieve. Don't underrate your options, that's all." His eyes flick briefly ceilingward. "And that's about three year's worth of my pep talks quota, so that's quite enough of that."

It's the turn of the chosen but uneaten piece of sushi to have that latter state rectified, as he considers the points made. "Do gremlins only come out after dark?" he asks the skater idly. "It might not be any single intention at all. It may not be any single entity. If the dolorphages have genuine influence over who's drawn in to which sort of Dreams, they seem as likely to be attempting to communicate with us as we are with this sushi. On the other hand, not all experiences seem likely to be... delicious, and perhaps those have a different hand or hands behind them. And intentional visits may well be quite a different thing again. The times I've crossed over on purpose have been rather different than most of the unexpected ones."

"Palpatining!" Oh the shocked amusement while Grant takes another bite. Then the threat of having his fins torn brings a pause, a blink, and a full head turn look to Vyv blinking again. "We're in public!" As Bax defies having naught but a racing scarf he looks to Ravn and mouths soundlessly Little Snoopy scarf and takes another bite.

Chopsticks held up in the air with a tilt of his hand he clarifies, "Hmmm I think they make it dark? Ways back Julia said they came out of the ceiling at the bar. Everything went black. After some kid. Suuuuper gnarly." Looking up to Ravn talking about how he managed to learn his access to 'things' he offers genuinely, "Well if you want to borrow my dad you can. He's... pretty much the best human being that ever lived even if we argue like...a lot." High praise to be certain.

"There are ways to cross on purpose but finding something with intent is...different. Also? Avoid the carousel apparently in Addington Park."

"Lots of things to unpack in this town," Ravn cedes and carefully selects another piece, this one made from white sticky rice and something interesting and orange that he's not entirely sure what is, but you only live once. "I wasn't planning to traipse into the wood wearing a red hood and looking for curious wildlife -- I'm a researcher, not a combat soldier, something, something. Definitely don't know what I'm doing well enough to consider doing something like that. I'm just the guy who gets stuck to the kelp."

The banter between the other two men seems to amuse him though; there's more than obviously something between them, and at least to Ravn, that's a bit reassuring. Sure, this city may be terrifying in some respects, but people are people, life goes on, and people connect with other people in ways people have always done. Gray Harbor may put people through the grinder but these two souls, at least, persist quite stubbornly in being human. And indeed, Grant's offer of a parental lease earns him a smile; understood in the fashion it was meant. He picks up his selected roll between the chopsticks and gestures with it. "You two seem very happy in spite of all this madness. Terrible sappy thing of me to say, but that's actually very comforting. Life goes on, something like that."

Vyv blinks once himself at Grant's blinks and that shocked exclamation, the latter making the corners of his mouth twitch as though he might almost laugh. Or smile entirely! It ends up as a fleeting smirk that undercuts the otherwise almost convincingly innocent look -- whether or not he meant anything that rated the scolding when he said it, he might retroactively. The radiated guiltlessness involves studiously claiming another piece of sushi, so he misses those mouthed words. It's probably for the best, really. Plus: he gets sushi.

"Oh... I remember that," he says as he sets the chosen piece on his plate and glances to Bax again, "Hearing about it. I think they were the same things that came out of the ceiling in the Bayside lobby a day or two before. One touched me." He wrinkles his nose at the memory. "I don't recommend it. But yes, they did kill the lights, if those were gremlins." Yes, there's a lot to unpack in this town. He nods agreement with that, as well.

The commentary on the pair of them, however, is unexpected, even if it's just another blink that shows it, and a glance down at his sushi before he looks over to Bax, almost appraisingly. "....yes," he says after a breath, as though he's still thinking this over, "I suppose we are, rather. And of course it does." That, a bit more as though it doesn't need any contemplation. "I hear the alternative's restful but it sounds incredibly boring."

Grant occasionally gives Vyv a sidelong glance really to keep up with the conversation beyond amusing repartee. Looking back to Ravn and, wow, Grant really has no p-p-p-poker face and 0 chill. At the compliment his shoulders slump and the look the Dane gets is not unlike showing him tiny kittens being derpy and wonderful with that awwwwwwwwww expression though he signs Really?!

It's Vyv's dramatic understatement that pulls up a very satisfied if not smug smile , "Aww, Vee, I get a validation in public? You spoil me." Looking to Ravn he adds, "Vyv's approval is harder to find than a hooker in Vatican City, man. It can be done but oh the lengths to which you may have to go." Which is Baxian for 'these compliments are both rare and highly valuable'.

The rest? He shifts in his seat shaking his head, "Madness is in us. It's not geographic. Go anywhere and people deal with all sorts of madness. We have the benefit of the things that plague us being able to be shot at with a taser. You can't do that to, say, clinical depression in Phoenix, or loneliness in the Gobe Desert. So really? It's challenging but we're kinda lucky. Knowing where one's demons are is a great way to start dealing with them. Makes us... stay creative and if we do that?" He shrugs easy, "Fuuuuck we can do anything. We patch each other's" well he's not going to use the word deficiency in reference to Vyv and instead steps around the ego landmine finishing, "gaps in skill specialization. Bring out what's, like, better in one another and it's... pretty great." Nope no poker face and he is fond as hell of the bitey bettafish man. Looking back to Ravn he proposes, "Hey maybe you'll find things that are pretty great about you you haven't given yourself credit for. We got caught in kelp but by doing so we found out how to deal with it so we could help that guy. So... serves a purpose. I'm proud of you."

"I don't know about the Vatican City but Rome certainly had a nightlife," Ravn murmurs with an amused smile and sips his tea.

"You're not wrong -- either of you. Gray Harbor's a curse, no doubt, but it's also a blessing. A spiky blessing made from rabid, feral cacti, sure. But like you say, Bax -- at least it's something tangible, something external, something you can respond to. I've had a couple of tangles with depression in my misspent youth. It's a lot harder to put a face on." Spoken like a man with one foot in the grave though in fact Ravn looks to be about Vyv's age -- late twenties, early thirties. "I suppose that the good part of that is that I am on a first-name basis with most of my demons. Some of them I'm pretty chummy with, actually. I made a therapist face palm once by telling her that I'm not stuck in here with my demons, they're stuck in my head with me. She told me I needed to take things seriously if I wanted to get better." From the small smirk, it would be somewhat safe to surmise that Ravn never did manage to feel guilty about hi-jacking that particular movie quote for his own nefarious purposes.

"I do, don't I," Vyv agrees, the drawl in those words and hooded look pointedly suggesting both that he hadn't really considered it before, and that now that he is, perhaps it's something that ought to be rectified. He does have a rather good poker face, and it may require a passing fluency with Vyvlish or similar dialects to spot how charmed he is by Grant's currently notable lack of one. There's nothing really to suggest he isn't serious, except maybe context, and the fact that it's followed by an exasperated roll of the eyes upward and shake of the head: "I am not that bad. Just because I have standards..." He's absently picked up the piece of sushi in his chopsticks, and gestures vaguely with it. "Also I know for a fact you have never attempted to locate a prostitute in Vatican City. ...which does have the highest crime rate per capita of any country in the world, you know." Not that that's generally listed as one of them.

"What's the point of having a youth if one doesn't misspend it?" Vyv glances to the youngest at their table, adding aside, "Mn. Good thing you started early, I suppose." In some ways Bax can be quite a wise man, and that little avoidance may well have been one; gaps in specialization the chef will take, and he nods overall to both their points. "It's much more satisfying to battle demons one can properly defeat. One way or another. Shame it doesn't drive all the others away, but... yes."

Whether or not he recognizes the specific provenance of the referenced line, it does get a little half-smile out of him. "And did you?" he inquires, brows lifting a touch. Take things seriously or get better; either way he has to know it's a cheeky question at best, but the tone certainly acts innocent of any such knowledge.

Grant really is so moved. It could be his meds or that he wears his heart on his sleeve, or any number of things that all equate to: Bax is Bax and that's the sum of it. Either Grant is very good with Vyvlish or is just an oblivious sort to miss any notions otherwise he preens, "Yes. You do."

On the topic of the Vatican City having world's highest crime rate or some such he mumbles with his mouth half full, "That much sexual frustration will drive anyone to a felony. I blame lack of workin folk." Though he does say, with sympathetic permission, "Vyv, you are welcome to misspend mine." How's that for a Bax-handed compliment?

Looking to his fancier half and back to Ravn he watches his face to hear all of the answer. If your therapist isn't working for you fire their ass. A hammer is not the right tool for every job. I mean it's a fun one, but it's the right tool only for nails. If you're a screw you gotta find someone who can help you work with your threading and having a different way of interfacing. So my dad says." Glancing at the platter he pulls another piece of that firecracker roll off and sets it on Ravn's place for him to try that. There's a fond memory that manifest in his expression admitting, "I got to fire... quite a few."

"I think I'm about to fire the lining of my stomach," the Dane notes and eyes the firecracker roll. Scandinavian cuisine isn't exactly world famous for its abundant over-use of hot spices. Then again, you only live once. Down the hatch it goes and, to his surprise, it's really pretty damn good -- even if it needs to be escorted off his plate by generous amounts of tea and his tongue informs him that it's now considering itself to be off duty for the rest of the week.

"I've gone through a few therapists of my own," he murmurs in response to the younger man's observations. "Your father sounds like a pretty decent fellow. It's certainly not all professionals that speak the same language as their patients do -- I've had this urge to strangle a therapist in his own tie a few times, usually around the 'but have you tried thinking positive thoughts' line. I think that's part of what I like about this town: Every other person I talk to here also sees things that can't be real, absolutely know that there's a monster under the bed, and that sometimes, you wake up and discover that you're a fish. And then -- that's just how it is. Deal with it. Get on with life. It's a nice change of pace, and I have to admit that while it's probably a horrible cliché and racist thing to say, it does feel like coming out of the desert and finding your tribe waiting."

"Mm," Vyv agrees with Bax's reasons for felonious behaviour, entirely failing to bother to give a single one of the reasons or caveats for the fact. It's just so much funnier left to stand alone. Plus, he has sushi to eat. If this is to be a thorough revenge, they've still got an awful lot of vehement devouring to accomplish. Thankfully, if the older men tire (or die of firecracker), they can depend on Bax to take up the slack, but for right now, Vyv's still doing his part. Setting his chopsticks down while chewing, he lets his hands reply to Grant's kind permission, «Thank you. I intend to.»

Reclaiming the sticks and then a piece of the firecracker for himself, he swallows his last bite. "I don't know, I'm sure there've been an awful lot of deserts and tribes over the millennia. Surely some have been places and races you can get away with. Switch to oceans, in a pinch." A bit less analytically, he continues, "It does, though. Have a certain something to it, being around people whom one knows understand some of the... odder facets of existence. Things some of us who didn't start out here were alone in. It's all decidedly more, mn, intense, here, but-- yes, there's something to be said for a shared reality."

It's gone a bit quieter as he continued, and he waves it off, gesturing with his chopsticks to something that looks a lot like tobiko, except green. "His father is a rather decent fellow, yes. Try that one. Umibudo, seagrapes." TWO kinds of seaweed in that. Because that's just how it is: you deal with it, and get on with life. Sometimes life looks a lot like revenge sushi.