2020-08-15 - Stop the Coffee Presses!

Ignacio has been down and out of commission since just after Valentine's Day. The last time he was in the paper it was almost the obituary section, but the local snarky beacon of published hope is, as he promised on Friendzone, back in the saddle. Well he's back at the second table by the window with his laptop. He's off the crutches and out of the wheelchair which is a good sign in and of itself. The lean, snarky Spaniard is typing away at his laptop and in front of him is a coffee can, and index cards and a couple pens. The front of the coffee can reads: If you have questions and concerns, leave them here.

While his phone has earbuds plugged in the phone is sitting on the table next to him in favor of listening to the coffeehouse radio and singing along with the song on the radio; large oatmilk honey flat white in a cup steaming in front of him. Someone's living their best life like a cat today or... well he's trying to.

There are some obvious differences between continental Europe and the US, besides the obviously geographical issue of sitting on different continents. One of these other differences is accent. Everyone's got one -- if you don't think you have one, it's because you've never ventured too far from your home town. The difference is that a European will usually have a fair idea of where someone else originates from, upon hearing them talk. A US citizen, on the other hand, can tell you exactly what Los Angeles neighbourhood somebody is from, but if they're from another country they might as well be Martians. Conversely, most Europeans can't tell New York from Miami -- mostly because they can't tell Yiddish from Harlem, nevermind Latino.

Maybe this is why the barrista assumes that Ravn the European is there to talk to Ignacio the European. It's a European accent, they're clearly all but blood brothers already. "Your friend is already over there," she exclaims with cheer and pretends that she absolutely isn't annoyed by the Dane's careful outlining of how exactly he wants his so-called Americano -- half espresso, half hot water, no syrup, cream, soy milk, pumpkin spice, raisins, sprinkles, vanilla or anything else. Just coffee and water.

Ravn, of course, has never seen the other man before. He's curious enough to drift that way all the same. There are a surprising amount of Europeans in Gray Harbor all things considered. Maybe they should form some kind of not very secret society. A Gathering of Posh Accents. Something, something. He's got a brand new laptop, a cup of half-decent coffee, and a pocket ful of tuna. The latter is, thankfully, canned and intended for the cat that adopted him yesterday.

Ignacio would never describe that New York accent of his that's flat like someone parked on his vowels as 'exotic'. He also may have had to tell someone in English and Spanish no he was never a cabbie. It doesn't work like that. Looking up from his laptop he blinks and looks around. "Jeanie, it doesn't work like that!" There's a lopsided grin from him as he looks around and offers to him "Plenty of space, man. Seat if you want." There is something he says to her in Spanish (proper, though he might imagine Ruiz taking exception to him thinking suck) 'May you find someone just like you that makes you happy, but drives you crazy, Jeanie.

He takes a sip of his coffee and asks either one of them, "I don't suppose you heard anything about Lawn Gnomes having problems or acting up or anything? I got no fewer than four questions about that in my pile today." Gray Harbor problems to be certain.

The blond guy offers a crooked grin; from the looks of him he didn't understand a single syllable of the Spanish but the gist of it was pretty clear from its tone. "Well, don't mind if I do, then," he says amicably and pulls out a chair. In spite of the August heat he's in all black Seattle tech billionaire style, and unsurprisingly, the laptop that he fishes out of its bag is black too; then again, to be fair, most are. It looks brand new -- so new, in fact, that it's still in its plastic wrap. "Figured I might have a cup of what passes for coffee in this country of coffee heathens while I download a couple of years' worth of Window updates."

The other man's inquiry causes him to pause, though. "Er, lawn gnomes? You mean those little plastic figures with wheelbarrows full of flowers standing around with the plastic flamingos on people's lawns? Literally?"

Ignacio tilts his head and takes a deep breath answering on the gnomes, "Apparently. Maybe they're forming a little street gang to control all the flats in the nursery? I dunno, man." He takes a short stock of the assembly being set down and moves some of his things to free up table space leaving the can on the end for ...why?

Hand gets offered, "Ignacio. Nice to meet you, neighbor. Travelling or business or come to check out the local curiosities?" He listens a bit more and the grin widens, though on one side due to the bit of palsy on the other. "Man, I thought the best coffee I'd have would be in Turkey on my layover, but I'll tell you what, Italy's still got that shit locked down. It's different in Starbucks Country. East coast? I still like Bigby's better. Eleanor's got a good shop here. She gets stuff in from all over..." Thoughtfully he considers dropping a note into his phone, "I should bring some back for her when I hit up home. "

Ravn's grip is firm though the black kidskin gloves are a tad unusual for the season. "Ravn Abildgaard. Resident blogger and newly minted cat employee. Can't argue about Italian coffee, they do things with a cappucino in Florence that makes you contemplate changing your name and staying in the country illegally. Craziest experience I had with coffee though was Malta. If you ever go there, go around places and ask for a Maltese Coffee. You'll get everything from black coffee with anis brandy to ice cream desserts with anis brandy. The anis brandy is in fact the only constant."

His laptop gets stripped of its protective plastic layer and turned on. Unsurprisingly, the OS barfs up warnings about updates and security updates and database updates and all kinds of other updates. Ravn accepts EULAs and clicks go. Figurative cogwheels leap into action. It's a relatively small machine, definitely not something you'd want to play Fortnite on, but it can definitely run a spreadsheet and a word processor, and it's too low key to be worth stealing. "Well, originally I got here more or less by accident when a ride tossed me out of his truck on Main Street, European shit monkey that I am. Been here a couple of weeks now and I think I'll be staying for a while. There's so much going on here I can't quite convince myself to get on with getting to Portland, you know?"

Ignacio listens and shakes his head and gives the man a sympathetic look and says "Yeah my family's from just outside Madrid. I'm lucky I sound like a New Yorker.. no one wants to upset New York, but like we're such a friendly peoples." The amusement's there. He can't say that without grinning just a little bit. "That sucks they did you wrong but there's a local saying that everything in Gray Harbor ain't a coincidence." there's a pause and a hesitation choosing his words before he offers, "Takes some getting used to. Blogger? no shit. What's your field?" He points to his laptop. "Working on next book and article for the paper. Honestly if you're looking for a place to park and work? This spot is kinda ideal."

"I'm fixing to become a regular unless the barrista murders me first," Ravn grins as his laptop pling pling plings its way through update downloads. "I'm a folklorist. Scandinavian 18th century, to be precise -- but since I'm here in the States now, I kind of just pick up stories and talk about how they are -- or are not -- connected to European origins. You're a published author?" He gives a low whistle of appreciation; in the pecking order of writers, bloggers are dime-a-dozen, self publishers a bit less so, and authors who have landed an actual deal with an actual publishing house are royalty.

It's possible he was going to say more but this is the moment when a couple of ladies in their late twenties decide to impose themselves on the writers, one of them quickly snapping pictures with a cell phone. "Please, sign this napkin! I can't believe this, oh my GOD, everyone is going to be like, all Cathy you are so LUCKY oh my god --"

Ravn looks about with much the same mild curiosity as anyone else would; oh, there's someone famous here? Is it somebody I know?

Then he realises that the girls are photographing and talking to him. The look on his face is that of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train. The man is positively paralysed.

Ignacio arches both eyebrows, "Oh no shit? Well then I can see where this Gnome business is concerning to you. Apparently there's an uprising or something. I'm trying to track down some details on it for concerned parties. Gone as far as some people in City Hall are making it ill-lawful to have them in a yard. I have no idea if that's true or not." His head turns to the side with a modest gesture. "yeah it was a rant that turned into a series apparently. I'm no Dave Barry, but I do what I can for folks. Then the two ladies rush over and he just looks amused. Ooooh buddy you are in the thick of it now.

To be helpful Iggy moves his coffee can and takes this in stride waving a hand to her, "If you want I'll get a pic with all three of you. It's cool." Looking to Ravn he says, maybe in apologetic tone were he less amused, "The people in this town are... passionate. They're also literate and we should be grateful to them for that." Still he's not impatient and endures the table being rushed graciously as his new buddy is being mobbed.

He waits before being asked, "You can leave before these things get too interesting or make sure you sleep wearing pajamas."

Not since Britney Spears' melt-down has a supposed celebrity looked quite that terrified on a picture. Ten pictures. Well, maybe thirty. Some of these pictures include Ignacio. Some of them include both girls. Some of them include Cathy, in Ravn's lap, flashing her tits.

It takes him that long to mumble something about must go important phone call see you and literally run to the men's room. The girls wait around for a while. Hoping. Asking Ignacio all the questions about the Swedish chef and his new TV show, and whether he thinks they can get on it. It's clear that neither of them know the first thing about cooking but being arm candy is definitely within their operative range.

Justin comes wandering into Espresso Yourself to get himself a cup of coffee. He's actually used to people recognizing him, and so he doesn't really pay too much attention to the disappointed looks from a couple of people near the door and the murmured "That's Justin Cooper. I heard somebody /died/ on that film shoot and that's why they scrapped it," style mutterings that follow him. He smiles a little wanly at the young woman behind the counter who has seen him enough times to offer him only a polite smile and a "Hello, Mr. Cooper," before moving to fill up his usual. "Can I get one of those pastries, too?" he asks, nodding to one in the case and offering a more genuine smile of thanks when she fetches him one.

Ravn is hiding in the bathroom and while that happens and Ignacio is mobbed by fangirl questions he handles it in the calm, factual stride he does everything else; he makes shit up like a motherfucker with great aplomb and panache. "OH, the new show?" Curious. Ooooh yeah the... Harbor's being super weird. "Well on the new show he's had Gordon and Bobby getting a hold of him to be on it. There's going to be guest to learn cultural dishes. Like travelling all around the world but inviting others into his kitchen. He's going to be doing a great seafood piece about the harbor here. Hit up teh boardwalk and find Fresh Fish. He just bought it from the family that used to be there."

Lies! all very viably and reasonable lies! Ones that are benign that make them just get away from the man's table. mmhmm. helping. it's what a good journalist does. If only Iggy was a journalist and not a comedian with paper publishing powers. He does lift a hand to Justin with a warm grin, "And today on Hanging with Mr. Cooper.... How's the afternoon treating you?" He looks to the two young women with a warm smile. "It was very nice meeting you. We do need to be getting back t o this though. I assure you you have made our friend's day. Thank you."

Looking up he looks over to the people gabbing and says loud enough, "I love that about Gray Harbor. Everyone's so damn polite." Shame. Shame on you old biddies! Looking over to Justin casually enough having seen him aorund a couple times he points to the other chair where the authors are set up with laptops. "You're just in time for reason to take a leave of absence, man. Good to see you."

After a while the two young ladies slink off, beaming with glee at the chance to brag to all their friends about whom they just met, and writing their numbers on a napkin for the celebrity chef.

Ravn does emerge after a while. Pale, looking like he just splashed a lot of water in his own face, and looking quite disturbed. He bee-lines for his chair, nods a silent greeting to the newest arrival, slumps down on his chair, and murmurs in a voice of utter despair: "Now I understand why you all hate living here."

Justin takes up his cup of coffee when it is handed to him and the pastry on a plate, pausing to add some cream and grab a couple of napkins. He's seen Ignacio around, is aware of his column, and perhaps they've met once or twice. So he offers a bit of a smile and a nod of his head in greeting. "Oh, you know," Justin smiles with just a little bit less light than usual. It's been a rough few months. "How's it going? I hear your column's making a comeback. Looking forward to reading it again." He glances over at the women who had been gossiping and shrugs his shoulders, "Nobody died. But it was an abject and total failure." He glances over at Ravn as the man comes over and doesn't recognize him, but offers a smile in greeting. "Afternoon." Then he pauses, "Why do we hate living here?" There's a glance toward Ignacio, as though he might provide some enlightenment.

Speaking of published authors, there's another. Though this one has a certain puzzled look on his long face....and not a happy one. Like he suspects he's the butt of a very elaborate and malicious joke, and is wondering how to get to the root of it. Being gone for two weeks is certainly enough time for something like that to be set up.

The sailor takes his place in line, standing uncomfortably hipshot, like his joints pain him. Joe's got more scars on his face than when last Ignacio saw him, post-Asylum, and his usual happy-go-lucky air is absent entirely.

Ignacio lets his eyes follow Justin, the biddies, Justin, Ravn, and then lifts his cup to greet Cavanaugh coming in. "That sucks, man. Seriously, pull up a seat. I'm taking up a side job as inquisition deflector today. I got you." There's a snerk of amusement as Ravn expresses his anxieties and comments to Justin, "Some people are more Harrison Ford than they are Paris Hilton about their sudden infamy they were just informed of." Looking up to Joe he grins warmly, "Hey hey, you bring a laptop? we're having a writer's conclave I think. Our friend Ravn here is adjusting to odd small town life. we're trying to insulate him from the ecstatic masses. " He looks Joe over and says with some empathy, "Heard life ran you down too. Didn't catch much more from Itzhak other than it wasn't a bus but it was bad enough. How you holdin up? They got you on PT yet?"

Headless Horseman, whatevs. Being turned into a nocturnal tuna, fine. Pick-pocketing a headless, decomposing corpse under the nose of the police, par for the course. A couple of teenage girls flashing their tits at me is clearly more than my anxieties can handle. Ravn shudders quietly before downing his now somewhat chilly coffee and raising the empty cup at the barrista in the hope of acquiring another, looking pale but collected -- with mental duct tape, possibly, but collected. What the hell was that about? Aloud, though, he just murmurs, "I... don't know who they thought I was. I'm not Swedish. And my cooking is on the level of boil an egg and hope it's not too runny. If this is somebody's idea of a joke I'm not seeing the funny."

He takes a few deep breaths and then acknowledges the new arrivals. "Hey. This. Whatever this is. I'm not a celebrity chef. And girls don't usually climb into my lap to flash me and take pictures."

The door to the coffee shop opens and a perky Blonde in a sundress enters. No, not perky. Not yet. But that's what brings her in the pursuit of caffeine! She drags her long limbs over to the counter and dramatically drapes over it, arms splayed and hands making a pitiful grabby motion. "Mochaccino or I will surely, DIE." This is the type of language used when one doesn't read the temperature of a room first. The person behind the counter gives her a gentle pat on the head and kindly asks her to get her hair off the serving surface. She immediately pops up, chirping, "Extra whip please!"

Justin is a writer, though what he writes is thousands upon thousands of lines of code, rather than anything that anyone would want to curl up with and read. But he doesn't seem to be aware that this is a writer's gathering, so he pulls up a chair and settles into it, off to one side of Ignacio, and sets his pastry plate on the table. "Eh, it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. It's just a little more than usual with the film having tanked. Usually people here don't even notice me," which seems just fine by him. He glances over to Ravn when the man is named and says, "Hey. Welcome to Gray Harbor. I'm Justin." He glances from Ignacio to Joseph at the mention of life running him down, idly curious. There's a slight grimace for Ravn in sympathy, "Yeah that's.. definitely the downside to fame. Though that usually doesn't happen as much around here." Then Bennie makes her entrance and he laughs, lifting his coffee to take a sip, shoulders shaking a little bit. "Get that woman a Mochaccino, stat!" Justin calls in her direction.

Joe places an order for some ridiculous salted caramel frozen thing. Apparently, in his world, coffee is either some toxic brew made from water tainted by jet fuel and bilge water, or dessert, and today he's come down on the latter. Then he's turning to Ignacio to come sit for the little while it takes for it to be made. "Nah, man, I wasn't workin' today. Truth be tol', book's goin' real slow. Life here keeps happenin' to me." His accent's nothing like local - slow and languid, redolent of another coast entirely. "I'm doin' all right. They were pros, they didn't do much more'n bruise me 'n crack some ribs. Managed to save my teeth. Yeah, I mean.....I been doin' the same stuff they had me doin' for years. How you doin'?"

Then he turns that blue gaze on Ravn, extends an inked hand. "Hi there. I'm Joe Cavanaugh." He cocks his head. "Sounds like someone out there gotta nasty sense of humor. This Russian spy bullshit is wearin' real thin, an' I only been back a day an' a half or so. So, they got you, too?"

A smile for the newly arrived blonde. "Hey, Bennie, 's been a while. How you?" A grin and a lifted hand for Justin.

"I'm not famous," Ravn murmurs and fails to notice that the coffee that the devious and vengeance driven barrista brings him is in fact a white chocolate frappucino with chocolate sprinkles and mint. "I'm really not, they must have mistaken me for someone else. Nice to meet you, Justin -- I'm the guy who washes glasses for her." He nods at Bennie. "Hello, boss."

Then another man introduces himself and Ravn returns his handshake with one of his own that's firm although the man's choice to wear black kidskin gloves in summer is perhaps a bit unusual. He looks quite relieved at Joe's words. "Ravn Abildgaard. Definitely not a chef. So this is somebody's idea of a joke? I think I definitely got got, yes."

Ignacio warms a grin to Bennie - she whom has scraped him off the pavement once or twice- and waves. On Justin's greeting he calls out, "Clear!" He glances back to the man he invited to sit down and back to Ravn dipping a nod. "Happens sometimes, but more often than not it's pretty quiet. This is Joe Cavanaugh. Justin Cooper, and she is wonderful. Guys, Ravn. There we go." He does look to Joseph for the story on how he's doing, however. There's a slow nod and an open look of relif that things are 'alright' as much as alright does. "Justin, sorry the project hit a wall. That might be its own good story though. never know."

When asked how he's doing there is a full stop pause. There's a thoughtful frown and he answers with hesitation, "I'm... getting there? i'm good. I'm... There are people very angry about the stuff I've written and that... is now my reason for getting walking again and going back to writing. They can't break u, right? They can only give us fuel of purpose." Looking to Ravn he lifts a hand "Some people are allergic to optimism. " He looks up and points to the next seat over. "Let's grab her a chair."

"Ugh, stop calling me that. Boss. Feh. I'll accept Mistress of Sunshine or nothing else. But can you tell your paparazzi to stop staking out the Bar hoping you'll throw dishes at someone and call them a donkey?" Bennie beams towards Ravn, even as she's reaching out to try and touch Joseph's cheek. Personal bubbles mean nothing to this one, because who would see her as threatening? "And what fine teeth they are. I'm great. Greater than great. I'm swell. All is swell in Bennietown." As she's waiting for her drink, she unceremoniously tries to drop herself like a heavy sack into Justin's lap - so much for a chair - and greeting Ignacio with an, "Iggypop."

"People are pissed about the stuff that /you've/ written?" Justin asks Ignacio, looking a little surprised. "Isn't your column full of funny advice? I mean.. " He trails off a little bit, seeming puzzled. "I guess people will find all kinds of crazy things to get pissed about." Then there is a Bennie dropping into his lap and Justin doesn't even blink an eye at it. He shifts his arm out of the way so that she can take up her perch and says, "Heya Mistress Sunshine, Light of Two if By Sea, First of Her Name, Liberator of Kittens, and Queen of Karaoke." Apparently her title is growing.

"You're in on that joke too." Ravn sounds like a man who's resigned himself to his fate. "If I call you Mistress of Sunshine from now on, will you tell us who came up with this idea of a funny? Because the alternative is me actually cooking for the Bar and believe me, you'll lose every customer you have in a week and we'll both get arrested for attempted murder by poison."

Joe does get his drink made properly. Perhaps the barista fears him dosing the pots with ricin, or something. "Pleasure to meet you," he says to Ravn, and then to Justin, "How d'you do?" Back to the Dane, he says, "Well, that's my first thought. Go for the simple answer, I guess. It's either that or somethin' weird and conspiracy-ish, but then, that stuff is sometimes true in this town."

Ignacio's answer has him looking grave, thoughtful, an expression that sits oddly on a face whose lines are generally those of good humor. He makes a little gesture, like a shrug, by the turn of his free hand. Bennie's touch he doesn't try to dodge, and it makes him smile, fondly. "'s good to hear, sugar," he says to her. Justin giving Bennie her full title makes him chuckle, low in his throat. "Breaker of glasses, the Unturnt, Khaleesi of Gray Harbor," he adds.

"Caregiver of Christmas Kittens." He grins wider tilting his head down. "I didn't forget that one." Looking back to Joey he sighs, "Dunno man. It's Gray Harbor. I don't explain why things happen, I just broadcast a catalog of coping skills." Looking around he tries to get a peek for Eleanor, "We used to try to research the once upon a 'why' but Ellie's planning a wedding and I have been in the hospital for four months. We should probably do that again."

Annoyed, but not with Justin he takes a deep breath and holds it looking to the taller man beset upon as a Bennie bench, "You know how they say there are things that feed off people's misery and bad moods? Well it seems their solution to that is hit the searchlight with a city bus and try to make it go out. But really it's been... Finch has been amazing and this city's been amazingly supportive and maybe..." He looks down at his laptop tapping a finger on it and going back too rewrite his intro. "maybe that's where I need to start up again. Thank yoooooou for not letting me get super pissed, peoples of Gray Harbor." Looking to Bennie he promises, "Been staying clean though. So, it's a batter start over and PT is going damn well."

The woman curls up in a little ball of happy Bennie in Justin's lap, if by little it means her legs are tenting up to her chin and her sandaled feet are balancing on the lip of the chair next to Justin's thigh. She lets her heavy hobo bag style purse plop to the floor and she goes to investigate what the man is drinking, wrinkling her nose as she lifts it to sniff. Clearly not enough sugar for the likes of hers. Thankfully, it gets returned to the table without her stealing a sip. "You know nothing Justin Snow." She declares.

Bennie fingers a wave of hair behind her ear as she playfully narrows her eyes at Ravn. "No one's changing the recipes at the Deuce to include homicide. Our smothered tots are enough to cause a coronary already. But just let it roll off your back, like people insisting it's the P-Double O-R House. Seriously people. Scoff." Yes she actually says scoff instead of just making the noise. Pointing at Ignacio she chirps, "See! Think positively. Don't let the Man get you down."

Justin grins over at Joseph when he carries on the title and expands upon it and lofts his cup of coffee, both in greeting and appreciation for his contribution. "So, people think he's a chef, and they think you're.. a Russian spy? From... Georgia?" He tries to pick up the accent. "That's.. uh.. well, that's new." Then he frowns a little bit at Ignacio when he mentions having been hospitalized for four months. "Man, I have really been out of touch. Between the movie, everything that happened around then, then the fallout after it fell apart, I've been doing the hermit thing pretty hard. Shit, man. I'm glad that you're on the mend." He lightly lets one arm rest around Bennie as she curls up, not seeming to mind when she grabs his coffee, but it only has cream in it, no sugar, nothing to sweeten it whatsoever. There is a pastry on the table in front of him though, one that he hasn't even touched yet. He laughs, "I guess I don't. Guess it's good I've started coming out of my cave again. Maybe I'll learn something."

"I've seen some pretty... far out things... in the two weeks I've been here," Ravn cedes with the expression of a man who is quietly contemplating acquiring two slices of white bread just so he can slap one on each side of the next patron messing up the men's room and declare them an idiot sandwich. "Learned a lot about what passes for normal around here, too. This, though -- let's just say I'm not used to having underage girls flashing me in coffee houses and leave it at that."

He glances to the Spaniard with a hint of surprise, then nods. "You realise you're the only person I've met so far who calls this town supportive? Everyone else tells me to get the hell out. I have had that same experience, though. People here really look out for each other. Possibly because each other is all they have, but it makes a nice enough change from some of the places I've come through in the past."

Joe bobs his head at Ignacio, but his lips have tightened. He finally takes a sip from that drink, as if the concoction of sugar and salt might soothe him.

Justin's question makes Joe roll his eyes. "Jesus fuck, yeah, seems they do. I'm from Savannah. I lived in Russia for a few years, but that's where NASA sent me. We still don't have a working human launch system, so we gotta work with the Russians so we can hitch rides out of Kazakhstan. I mean....anyhow, it's some stupid bullshit." Well, he does have a Russian tattoo on his arm.

"Yeah, it's that war zone mentality, for those that shine," Joe says to Ravn. "I showed up here in midwinter, just 'fore the solstice. You'll find it's not easy to leave for real. It has a way of punching the necessary buttons." Like the love of his life being here, waiting for him.

As Bennie's drink arrives, she gives Justin a quick peck on the cheek and abandons his lap in favor of a chair, if only because she doesn't trust herself with a hot drink on someone else's lap. Point of fact, as she goes to sip, she finds it burning her lip and she jerks it away, spilling a bit on her lap with an, "Ow ow ow!" As she flaps the flowery fabric away from her lap. She puts her Mochaccino on the table and glares at it with obvious blame. "Sure, we warn people to leave because that'd be the smart thing to do, but those that stay we close ranks with. So. Welcome to the family!"

Justin shakes his head a little bit at Joseph and says, "Sorry, man. Hopefully this particular bout of insanity doesn't last too long." Though he looks a little bit skeptical about that. He grins at Bennie as she relocates, not seeming to mind her presence, but probably grateful for any lack of spillage. He winces and offers her a napkin, "You okay?" Then he chuckles. "Yeah, pretty much. Get out while you can, but if you're staying, batten down the hatches." His smile is a little bit wry as he looks over toward Ravn, "Oh so you're really, really new. Yeah. It's a lot. But if things get a bit crazy, feel free to reach out. There's plenty of us who have been where you are now and can at least provide a sympathetic ear if you need."

"I wasn't planning to leave although if those two girls find out where I'm docked I may revise that plan." Ravn sips his coffee -- and discovers the syrupy white milk vanilla chocolate horror that's actually in the cup. He makes a face of utter disgust and places the sugary mess on the table, fully intending to ignore it out of existence. "Gray Harbor feels... more like home than home ever did, to be honest. I like it here, even if I still don't see that shine everyone else apparently sees. Except when people decide to not respect my personal space. I promise, if I decide I want to see someone naked I'll ask them." He nods at Justin. "People here have been very, very good about this. I had a couple of -- experiences, already. Also feel like I've been adopted in all but name by a few people already. Lady Sunshine here's grumpy bartender, for one."

Bennie's exuberance teases forth a smile, though. "Actually, I kind of had an idea earlier -- and now might be the right time to bring it out. Eleanor told me a lot of writers come here? I'm no published author but, if anyone else's interested we could set up some sort of regular, informal writer's club affair. With the obvious first rule being, you don't talk about writer's club -- the obvious second rule being, you beta read for writer's club."

Another of those little shrugs, the spread of inked fingers. Joe's back to being philosophical about it. "I hope so," he says. "It's fuckin' stupid, all this." But he sounds more resigned than angry, now.

Ravn's suggestion makes his brows arch. "I am a published author," he says, mildly. No air of boasting. "But sure. I could use a little help goosin' my current project along, an' my publisher's startin' to give me heat about it. You met Dante Taylor?"

Ignacio sits up as Ravn professes he's the only one that says the town is supportive and nods slightly. Looking up it's not an argument he brings but he might look like he feels bad about it. "they're scared. They care. The world is full of people that don't... know what to do. Scary job, or parents that fight, or the sudden loss of a spouse, or graduating, or being in a bad relationship? The world is terrifying. Let me tell you this, while lawn gnomes might march like it's Macbeth?" He pulls up his pantleg showing what passes for more of a quilt than a person. "I should be pissed someone decided to break both my damn legs, my ribs. My meanty bits. My most of me. And I had to relearn to walk a third goddamned time but... they cared. People I didn't know reached out and wrote. As a protest they helped one another out. Now you can go to LA and watch people ignore one another and take advantage of opportunities or you can come to Gray Harbor where everything is challenging but people fucking stand up and rise to that challenge and help one another out. I'm glad I moved here. I see every reason to love these people other than sometimes they get gosspiy cause it's a small town. It's a good little town. It's like... the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of harbor towns."

"I came here pretty much every summer since I was a kid," Justin says to Ravn. "Decided to move out here permanently to get a break from the insanity of L.A." He smiles a little wryly. "That went.. interestingly. I don't know if I could leave now, though. There's too much keeping me here." He then chuckles and says, "Yeah, I prefer the whole personal space thing, myself." Then he glances at Bennie, "Certain individuals who are allowed to violate it excepted, of course," he chuckles. Then he takes another sip from his coffee. "That's kind of a cool idea. I mean, I'd be in if I were a writer but I mostly write code. And act, sometimes, but that's other people's stories." He raises a brow a little bit as Ignacio lauds Grey Harbor's advantages over L.A. and he smiles a little in amusement, "Hey, we're not all soulless bastards."

Bennie takes the napkin sheepishly from Justin, blotting at her lap, "Fine!" She assures, though he's still eyeing her coffee skeptically as if the Dark Men were to blame for it being too hot. Nothing to do but wait for it to cool. "Not everyone sees a shine. Some times it's just a feeling, for Easton it was an..intensity. Some it's a noise. I used to think I could read auras. Like you are just a faint blue, Ravn...yay violation!" She's easily distracted, especially when she's pitching over Justin's lap to retrieve her purse and haul it over.

"Met Taylor once -- and then once again, being chased through the woods by the Headless Horseman together," Ravn murmurs in a tone as if he was recounting having tea with the aristocratic Brit at the Country Club; an unlikely event as it may be, considering that Ravn himself would never be let into one unless he decided to up his dress code quite a bit (or someone mistook him for Steve Jobs' ghost -- again). "I'm not a fiction writer myself -- only thing I ever published in print was my PhD. But hanging out with other people who enjoy words would be a nice change of pace -- I haven't met a lot of those on the road."

He glances to Justin and nods at what the American is saying. "I can think of people who can flop on to my lap if they want. Those people aren't a couple of teenage girls I've never seen before." He fails entirely to catch the cue about acting; somebody is not up to speed on contemporary film art, that's for sure.

Ignacio's passion catches the tall Dane's interest though. "See, that's exactly what I mean. People here look out for each other. Sure, it's probably mostly self-interest and terror, but they're still doing it. I don't see anything... but I do get this feeling that some people would understand what I'm talking about when most people wouldn't. I suppose that counts."

Joe listens to that little speech from Ignacio with a growing smile, but it's warm, rather than mocking. "You tell 'em, brother," he says, commiseratingly. But then he's checking his phone and getting up. "I best be gettin' along, though. Gotta see a man about a dog. Ravn, Justin, good to meetcha. Sanchez, Bennie, I'll see y'all around. Most likely at the Twofer."

Ignacio turns a wry grin to Justin with a tilt of his head, "I keep telling de la Vega the same about me being a Spaniard so I feel ya, brother. Besides, we protected kittens together. I know you're all heart." looking back to Joseph and then Ravn he points to Bennie. "She sees things. They're... pretty much true. Always nice about it. but I mean... I like to say intuition is just all the parts of your brain almost cooperating but definitely receiving the information. Sometimes it takes a while to know what to do with it. Now you can explore that or decide you're going crazy and move to the desert." Sitting back in his chair he considers, "I like Write Club. I mean... I kinda live here, so..." Looking to Justin he insists, "It counts. It's about getting the word out. A message. Maybe a feeling. I mean I'm not a great researcher, but I like talking to people. You talk to people. Ellie researches. Ravn too. Joe... you just gotta go live your danger don't ya?" He stops him though, "Hey, seriously glad you're okay. If you see Itzhak tell that schmuck to call his lil brother yeah? He knows."

Ravn mentally puts together a list in his mind, in part as a continuation of his coping mechanisms; the best cure for anxiety is to think about something else entirely.

The first rule of Write Club is, you don't talk about Write Club.
The second rule of Write Cub is, you beta read for Write Club.
The third rule of Write Club is that you need a foreign accent.
The fourth rule of Write Club is that it's totally legit to fake the accent.
The fifth rule of Write Club --"

"Good to meet you -- Joe? Cavanaugh? I'm at the Twofer most days, just look for the guy waging war on the men's room." He raises a hand to Joe in farewell, then looks at Bennie. "You read people? Guess I'll take it as a compliment that you hired me, then."

"It's just something I do." Bennie beams at Ravn, "I also have magic fingers." And those get waggled menacingly in his direction before they turn into a wave at Cavanaugh. "Bah-aye!" Bennie drawls out the word bye.

Justin laughs as Bennie illustrates the point, and then grabs the pastry from off the plate in front of him and grabs a bite from it. "What did you get your Ph.D. in?" he asks of Ravyn, curious. He chuckles and says, "Hey, I'm right there with you," holding up a hand on the topic of unwanted lap flopping from random strangers. He does not disagree. Then he nods to Joseph and lifts a hand to wave to him as the man departs. He grins over at Ignacio and says, "They were some damn cute kittens. I'm pretty sure that's a survival mechanism. Not that they needed to be given their size."

"I hold a doctorate in do you want fries with that from the University of Copenhagen," Ravn declares with quiet if not quite genuine pride. "Jokes aside -- I'm a folklorist. 18th century Scandinavian folklore is my field. As it turns out, there's more demand here for someone who does dishes. Bennie was nice enough to sign off on her bartender taking me on and I'm honestly quite enjoying myself. Never worked at a bar before, it's surprisingly fun."

Ignacio watches at the Pastry Princess works the wiggle-finger magic. "Hey, Ravn, don't knock it. I mean the paper pays me per article, sure, but I bust my ass in the mornings for August making sure things don't fall apart while the 'Arborists' are out saving the city from psychotic sycamores cyclically." There is that. Everyone's got a 9-5. "Everyone's got to make a paycheck. Should I ask why you have to battle the men's room? It's not gremlins again is it? I won't put up with gremlins threatening the only good place to get tater tots in town."

"Totally cute I-wouldn't-want-to-step-on-one-of-their-furrball kittens." Bennie confirms. "And I think the problem he's referring to about the bathrooms is the fact that drunk patrons tend to treat their penises like firehoses. Zero control." Don't ask her to demonstrate, because she totally will. "Totally not gremlins." A pause, a cant of her head. "I don't think."

"Hey, as long as you enjoy what you're doing, that's pretty good," Justin grins. "I've tended bar a couple of times, but not since college, and mostly as a favor to a friend. I was not nearly as good at it as I would have liked to have been." He picks another bit of his pastry up and takes a bite of that. He then winces a little at the visual and possibly olfactory image that Bennie portrays. "More power to you, man," he says to Ravn. Then he glances between Bennie and Ignacio, "Weren't there like.. gnomes one time? or dwarves? or.. something?"

"I wish it was gremlins." Ravn shakes his head. "Turns out once yachters get a few beers under their belt they lose all aim. I'm convinced it's a miracle that the docks don't get destroyed on a weekly basis by drunk yachters trying to moor their boats after knocking back a few." With a grin to the Spaniard he adds, "I'm not knocking it. I like my job. It's a hell of a lot more fun than most jobs I've worked, and my co-workers are fantastic."

Then, somebody said the magic word, kitten. The Dane brightens and looks at Bennie. "I got adopted by one. Adult, though. Terribly skinny thing sneaking around the pier. I gave her a sandwich and she claimed the other bunk on the Vagabond." Clearly, to the man in black, feline approval equals happiness.

"Who can keep track anymore?" Bennie wonders to Justin as to the numerous entities that have plagued Gray Harbor. Seriously, she almost forgot about Yule Kitties until she was reminded right now, but she's been remarkably flighty recently. Speaking of, "Gunner! I forgot he was in the Jeep." All this talk about pets and kittens and fluffy things apparently reminded her that her massive bull mastiff is lulling out in her car. Don't worry, the top is off. "I promised I'd bring him a Pupperccino." And she's getting up to flee. Without her drink. Without said promised drink for the dog, either. "Gotta jet. Bye guys!"

"Later, Bennie," Justin calls after her as she heads out. Then he, himself, finishes off the last of his pastry and says, "Was good to meet you all. I should probably get back to work if I want to finish up before Dahlia comes to drag me out of the office later tonight. Was nice to see you all," and then to Ravn, "Nice to meet you." Then he, too, is heading for the door.

The last man standing -- or, well, technically sitting -- is the Danish guy. He stays for a while, to let his new laptop finish its updates -- and to have another argument with the barrista about what constitutes proper coffee. He finds her surprisingly cooperative, listening carefully to his instructions and percolating the coffee just so, letting it sit for just so long, adding just so to a pre-heated cup --

Turns out, there's advantages to suddenly being a celebrity chef.