2020-08-23 - Sparks in the Night

A bonfire fed from driftwood sends the occasional shower of sparkles into the night, disturbing the inky darkness. It is quiet on this strech of the beach, away from the music and the barbecues and the majority of the crowds. Here, just a few lonely figures sit around, faces lit up by the dancing firelight -- but while they are not dancing or turning meat into charcoal, they are certainly enjoying the peace and quiet. Gray Harbor is not nearly this quiet and peaceful very often. Enjoy the moment while it lasts; tomorrow you may be eaten by giant wandering trees or disappear into the Veil never to be seen again, but tonight, at least there is the fire, the stars overhead, and the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the beach.

Ravn Abildgaard, at least, enjoys the quiet. He has gathered an entire armful of driftwood to keep the fire going, and being the not at all crowds kind of person he is, he is entirely content to watch the throng of beach goers from this safe distance.

Park wanders down the beach in a world of her own - or a cyber world of her own. She is texting away on her phone, somehow avoiding people without even looking up. This skill requires a lot of practice. Clad in sneakers, tights, short shorts, t-shirt with 'I Shaved My Balls For This?' written on it, she even seems to be bouncing as she walks. Humming to herself while pocketing her phone in a back pocket. What a lovely evening!

Oh, there's someone she doesn't know! Park half skips over to Ravn, a genuinely warm grin on her face. "Hi! Do you need any help with your wood? Looks like you need both hands for that wood." She offers out her arms. "Let me help. Gosh, how rude of me. I'm Park. Park Mee. So you can call me Mee or Park, I don't mind. Lovely night, isn't it."

Ravn's thoughts were quite far away and they scramble back to this continent in an array of confusion. He looks up at being adressed and flashes a friendly smile -- a lean, copper blond fellow, some thirty years or so of age, in a black turtleneck and matching blazer, his pale skin and hair is the only things of colour about him. "Feel free! I'm Ravn. Nice to meet you -- Park. I think I shall go with Park. It's a delightful night, indeed, though a little too crowded for me down by the Twofer at the moment."

The man has an accent; not quite David Attenborough, but it absolutely wishes it was. European, definitely. From the sparkle that glitters across his blue-grey eyes as the woman draws closer, he is staring at her chest a moment -- he obviously finds the print amusing.

"Ravn? That's a cool name. Kinda like 'The Crow' but even better because you're not copying it. Love the accent too." Park has no accent, she was born in San Francisco. "You don't like crowds? I can understand that. It's nice to be alone sometimes. Think about things. Let your soul find peace, regroup, and then head on out to the world again." Though it doesn't seem Park will be letting Ravn be alone for now as she sits down next to the fire. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say you're not from around here. Oh! Are you one of the performers in the festival?" She looks him over, trying to figure out what he may be from the clothes he wears. "Hmm...fire-eater. That's why you're so good with wood. Would you like a beer?" She pats a satchel bag she takes off her shoulder and places on the ground alongside her. "They're still cold...ish."

"Not going to turn down a cold beer," the Steve Jobs impersonator murmurs with amusement; Park's exubance is clearly catching. "And you're quite right -- I came into town a few weeks back. Ravn is not an uncommon name in Denmark where I'm from -- it does mean 'raven', so crow is not far off the mark. No relation to Jason Lee, though."

He pokes the fire lightly, sending a flurry of sparks to rise on the evening breeze, disappearing like many tiny starbursts on their way upward, then shakes his head. "Not a performer. I live on one of the sail boats on the pier -- at least for now. I don't mind a crowd if I'm working but I am not one to seek them out socially, no. You are -- a local girl? I've heard your name somewhere... Do you know a girl named Lyric? Yea tall, white hair?"

"Brandon Lee" Park giggles. "Jason Lee is the comedian guy in that show about Earl. But you were on the right track." She plucks out some beer bottles and hands one over. "I have a bottle opener here somewhere too" she assures him. "Denmark! Wow, that's so cool. That's the country that's made out of Lego, right? And it has actual mermaids. That must be so awesome. Oh, that's why you live on the boat! Because of the mermaids. Did you sail here?"

Park opens up a bottle with the opener before handing it over to Ravn to do the same. She takes a sip of her beer before nodding excitedly about Lyric. "I do! We're in a band together. 'Augmented Reality'. Cool name, right. I suggested 'Penguin Cafe Orchestra' but that was already taken. You should totally come and see us. And we both DJ at the Platinum Cabaret. Have you been there? It's an exotic dancing club...which means women take their clothes off for tips. So, they're like, 'Tit Tips'. Don't panic, I don't take my clothes off" she giggles once more. "Where did you meet Lyric? Oh, we even live in the same house. I think. She was talking about moving out."

We just haven't finished the damned scene cause people been sick! 😆

The Dane's eyes continue to glitter with amusement; there's energetic people, and then there's rapid-fire people. "I met Lyric downtown one of my first days here, at the coffee house. Gave me a bit of a tour around town, showed me how a few things work. She did tell me she's in a band." Then, with a wry smile, "I did visit that club, actually. Think I made a quite poor impression on one of the ladies there, asking a few too many questions. Eh, what is life if not an opportunity say all the wrong things, yes?"

"What did you ask them? You didn't ask them if their boobs were real, did you? That's a no-no" Park notes, lower lip thrust out to show how serious she is. But it is quickly gone and her smile is back. "Lyric is sooooo awesome. I really look up to her. You were so lucky to meet her. Did she charge for the tour? Just wondering if she has a new business." Another mouthful of beer.

"Life is the only opportunity you have to live, so why not ask and learn and enjoy? You never know, there could be a test at the end." Back to the Cabaret. "Did you ask them questions in the private room? That's for business, not conversation. They want to get you horny, handing out tips, and then out again as quickly as they can. Nothing personal. Do you remember who the lady was?"

Ravn laughs softly. "Oh god, no, I promise, I didn't ask anything like that. Asked about someone I know -- turns out you don't ask about that either, because apparently, a number of the patrons don't want their wives to know they visit somewhere like that. I think I managed to quite rightly convince the poor woman that I am indeed a very clueless foreigner who doesn't know the basic courtesies of strip clubs."

He thinks back a moment, then shakes his head. "Spanish girl, from Miami?"

"Hmm...could be Nova" Park muses. "So many dancers go in and out of that place." She lets out a sudden laugh. "And so many people want to go in and out of the dancers in that place." She leans over to nudge his shoulder. "Get it? Or was that too rude a joke? I have other jokes. I always like to tell a joke before karaoke. Do you do karaoke, Ravn? Soooo much fun. I think they had one recently but I missed it." She looks quite sad about that...for a moment. "Oh, I was going to tell you a joke. Okay...'My boyfriend yelled at me, "Park, you haven't listened to one word I've said, have you!?" What a strange way to start a conversation.'." She grins at Ravn. "Get it?"

"Don't they have strip clubs in Denmark town? I thought everybody was naked in Europe. At least I was hoping that would be the case. You know, for when I go to visit." Park's brow furrows...she's thinking. "Did Nova know your friend? Yeah, strip clubs are like fight clubs...but with less violence and more nudity. Never talk about what goes on in strip clubs. Still, didn't think she would get mad at you. Nova might hit you, but not get mad at you." She shrugs at the craziness of the world. "What's your boat called?"

Park's rapid-fire barrage convinces Ravn that if asked in times to come, he will readily testify before any court that she is in fact four hyper squirrels, high on sugar or Ritalin, standing on the shoulders of each other while wearing a human mask. This is now his head canon; do not challenge the man's head canon. With a soft laugh he uncaps the beer bottle and goes down the list. "Believe me, you don't want to hear me sing. I very much do not do karaoke. I like people too much to do karaoke."

"We do have strip clubs," he notes next. "It's just, they're somewhat different. They're usually downtown and quite exclusive, or really not exclusive, if you know what I mean. I don't think she got mad -- she just decided I was probably some very amateur undercover policeman or something along those lines, and wandered off. She's called the Vagabond -- it's the blue one over there." He points towards the darkness of the pier, clearly expecting Park to have night vision or forgetting just how dark it is.

"I don't know a dancer called Vagabond...oh...your boat! Cool!" Park does indeed peer out into the dark in the hope of seeing a blue boat. Nope. Not a chance. "I'll drop by later" she promises...threatens. "Must be such a long way to sail since we're on the wrong side of the country for Europe. Oh, when you go into a bathroom you're American, when you come out, you're American. But while you're in there, European. Geddit? Another joke, not that it really works because you're not American, and if I change it to 'I', then the European bit wouldn't work." Looks like she will have to work on that piece of wit.

"You don't go to karaoke to sing, you go there to have fun. To laugh at how bad everyone is, but at the same time rejoice in the fun they're having doing it. If you can't have fun being an idiot, when can you have fun?" More beer is drunk. "So strip clubs in Denmark range from exclusive to not exclusive at all. I don't think that sounds much different than here." She peers at him a moment. "Are you an undercover policeman? I don't mind. Policemen are people too. Though I guess that would make you a Danish cop. Oh...I know what they're called. Interpole. Right? Something to do with how criminals in Europe used to have poles put into them so others could throw fruit and vegetables at them. If they could catch them in their mouth, then they could eat. Pretty cruel though."

"I am definitely not a cop, Polish or otherwise." The man continues to laugh softly. If Park's intention is to spread joy in the world, then at least on a very small scale, she is succeeding brilliantly. "I'm a folklorist. That means, I research and write about stories and legends. And for some reason half this town has decided that I am a Swedish celebrity chef, but I have no explanation for that one. At least not beyond, Gray Harbor seems to be doing its thing again."

Ah. Yes. He does have a bit of sparkle, glimmer, shine, song, whatever one likes to call it. Not very strong, but definitely there. Gray Harbor probably paid its respects to him already.

Everyone sparkles in Park's world. "Oh...Interpole is only for Polish police. Yeah...that makes sense." A mental note to mentally note that down. "Stories and legends? Cool. You sure came to the right place. Everyone has a story to tell here. And all the weird stuff that goes on. But don't talk about it too much, you don't want people dragging you off to the asylum."

At the mention of being a Swedish celebrity chef, Park just stares at Ravn...as if trying to figure out if he's kidding or not. "Umm...you're not a Swedish chef" she points out in a tone that seems to question if he's toying with her. "The Swedish chef was a muppet." She reaches out to pinch his cheek. "See...flesh...not felt. Ooh! What a great idea for a song. 'Flesh Not Felt'. About how people are skin and blood, not toys to be used and abused." There must be a tune forming in her head from the way she is bouncing it around and mouthing words silently. "Sorry, I'll work it out later. I guess you could always write about the 'Legend of the Swedish Chef'. It would be autobiographical. Hey, do you think it's weird when people write books about themselves and call it <Insert name>...they put their name there, they don't call it 'Insert Name'. Anyway, they call the book <Insert Name> colon, 'My Autobiography'. Who else's autobiography would it be? People are weird."

"What have you liked at the fair so far? We had a local one in February. All the local crafts and creatives did two days in Addington Park. That was pretty cool. But you wouldn't have been here for that."

Ravn finds his cheek, carefully trimmed stubble and all, pinched and cannot help another crooked grin. It's very hard to stay in any fashion serious or dignified in the presence of this human hurricane, but at the same time she is highly entertaining and really, the world needs more laughter. He's got a cold beer, the night is gorgeous, and the entertainment is certainly both fast spoken and adorably hyper. "I am fairly certain I'm not made out of plush, and my passport does seem to insist that I'm Danish," he agrees. "If I ever write an autobiography, I might title it something along the lines of Ravn Abildgaard: The Long and Monotonous Epic of a Rather Dull Fellow Who Likes Books. You're in a band -- you're absolutely more of a celebrity than I have any intention of ever becoming. I did promise Lyric to come hear you play sometime."

"I'd read that book" Park assures him with complete sincerity. "It's got the word 'Epic' in the title...and I know the author! Would you autograph it for me? Then it would be worth a fortune! Not that I would ever sell it. I mean, I would be in it, right?" She grins at the idea of being in a book. "Definitely come and see us play. Gosh, I don't see any of my bandmates often enough and I live in the same room as two of them! You know how it gets when you get older. Life tries to drag you down with boring stuff. Takes away the time to have fun. Well, screw that! I find time to have fun. Like now." Another mouthful of beer.

"Would you like something to eat? I have some leftovers from dinner in my bag in case I got the nibbles. Dancing makes me hungry. A lot of things make me hungry" explains the beanpole. "I think I have some snow chicken left if you'd like some. Korean dish. Oh, I'm American but from Korean parents. Sometimes I get confused for Chinese. I guess you have the same problem. Not being thought of as Chinese, but people think you're Swedish."

"I'll admit, being thought of as Chinese is indeed not a recurring problem," Ravn murmurs and actually manages to keep a straight face for that one. "The getting older thing, though? Absolutely, except the other way around. I never really got around to doing the exciting things until my late twenties. You know how it is, some kids are slow to get started on enjoying life. Am now, though -- and this town? Definitely not boring. I feel like I've prepared my whole life for this -- even if I'm not completely certain what 'this' is. I spent a night out there --" he nods at the darkened ocean "-- last week, as a tuna. I can't think of any drug a man could possibly take that can compare with that. I was a freaking fish."

"You were a tuna? Literally? Umm...you sure it wasn't a dream? I mean, being Danish, wouldn't you have more likely been a herring? Maybe even a red one." Park muses. "Wasn't there a movie where someone turned into a fish? It was a cartoon...not an anime one though. I think it was an old Disney one. Not 'The Little Mermaid'...another Danish connection...but something even older." She considers for a moment before shrugging. "It will come to me. I'll let you know when I think of it. Oh, you'll have to give me your number for when I remember." She takes out her phone to swap contact details.

"People have dreams here but they also have Dreams...with a capital 'D'. You probably had one of those. And though they aren't really real, if you get hurt in one, you will get hurt in this life too. Which one is real, you know? Is this the real life, or is it just fantasy?" Park pouts for a moment. "Such weighty words, right? At least you didn't get eaten while you were a fish. I haven't reached my late twenties yet. Good to know that there will be even bigger partying to come" she grins excitedly. "Oh, I should give you a business card too." She finds one in her bag to hand over. "I've finally graduated from Dentistry College, so if you need your teeth done, give me a call."

"You were actually in the sea? If you had friends, they would have put you in a tank until you woke up. Safer that way. And you could have swum around castles and that frogman with the treasure chest that keeps opening and closing. How cool would that be!"

"Help I'm a Fish," Ravn notes, laughing softly. "The cartoon, that is. A boy gets turned into a fish, indeed. We were quite literally fish -- there was a fighting betta, a lion fish, a shark -- and a couple of others. I went out with two of my fellow fish after we woke up, got revenge sushi rolls. It's the first time I've dreamed about somebody and then gone out with them, usually tends to go the other way around, but I suppose that's Gray Harbor."

He seems quite easily amused and certainly not intimidated by the whole Dreams affair, taking out his cell and indeed, swapping numbers and contacts; his background on the cell is a raven, wings flapping, but it honestly draws the eye mostly by sitting snugly in a bright pink, sparkly Hello Kitty casing. "I did know about the injury in dreams thing. I had one where someone else took a sword blow to one arm and he most certainly was still bleeding when we woke up, yes."

"And you've only been here a couple of weeks? Gosh, you don't waste any time, do you" Park snickers. "I don't think it was 'Help, I'm A FIsh' but it could have been since I don't actually know what I'm trying to think of. Don't you hate that? When something is on the tip of you...ooh! Hello Kitty! You have good taste, 'Brandon'." It seems she has got round to giving him a nickname already; Ravn - Raven - Crow - Brandon Lee - Brandon. It may even shorten to 'Brand' by the end of the night. 'Bran' by tomorrow.

"So, others were sharks and lion fish and all that, but you were a...tuna. You need to Dream better" she concludes. "Had you at least met the person before you Dreamed about them? That would make sense. Unless you're psychic or something. Are you psychic? See the future? Can you tell me the Lottery numbers for next week?"

"Why did the fish have swords? Oh, gosh, I'm so silly. It was a swordfish. I hope they recovered afterwards." She drains the last of her beer and puts the bottle back in her bag for recycling. "I should get going. I have the late night shift DJing at the Cabaret. It was sooooo nice to meet you, Ravn. I can't wait for you to come and watch the band." She stand only so she can come closer and give him a hug. "Have fun with your wood tonight. Keep it burning. Though if it burns too much, you may need to get a cream."

Whatever coffee she's on I need to find out where she got it and get some for myself, Ravn thinks and laughs, again. "I will. And, er, I will try to not play with my wood too much, yes. I'll try to get used to the idea of going down in history as Brandon -- if I remember that movie, he was at least pretty good looking, wasn't he?"

He waves good-naturedly as the younger woman gets up and hugs him, a bit to his surprise. Able to keep pace with her fast talk? Absolutely not. The real question to be asked here is: Is anyone?

"Very handsome" Park grins before giving Ravn a wink. "I'll see you soon." A finger wave before she bounces off to work, singing her new song to herself: "'Flesh not felt, skin not pelt. Treat me like a human, not a furman. I bleed when you knock my stuffing out. I cry when you stick your hand up me'. It's a start."

She disappears into the darkness.

All the innuendos and then some. Ravn settles again, chuckling, with his bottle of not quite cold beer. The crackling fire eating away at the driftwood, the sparks against the inky sky, the gentle rumbling of the ocean, the distant murmur of tourists coming and going at the Twofer. It's not his shift to clean tables and restrooms today and for that, he is grateful.