2020-08-24 - A Latte to Process

There's one thing that the Vagabond doesn't have: A proper kitchen. And another: A wi-fi router. This may be why Ravn Abildgaard seems to be making a habit out of settling in, quite often, at the Espresso Yourself with his laptop, a sandwich, and indeed, all the coffee. He seems to finally have reached some kind of arrangement with the barristas; they don't add all the syrups to his coffee, and in turn, he's stopped berating them for not being able to just serve regular old percolated boring coffee the way he likes it.

Life is hard. And blogs don't write themselves.

So, we found a body in a dumpster yesterday. Apparently this is a common enough thing in the US that the police wasn't particularly bothered. There is very obviously a Procedure for these things, one which involves asking a lot of questions, turning my passport upside down a lot to see if it's genuine, and then sending us off. We'll call you if we need a statement.

Not such a big deal, apparently. Just some dead woman. I wonder if our police back home would handle it differently; odds are that they wouldn't. That kind of work must render you pretty... choosy with when you decide to have Emotions and when it's better to just look at everything as a Case, I suppose.

He pauses in writing. Might not be a good idea to put on the internet that as far as his eye could make out, the woman in question had been eaten alive, chewed to death by kittens. As in, literally, baby cats. He could see that, and Aidan could see that, and -- the police officers that reported to the scene didn't see it. Beaten to death by somebody, probably her husband. So that's how it works. That's why no one else in this country notices how strange things are here.

Probably best to just skip that part. Just like he skipped blogging about being a tuna, or being chased by the Headless Horseman.

The sun is just starting to sink down below the Gray Harbor skyline, a bright glare hitting a couple tables near the windows at the front of the shop, warning about the onset of dusk. The shop is quieter now than it is in the morning, fewer folks pursuing caffeine as the day tilts toward evening, but sometimes a guy just needs a latte at the end of a long day. Clifford is one of those guys. Just how long and challenging his day has been isn't easily read from his appearances. He wears dark slacks and a pine green shirt with the sleeves cuffed up to his elbows and the top two buttons undone. Business casual, to be sure, but leant a little more polish between his impeccable styling and confident bearing. And that smile! He flashes some charm toward the barista as he steps up to the counter, ordering a medium hazelnut latte then correcting, "Ya know what? Make it a large," as if he's splurging.

While he waits for the drink to get it squirts of syrup and its foamy milk, he scans the few patrons settled in, attention lingering a bit longer on the blogger who seems to have set up camp here. He might be trying to place Ravn. Yeah. It's a face the man's seen far too much recently. This guy might think he's a celebrity chef.

Still so new to his supposed fame that he is still oblivious to the idea of people noticing him in particular -- teenage girls prone to tear their shirts off not counting here, he's definitely alert to those, as in please don't let that happen again -- Ravn taps away at his laptop, writing something or other and occasionally pause to sip the coffee that by now is passing through chilly and headed for glacial. Got to hand it to the local barrista -- she doesn't seem in the slightest intimidated by serving up percolated coffee to somebody who probably has based entire show episodes on the proper making of a latte. The barrista has been arguing about coffee with this man since the Pourhouse was indeed called the Pourhouse, and Gray Harbor was yet to become the scandalous home town of a mother of thirteen with two husbands, take that, Octomum. She knows who this guy is. It's the Annoying Americano Guy.

Annoying Americano Guy eventually looks up from his work and taps his lower lip with a finger, thinking. In doing so, his gaze roams the room and happens to settle on the man in the green shirt. He nods politely and sips his coffee -- only to discover that in fact, it is suitable for a penguin spa. With a small sigh he murmurs, "I'll have a cup of whatever that gentleman is having too," in the general direction of the barrista. "As long as it's not frozen."

Thankfully, by most civilized measures, Clifford does not look particularly inclined to go popping the buttons on his shirt, shoving a sharpie in Ravn's direction or hopping into the man's lap uninvited. While that might make the evening much more entertaining, it would also amp up the awkwardness to an uncomfortable degree. Better to just flash a curious, faintly apologetic smile toward the potential celebrity when the stranger looks his way. At the request for another hazelnut latte, Cliff notes to the barista, "On me," to make the transaction easier. Maybe that will buy him a little goodwill for when he looks back to Ravn, head tilted just so, to ask, "Aren't you that guy..? The enough garlic to kill all the vampires in Europe guy?"

The expression on the Da---Swedish guy's face is almost comical. It gets on the train at What the hell is he on about, buys a coffee at Oh god, not this again and finally exits at I'm going to start blogging about food if this keeps up. With an ever so slightly strained smile he replies, "I'm not. I'm not even Swedish. I do like garlic, though." He kicks at the chair next to himself, indicating that it's absolutely not taken; the least a man can do when offered coffee, even if he is in fact just a victim of mistaken identities.

Clifford grimaces genially when his swing misses. "Sorry. I guess you get that a lot, huh?" It's purely rhetorical. He doesn't wait for an answer, turning to pay for the lattes and collect them both with a murmur of thanks for the barista. Delivering one to Ravn's table, he's careful to find it a spot within the stranger's easy reach where it's not likely to get knocked over. "You really do look remarkably like him. I don't imagine most of us would be able to tell a Swedish accent from..." A brow arches inquisitively, a gentle prompt, gauging Ravn's openness to conversation.

August wanders in from his first day sort of almost a little working at the garden shop. (Okay, he spent most of it ensconced in the office with the kittens, making sure they sorted out the litter box and their new baby-gated abode, doing orders and getting himself back on the schedule. It counts.) The lower patron count means fewer 'how dare you!' glares get cast his direction, and he can make it to the counter to order an iced herbal tea unhindered. No caffeine for him this late; he's just waiting for Ellie to finish up her shift so they can head home together.

Once he's put in his order (and his payment goes into the tip jar, the only place he's allowed to put money), he scans the cafe. He's in denim jeans, heavy hikers, and a dark blue, short-sleeve Henley. Spying Ravn and someone with Glimmer whom he doesn't know, he heads over that way while waiting for his drink. "Hey," he says, once he's close enough. He tilts his head, surveying Clifford with open curiosity; the kind that indicates 'I see you, can you see me'. Which is a little weird, except this is Gray Harbor, so maybe it's just another day ending in y.

"Danish," the celebrity chef in denial murmurs and reaches for the coffee that may contain objects of a nut nature but at least is warmer than body temperature. "Don't worry about it. I get this all the time lately. Can't tell you why -- I don't see the resemblance at all. Anyhow -- Ravn Abildgaard. Pleased to meet you. And thank you for the coffee refill." He extends a gloved hand; whoever he is, or pretends not to be, at least he's pretty civil.

The approach of August nets a strange look from Ravn's blue-grey eyes; not so much that the man is there -- that warrants a lazy, good-natured 'hello' kind of wave. The look that Clifford gets, though, gives pause; the kind of pause that comes with having survived here for three weeks and somewhat intending to make the home run for four. Something the matter?

Clifford's brow furrows curiously as the offered hand draws his attention to gloves. In late summer. It's peculiar, but so is half of everything around here. With a quick swap of his latte from one hand to the other, he accepts, shaking Ravn's hand as he reciprocates, "Cliff Evergreen. Consider it compensation for incorrect identification." His hand settles comfortably into his pocket as he turns his attention to August, watching him over his latte while he sips. Carefully. It's still terribly hot. Brows arch inquisitively, like he's not quite sure what that look's all about, sufficiently recent in his return that he hasn't acclimated to Glimmer-culture. Still, there's a friendly, "Hey," which at least indicates he's not up on the gossip that indicates this is the guy who broke his former classmate's heart. Though there are plenty of open tables, he looks back to the guy who is definitely not a chef and asks, "Do you mind?" while waggling his cup toward more than one of the empty seats at his table.

Apparently it's a day for coffee, as yet another person steps in. Despite the abundance of scrubby scum botanists and Swedish Chefs with a terribly fake not-swedish accents, Gina still manages to somewhat stand out. Maybe it's the purple hair, collected into two low buns just behind her ears. Maybe it's the 1960s style white-and-black polka dot dress, more black than white, with the single red ribbon around the waist, the skirt and sleeves both flared, with shredded black stockings tucked into hiking boots that are definitely not of the time period. Neither, probably, are those red-splattered hot pink nails. Or maybe it's that expert smoky eye and complete indifference to anything but her phone as she steps inside and towards the counter.

There's also the fact that like August, she screams Glimmer'n'Shine all over the place. She heads for her coffee first, not even bothering to look up at the barista as she places her order, and only after stepping away to wait for her coffee and pastries does she deign to look up and skim the bar, her eyes finally slowing and stopping at the trio of Ravn, Clifford, and August.

One corner of her lips rises slowly in something that is almost, but not quite, a smirk.

August notes the reaction from Clifford, and his bearing goes from 'Glimmer person I don't know' to 'guy talking to someone I do know'. "Hey. August Roen," he says. He narrows his eyes. "Evergreen. Related to...Dahlia?" It's a guess, like he knows there is a person with this name and maybe that last name, but he's not totally sure. The town's small, though, he has a better than average chance of being right.

He half-turns when he sees purple hair out of the corner of one eye, gives Gina a smile that's wry and welcoming. "Hey you. How's things. Anyone spreading new, really weird rumors about you?" It's a hell of a question to just ask someone, but August and Gina have an odd understanding.

Compared to at least August and the lady with the interesting hairdo, Ravn is a rather dull light bulb where the shine is concerned. Not hopeless -- not without potential -- but oh so very untapped and untrained, and definitely unrealised. To somebody accustomed to looking for these things he is not unlike a smart kid with a hacky sack; he can probably do some neat tricks but maybe you shouldn't sign him up for the soccer world cup just yet.

He nods with a small smile that's directed at none of the other three in particular -- it may even include the girl since clearly, she knows the older man. "Please pull up chairs. I could use a break from this anyhow -- and a full table might save me from signing even more cookbooks." Ravn closes the small laptop and curls his hands around the now-warm coffee mug with a small sigh of contentment; maybe he doesn't like signing cookbooks.

Surely, Cliff's gotta notice all the supernatural sparkle lighting up the coffee shop, but the guy clearly doesn't know the secret handshake or any of the appropriate protocols for acknowledging mutual strangeness. The information's just filed away for future reference until he knows what to do with it. He finds the more direct question easier to engage, his fond smile confirming his family tie has been well-spotted even before he answers. "Dahlia's my sister," might even have a hint of pride to it. Like he's hoping August knows her from the movie she's currently shooting and not whatever else she's been doing these past few years to get by. "Are you a friend of hers, Mr. Roen?"

His gaze tracks Gina as collective attention strays, though it's almost certainly just as much for her intentional presentation as for the shininess she can't really help. He offers a friendly enough smile her way, but she's spared any proper staring as he accepts Ravn's offer, pulling up a chair and settling in. While he keeps an ear toward the branch of conversation veering off into odd rumors, he gestures toward the closed laptop and wonders, "What are you working on?"

Both of Gina's brows rise at August's question, "I stopped keeping track of the rumors people keep about me in town." She says simply. Does she sound cocky? Serious? It's something in between, coupled with that not-quite-a-smirk that makes it difficult to distinguish her real feelings on the matter. "It's a small town. People still haven't gotten over the high school shit. Heard you turned into a floraphilic dickhead chasing after cute young things. Didn't know you had it in you, December."

Gina sounds sly and teasing, and...approving? Maybe not? But the barista apparently silently approves of her wording, chuckling as he passes Gina a plate of pastry and the coffee. That done, Gina walks over to the trio of guys, "Oldest Evergreen." After all, both are local, and she was within a year of his brother Edward in school - even if they aren't BFFs, they probably knew each other. Of course, then her eyes settle on Ravn, and she stares at him for a moment, two, before she just sits down at his table, takes a sip of her coffee while checking her phone briefly, then holds out her hand. "You're the guy. Hand." She says this casually, as if it wasn't at all a strange thing to say, and wiggles her fingers expectantly. Impatiently.

August rolls his eyes dramatically at Gina, goes to fetch his herbal iced tea. "I have not, in fact, broken off anything, and am getting married within the week." He takes the offered seat, murmuring a thank you to Ravn and setting his workbag down on the floor next to him. "Alexander had some drastic recommendations for how to convince everyone we were still together. I'm taking them under advisement."

Once he's settled he shakes his head at Clifford, pauses, shrugs. "I'm acquainted with her, wouldn't say I know her well." Which is probably true of a good number of people in this town. He asides to Gina, "These new rumors are weird. People seem to believe them. Like how the Diner's name changed." Did he just call the 'Black Bear Diner' name a 'rumor'? Yes. Yes he did.

Ravn glances at the now-closed laptop when asked what he was working on, and some of the smile fades. "I was -- writing a few paragraphs, though I have not decided yet whether to post them on my blog or just leave matters be. I have had a few experiences... I have this feeling that no one outside of Gray Harbor would believe me if I wrote them down. Although perhaps I might present them as fiction. Sometimes, writing things down is a good way to process an unpleasant experience, I find. Helps me order my thoughts. A friend of mine had the poor fortune of finding a body in a dumpster, and I am rather trying to -- process that."

Gina's casual demand has the Dane blinking, though. "Hand? My name is Ravn. Oh. Hand." He offers out one gloved such for a handshake that is firm but indeed not bone crushing. "What guy am I again? Please don't say 'Swedish chef guy'. I'm not a chef. I can barely boil an egg." And as an afterthought to August, "I, er, walked in on a bit of discussion between employees on the spelling of the name of the Poorhouse. Pourhouse. I remain neutral on this. I like them both."

"She must be very understanding about the floraphilia." Gina remarks, quite naturally in response to August - she sounds serious, though there's that half-tilt to her lips. "The property papers all say Black Bear Diner." Gina does say aloud, even as she takes Ravn's hand when he offers, shaking it but... not giving it back. Instead, she sets her coffee mug down while shaking his hand and wraps the now-free hand around his wrist, loosely. Maybe she's just going for the double-hand handshake?

"Friend sounds pretty lucky, actually. Dumpster's not a bad place to find a body. It's more annoying if you find it in the walls, or taped to a ceiling. Gina Castro." Her tone is light, and it's difficult to tell if that... tone of hers is joking or sarcastic or serious. Perhaps more importantly is that handshake done, she goes to try and tug off the gloves of his hand. She's not holding him tightly, however: Ravn can tug himself free without worry, if he chooses.

"He's not even Swedish," Clifford appends dryly to Ravn's list of evidence that he's not who the town thinks he is. His nod of confirmation for Gina's correct identification of just where he falls in the list of local Evergreens comes with a look that teeters between almost-got-it and apology, tipping toward the latter when he just can't place someone he's sure he's meant to remember. He's been away from town for a good while. The diner's easier to recall than its owner, evidently. It has a sign outside with its name on it! When she confirms the legal name, he wonders, "Was it changed for legal reasons?" Nevermind how the sign doesn't look new. That's gotta be an aesthetic choice, right?

Right! As soon as soon as Gina offers her name, it clicks, Cliff's expression immediately creasing into I should've known that. It's enough to distract him from imagining why a corpse might end up taped to a ceiling. And how much tape it might take. Instead, he watches the attempted glove removal and notes, "You wouldn't be the first to use Gray Harbor as a muse. It's not an especially kind or cooperative muse, I hear, but..." The thought just trails off as he sips his latte.

"She is," August assures Gina on a saccharine smile. "Her ring's even floral, you know, and the bands have wood in them." A slight bob of his eyebrows, though his wry teasing fades when Ravn talks about bodies in dumpsters. "Christ," he mutters. "Was it here in downtown again? There were a few back in..." When was that, anyways. February? Winter? God, he can't remember. "A little while back. On a Friday the 13th."

He nods an agreement at Clifford, adds, "If you try to pass it off as real they won't believe you. Anything that can't be easily denied winds up altered. Like, pictures on your phone? They'll degrade, disappear. But writing something in a fictional context, that seems to get through okay." Which makes him frown, about the Diner, though it tracks. It has to be believable, so of course, the paperwork and sign match. "It's still the Grizzly," he mutters, stubborn as always.

"Ravn Abildgaard. But if it's the same to you I'd really rather not," Ravn murmurs and pulls his hand back before adjusting the glove. "I have a bit of a thing about touching people. Sorry, were you looking for a wedding ring?" Nothing like a bit of tongue-in-cheek flirtation to save him from embarrassment; there's even a very faint blush peeking up over the collar of his black turtleneck. "Wait, what, taped to the -- Oh, god."

He's new to Gray Harbor all right. It's all but written on his face.

More quietly, he murmurs, "I was just going to... You know. Write it for myself, really. No one'll believe this, and I'm not a fiction writer. But yes. Downtown -- on Main Street, as it were, next to a sandwich shop."

Sometimes, a nerd is able to get by on energy drinks, soda, maybe even making their own at home. But sometimes, the need for coffee trumped all else. Abitha had decided that today was just such a day. But how does one avoid the judging glares of the Gray Harbor rumor mill? Well, Abitha had plenty of experience from cons.

Her clothing was for all appearances normal. A long-sleeved, but t-shirt thin hooded top, some angularly lined activewear leggings, and a pair of black ankleboots, it was an outfit many a person would wear casually. But add on the black, curve-brimmed ballcap, emblazoned with a purple digital rendition of a sugar skull, a black surgical mask, and a pair of blocky Rayban sunglasses, and it was damn hard to tell who this girl was.

At least that was her hope, pushing through the coffee shop door. Abitha digs into a hobo-style purse to pull out a wallet and heads directly for the counter, to order something with far too much espresso to be healthy and enough sugar to make it tolerable to drink.

Not too far behind Abitha, though far enough to leave it ambiguous as to whether they've arrived separately or together, the (acting) Chief of Police meanders in. He glances at the lineup, parks himself at the end, then returns to whatever message he'd been composing on his phone, brow creased in concentration. The cop's in one of his usual stupid tee shirts (como se llama?), a pair of snug-fitting black jeans shoved into motorcycle boots, and a ballcap tugged low over his eyes.

Gina easily lets the hand go, but that corner of her lip that's raised? It smoothly lowers until Gina's face is far more it's usual somewhat bored expression as she reaches for her coffee again, "Wanted to check your lifeline to see if I should bother to get to know you." Gina says in response to Ravn's question. Nigh-dismissively. And shrugs, "The answer's still 'no,' but I like to know how much time I'm saving not getting to know people. I give myself a gold star in my agenda for every full twenty-four-hours of unwasted time." Again, there is that... ambiguousness of Gina's tone, that just seems to be a part of how she speaks, impossible to tell if she's teasing, being sarcastic, or serious, or some version of all three.

Setting the coffee down after the sip, she starts tearing the pastry - a danish - into small bits with those red-splattered nails, focusing on her plate instead of the others at the table. "The name's just Harboring. Haven't decided if I'll change it back legally. I might try once, see if it sticks." Gina adds, casually.

"Ah. Well, if you don't need to touch to see that." Ravn peels the glove off one hand, revealing long, slender fingers that are in fact not possessed of a wedding band, and turns his hand palm up for Gina to inspect. It's a nice hand. A well manicured hand. Definitely not the hand of someone who does a lot of manual labour. "I do generally intend to stay alive, though."

August eyes the new Daft Punk-esque person coming in. They're a bit bright to be someone he doesn't know, and yet, he can't place them. Especially since they're covered head to toe like being caught outside will mean death itself. So after a couple of blatant Looks he nods at Gina, sips from his iced tea. "I was gonna call around, see if the name shows up different to people outside of here." He watches the interplay involving Ravn's hands, mouth flattening a little at what Gina says. But now Ruiz has arrived, and August gives him a slight up-nod of greeting.

He settles back in his chair, grunts about where the body was found. "Great," he mutters, rubbing at his eyes. If bodies could stop being found near his fiance's shop that'd be fantastic.

(TXT to Abitha) Ruiz : Hey, popped out to grab a coffee, you want something? Pretty sure nobody spits in it here.

Paying and about to move to wait for her coffee, the incognito gamer turns and immediately stops. Sure, she had breezed right by three people she knew already, but now she was literally facing down Ruiz. You could almost see the anime sweat drop as she freezes and her eyebrows, the only visible feature of her face, shoot up. She silently drops her head as if trying to communicate an apology through body language and goes to angle around him.,

Then, from the depths of her bag, there’s a faint, accented female sounding voice issued: ’Que Onda?’. It was suspiciously well timed, and likely a bit recognizable.

Harboring. It has a whole different meaning when not used as a transitive verb, when that capitalization is implied. Clifford makes a thoughtful sound, entirely noncommittal, and tucks that term away for future use. For the most part, though, the accountant keeps quiet as hands are examined--or not--and new patrons filter in. Really, he seems perfectly content to observe, attention flitting lazily from one face to the next. Until his phone buzzes. Whatever he finds on the screen can't be awful, given his faint smile, but it is enough to inspire departure. With a, "Nice meeting you," to those at his--Ravn's--table, he slips out, half-empty latte left behind.

Ruiz jerks his head up at the weird, muffled Spanish coming from Abitha's bag. Like, who does that? He cuts the thing a look, then the girl herself in that weird mask of hers. Then notices that she's not only here already, but gotten herself a cup of coffee without his help. A bit of a scowl ensues. "I think your bag is.." Making noises, that grunt and hitch of his chin says. He steps up to place an order for a drip coffee, and digs in his pants pocket for his wallet. He's wearing his badge and gun, so he's at least nominally on duty. Must be avoiding the Black Bear diner, which is his usual haunt, for some reason.

Gina doesn't stop ripping her pastry to bits, even as Ravn presents his palm. She does lean slightly towards him, eyes glancing at his palm. A piece of pastry is finally popped into her mouth as she glances at his palm, "Touch sensitive, huh? My crush is too." Gina notes. "He's adorable when he cringes away." A tiny little smirk reappears on Gina's lips, before she looks away from Ravn's palm. She doesn't say anything about said palm, either. Just glances up at the sudden 'que onda?' and the disappearing Evergreen, before her eyes go back to August.

"It's Black Bear on Yelp. Because that's how it goes. As far as the outside world knows, we've always been at war with Eurasia." Her dark eyes look away from August again, and dart towards Ruiz...and her smile grows, just a little, before she pops another piece of pastry into her mouth, and has another sip of coffee.

"Touch sensitive, yes." Ravn pulls his glove back on. He is still unaware of the little, ah, display between the masked girl and the (totally not acting) police chief. "I'm sorry, I think I am actually a little ruffled. I've seen some strange things in this town, I've been some strange things in this town, but this is the first time I've seen the..." He makes a dismissive gesture with one hand. "This is not the homicide you're looking for, jedi wave. A few things make more sense now, but they also creep me the hell out."

August arches an eyebrow when Gina refers to a touch-sensitive crush. He looks like he has some ideas on who that might be. Wrong ones, no doubt, but since when has that stopped him. He glances over his shoulder at the voiceline from Abitha's bag, peers at her anew. Strangely enough, he knows what's from (thanks to his nieces and Itzhak), but it doesn't entirely let him identify the person behind the mask. Ruiz talking to her makes him all the more curious.

He sips from his tea, one eye on these developments even as he says to Ravn, "Well, now that you've found your first body, you're officially a townie," dry and apologetic. The dryness gives way to sincere sympathy. "This is why Alexander told you to get out. It's all downhill from here."

Abitha embarrasedly digs her green cased phone out of her bag and checks it after Ruiz's prompting, careful to not look at the Chief, in a manner that was all too obvious how she was not looking at him. She had noticed other Looks as well, but was trying so hard to stay incognito. She types something out quickly, sends, types some more, sends that, and then slips the phone away.

(TXT to Ruiz) Abitha : No thanks, got some.

(TXT to August) Abitha : Stop staring, I needed coffee.

(TXT to Abitha) Ruiz : I'm staring? You're the one who's fucking staring. What's with the fucking mask, anyway?

Ruiz scowls some more, fires off another text message, and collects his coffee once it's made. A lid's snapped on before he ducks back out.

Gina rolls her eyes at August's PRESUMPTION on town citizenship! "It's a step. Hiding one gets you more Good Citizen points, but honestly you don't get real townie status unless you've Spoken. Trial's usually more of a mud-and-blood thing but if you're lucky the Elders don't involve themselves." Gina casually corrects. "It's not even that much blood for the HOA's tax. But I mean, yeah, you can run instead. The less time you spend here, the less it becomes carved in you, the easier you can actually make it out." Gina's tone is so offhand, so casual, so... so difficult to place, especially as that slight smile grows. She's such a townie, sipping her coffee as if this is perfectly normal conversation.

"You get used to it, if you live. You eventually just learn not to bother with shit unless it comes looking for you." Gina's attention is already straying, however, towards the texting and glances that the other person over there is getting. Unlike the others, however, Gina stares. Outright. Blatantly, and much like a lazy cat might stare at a human with a can in hand.

"Alexander Clayton, and everybody else on two feet," Ravn murmurs in August's general direction. "The first person I met told me to stay, though, in no uncertain terms. We'll just leave out the part where that first person was Queso the cat of Hera Foster who owns the art gallery. Very charming fellow, that cat. And let's face it, I'm not going anywhere, at least not until the tourist season ends. Wouldn't do to run out on Bennie at the Twofer, and I've made a couple of friends in town that I would not want to leave behind. Even if staying apparently means getting dragged into murder investigations on a somewhat regular basis."

He glances up as the (definitely not acting, the newspaper said otherwise) police chief leaves. "... Suddenly glad that fellow wasn't paying attention to this table. That would have sounded all kinds of wrong."

Then the Dane just falls silent, staring at Gina as if wondering how exactly it can be that he technically recognised every word she said as being English, yet none of it made any sense to him whatsoever -- except, perhaps, the bottom line: Welcome to the party, you're screwed too.

August's phone dings in his pocket, and he fishes it out. He eyes the message, frowns, shifts that frown to the masked mystery woman. The frown becomes a look of incredulity, and he texts her back without taking his eyes off her.

That done, he sets his phone down and sighs at Gina. (His lock screen is, to no one's surprise, a picture from some sort of forest.) He tells Ravn, "Ignore her, at least forty percent of that was exaggerated." But he flicks Gina a brief, amused smile, watches Ruiz head out.

(TXT to Abitha) August : what the actual hell are you doing dressed like that

Abitha has to dig her phone out agaik as her phone seems to ask everyone 'Whats up?' in Spanish twice more. She reads both messages, sighs heavily and starts firing them back, delaying her from retrieving her coffee as she types, even though it had just arrived. She glances at August between them, her posture straightening as though fristrated, then throwing her head back in a silent prayer for patience. The phone disappears into her bag again as she grabs her coffee and heads out, shaking her head.

(TXT to Ruiz) Abitha : August has had a bunch of dumb fucking rumors about him because of whatever the fuck is up with people and being seen with me. I just want my coffee in peace.

(TXT to August) Abitha : I just wanted to grab my coffee in peace, spare us both more rumors, but fine! Sure! Let more people notice you staring at a woman that just walks into the shop! Great job! 😑😑😑

"At least forty percent," the Dane notes with some amusement, then shakes his head and sips his hazelnut coffee. "I'm choosing to believe that Queso has the right of it and I belong here. Even if that means, ah, getting used to unusual things. At least no one's asked me to sign their boobs today. Today has been a good day."

"'Queso' is...well." August stops short of saying the cat is right. Not because Queso is a cat, but because he can sympathize with Alexander's desire to spare people the consequences of Glimmer (which are significant) and of being in this town which is saturated with it. "Queso's not wrong," he admits, finally. "Whether or not that's a good thing, that's something you'll have to sort out for yourself." He cuts a look at Gina, who obviously has her outlook on it, which is vastly different than August's. No indication he begrudges her this difference; their backgrounds with the Art aren't the same, so neither are their opinions.

The next time August's phone dings, he manages a teenaged-level facial expression of 'oh my GOD' at what's there, unlocks and furiously swipes back a response. He's fast for an old guy, you can tell he has nieces he texts with a lot.

(TXT to Abitha) August : everyone is staring at you, you're dressed up like a damned EDM star. and the solution to that stupidity is to call it out or ignore it, not play along. that or the nuclear option and no one wants that. (fine maybe Itzhak and Alexander wouldn't mind but no one ELSE wants that)

(TXT to August) Abitha : Rude. I go to cons like this all the time. Also, 🤢🤮

"The cats are always right," Ravn murmurs although from his tone, that is not actually something he believes; more likely, the one of someone who might solemnly declare their belief in the Spaghetti Monster and their squid-given right to wear the holy strainer, just to annoy Aunt Petunia and share an inside joke. "Am starting to think slightly of what I'll do when the season is up -- I thought I'd probably move on, but eh. It's not going to happen, is it? Probably going to get cold for me and Pryde, living on a boat when the summer ends."

"Where you belong isn't always where you want to be." Gina says, finishing the last piece of plucked pastry and settling back with her coffee mug. Her feet stretch out beneath the table, crossed at the ankles, legs straight, heel occasionally tapping the ground-- sorry anyone who's feet are in the way. "Or what's good for you." Gina pauses a moment, looking down into her mug, before she reaches into a pocket of the dress, pulling out something small and... doing something in her lap, beneath the table. There's a snappy sort of fluttering.

Anyone who peeks will probably notice a smaller-than-palm-sized, inch-and-a-half slender deck of black cards Gina is shuffling, before casually drawing three and putting the rest in her pocket.

August tips his head at Gina in agreement. "Yeah." He surveys the deck of cards, curious but not enough to voice a question about them. Instead he ponders a boat and winter. "Not sure. You could ask Joe Cavanaugh, I think he spent some of winter on his boat. He might have an opinion on it, some advice for making it work if you don't want to rent."

Another ding on his phone, and August snorts a laugh, swipes a reply. "Can see if there's a room to rent in town, if Bayside's more than you want to pay. There's that one set of cheaper apartments, not a really big building, but..."

(TXT to Abitha) August : have no fear, the likelihood people wouldn't think she's someone else is too high. have you had a chance to look at that knife

"And what then, if there is nowhere in particular you want to be?" Ravn asks of the strange-haired woman with a small smile over the edge of his cup of hazelnut coffee. This hazelnut thing is actually not so bad. The barrista may not even get grumbled at about it later. Then he nods at August. "Cavanaugh's Surprise is heated, I believe. The Vagabond was made to be hauled ashore in winter."

(TXT to August) Abitha : I hadn't even thought of that. 😱... 🔪!!!=Kevin Lambert. He was there to kill YOU! They wanted to make a point that business owners should work with them. Like my shop wasn't enough, they wanted you to grow things.

Something about the three cards she pulled seems to cause Gina's brow to furrow. Just a teensy bit, for about two seconds. Then she takes the cards out again, reshuffling them and pulling three more. The cards are small enough unless someone leaned to look, she just keeps them in her palm before collecting them, and then re-tucks away the cards, standing up with her coffee mug. "You mean, what if you don't want to go back?" Gina does say, still with her own little ambiguous smile. "To the small places you were before. Even if they want you back." She brings the coffee to her lips, tilting her head back to finish draining the mug, "Freedom's great, even when you don't know where you're going. You're the type, though. You can't escape people, or bonds, or being used." Gina gives a small snort, stepping away from the chair, "Going to get myself more coffee. Feel free to panic and shut down before I get back."

Another ding on his phone. August reads the text, and...stares at it. His humor and curiosity about the cards being drawn and what they're for--and notions of not wanting to be anywhere, something he can deeply relate to--all fall by the wayside.

He sits back in his chair, staring at his phone. After a few false starts, he swipes back a response, runs a hand over his face. He looks at Ravn, expression blank, until he seems to realize there was a comment made in response to something he said. he blinks, shakes his head. "Oh, yeah, yacht like that I guess it would be. In that case," his eyebrows go up, "there's pretty inexpensive places to hole up until Spring. The Harbor doesn't freeze, it doesn't get anywhere near cold enough for that up here." (In the back of his mind it occurs to him this is like hanging out a big ol' COME FUCK WITH US THIS WINTER, VEIL!!! sign, but whatever.)

(TXT to Abitha) August : grow things?? like pot? I can't grow that it's not legal federally. I was a federal employee, I'd lose my fucking pension and my military benefits. ...not that they ever fucking asked.

"You're assuming that there is something or someone who wants me back," Ravn says softly. There's a strange kind of amusement in his grey eyes at that, even as he watches the girl with the cards; this may be a regular deck of playing cards but the man is an expert on North European folklore and he most certainly recognises what she is doing -- as well as the fact that it can be done, at least to an extent, with a regular set of playing cards if only the person doing it has memorised the corresponding tarot values. "Whereas here, I know for a fact that something and someone -- several someones at that -- would be at the very least disappointed if I was to pack up and leave. Do you want to try a proper reading? I've seen it done a few times and I'll admit to being curious as to what might differ in your reading from that of a self-proclaimed gypsy fortune teller outside Kennedy Airport."

At the moment, at least, issues of boats are completely forgotten.

Gina, about to go away and grab her coffee, rolls her eyes at Ravn's soft comment, the eyeroll ending in a look at Ravn, "It's not always about the emotions. Sometimes, it's the relationship you fill or the place you had. The convenience of you." The DUH goes unsaid, but the glimmer of derisiveness in Gina's eyes - that Ravn can't even pick THAT up - is fairly obvious. But she smooths out her expression back into apathy when he asks for a true reading, "I don't do proper readings. These are for me. But if I feel like it if I see you again and I've got my cards, maybe." From Gina's expression, Ravn shouldn't hold his breath, and now Gina heads to actually go grab her coffee.

Of anyone wanting Ravn back elsewhere, August says, "Someone might, and you just don't know it," chasing with it with a brief lift of his brows. "But it's true that if you do have reasons to stay here, well, then why not." Aside from bodies in dumpsters and watching shop owners be attacked with intent to kill in a church in full public view, it's not a half bad place.

He studies Gina, curious about the cards and what they might have said, if anything. (He's well away she does a number of things for similar reasons to cats, which is to say so she can be witnessed doing them, and so the answer to 'what' could easily be 'the look on everyone's face. So it goes.)

"The convenience of me -- how apt." Ravn's grey gaze follows the odd-haired girl as she leaves; her blunt manners don't seem to bother him much, perhaps they are even what draws a small smile even as he looks back to his coffee and August. "She's for real, isn't she? But then I suppose that in this town, the tarot readers, the spoon benders, and even the ladies who telepathically talk with a picture of your dog, are all for real. All the more reason to stay, however inconvenient that might prove to someplace else, I'd say."

Shaking his head and sipping his coffee, Ravn adds, "I have no living family, and I didn't really leave anyone behind back home. Got no particular reason to be headed back, no."

(TXT to August) Abitha : 🤷Dude was there to kill you. Not sure what's legal was really on their priorities list.

"Oh very for real," August confirms after eyeing his phone's most recent text. (He's muted it, but the little notification is still visible: a small seedling popping out of a seed. Something custom, it looks like.) "You'll find the, ah, locals--the ones born and raised here? They stand out compared to those of us who came later." He says this like he might say 'people from Gray Harbor have brown hair', as a simple observation of their nature. "I guess you can't grow up in a place like this and not have a skewed worldview, though."

He mms about the lack of family and connections, doesn't press. "Well in that case, this is as good a place as anywhere else." He sips from his tea. "And it's never going to be dull." He swipes a response to on his phone, motions absent, almost a little melancholy.

Ravn puts down his cup and picks up his laptop from the table before standing up. "I'm going to have to go pretend that I'm a responsible adult now, though. There is a lady on my boat expecting me to cook for her and have dinner ready at a specific appointed hour, and she will be very disappointed if I do not pick up tuna, cream, and a few cans of Whiskas with chicken." He pauses and then looks at August. "And you know -- for what little it's worth -- I met your wife-to-be. Fine lady. Definitely getting married next week."

Somebody else is a tad fed up with this here random rumour mongering too, it seems. He wanders off out into the street, whistling something that sounds suspiciously happy and on the whole, content with life.