2020-09-10 - Irish Coffee Solves Anything

Hyacinth returns to haunt the alcoholic highlight of Bay St (if couture ghosts are a thing). To call Hyacinth Addington 'a severe woman' is a generous understatement and also a waste of time when one could be fleeing from judgement and scrutiny. Today the business suit is white in neat fine lines with texture instead of detail being made up for with the sparkle off her hair clips, nails, and the prosthetic leg that looks like it's out of a sci-fi movie. If God wanted to release an agent of will to tell a demon they are a slob and re-damn them he might borrow this look. She is socially terrifying on that front and well aware.

She is also parking herself on the patio where she's ordered by end of first shift, her third Mojito (each different) and tater tots. Just the tots that each get stabbed with a fork while she is drawing in a sketch book. her head tilting this way and that before pulling up to a pause and tapping her eraser to the page thoughtfully. For all the rest of what she has might be custom owned the pencil is a plastic Bic mechanical one. The page is torn out, and crumpled into an angry little ball and flung with frustration and impunity. It knows what it did. Still it rolls in the path and now she gets to start. over. again. Her head tilts back and there's a moment where the breeze on the waterfront may be merciful and either make the problem go away...or make more tater tots appear.

There are a lot of people coming and going at the Twofer during the day. With the marina just down the beach, quite a lot of them are well off tourists and yachters too; someone well dressed and clearly in the money is not an unusual sight either. What draws Ravn's attention just as he's coming off his shift is not the fact that Hyacinth Addington is well dressed -- it's that a great deal of the locals are looking after her as she walks past in that fashion that he mentally has filed away as all hail the countess.

He too glances after her as she settles out there with tots and mojitos. He knows who the woman in white is; Vyvyan Vydal's friend. A member of the leading family around here, but that is -- at least to him -- less significant. Vydal is a good fish -- man, he's not actually a fish -- and from what Ravn has seen, not a bad judge of character at all, even if he's prone to sarcasm. It's not really fair to this woman to write her off as the bitch from hell, just because she reminds him of someone else.

He picks up a plate of onion rings and a beer, as he usually does after his shift ends; the Vagabond has a kitchen now but that doesn't mean he's come to enjoy cooking. Then he heads out to the patio as well, in part because he hopes that the presence of the town's native gentry may keep gawkers, photographers and tourists from staring at him. He likes it quiet.

Hyacinth doesn't look up when she's drawing, but she does seem to keep tabs on who is where or if someone's stepped into her immediate area. He flicks her fingers which seems an invite for Ravn to come over or join her though she doesn't look up. It's entirely coincidence that a breeze blows the banished drawing back over to the leg of her chair so it doesn't take off and descend as little onto the beach.

"Vyv's friend. From the piano bar?" It's still a question. Looking up she waves a gesture noting helpfully, "If you're going to be out here you might as well sit. You've been standing. I'm not using it." Direct like a bullet. She sighs and looks up at the water, squinting lined lashes at the coast. "tell me something, what do you see out there when you look at it?" There may be a pop quiz.

"Vyv's friend the tuna, yes." Ravn settles where directed; one chair is as good as another and, as he reminds himself yet again, it is not the fault of Hyacinth Addington that she reminds him of someone else. Besides, this is Gray Harper where Olivia Kincaid warned him that ghosts from the past have a habit of turning up and actually, he'd definitely watch that tennis match with a cold beer.

He's changed his looks, though. The man at the piano bar dressed for the occasion, in a tailored black silk suit and matching midnight blue button-up shirt -- a casual look of the kind that does not come cheap. Not so much now; the ensemble is still black, but the jeans, t-shirt and blazer would certainly look off at the Eighty-Eight. Or like someone who thinks he's Steve Jobs reincarnated.

The Dane glances at the coastline and then at the sketch. "Is this a trick question? I see water. Yachts. Boats. Surfers. People enjoying summer to the fullest while it lasts because they'll be heading back to the treadmill fast enough. Other people who will probably stay around until the weather gets too cold because they're retired or don't need to worry about the office for some other reason. I see me, sometime this fall, sitting around hopefully on the deck of my sail boat, waiting for some of the humpback whales I've been told come down the coast, too."

Hyacinth arches an eyebrow high but there's a faint smile. "You have better dreams than I do. You know he got a fish now?" The amusement hanging faintly in the air. Looking up she blinks at him and says flatly, "Life's one big trick question. Study hard." She does listen, however. At the end of it she dips her head to the side, "The whales are about an hour off coast. There's coordinates if you want them." Her tone shifts imperative warning, "DO NOT...sail into the whales. Some are babies and stupid and just run into shit." She sighs trusting this will not be an issue at all.

Looking back to the water the answer does not seem to satisfy her. It's almost disappointment in her agreement, "That's just it isn't it They come to see the whales and the water. It's not the town anymore." It hurts the shrapnel that is her soul to admit this but she works on re-sketching her plan. "It was quite the spectacle 80 years ago. Now there's crime, and people not giving a goddamn and...hipsters and their flannel like runaway talentless lumberjacks that twirl their mustache and talk about everyone else's work contributing nothing. God... god I'm going to need another drink after that."

"We have whales in Denmark. Granted, not humpbacks -- but porpoises and some of the more medium-sized ones. A finwhale decided to beach itself close to where I lived when I was younger, too. It turned out to be the oldest finwhale ever examined, more than a hundred years old when it died. I would never sail into a pod of whales deliberately, although back home, it wouldn't be unusual for a pod of porpoises to sail into me just for shit and giggles." Ravn picks out an onion ring. "Let me guess. People bothering whales is actually a problem here."

He listens to the complaint about the town not being like it used to be with some familiarity; everything changes. And the fact that everything changes is both a source of inspiration and a constant grating sadness for someone who lives and breathes history. Watching new stories being made and eventually entering the realm of folklore is as sad as the realisation that some stories only live still because a few dusty academics such as himself keep them alive more or less artificially. "Time is kind to no one," the Dane murmurs. "You're in the right place for a drink at least -- and since my shift is over, you might even get a decent one."

Hyacinth listens curiously until there's a dead whale, "Oh god it died in front of you? That must have smelled dreadful." Her tone shifts to something dry, "People bothering things is an Earth problem I think. Most of them are barely evolved chimps let to make decisions and what do they choose to do? Poke things with sticks and deface property."

There's a faint smile with ironic tone tilting a look up to him, and maybe it's the three mojitos, but the brazen honesty informs, "You're new here. There are 3 categories of people. Watch. You'll stop them. There's people who are tourists weather they live here or not they're goddamn tourists. Nothing affects them. They tra la la through their day. They go home and they don't give a shit past surface level."

"There are residents who have resigned to live here and try to," There's the deep sigh with no answer waving her hand around, "I don't know , try to ignore the reality of the place, try not to let it affect them, or think because they ahve an opinion and that they can that they Should change it with no regard for the city itself."

Shaking her head she points to three persons out on the beach with her pencil, dot dot dot, "Then there are people that actually give a shit, and want to see the city beautiful again and not just a battleground for people's projects and plans without thought of consequences, and stupid politics. It's one thing to wonder why time has not been kind and entirely another thing to try to roll it back and put in the effort of asking 'why hasn't it?'" Her eyes quint and the murmur follows, "You're a bartender. You've met them all by 10 today I'm sure."

The Daystar burns bright. Perhaps that's why Bennie is wearing an oversized set of sunglasses on her face, the large lenses taking up the majority of her face and making her look vaguely bug or alien like but that was a fad once, wasn't it? She bumps her way out onto the patio like a blind woman who's forgotten her cane, apologizing to a table and a planter as she emerges. Did she sleep here? Possibly, or she's just going for the 'look' of just rolled off a couch and stumbled outside to light a cigarette, her hair piled in a messy nest on top of her head and kept that way by benefit of a pair of takeout chopsticks shoved through the mass.

An old pack of cigarettes emerges from the pocket of her kimono - or is that just a blue silk robe with an Asian print she's wearing open over a tank and denim mini skirt? "Anyone have a light?" Her voice lacks the usual cheer and enthusiasm, and is instead a graveled lack-of-good sleep groan.

"Apprentice bartender, technically." Ravn offers a small crooked smile, definitely aware of his own pedantry. "And yes. I do know what you mean, Miss Addington. I like to think I am in the third category except -- I'll admit that I don't particularly share your nostalgia for a past I have not seen and know little about. I understand the sentiment, however. Before I took up juggling bottles and dazzling tourists with bar tricks I was a historian. Small towns are in decline everywhere in the western hemisphere."

It's possible he was going to say more but then a vampire made its way out on on the patio. Ravn pats his pockets and then shakes his head. "I'm sorry, no. It's been four or five years since I gave up smoking. You look like I should get you a coffee, Lady Sunshine. Should I?"

Hyacinth considers this and shakes her head, "I don't know if I'd call it nostalgia. It's about respect for the artist, the vision, and- ... no I don't have a light. Good morning Bennie." There is a pause looking the woman top to tootsies and back up again. "Were you mugged by the sandman? What in the name of seven seasons of soap operas happened?"

Looking to Ravn she vaguely flaps a hand at him in encouragement as if that was ever encouraging to tell someone go. Go do the thing to make this stop has ever helped. "Irish coffee with a side of aspirin." There's a small frown, but not disgust pointing to the seat. "You're welcome to join us downwind with that thing. Are you alright?"

Bennie chooses to sink delicately down into one of the Adirondack chairs as Hyacinth's offering, laying her arms out over the heat soaked rests and indulging in the way the warm wood feels on her forearms. "You are a scholar and a gentlemen. The Irish coffee. No aspirin." She must be addressing Ravn, because her head is lulled in that direction. Popping the butt of the pack on the armrest, she rockets one of the cigarettes to the top of the soft pack enough so that the filter sticks out and she can grab it with her lips. "And a pack of matches from the bar, if you'd be so kind which I know you totally will." A pause as her head slowly swivels to Hyacinth, as if she doesn't want to move her noggin too fast. "Morning, Ms. Addington. Or is it afternoon already? Oh, I'm fine. Just stiff from sleeping like the dead last night." And hungover, but who's counting?

A crooked smile dances on Ravn's lip as he heads back into the bar. His shift is over, technically, but it's not like anyone's going to stop him from digging down under the counter to where Vic did indeed point out the suitable tall glass cups for Irish coffee -- and observing that they never got used.

Time to fix that.

This, at least, is one hair of the dog that the bartender in training does not need to look up in the handy little book behind the counter. It's possible that the Americans mean something else but what Bennie is getting is an Irish, Copenhagen U style: One third cheap whiskey, two thirds strong black coffee, brown sugar, whipped cream. He tucks the pack of matches in under the handle of the cup and returns to the patio with it. "Here. Resurrection incoming. Courtesy of the professor who whispered the recipe to me one night in the subway."

Hyacinth watches like this is some fascinating and curious science project. After observing for what feels like well more than a moment she brings herself to ask, "There were no gnomes were there? Abductions? People being terribly stupid? " She pauses and asks with a small concern her tone is capable of making.

There's a pause before she looks around and her head tilts and the sunglasses are slid down so she can peer over the top with the green lasers of judgement(tm) and asks, very quietly, "Someone keep you up all night with their shit? They should let you sleep or at least if you're going to drink call me. I'm likely up anyways. Seriously."

Bennie takes the cup of doctored coffee gratefully and carefully, setting it on the seat of the chair between the curl of one leg she's pulled up with her to tuck her ankle under one knee. The cigarette is taken out of her mouth and tucked behind her ear for now because WHIPPED CREAM. "Oooh, I do love a little salacious scandal with my morning coffee." Her finger crooks through the dollop of quickly melting whipped cream, to scoop it into her mouth. She's sucking on her finger and nodding at Hyacinth. "Not really sure I would have made good company, but totally wasn't anyone bothering me. It's been quiet." Too damn quiet.

Ravn settles back on his chair in front of his precious onion rings. Throwing his boss a slightly concerned glance he murmurs, "You do know I live a stone's throw away, right? Just in case. If someone does decide to bother you I can dial 911 like the best of them." He flexes one arm theatrically. Someone isn't physically imposing.

Hyacinth sits stone still. Maybe it's a bad thing to admit someone whose super powers are privilege and style but there's no reproach for it. Thoughtfully she agrees, "The quieter it gets the louder things become. It's very strange." The thought has her eyes withdrawing to her paper for a pause and reprieve in her controlled kingdom of poise and procedure. There's a small smile and an amused, "Yes, well, we'll hold you to that as Vyv is allergic to manual labor beyond the kitchen." Looking back to Bennie that one bit is still confusing her, "How the hell if Vyv going to maintain a fish?"

"Mm. Too darned true." Bennie says to Hyacinth's observation about quiet before taking an experimental sip of the Irish coffee. It's a little on the hot side, but the whipped cream cooled it down sufficiently so at least she doesn't burn her tongue off. It does, however, leave her with a little white mustache for a brief moment before she whisks that away with a pass of her tongue. "Ugh, gosh. Both of you stop looking at me like that. I'm thirty years old. I can handle a hangover or some ne'er do wells. I'm not fragile, you know. Oooh, Vyv has a fish! What kind."

"Yes, boss," Ravn murmurs, grey eyes obtaining a sparkle of amusement. "But do let me know if those ne'er do wells pop in some night. I'll come bleed asthmatically on them like they've never been bled on before."

Then his expression sobers slightly. "And actually, that reminds me." A gloved hand dips into blazer pocket to procure a calling card which the Dane hands to Bennie. Sporting the GHPD crest it originates from one Esme Wilkinson, Homicide Detective whose contact information is printed below her name. "I'm supposed to give you this and ask you to drop her a call or a visit sometime. Frightfully nice lady. It's about -- something you saw, apparently. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news like that."

Hyacinth turns up a slight smile of amusement. "I dunno, I quite like order being percussively restored when I don't have to do it." Her head wobbles with a sharp wide smile usually for PR purposes, "Black and gold Siamese fighting fish. A creepy clear thing and theses little black darting things." That's her fish knowledge right there. I mean it goes with the apartment so..." Her attention turns and she has to ask, "And why are you their courier?"

Bennie shifts her sunglasses up slightly to give a glance to the card before she takes it, "Right. About the serial killer cadaver kabob I found on the beach. Thanks!" She tucks the card away in her robe, er-stylish kimono to be dealt with later. "By the way, I ran across the killer's fresh crime scene, so they'll probably be a lot of uniforms in and out of here to ask questions. That, and it was on the beach soooooo...make sure you lock the doors of the bar and your boat? Hmm, choosing one's pets that match the aesthetic of interior design. That's a blog article right there."

"I imagine so," Ravn nods and glances at Hyacinth. "I'm guessing I got to play courier because I was at the station earlier to talk to the detective about it. As it happens I was present when they found the first body on the beach. I've been trying to help out a little, since -- well, I am a folklorist when I'm not a bartender. Don't know how much that's worth, but at least we've been able to piece together what the bloke looks like."

And then he grins at Bennie. "My boat is safe. Trust me. Very, very safe. A gremlin, Harry Potter house elf, whatever the hell that was, tried to sink it two days ago. Kitty nearly ate it. Beat the stuffing right out of it."

Hyacinth sets her sketchbook down and on it some actual progress made in what looks like it may a large fireplace, older with suggestion of an engraved frieze on the mantle and door arch to match. "God most of Vyv's life could be its own blog. almost everything matches. Except the company on occasion." Still the rest is concerning and her phone comes out. "Bennie have you anything planned at 5 today? The manicurist at Nicole's salon has an opening. I booked it for you. Drink coffee. Go there. be human once more." Her hand circles as if to suggest the all of herness "If you're going to be possibly photographed you'll thank me for it later."

"Yeah, he's hot." Which Bennie quickly amends with, "For a serial killer." Bennie beams a wide smile at them both as she eases out of chair like she's feeling twenty years past her actual age. "I'm going to go nurse this in the back and see if I can muster up the energy to go down to the Pee Dee. Oh, really! That would be amazeballs. I can't think of the last time I had a mani. That's super sweet and totally unnecessary, but I'm totally not going to turn down a soak and buff. Make sure the waitress puts whatever Ms. Hyacinth wants on the company tab." Better than owing anyone favors, afterall. With a little twiddle of her fingers she's off, forgetting to smoke her hangover cigarette. But she has Irish Coffee!

"... You know, one witness described the serial killer as looking like me and now I'm not sure whether I should be disturbed or flattered." Ravn looks after his employer and then shakes his head, chuckling.

Then he glances at the sketch Hyacinth is working on. "You're pretty good at that, Miss Addington." It's nothing much as far as compliments go, and she's no doubt heard it a million times before; and yet, it takes effort to be nice.

Be bloody nice.

Hyacinth smiles after Bennie and back to Ravn, "It's the first step to a much needed change." It's entirely ambiguous if she's referring to the living room she's sketching ideas for or Bennie. "I'm good with figuring out what people want, and it helps the scenery." Still ambiguous! She is, however, terribly pleased with the outcome all in all. "Thank you for noticing. I am aren't I?" Good deed done this week!