2020-09-11 - Emergency Cuppa

It is not all that far from Spruce to Bayside, in that it is not particularly far from any part of Gray Harbor to any other part of Gray Harbor. Sooner or later and one way or another, something like half the pet shop's customers have reconvened up high in the Apartments. Vyv's flat is large and light and airy, and really does look as though someone might have just been through to photograph it for a magazine -- everything clean and tidy and in its place, with just enough unexpected and ephemeral, like a half-read book on an end-table, to suggest humanity resides within.

The specific specimen of humanity who does so ushers everyone toward the living area, with its couch and chairs, and heads himself into the kitchen. "Make yourselves comfortable," he invites, with a vague gesture toward the seating, and puts the kettle on. If he takes a moment or three getting out the teapot and cups and choosing between the currently available teas, it's certainly to pay proper attention to the details of serving his guests, and not even a little bit because it makes an entirely excusable break from dealing with Other People's Emotions.

Other people's emotions are something to be avoided, indeed, when one is not even in control of one's own. If one was to press the pause button on reality, stick a microphone in the face of Ravn Abildgaard and ask him how he feels about emotions right now, in fact, the answer would probably be decidedly impolite. He's very keenly aware that the main reason he's keeping it together at the moment is whatever it was Maggi did to his mind. He's glad she did it. He's kind of terrified that someone's able to do something like that.

He sticks his hands deeply into his blazer pockets. Vyv's apartment is clearly high end, just like everything else about him. It's one of those places where everything has its exact place, and nothing was just tossed aside at random. He doesn't want his hands to pick up some random belonging of the chocolatier and place it somewhere else. His hands do things like that when he's not looking, particularly when he's feeling pressured. Things end up in places they don't belong -- like the wallet of a dead man somehow magicing itself into his pocket that day on the beach. Better not start rearranging Vyv's furniture.

Instead, he hovers by the seating arrangement, hands firmly in pockets, and murmurs, "Remind me to buy extra tuna for my cat. Apparently, at least some parts of Gray Harbor's bizarre creatures are more afraid of her than she is of them."

Maggi for all of her dislike of wealth discrepancies and classicism in her home town, could not help but be vaguely captivated by Vyv's apartment. She notes some of the sundry objects to obstruct from perfection and entertain them as placed with calculation. Perhaps he wanted to make it look like a certain type of person lived here. Her mind recalls the slight staleness to Leon's place when she had visited for the first time. This could simply be how overly neat individuals kept their space, normal to them, freeze dried to others. Unlike Ravn's thoughts that she currently had no way of actually knowing, Maggi itched to move every piece of furniture by exactly two inches just to see what would happen.

Was it scary she change someones emotions? Possibly. Maggi had asked for consent though. It was likely to be far more difficult if you had to fight someone. Leon had done it for her a few times and everyone was entitled to a break down every now and then. Typically, she would snark at being told to remind someone of anything but, given the day the Dane had, she simply nods. "If I bring it though, there is a chance I will be her favorite..." She smiles and looks about at the others. "So, how does everyone like the 'Trash Monsters'?"

She sits on one of the couches, resisting the urge to scoot it backwards by two inches.

Although Diana is entirely silent on the way to Vyv's oh so humble abode, her expression speaks volumes. She's still most decidedly upset, but she's keeping her counsel for now. When they arrive, she doesn't even wait for Vyv's 'make yourselves comfortable' to do so; she's settling on the couch mere moments after seeing it. She wraps her arms around herself as though cold, or trying to contain herself, but the dam breaks at Maggi's question about the 'Trash Monsters:' "We need to destroy them. Every last one of them. Until there aren't anymore, and can't ever be anymore." And then she's silent again, staring off into the distance.

Vyv is currently standing in his kitchen amongst the high-end, professional-quality, very sharp knives. Please do not rearrange his furniture. Plus, it'd just be rude, c'mon. He's extending hospitality!

While the water boils, he's gone to work putting together a small plate of snacks -- a few sorts of macaron, a small selection of chocolates, as many eclairs as people, all arranged into an artistic little display. "Not at all," he answers Maggi, "...and I'm not particularly fond of that sobriquet, either. Makes me think of Oscar the Grouch. They make me think of gremlins, or maybe boggarts. Ravn, you're a folklorist, any appropriately thieving little bastards come to mind?"

Diana gets a bit of a sidelong look. "Mn. Well. Genocide might be just a bit overkill. If for no other reason that we do also have other things to do. But certainly we need to get them to leave, and be convinced it's wisest never to return." A pause. "That or teach them how cause and effect and consequences work, I suppose, but most humans can't quite get the hang of that one."

"Lots of little thieving bastards," Ravn murmurs and keeps his hands firmly in his pockets even as he takes a seat at last. "Gremlins and redcaps are the only ones I can think of on the spot, who are malicious just for the point of being malicious, though. That is -- actual gremlins, not the movie characters. Most jerkass faerie and similar have a reason for what they do. They represent forces of nature, and nature does not hate indiscriminately. Nature can have a revenge motif, or a hubris motif, or it might even be completely random. There may be an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption, or you may get swept along in a mudslide and die, but nature doesn't single you out personally just for shit and giggles."

He glances at Maggi and Diana alike, still a tad pale himself. "I really... really do not like these things. They kill. It's not accidental. It's not random. They don't just take whatever is shiny. They very deliberately steal things that get people killed, and we need to stop them. Even if that means literally stomping down into a sewer with blowtorches, I'll fucking well do it, I swear to God or anyone else who might care."

Someone's still upset enough to use stronger language than usual, it seems.

It's extremely unusual for Diana to look frustrated at Vyv, as Vyv-y as he is, but the idea of just 'convincing' them has her pursing her lips with a deep frown. She ends up giving an energetic nod to Ravn's words, backing him up with, "It's not accidental, no. The chances that they removed those wall screws just as that woman went by? They know cause and effect, and they're using it to kill. I'm not... at all fit when it comes to fighting denizens of the Deep, but I want very much to help destroy them in any way I can. Even if it means research into how to genocide them rather than genociding them myself." She almost never looks so serious and so zealous, but seeing that body tonight seems to have fired her up considerably.

For what it's worth, even if Vyv still looks dubious about this 'committing to total genocide' thing, there's a fair chance he didn't necessarily have a cup of tea and a chat in mind for 'convincing'. Although if that would work, well, he does have a lot of tea.

"If they also take paperclips, fluffy feather cat toys, and the lead from mechanical pencils, do you suppose we've particularly noticed?" he asks, glancing from one of the others to another. "We don't actually know they intend harm to people. We don't know that they took the screws when she passed by. We only know that they were gone by then so it was loose enough to fall; it could have been the vibration of walking that caused the timing, or some other variable. We do know they cause harm to people, that at the least some of the things they want endanger people when stolen, and that they don't consider this a reason not to take said things at whatever time they choose. I've not seen them appear to laugh or gloat or similar either time I've seen them, unlike some other creatures I've encountered. Did you? Did I miss it?" There's a beat of a pause, enough to suggest that question is genuine rather than purely rhetorical. "Because if not, we can surmise that at the worst, yes, they intend harm to people; at the best, they don't understand they're causing it; and in between, they simply don't care about it."

He pauses again, briefly. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying I like them, or that they're good or blameless or not a serious problem. Not even that wholesale murder mightn't be our best option. But accuracy matters. We're better off accepting that we don't know a 'why' than assuming that we do because it feels that way. It might be random, or they might want particular items for some particular use, or there could even be some revenge situation we're not party to." He glances to Ravn. "Well, weren't; if they do do revenge, they may not be best pleased about that kitty litter. The point is that any of these things are still possible, and whether or not they'd make any difference to what you feel needs to be done, they might well make a difference to how best we can do it."

The kettle whistles, and he moves to take it off the heat. "My aim is for them to stop endangering us, and ideally to go away and leave us alone forever. I don't particularly care whether they all die or not a single one more does in the process."

Did someone say classist imbalance? The other ball busting Addington that execs are living in fear of these days knocks on Vyv's door and waits (still waiting!) for it to open. There we go. In her hand there is a bottle of burbon and in her eyes a curious, flinty look. "It looks like a goddamn funeral in here." There's a sigh and manicured fingers slide the streamlined shades off giving them all a critical look. Is this concern or inventory? It's like Darwin's grab bag of interpretations here.

The bottle is set down and her stance shifts in that let's get down to business way but she doesn't jump to demands. She waits for the catch up; oh! And a glass. Vyv gets air cheek smoochies . "Lawn gnomes aren't back are they?" Those flashing green eyes widen just slightly looking to all gathered as if this most dire of concerns should be taken seriously.

Ravn visibly takes a few deep breaths to calm himself and perhaps feel less like randomly strangling anything that looks vaguely like it stepped out of a popular movie franchise from the eighties. "I suppose that the important part is to make them stop. Not whether they live or die. Yes, chasing them off works. But we do need to do that. I for one do not believe that they steal at random. From what I saw in the marina when they came for the boats, and now in the pet shop, and having heard about the bus incident -- I think it's pretty clear that they steal with the purpose of causing damage. Killing may not be the direct intent -- but hurting people is."

He looks at the newest arrival with a slightly dazed expression, as if momentarily wondering who she is and then reminding himself -- right, the Addington lady who looks like she could have escaped from his mother's country club. The Addington lady who was surprisingly protective of whales. "Not -- lawn gnomes. But close. Little jerkass gremlin-like creatures that steal small things. Like bus brakes, or boat hull seals, or the screws that stop a very heavy shelf from falling down and killing somebody."

Diana looks dubious as she listens to Vyv-- at least at first. When he starts talking about accuracy, however, it seems he's singing the song of her people. "You have a point," she at last acknowledges, nodding her head and looking somewhat taken aback, though it's unclear at what in particular. She goes quiet then, watching Vyv as he works with the kettle in silence. Her lips purse at some thought or another, though she's not so deep in concentration that she misses when Hyacinth arrives. She gives the woman a polite wave, though she lets Ravn address the newcomer's question. When he's done, she nods. "I'm willing to agree that getting them to stop is definitely the sticking point, no matter if they intend it or not. Like Ravn, I suspect it's not remotely innocent, but if it stops, it stops, for better or worse."

Hark, a knock! Vyv leaves the tea to steep as he goes to answer it, letting Hyacinth in. "No, darling, if it were there'd be more flowers or alcohol. Probably both. And I'd be wearing a tie." Which he isn't! Cream linen suit, cheerful blue and orange check dress shirt, polkadot pocket square, open collar. Nice and summery, while he's got a week or two of it left. "However. Close enough, I suppose."

He lets her set the bourbon on the counter, and la bise is faired before he turns to get a glass, add a couple cubes of ice, and set it down near the bottle for her. "We're having tea," he notes, in case she has failed to notice, before moving on to answering her: "And no, a whole new brand of diminutive menace. If they have acidic urine they are, thankfully, keeping it to themselves thus far. But. They've killed a woman today. By carelessness or design, same result. And we can't be having that."

A tray is pulled out from a low cupboard, and the cups and teapot and sugar and cream and snack plate arranged thereon as he adds, "Ravn killed one of them, as well. Threw a bag of cat litter at it. Anything else-- well, they seem to have a sort of-- hive mind, I suppose?" It's not an entirely satisfying description, but the best he has. "And anything else one tries seems to be divided up between them all, somehow. Lessened. Made trickier to focus. So far, she," he gestures toward Maggi, adding aside to her, "Afraid I haven't caught your name, actually. Vyvyan Vydal; how do you do," before looking back to Hyacinth and continuing, "has noted indications that they may prefer to lurk near water. Sewers, perhaps?" He gives a tiny shrug, then picks up the tray to carry it into the living area. "You remember the incident downtown I told you about at the spa last, hm, April? Same creatures. Come sit down."

Which is what he does himself, settling onto the Eames lounge chair's footrest once he's set the tray on the table. It's close enough to let him pour the tea, which he does. "Do you all know one another? Hya, Diana Wilkerson and Ravn Abildgaard." He actually doesn't say it too badly. "Everyone, Hyacinth Addington. We had plans." This is apparently all the explanation for her presence currently forthcoming on his part.

"Maggi Gyre," Ravn supplies. "Maggi's probably the one of us who has the most experience with these little horrors. I'll get behind the water theory, though. From what I heard, they like to escape into plumbing. And they certainly came out of the water when they climbed out of the sea and onto my bloody boat. Fled back into it, too, when my cat ripped the face off one. That's why they're so afraid of black cats."

He nods at Diana politely; the one person in the room whom the Dane has in fact not met previously to the pet shop disaster.

Then he reaches for a tea cup and curls his gloved fingers around it as if having something for them to hold on to is a very good thing. It keeps his fingers from getting into trouble, whether by shaking visibly or rearranging Vyv's living room like ten little panicky interior designers overdosing on caffeine and adderall. "I'm in favour of finding out. About the sewers. The way these things smell it has to be possible to find out if they have a nest down there. Maybe we should talk to people who work there -- maintenance, whatever. Somebody must maintain the town sewers. We could ask about suspected gas leaks, anything that would create a bizarre smell -- because regular folks might not see or remember the gremlins but gas leak sounds like the kind of rational explanation that the Veil would throw at you."

Hyacinth pauses at the note of funeral apparel mandating a tie. It gets an imperious green glance to scan down the chef and back up. Really i there was anyone more critical in this city that might dare judge him she's arrived. Apparently this explanation passes muster.

Her eyes flash wide when Vyv explains new small creatures, a woman died and Ravn killed one with, "Wait Ravn killed a woman?" NOW that look is on Ravn confused and planning apparently how to make the issue dissolve. There is a slight frown though instead of dressing him down as a killer she says, "It's bad for city image. Also, I'm certain she has family and such that will be concerned." This is Hya for concern and what have you apparently.

Looking from Diana to Maggi she takes the seat Vyv has deigned 'hers' and takes in the details. "So the solution is cats?" Her nose wrinkles a bit and says "Won't that endanger them? Also they shed. And I'm not certain trusting defense of the city to things that walk around on the ground and then lick their fingers is wise."

And then the truth of the sleepers surfaces. There is a sigh that is not too put upon, "So we can talk to someone good with archiving to go through reports that were noteworthy perhaps - OOH!!! Like the movie Men in Black?" Oh that got her attention with a wistful smile, "They got Will Smith to wear a suit. I liked that one."

Maggi snaps out of whatever strange entirely absorbing void her thoughts had entered. Her mind had been somewhere in the realm of the migration patterns of Japanese water demons. She then remembered that the Veil was not a documented thing, so these were likely to be some horror released from beyond. Speaking of horrors from the beyond, the look Vyv gave as he wielded his knife did not have her any less intrigued in her idea of a scientific experiment. Resist Maggi, resist.

Her sharp return to reality found her in the company of...an Addington...great. To be fair she knew the woman was in charge of some committee or something. "The solution is not cats, mostly just Kitty Pryde and they have a kind of hive mind. To be fair, Kitty Pryde is in fact a badass. We just need to figure out what the trash monsters have as an end game. More importantly we need to figure out what the fuck they did with my leather jacket."She was going to make trash monsters a thing.

Maggi rolls her head around, stretching her neck nonchalantly. Ravn could defend his own lack of murderous identity. "We gotta track these things." terribly, she could care less about Candace at the moment. The girl had been too cheery for Maggi's taste.

There's silence from Diana for some time, as she chooses to just listen to what everyone else has to say for a bit. The first thing she says when she does speak, is said as she gives another polite wave to Hyacinth. "A pleasure to meet you. And sorry to've ruined your plans. Or at least altered them." She manages a small smile. She nods in return at Ravn, and the small smile is turned on him. "That's a good point, about suspected gas leaks. Sounds prudent." She listens to Hyacinth's lack of concern, and then corrects, "Ravn didn't kill a woman, by the by. The... things did. Ravn killed one of the things. So far as we know, he's innocent of murder." A faintly amused smile this time, if still quite small. It seems she's not waiting to let Ravn stick up for himself. "Who or what is Kitty Pryde? That said, it's good knowing the things are so afraid of cats now. One was illusioned up and they fled very quickly thereafter. Worth keeping in mind for future run-ins." She frowns at some thought she doesn't voice.

Vyv makes a note of the name, and possibly the further explanation of the cat situation as well. "Mm. Yes, we've no evidence Ravn's ever killed a woman," he agrees, "So at the least if he has it isn't currently our problem." It's hard to tell whether he's joking or not, frankly. "But he did smash one of the gremlins." He is not getting on board with 'trash monsters'. It's not going to happen. "With, as I said, the kitty litter. Which suggests they aren't particularly... sturdy. Handy for us, if we do go with indiscriminate killing. Or even discriminate killing, I suppose. I like the idea of someone looking into any oddities regarding the sewers -- Hya, could you arrange access to the right people or files or both?" It's a city thing, technically.

"I believe Kitty Pryde is Ravn's black cat," he answers Diana, with a glance to the owner in question, "and even if it's only her they're frightened of, it's useful. We should perhaps try not to overuse the illusion, though. It might lose power, if it doesn't come with paws of fury to reinforce it." All the tea poured, he settles back with his own, and looks thoughtfully at Maggi. "They took your jacket, did they? Mn. Doesn't fit the aiming-to-kill narrative ideally, though I see it does a decent job of irritating. It might be helpful, however. If we can narrow things down to within a reasonable distance somehow, and if they still have it, we might be able to use it as a sort of beacon, perhaps. Though it might be helpful if you had pictures of it or the like."

"Kitty's my cat, yeah. She ripped the face off one of those little monsters when it stole her fish. My cat is very, very territorial around her food." Ravn winces slightly. "Fortunately. The little git probably would have sunk my boat too, if it had not taken a cat to the face. You probably read about it if you keep up on the local grapevine -- yacht sunk in the marina a few weeks back, supposedly due to a sloppy repair crew. It was actually one of those little bastards nicking her hull valve and mooring rope. Bloody well near rammed mine, Maggi and I got the Vagabond out of the way just in time."

He takes a breath and steadies his grip on the teacup. "So what do we know? They smell. They steal. They either steal in order to kill, or they don't care if someone is killed -- my money is on the former. They're afraid of angry black cats but we should use cats sparingly lest they lose the fear. They break easy -- I never expected that bag of kitty litter to actually kill one, I was just angry. They smell even worse on the inside. They live in water, or at least they flee to it. I think 'gas leak' is definitely the keywords we need to look for. Do we have or know anyone who can get inside info at city hall?"

It's probably not coincidental that the Dane glances at Hyacinth. He's not certain what exactly it is she does, but Addington.

Hyacinth gets herself comfortable and seems, well, focused but for that one things "Oh shit, the fish is real?" Huh! It gets a brief moment of observation with a small hmmm and then back to the conversation at hand.

"Named after the Avenger or whatever?" There's a pause and she adds, "I dated a comic artist briefly at SCAD. So there's trash... things coming up out of the harbor and this cat kicked the shit out of it?" What it's ladylike. Her pinky finger is out when she swears. "Now is there something in particular special about that cat or are the monsters allergic? "

She repeats slowly, "They smell. They steal. They either steal in order to kill...or are messy. Grand. Simply... grand. And the police are doing what right now on this matter?" There's a pause and she looks to Ravn with curiosity, "I work at City Hall. My cousin is the Mayor. What do you need, luv?"

"Ah, I see," Diana says, nodding at the explanation about 'Kitty Pryde,' and then adds, "...nice name!" She smiles at Ravn before looking to Vyv, seeming much calmer now as she regains her equilibrium. "That's a great idea, about the jacket. Very clever." He gets a smile as well. And Hyacinth gets one in the end as well, for her mention of the Avengers and comic artists. For now, she grows pleasantly silent, listening to the information about City Hall.

Vyv arches a brow at Hyacinth. "Of course the fish is real. Were you expecting a robot, a hallucination, or a metaphor?" It's a pretty fish, too, that black and gold betta in the tank in the corner. There are a few less fabulous types in there as well, but it's clear who's the star. Yet somehow not the starfish.

"They break easily if attacked physically," he amends, "We also know their odd hive-mindish situation gets in the way of most of our more esoteric means of attack. And I believe we've decided we think it's that cat in particular. She attacked one." A thoughtful beat. "Physically. I wonder if they're afraid of Ravn now, too? Or kitty litter, or possibly both."

He takes a sip of his tea, head tilting. "All right. The plan so far, then: we investigate whether there's been any particularly unpleasant smells around watery areas, particularly the sewers. Hya can likely arrange for one or more of us to speak to workers or look through city files or similar. Yes? Perhaps someone could look through newspaper stories as well, for reports of odd smells or events like we know they've caused. And if that leads to some specific spots to investigate -- or if we have a sewer map and several spare hours -- we take a look, possibly while attempting to track one or more objects we know they've taken. Then once we've found them... I suppose we either attempt to communicate, attempt to terrify, or attempt to kill. Or all three, in that order. Have I missed anything important?"

"I think that pretty much covers it," Ravn agrees and looks at his hands; he's almost starting to trust them with personal liberty again. "Checking the Gazette's archives is... I mean, have you seen them? Place looks they literally just throw the paper in there every morning and the room sort of infinitely expands to accomodate all those papers, or maybe the older ones just fade out of existence. I tried to do some research on this whole rumours phenomenon along with Jessica Flores -- the reporter. We were almost in tears."

"Sewer maps and city hall maintenance records, though. Those might yield something useful." He taps one of those treacherous fingers against his lower lip, thinking. "I'm up for making an attempt at communicating because it's the proper Federation course of action. But when it fails, I don't think we should set our phasers to stun. If they are in fact somewhat intelligent -- which I suspect -- then they'll know that the jig is up, we're onto their true intentions, and they're not going to hold back. I want to say this in the nicest possible fashion but -- we're going into a sewer with pitchforks and torches, and the shit is indeed about to hit the fan. Don't wear your best clothes."