2020-09-22 - Victoria Has No Secrets But She Smells Like Pot

Vic spent yesterday checking in to the murder motel for the short term. She spent a few nights at the gym, but decided she couldn't coexist in there with the way too early morning workout people while she was trying to get some zzzs. Life of a bartender. Or fake bartender. Whatever. This morning was spent inspecting her trailer's damage, and gathering up the things that could be salvaged that didn't suffer water damage.

Her little wooden pallet patio, Adirondack chairs, cooler, and awning are all toast, burnt up and charred beyond being usable for anything but charcoal. The stuff on the inside is mostly ok on the shower and kitchen end, but the side of the trailer that held the bed is scorched and water damaged. She was able to get most of her clothing out, and all the important stuff was in her messenger bag (of holding) or kept in her truck. Now she just has to get the SMELL out of the clothes, and wait on the estimate for trailer repair. She's considering renting an apartment instead, maybe selling or renting out the trailer. She didn't expect to be in town for very long, but Gray Harbor has shown her there is no leaving once you're here.

Thus Vic is in Suds n Duds, trying to get the smell of burnt weed and the smoke of too many cheap burnt things out of her remaining clothes. The woman is sitting in one of those uncomfortable yellow metal chairs in sweat pants and a Kelly's Gym tee, things she had in her locker at the boss' business. Her clothing is churning away in several of the washing machines, and she's reading a battered copy of Thomas Cavanaugh's Martian Dawn.

The Vagabond lacks two important features that an apartment might indeed offer to the discerning gentleman. One of these is a shower. The other, somewhere to put a washing machine. This is why her occupant haunts the heck out of Aidan Kinney's trailer (it has a shower) and takes his laundry downtown too.

Ravn wanders in, laundry bag under one arm, quite preoccupied with whatever is going through his mind at the moment, taking care to not break that unspoken rule of rest rooms, laundromats, and bus stops everywhere: No eye contact. Maybe that's why he doesn't spot the woman with the book, at least not right away. He keeps his eyes firmly on the floor, on his laundry, and on the machine that he proceeds to start stuffing clothes into. Not a single piece in the bag is not black. Not a one.

Grant doesn't have headphones, because one of the upsides of very awesome bilateral hearing aides? Bluetooth compatability. Today though even GreenDay is failing to cheer him up as he pulls a garden wagon with two garbage bags in it, and laundry soap along from his skateboard. Normally as vibrant as his hair he looks, well, tired as shit.

There's some jostling getting the thing IN THE DOOR, bulky as it is and finally he spins and shove s the door open (using glimmer as... a doorstop?!) and signs to it <<Please stay...>> The hand hovers, and lifts, satisfied that it's... staying put long enough for he to get himself and the wagon in and the older lady leave before yawning closed again. Some people use their advantages for the simplest most mundane shit. Sigh. One thing gone right. Halfheartedly he waves to Ravn and scary-neighbor while glancing for a/an open machine(s).

Vic's cop senses bring her gaze up from the text whenever the door opens. They lock onto Ravn and watch him make his way in and go about his business, wholly unaware of who might be in there with him. That's a trait that's liable to get him killed in this town. Her eyes track him with amusement glinting in them as the clothing gets put in the wash. Black, black, black, is that grey? Nope, black. "You really need some color in your life," she quips quietly as her eyes move back to the pages of the book.

That is short-lived, however, as Grant comes in, using his gifts for mundane things. Like a redneck Jedi using the force to change the channel when he can't find the remote. She gives the kid a nod, recognizing him from the trailer park, and as one of Greg's mundane employees.

Ravn turns around, looking slightly startled, and then throws a lopsided smile at both. "Didn't see you there," he nods to Vic. "The thing about black, though -- it's practical. Don't need to decide what to wear or what goes together. You learn bad habits, living in a backpack for a few years. I do own something that's not black. One shirt. Dark blue. And uh, it's silk so I probably better not put it in a laundry machine."

He rests one hip against the machine as it starts to rumble, and then glances around again before frowning lightly. "This may sound crazy but -- Gray Harbor, you know. Am I the only one smelling pot?"

Look managing a door and a chunky wagon without getting run over is A Thing(tm). Taking a deep breath Grant shakes his head, "Could be me. Bad... morning." He pauses and squints looking around. "No that's definitely here." There's a blink and, oh good. A machine. He rolls the wagon over and pulls bag one out and then two to set on the floor, ass now in chair. There's sorting to do. So. much. sorting. It's disheartening, utmost, but any emotion left to have has been rung out of him. Looking up to Vi he pauses and the look is worried, "Your place go up too, or...?"

"That would be my laundry. The trailer that was on fire at Huckleberry was the local dispensary owner's home. Fortunately, he wasn't in it at the time, but a large amount of his product was. And I was only a few spaces away." Vic smirks and sighs. "Now I'm the one staying at the murder motel for a while. Go figure."

She shakes her head at Grant. "Not entirely. Just the sleeping end of it got scorched and water damaged. And my patio is toast. Waiting on a repair estimate to see if it's worth it to fix or if I'm better off selling it as is and renting an apartment in town."

Ravn's eyebrows shoot up as he listens. "I read a bit about this in the Gazette -- some kind of accidental fire that was absolutely accidental in a very accidental way doing some very accidental damage to somebody's accidental candy stash? Sorry it had to be next door to you two, though."

He glances at Vic. "Sounds like we're both looking for some place. Drop me a tip if you find somebody who has more than one place to rent out? I'm fine on the boat now but winter is coming -- also outside of TV shows with miserable endings. Murder motel... I don't know, maybe I'm just being European again, but staying in a motel long term seems not quite private enough for me. Are you staying with someone, Grant? Vyv's place?"

Grant winces taking in the tidbits of Vic's damage with a slow nod. This city's so ugly sometimes; the things people do, not Vic. With a sigh he corrects Ravn in a almost sing-song sigh, "Noooo that...was my place. Not...next." There's a slight wince, definite grief and a lack of natural sleep setting in." He considers the question and shrugs, "I can ask. I had a lead on just getting a new place from Sparrow earlier that morning when those assholes were there." The question about Vyv's place warms the first smile this afternoon, though it is faint. "Sometimes. Though I mean now that I really don't own anything it's entirely possible." He's not pissed at all, ask him. The expression screws down to the side of a dime trying to focus on sorting what he now owns for laundry purposes from one another like this is him finding out because there is a sneaker in that bag. Probably not for the laundry. "I heard people got hurt. We know if they're alright?"

Vic smirks at Ravn. "I'll let you know. I'm looking into some apartments over on Sycamore. Might be in the budget. If they are, I might just fix the trailer up and rent it out. It's probably smaller than your boat, but it has a kitchen and a bathroom with a shower," she notes. There's a grimace as she folds the top corner of the page in her book and closes it. "I figure the town has its hooks in me now. I may as well find a more comfortable place to sleep than a twenty-two foot Airstream."

She grunts a bit at Grant. "Older couple had smoke inhalation, but they're going to be ok. EMTs got them out fast enough." EMTs, and her, but she doesn't seem to be willing to take credit for 'helping'. She gets up and sets the book in the empty baskets beside her. "Be back in a few, have to make a call." She goes to step outside and take care of some business.

Ravn watches her go and then looks back to Grant. "Paper made it sound like you had quite a stash. Maybe I should ask you to hook me up with a few joints sometime." He cracks another of those small lopsided smiles. "I'm glad you're all right. This town -- I'm learning not to take that for granted about anyone, not around here. You let people out of your sight, and the next time you see them they're turning up in a cast, or worse. I'm glad no one got seriously hurt, even if it sucks to have your place burn. Did you get things out -- your pictures, the important things?"

Grant listens, face facing Vic for the news on his former neighbors. "Glad no one got hurt. way the morning went I'm kinda surprised but. It's... that's all there is. And we... I guess go on?" It's distressing. This is not normal, not for him and well, maybe for the Harbor. His shoulders slump and his normally caffeinated body language seems defeated but enduring.

"I um... there was a thing that went down in the morning. I dunno what it's about. I don't... understand it. All I know is things were crazy and... I mean I bailed man. V had to come get me from the gas station. and We all decided I was gonna move in with Sparrow cause she needs one more for rent and I...I can't do this anymore. She grabbed my stuff and then everything else is ... on the news and I'm watching my life ...poof." Hoodie in hand he fins himself staring at Ravn's shoes instead of Ravn, eyes bloodshot, and he goes back to sorting.

Ravn hesitates a moment. He's really not very good at the whole... peopling thing. It's not so difficult when everyone is cheerful and relaxed and you just exchange pleasantries. Comforting twenty-something-year-olds who just lost everything and were probably lucky to get out with their life is -- harder.

He takes a few steps and touches Grant's shoulder very briefly with a gloved hand. "Look -- you need something. Someone to talk at. Or just some peace and quiet. You know where my boat is."

Grant looks at the laundry in front of him and looks up to the Tuna Man now...well just a man. There is a tired, wry smile and a shake of his head, "best of the stash just got smoked but I can get ya something. Kinda...fitting our place went out like the world's biggest blunt I guess. Weirdly sort of alright that it didn't go to waste but... " He consider the offer, "Lunch in a bit? Could just use like... normal." He looks back to the door and then to Ravn, "Shit, you work with my neighbor don't you?... before neighbor. Huh. Umm...Yeah I mean serious on the lunch."

"Hey, I'm up for doing lunch. And yeah, I do. I'm kind of Vic's bartender apprentice. Although she hasn't let me strangle any rich yachters from Olympia yet." Ravn manages to sound disappointed although surely he is not actually wanting to try his hands at murder. He is the type who would try his luck with small, bad jokes, because any kind of smile is better than people breaking up around him. He's probably not feeling very equipped to handle people breaking up.

Another very brief touch. Awkward in the fashion of I know this is when you're supposed to punch the other guy on the arm but I don't actually know why. "Normal is good. Have you had a chance to sleep? Process this stuff, allow yourself to be -- you know. Out of it?"

Vic stalks back in with a scowl on her face. That was likely not a fun call to make. Maybe trying to track Sumpter down to tell him his shit went up in smoke. Anything to take some of the workload off Kelly right now. The man is wound so tight he could snap at any moment. She scrubs a hand down her face and moves to one of the washers that dings that it's finished. A basket gets grabbed and she starts unloading the soggy garments into it. Jeans. Jeans. Jeans. BDUs, more BDUs, sweats, wait there are a couple saucy looking dresses, one in leopard print.

"Glad no one was in that trailer at least. It looked bad. We got, uh, lucky that the power had been cut off to the trailer park before the lines came down." Luck, right. Not some crazy blonde woman in a tee and her underwear psychically snapping a line fuse just in time.

Grant sighs and looks to Vic, "yeah I bailed when those assholes showed up. Dunno who they are. Don't ask." Should he tell her NO! Did he? weeell... "Like I tried to tell them Greggo's out of town like... fuckoff. And off they did fuck and seems the fucked right back on I guess. No idea where our other dude is tho. I'm just... glad he wasn't in there. I think."

He looks up at the woman before wobbling a bit from the pat on the shoulder offering a wane, but warm smile to Ravn. "I did a lil bit. I mean Vyv's been great. I made him go to work and Sparrow's got most of the super important stuff before.. that so... could be a lot worse." There's a pause as he pulls one skateboard truck from the pile of clothes turning it in his hand. "I'm gonna guess my rollerblades melted."

"I'm not going to say I think it's great but -- material things can be replaced. Lives and art cannot." Ravn glances from one to the other. He's not blind to the fact that he's missing a few references but on some level, it's also none of his business -- and given that what went up in smoke was clearly somebody's very expensive stash, maybe it's better to just stay ignorant.

It's Gray Harbor. Veil creatures are not the only dangerous thing in Gray Harbor. Just a few things here and there have been off enough to tell him that. Like meeting police captains staking out places at 3am, alone, with a sniper rifle.

Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

For Vic's part, she acts like she has no idea what Grant is talking about. It's safer for everyone that they don't know what's really happening under the surface in Grey Harbor. She goes about loading her wet clothing into a dryer, except the dresses, which she puts on hangars to air dry. "Yeah, things can be replaced, people can't. Blah blah blah. It still blows moose balls to go through losing your shit."

Grant says dryly, "yeah didn't even get paid well to blow the moose either." Oh! Oh that's the attempt at humor! Well all hope's not lost. Okay, t-shirts and boxers and a couple shirts with buttons get clutched together for load one. Socks and jeans in the other. There's not a whole lot in the piles but a bit of some is better than none. "I know the old dude who lived next door hated my shit but I still feel like I should make him a card or something." There's a pause and he says "Lost some art but I have pictures online at least so... performance art now."

"You know, I think I'm going to pass on even imagining what blowing a moose might be like, and how much I think I should be paid for it." Ravn makes a face. He's seen meese. Up close. Big, smelly Swedish meese. There's a reason Volvo cars are as powerful and resilient as they are. The reason is that a grumpy bull moose will not step off the road just because some idiot human thinks he's got right of way. Meese are powerful creatures and -- again, without having tested this personally -- Ravn suspects that they are quite well equipped.

"As long as you're both all right and didn't lose anything really important," he says lamely. The leopard dress gets a glance, though. The sort of glance that says, Wear that to the bar some night and I will be sitting over there on the patio, eating popcorn, watching a certain demographic of middle aged men in yachter shirts die.

The rest of the much blander wardrobe Vic loads into the dryer is clearly her work gear. For both jobs. Plain, un-memorable, save for maybe the smurfs tee she wears in honor of the missing Easton Marshall. She'd taken to calling the short ex-marine 'three apples' which is how tall a smurf is, before he disappeared. "Moose will fuck up your day. Saw one up close once." Of course she did, being a native of the PNW. "Fucker was taller than my truck. It was like...getting a small taste of what the world was like when giant things roamed it." The dryer gets started as she eyes the time left on the other two washers. One of those is delicates. Does she really want to unload those in front of her coworker? This is Vic, she gives no shits, so probably.

Grant shakes his head to Ravn "Ya know someone around here probably can tell you but I don't want to know either." Okay clothes... IN! A couple of his iconic t-shirts saved. There is a suspicious lack of cargo shorts in the mix that he is slooooowly noticing as he is getting to the bottom of the pile. While the cohorts converse he squints at this. Is this conspiracy oooor coincidence, oooor....

Ravn's basket contained several pairs of black men's tights which he went to no particular effort to sneak into a laundry machine unseen. It's possible that he might indeed survive the knowledge that Vic too wears underwear. Odds are, he'd probably be more concerned if she was to profess that she didn't, because some of her jeans shorts would surely... not be comfortable without.

"I think I'm going to put that one on my list of nature related things I will in fact not be asking August Røn about at my convenience," the Dane murmurs. "Let's just agree that none of us intend to apply for that job at the zoo."

Vic starts unloading the second washer and, yep, for all the bland she wears on the outside to blend in or not be remembered, her underthings are the exact opposite. Victoria has no Secrets here. There's lace and satin and silk and sheer and animal prints and all the colors of the rainbow coming out of that washer and going into a basket because one simply doesn't put such dainty things (or thongs) into a laundromat dryer which would surely mangle them.

"Roen doing ok? I only saw him once after that whole stabbing thing," Vic notes. You know, where she got shot all to shit.

"I went to see him at his shop last week. He seemed -- well, not thrilled about not being allowed to work because of his injuries, but apart from that, he was doing as well as you'd expect. I saw him again in an... experience... this week. He seemed to be holding it together." Ravn pauses. "I guess that's all any of us can say most of the time."

Because that's what you do in Gray Harbor. Hold it together. Even he knows that much, after just one month here. Count your limbs. Be glad they're all there. Count your friends. Hope for the same. Get on with life, because the alternative is worse.