2020-09-25 - Weird Waffle Witter

"Here you go," Zoey says with a bright, award-winning smile, placing the plates down on the booth table for the two forestry workers. It's early, just at the crack of dawn early, and Zoey moves from that table to another to start cleaning it up. The Shoppe is almost half full, with more coming in, with others finishing up and leaving for respective work, with the redhead and one other waitress working the shift this morning. She's quick, leaning over the table to wipe down the booth wall as she cleans up, thorough in her method with the washcloth. The bus bin is picked up and carried on her hip as she heads back to the counter.

The fellow that follows in the wake of a group of forestry workers definitely isn't one himself, though from the look on his face, he craves coffee and fried things equally well. He's a tall copper blond bloke in a black blazer, turtleneck and jeans -- the sort you'd expect to bump into in any Starbucks in Seattle, carrying a laptop and thinking themselves the next Steve Jobs. Out here in the middle of nowhere in small-town America, though, he can't help just looking a little lost.

Not lost enough, though, to not head beeline for the counter with an expectant smile, waving at the waitress as their gazes meet. "Morning! Got a table that no one's already getting territorial about?"

Zoey arches an eyebrow, laughing a bit as she puts a menu in front of the newcomer, leans one hand on the counter and cocks her hip. "We have several tables," she waves a hand all Vanna-White-like at the few that are open and unoccupied, "But you can sit at the counter here, too? I like, keep it clean and everything!" It's an assumption that this new bloke wants a coffee, it seems that everyone drinks coffee at this time of morning, so the redhead is soon slipping a cup before him and pouring him some.

The look the coffee cup gets is one of near-worship. Ravn settles at the counter. "You, miss, are clearly a mind reader. Not that that's a surprise to anyone in this town."

He smiles broadly and peruses the menu a moment before deciding, quite obviously, that reading takes effort and that the day is entirely too young for effort. "How are my chances of somehow ending up with a rather good-sized stack of waffles and a steady supply of maple syrup? I'm European, I'll sell my soul for maple syrup."

The blond does have an accent -- the kind of accent you get when the person who taught you English clearly thought that Oxford is the pinnacle of human achievement, but you didn't quite manage to get it right.

The redhead arches a brow at the comment about mindreading, laughing a bit, "Everyone drinks coffee in this town, it's more of a statistical guess than mindreading..." She leans closer as if to impart a secret, "But don't tell, okay?" A quick note is written on her order book, torn off, "I'll bring you /two/ syrups, how's that?" Giving a wink, she moves to the serving window to primarily put in Ravn's order but also to pick up a table's order, carry it out and ensure that they are all still doing well. A minute or two later, however, she is back before Ravn, "Not from around here?" Clearly, she picked up on the accent. Surprise, surprise!

Grant rolls to a stop on his skateboard, and then hops of popping it in hand and slowing his jog so he doesn't careen with the glass. There's a pause to let the person in the door leave before he and backpack. There's a concerned look given to the nebula haired skate punk who blinks at the pedestrian in return. Does he care that everything about his dress and appearance screams I have no ambition in life? No. And neither should the dude he held the door for. Civilians, man.

Undaunted he comes in and signs to Ravn with the free hand (and sort of the hand holding the board), "Got us a seat?" There's an us? Oh. He's now an 'us'. He follows with the caveat, "Don't tell that I'm cheating on breakfast with waffles." The waitress wins an easy smile from the busy little slacker, "If you have coffee yooooou will be my other favorite. Please and thank you."

"I am now." Ravn offers a lopsided smile at the waitress' quip. "I came into town just a month ago -- go a little further back though and I'm from Denmark. Which, I suppose, qualifies as not around here." He nods at the next stool by the counter. "Mornin', Grant. I have found my new best friend. She got me coffee before I asked."

If the man could purr, he would. For someone who wears all black, he's failing remarkably hard at intimidating anyone or anything. Gloved fingers wrapped around the coffee cup, what he resembles the most, figuratively speaking, is a lanky caramel coloured, very content cat.

A sparkling laugh, so early in the dawn hours of the morning, is what Zoey has for Ravn's appreciation. Giving a returned bright smile to Ravn's friend Grant, she reaches for a second coffee cup and the carafe, asking as she puts it on the bar next to Ravn's spot, "Coffee?" If Grant is deaf, the waitress hasn't seemed to pick up on it yet. She's a busy girl, not quite catching the signing before. Business is picking up, and she's seeing to several tables -and- the bar-counter area by the kitchen. Flapjacks, sausage and bacon pervade the air, scent-wise, and the parade of food being taken out to tables never ends.

Aidan is not often a break-of-dawn riser, but once in a while -- and slightly more often -- he's a 10am-go-to-sleeper. Either way, the sort of tired he looks as he strolls in is a cheerful-enough one, and his dark curls are tousled in a way that could mean recent sleep or a need for some in the not too distant future. Almost certainly he needs waffles in the not too distant future, though, or why is he here?

Like Grant, he holds the door for someone exiting, and like Grant, he gets a slightly odd look from them, one that gets a bright, friendly grin in return. He's not nebula-haired, but today is nebula-shirted, along with purple jeans and a pair of worn black Docs, none of which are probably really what got the weird look. No, that's probably the knee-length coat, likely meant to be a bit longer on the women it was probably designed for, white with a somewhat '60s-looking pattern of big scattered flowers and peacocks.

He runs a hand through his hair as he lets the door close behind him, glancing around and grinning again when he recognizes first hair and then monochromaticism at the counter. "Hey!" he greets as he comes to claim a chair beside them. "Everyone saw the Waffle Signal this morning, huh?"

Grant sets the board down, and arches an eyebrow at Ravn's news, and looks impressed really, and back. "Oh!" Well shit! People who make food show up are, historically as it seems, important in Baxter's world. He sits signing but speaking with it as habit and for clarity, "Can't stay long. Meeting someone about the sidewalk art festival thing. Which means I have to get to V's place. Get my suit back for it. The meeting. Not the chalk." Turning to Aidan the creeting is easy with an overly complex handshake that serves...no purpose, and quoting Mystery Men, "Waffle maaaaan, golden crispy! Bad guys are history! heh, hey cuz, you are Macklemoring it today. Nice. The caffeine goddess is making coffee happen." Looking to Zoey he makes with big eyes and holds up a finger for One more? and points to Aidan.

Ravn can't help a small laugh. With a glance at Zoey he murmurs, "Don't worry, I don't understand half of what he's saying either. It's a skater thing, I think." Then he waves at Aidan. "Coffee. This lady makes coffee happen before you ask. Neither you nor I have a magic trick like that on our repertoire. Well, you're a mind reader, you might."

Another glance to Zoey. "You have got to tell us your name so we can praise you properly. Ravn Abildgaard is mine. Resident bartender in training at the Two if By Sea, and unrepentant cutlery thief." As if to underline his words, he picks up a teaspoon off the table and spins it on a finger tip in a quite impressive display of manual dexterity. "Well, borrower. The fun part is stealing it, juggling it, and putting it back where I got it."

Ravn's waffles are up, so as the new waitress turns to get them, and two jars of syrup, another customer shows up. Clearly friends with her newest two at the bar, it is still a little 'Oh!' as Zoey turns around and sees Aidan taking up a spot next to Grant and Ravn. Two cups are put down, "Coffee?" she asks, sure that she knows the answer, but hey, people can be a surprise. Just like that coat, which she stares at incredulously for a moment. That's bright. Definitely a difference from the muted greys, greens and browns from the majority of the customers in the place. Now is about the time that the redhead catches on that Grant is deaf, given the active fingers.

"Waffles?" she asks the two newcomers, sure to catch Grant's visual attention when she asks, pointing at Ravn's small stack before he makes them indistinguishable from maple syrup in a moment.

Overly-complex-handshake hoooooo! Aidan doesn't exactly make it look elegant and effortless, but he does get it right, and grin most of the time he's doing it, the more so at Grant's quoting. "Thanks! Caffeine goddess? I knew I chose right today. Also I kinda felt like I might accidentally order the omelette if I went to Grizzly?" Because accidentally ordering things happens all the time, sure. "Yes, please, coffee! And waffles. Um... but which waffles..." He drags a menu closer to take a good look, though he's probably seen it before. It's just easier to contemplate while looking it all over.

As another sign he's probably seen it before, he looks up again and tilts his head at Zoey, looking thoughtful. "Are you new or do I just never come here when you're working? 'cause if you're new then hi, welcome! Actually, hi either way. I'm Aidan. And mostly not cutlery thief, though I might steal the sugar packets, maybe."

Grant gives Aidan a one armed hug and sits him down with two pats on his shoulder. Eyes drift up to the waitress making the effort to talk to his face which wins a genuine, warm smile for all the simple effort. There do seem to be hearing aids in, so there's some input assisting here. His speech is good, but probably influenced by this. "Yes please. To go, ummm walnut honey brown sugar waffle to go pleeeeease?" He eyes the name tag and back, "Zoey? Cool spelling." Looking back to Ravn he asks "Ummm iiif I got your fliers would you be able to put em up on the bar at TibS for people? Just getting dates and stuff hopefully set and then? I'm off to the printers. My dad's firm is sponsoring printed materials since, ya know, I kinda... am... yeah." Strapped hard for cash? Suddenly? Yup. "Still getting my life back under me." Looking to Zoey he asks, "If i brought fliers for the art festival would it be cool if we put some by the register for peeps? So they know and stuff if they want to join or, like, go?"

"As long as Bennie's got no objections, I don't see why not," Ravn replies and proceeds to literally bury those poor waffles under maple syrup. They swim. "There's all kinds of other fliers lying about so I don't imagine she will? You know how Lady Sunshine is, always trying to save everyone's day."

The teaspoon is returned to where he stole it, just like he said. And given that the man wears gloves, and didn't touch the head part of it, it may not even need to be washed before somebody uses it. The true magic, though, is the speed with which those waffles disappear. One could get the impression that the Dane forgot to eat dinner last night -- again.

Letting him have a few seconds to decide, the redhead volunteers, "Blueberry, duh. Everyone knows that blueberry waffles are mana for the masses, right? Right?" Zoey grins at Aidan, "I'm new. Zoey, nice to meet you, and thank you so much! Just hired, new to town, that whole sob story." She would almost add "You've heard it all before", but something forestalls the words. Being called a caffeine goddess earns him a soft smile, even as she pours the black gold into the cup before him. Grant's coffee cup is likewise filled, her attention turned to him for an order. The coffee carafe is put down on the counter as she writes up tickets for the two to turn in, murmuring "Walnut honey brown sugar. That sounds like heaven." She winks at Grant before turning her self to turn the orders in to the kitchen, but she catches the question. Looking to the other waitress on duty, she gives a shrug, "I dunno if I can say yes or no to that, I am new here." A facial 'Sorry' expression is added to Grant.

Aidan returns the one-armed hug, giving the shorter guy a firm friendly squeeze and another grin. He nods to Ravn's expectation about Bennie's reply, adding, "If she didn't wanna support people doing art stuff I'd be really surprised and maybe start looking around in case there were those replicator pod things growing somewhere." Which. Might not be impossible, in this town.

"Thank you!" greets the filling of his coffee cup, followed by, "Nice meeting you too. It's mostly a pretty cool town. If you go to the Gri-- uh, Black Bear, I guess, Diner, though, don't order the omelette. Everything else is good, just skip that." And speaking of breakfast, he looks down at the menu again. "I dunno, though-- okay, yeah, blueberry sounds really good. Like, blueberry waffles with... strawberries and chocolate sauce and whipped cream on them, please?" Not one of the specific options on the menu, but all the bits exist, at least! "Oh, and sprinkles. That sounds good." Ravn's plate gets a speculative glance as though he might be contemplating whether maple syrup would also be good with that, right now. Hm.

Settling the menu down, he glances toward the floor, then back to Grant. While his hands are free, he attempts to sign when he speaks. It's not great, and he probably shouldn't have to fingerspell as much as he does, but it's an attempt! "I should find a skateboard. I used to like that. So what's up with this festival thing?"

Grant seems entirely mollified by the smile back and says "Then I'll just have to visit when they're finished and we'll find out." Because apparently doing things first and waiting to see if there's a problem after the fact is a great strategy. He drinks his coffee and looks to Aidan and murmurs, "Well shit I'm working after the meeting. I can work on building you one if you want. I'll text you later today. You can gimme a budget." Pausing he says, "I'll get it painted up fro ya and have it to you for the weekend. We can go break it in or something." Looking back to them he says proudly, "We're gonna steal Addington Park. People sign up to get a square of the sidewalk. We draw on it with whatever medium that comes off again all weekend. Got a couple bands that are gonna kick around and just hope no one falls into the art and gets stuck." That's a figure of speech right? "It's free to do, just only so much sidewalk. It'll look super boss when it's done."

"Blueberry's good. Maple pecan is heavenly. My opinion is not at all influenced by the fact that we have blueberries in Scandinavia but not the other two." Ravn continues his wafflicide with great intent. "Also, Aidan's not kidding about the omelette at the Black Bear. It was the very first thing in town he warned me against, and of course I was stupid enough to go try it. Never tried anything quite so horrible that wasn't in some fashion illegal. But on the up side, Gina -- she's the owner of the Bear -- gave me a tarot reading for my troubles, and I have to say, she's not a grifter. Disturbingly accurate. Just, seriously, do avoid her omelettes. The rest of her food is fine."

He looks up from his mountain of waffle on occasion, though. "Art day at Addington Park? Almost makes me wish I was an artist. I'll definitely come stare at you all in admiration of your talents. I can't draw a straight line with a ruler."

Art is discussed. Zoey stands there like the new girl in class, chewing on her bottom lip as she listens, -entirely- distracted from tables and waffles and the kitchen calling her orders up. "Yeah?" she asks Grant, "Like. Anyone?" This completely sounds like something that the girl would gravitate to, it's evident on her hopeful little face, the new kid just /yearning/ to be invited. She /might/ be conflicted, given that she might be working Saturday, but the pull is a strong one, "What time?" She doesn't even know where Addington Park is, yet.

Grant takes his to go waffles and fished out his wallet pulling out honest to goodness cash. Many small side jobs pay off apparently. He counts it out but leaves room for tip and troubles to leave on the counter. The question pulls an eyebrow up with an easy smile and a singular nod, "Anyone. It's the big park with the kick ass garden threatening to take over the middle of the downtown with the carousel everyone's afraid to ride because it was here for like...forever." Curious he looks to Aidan, the other resident and wonders, "Did they just build the town around i? I forget. Anyways, Ms. Zoey, I gotta run but I will bring back the flier and if you are interested I will save you a square, because everyone should try it."

He checks his phone for the times and says "It'll start Saturday at 8 am and go through Sunday night 8 pm and stay up for like a week. Or til it rains." Because chalk. Scooping his breakfast he says, "Wish me luck. I think it'll work out." Ad with that lad and board are out the door queuing up his phone (because bluetooth appliances are the shit!), bag on shoulder and rolling back up the street towards downtown.

Aidan drinks some coffee too, slightly more careful on the second sip than the first, which is probably not the way 'round he should've done it. Can't say it's not fresh and hot! "Okay, maple pecan sounds good too, but I dunno, will it be good if I add those too?" Clearly what Ravn meant. "I mean I guess I could just find out! Can I get pecans and maple syrup too, please? Only, on the side." There, that should be safe.

The mention of making him a board gets a very thoughtful look, though there's a little chagrin at the mention of a budget. "...probably kinda low?" he says apologetically, "I mean, unless I find something extra to do maybe..." His is not a particularly lucrative field. Still, maybe... The art festival gets a brighter look again, and a nods. "That sounds awesome. I'm kinda better with spraypaint than chalk and stuff but I might try a thing anyway, if there's enough room? And," he looks to Ravn, "just draw something with wiggly lines then. Like a caterpillar." Solved!

He lifts a hand in farewell to Grant, with a brief, "I'm pretty sure they started the town first?" that sounds like he is in fact willing to entertain the idea that they might've just found the carousel here and built around it, like a very strange natural rock outcropping. "Later!" and it's back to coffee and the others. "Do you do art stuff then?" he asks, tilting his head at Zoey. Noticed that yearning, maybe.

Ravn noticed enough of the expression on Zoey's face to offer her another lopsided smile. "If you do art, you should absolutely get in on that. This town is amazingly full of art people. And then there's me. But somebody needs to turn up and admire you all, so that's fine."

He taps his fork against his lower lip a moment as the horror that is Aidan's order clicks in place for him. Maybe he's wondering how exactly anyone is supposed to fit waffles on to the plate along with all those other things. Maybe he's just envious. Either way, he can't help a small laugh and shake of his head. It's pretty clear that these blokes know each other reasonably well.

"So what sort of breeze blew you into town, then? Me, I got kicked out of the truck I was hitching a ride on, and sort of forgot to keep moving. Ended up on Aidan's couch for a few days." That might explain it.

Zoey dips into the kitchen for a few minutes, gathering up some small bowls of additional toppings and arranging them on a serving tray before she steps back out. When Aidan's waffles are served up, they are delivered to him along with all the goodies, including a bottle of Hershey's, a can of whipped cream, some strawberries, pecans, and a carafe of his very own maple syrup. She even threw in some candy sprinkles, some blueberries, and chocolate chips... all for good measure.

She leaves Grant's payment on the bar, for he's left before she even got him a bill. As she writes that up, she wonders after the skater for a moment, a smile on her lips. Then, back to business with her customers. "Yeah?" she asks Ravn, trying to be non-chalant and not jump up and down in excitement at the semi-invite, keeping it under a cool veneer of control, "Maybe I'll show up." Taking Grant's money to the register just a few steps away, she gives a shrug, "I had to get out of LA and Vegas, the people were going to kill me."

That is a lovely array of Stuff, and Aidan looks just short of thrilled by its approach. "Thank you!" He shifts his mug aside, into the space Grant just vacated, to make sure there's room for everything to get put down. He'll need the hand for applying toppings, anyway, which is what he fairly promptly starts to do. Both types of berries and, after a moment's consideration, the pecans, go on first.

"My couch is awesome," he informs Zoey when Ravn mentions it. This is important information. "And yeah, you should definitely do the festival thing, if you're an artist. Though I guess maybe not if you're worried the people who were gonna kill you might show up? Why would they want to do that, anyway? You seem nice."

He considers long enough to start applying a good spiral of chocolate syrup over the berries before adding, "I kinda liked LA. Though, more out toward the beaches really?" Presumably, he did not run into people who wanted to kill him. Maybe the coast is just friendlier.

"Never made it to Vegas or LA," Ravn muses, soaking up syrup on a remarkably soaked bit of waffle. "I was planning to end up down south over winter, somewhere -- wherever my feet might end up taking me. Now I'm sort of looking for a place to rent for the cold months here, when I have to pull my boat on land. I hope you're not being literal about people wanting to kill you, though. If you mean the crowds though -- Los Angeles has half the population of my entire country."

He picks up a few sugar packets and lets them dance through his fingers in a nice little display of contact juggling. Trying to impress anyone? Probably not -- at least it doesn't seem to be a conscious gesture as much as a bad habit. Fingers shielded by black kidskin weave around them, flipping them, spinning them.

Zoey gives a little snort-laugh, "I don't mean -literally- kill me. As in, like smog kills you: a slow death of agony, a rotting of the soul. Like that." Giving a shrug, "I found out that large cities are just not for me. Lots of people? Yeah, no." A pause as she glances around, "I like this place, it seems quiet and reclusive, which signs to the soul." It isn't what drew her here, but she is a ways away from recognizing that, yet. Leaning onto the back counter, she watches Aidan build his breakfast as the three of them talk. Only one in a while does she flit out to her tables to do a pass with the coffee, coming back with dirty dishes and such. "I will," she decides aloud, then explains, "Go to the art fest thing. I could use some time with chalks."

"OH. Oh right," Aidan says, looking a little bit sheepish, "Okay, that's good, then. I mean, not the slow agonizing rotting of the soul part, but the not literally trying to kill you bit, yeah. I like cities okay, really. There's a lot to do and all kinds of people to know and, well, I'm a street magician? So crowds are kinda a good thing, mostly. But I ended up back here, anyway." He hesitates, though it's not entirely clear if it's for the conversation or the waffle, since he's eyeing it and the maple syrup consideringly at the time. "It's kinda... not really as quiet here as you'd think, though? I mean, a lot less people. But a lot of stuff happens."

He taps a finger against the counter as he considers his waffle construction, and then that hand sneaks over, fingers darting in to steal one of the packets dancing on Ravn's hand just as it comes up into place. Ripping it open, he tips the contents into his mouth, then sets the empty packet back into the other man's rotation, at least appearing to have his attention remain on the problem of 'this is the syrup layer, but I don't know yet if maple will be good in this combination'. To be fair, it's an important problem. "Where were you before you tried out the large cities?"

Ravn glances at Aidan, and then back at Zoey. "For a value of quiet, yes. People here are very nice. Just -- not everyone here is people. There are some things going on in Gray Harbor that's definitely and decidedly half a mile into tinfoil hat territory." His tone turns more sombre, though the sugar packets keep dancing. "I don't want to sound like I'm some kind of conspiracy theorist but you may end up having some rather... unusual experiences. Caught me rather off guard when it happened to me the first time. After a while, though, you start to just appreciate that this town rather is bizarre but people here are really good at having each other's backs. That alone makes life here worth all of the... challenges."

Another packet replaces the first as if absolutely nothing was unusual about this. The empty packet just re-joins the chain until it hops off Ravn's knuckles and comes to rest on his plate like it absolutely walked there on its own. These two guys have some kind of thing going on, only from the looks of it it's more of a one-upmanship.

Zoey grins at the two of them, throughout the banter, fascinated by personalities and friendships. "Yeah, okay," she says to everything and nothing in particular at the same time, accepting the advice and viewpoints with a nod of her head. A new customer sits down at the counter, and she gets a cup of coffee poured pre-emptively as the menu is set before her. But, Zoey's conversation is back to Aiden and Ravn, delighted at them as well as intrigued, "Cities are fine for other folks, I've just had my fill. It's a very different world from an introvert's view. Cities are for extroverts, that's my opinion and I'm sticking to it!"

You know who likes carbs? Not skinny gamers, that’s who. Fat Latino DJ’s like carbs. It’s like the throaty wail of a roaring jungle cat that announces a sleek black BMW sliding into a spot outside the Shoppe, the exhaust free of paltry ideals such as ‘regulation’ or ‘law’. A rotund Latino pulls himself free of the vehicle and heads on inside, seeming the breath of a dragon as vapor runs from his nostrils. A sleek silver pen-like device is tucked into the front pocket of his checkered button down, his keys dropped simply in a fresh white fanny pack he wears atop some khaki joggers and some crisp Adidas. Stylish as always, Rekani pushes his way into the shop, taking a quick look around for anyone he knows, and of course giving Aidan an up nod as soon as he sees him. He ambles his bulk over,

“Sup, dawg? You wanna hear some wild shit?” He finds himself the nearest seat and flops into it.

Aidan does watch what happens on the return of the packet from the corner of his eye, and it makes him grin again, even as he picks one quarter of the waffle to experimentally add the maple syrup to, then tops that quarter and that quarter only with the chocolate chips, whipped cream, and sprinkles. It looks... tall and caloric! Also possibly tasty, and arguably just a little bit artistic. At least one of these adjectives applies to its maker as well.

Ravn's remarks on the place get a nod, though he doesn't seem inclined to go into detail at present, and his hand has just started moving toward the sugar packet container when the sound of the opening door -- or maybe it's the roar of the car that preceded it, something vaguely familiar -- has him glancing that way. Rekani too gets a grin when he's spotted. "Hey!" he greets him brightly, lifting the hand instead of the packets, and gives an upnod in return. "Yeah, of course. What kinda wild shit?"

"Introvert is supposedly my middle name," Ravn murmurs good-naturedly, flicking one sugar packet off Aidan's wrist and back on his own hand to re-join the cycle; dancing sugar packets bouncing around the hands of the next bloke over is absolutely normal. "At least my therapist said so. My mum always insisted that it's Christian." He glances up at the new arrival and takes a moment trying to place him -- and then smiles. "You're the dee jay, from the Cabaret. Saw you put on a show once. Hey there."

Maybe he doesn't remember the part where said dee jay's lady partner got very short with him for asking all the wrong questions. Selective memory comes in very handy every now and then. Maybe he's just distracted bouncing sugar packets off Aidan and staring at the sugary inferno he calls breakfast.

"Gray Harbor is fantastic when it comes to people looking out for each other. People here -- people like us, who have a certain feeling about them -- we're all in this together. It's not some sort of hippie commune where we all hold hands and sing little happy songs around the campfire. Nor is it like someone else told me shortly after I arrived in town, that everyone gets by on drinking a lot and screwing a lot. It's just -- having each other's backs. Knowing that things can go bad, so you need to be able to have some kind of trust in other people. Because you will need them. And I'm guessing this really makes just about as much sense to you right now as it did when I got that speech by Hera Foster at the art gallery after getting kicked off that truck but trust me, it'll make sense soon enough."

Zoey is already putting a cup before Rekani, filling it with coffee without much asking. It seems that it's her waitressing style, to just assume that morning people need Joe. Listening in to the conversation, not sure whom Ravn is addressing with his words and explanations, the redheaded waffleslinging waitron just takes orders and cleans tables for a few moments. Whatever Ravn's saying seems to be absorbed, if someone is watching her, for she glances at him as he speaks. It always pays to listen to locals give advice, no matter who it might be to.

“Yeah, man!” Rekani responds to Ravn’s recognition, putting a fist out to pound in greeting, likely not really remembering the gravity of it, nor knowing how the spat with Nova had gone. There’s a pause though at the coffee, Rekani fiddling with his ear like he heard something funny, then looking at Zoey. His eyes go down, then back up, with a short little, “Okay.” That accompanies a grin. It was probably a weird interaction, the sort of expression you get when you wear a bold color and someone thinks it looks good on you. Or more likely when someone recognizes you’re special around here. He picks up a menu and points to something suitably artery clogging with a wide grin at Zoey, then goes back to the conversation.

“Ok, so like, I’m not trying to blow up your convo, but get this...” He holds up both palms, moving them outward away from each other as if extending a pantomime banner, “Weirdo, otherworld circus.” He waits, watching their faces, letting that sink in before going on, “Only like, we went in, and it was a weird art exhibit? With like some old news stuff, but also some like mini building replicas of stuff around here (but all the names were wrong) and then they let me and Rosencrantz buy some new golems with our left sock...” Again, he waits, considers, then clarifies, “And I was only like slightly high? I’m pretty sure it happened... Pretty sure...”

"Mine's Nicolao," Aidan offers when Ravn discusses middle names; he can't help looking amused when the packet bounces off him, but affects not to notice. "None of my therapists ever suggested any replacements. Now I kinda feel like I missed out. Although I do like mine. It's okay initials, too, and if I married someone with an H name and hyphenated I could be ANKH. Maybe it'd give me eternal life!" That one comes with enough of a grin he probably doesn't mean it.

He cuts a bite out of the fully-doctored quarter and manages to get it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as Raven goes on. Yes. This will do. It's clear from the approving expression and nod, but even more so by the fact that he picks up the maple syrup and starts adding it to the rest of the waffle, as well. "I mean, all of that sounds kinda fun though," he notes to Ravn on his list of what Gray Harbor isn't. "Maybe not so much the drinking a ton, though at least it'd keep you and Bennie paid?"

But then Rekani's starting in on his wild shit, and yes, yes it is. Aidan accidentally over-syrups a bit of the waffle at the golem-buying part, but he'll probably survive. The whole thing gets a quiet, thoughtful moment. "Well. Do you have a new golem and not your left sock? I mean, more the golem than the sock, 'cause, I've definitely lost socks when I was high before. But I never got a golem. ...also, what buildings? And how come it looked like a circus if it wasn't one? That seems like kinda false advertising."

Ravn tentatively returns Rekani's proffered fist bump, in the manner of someone who is absolutely not accustomed to fist bumps but he'd probably rather break three fingers sideways than admit it. Some guys are street. Ravn is not one of those guys. More like, vanilla suburbia, that one. He listens to the other man's talk of circuses and socks and golems with a completely straight face and then looks to Zoey. "And uh, that's kind of what I mean. Yes. This is normal." Normal, it seems, involves being high as a kite. And believing in the stories told by people who sound like they're high as a kite.

Zoey stares at Rekani as the story unfolds, almost looking like she might drop the coffee decanter at any moment. But, as he wraps up with the comment about being high, the look of "Good gods" washes over her expression before she turns to go attend some tables. He had her, there, teetering on the edge of belief. Turns out, it is all a mushroom fantasy of some sort. She should expect this, living now in the Pacific Northwest, an area damn near famous for it's lax attitudes to the mind-freeing agents of nature.

She is gone for a few minutes, tending to tables, taking out food orders, and the bussing and cleaning tables. Almost like she is making up for her lingering conversations at the counter!

Always trust Aidan to be asking the real questions. “I mean, dude, I was wearing some shitty Hanes that day, yeah, I’ma get me a new fuckin’ golem, you best believe!” Rekani has to think back, and starts counting off on his fingers, one by one, “Uh, the diner, a bar, and... That little strip mall.” He holds palms to the sky, shrugging, “And I know right? I wanna see some trapeze shit, and then it’s this Revisionist lady all talking about her work, and...” Pause, sip coffee. “Sources and shit (there was like this big ol’ battery I could feel) but like Rosencrantz thought it was lol normal...”

He stops, sets his coffee down, puts two hands on the table, “You wanna know the craziest part though?” He waits, eyes going from Ravn to Aidan and back, letting the suspense build. “They didn’t even try to kill us. Just let us walk out the door after.” He sits back, both hands opening as if he had just dropped a proverbial mic. Which you should never do, because microphones are expensive and you will never see Rekani actually do that.

"I bet it would've been cool if she talked about it on a trapeze," Aidan muses, "Though, I guess prolly only trapeze artists would do that talking about their jobs, really." He finishes applying the remaining layers of topping to the rest of his waffle while Rekani talks, and takes a good drink of his coffee, now cool enough for proper mouthfuls.

In that pause, he waits, eyes widening and brows lifting a bit, and when the payoff comes... he really does look a little surprised. "Like... just thanks for watching my TED talk, there's the door? I mean not everything tries to kill you or anything but that's still like... unusual. She just showed you some art and traded you a sock for a golem and said have a nice day?" Sure, Aidan, that's what's weird about this. "Huh."

Something about all this is nagging at him somehow, but he can't quite put together what and why right now. It's not impossible he might be a little high himself at the moment, though it may be kind of hard to be sure. "What kind of battery? And can I see your golem?"

Ravn returns to the dancing little sugar packets to their appropriate container. "I take it not trying to kill you is... not normal. In which case, I like not normal. Not killing anyone is good. I am vastly in favour of no one getting killed."

He glances at the waitress; there's sympathy in that grey look. The kind of sympathy that comes from remembering just how insane this town sounds and looks and feels. Where everyone you meet warns you about strange things. Where it's very easy to think that you've somehow accidentally stumbled into some sort of whacked-out weed commune that would have made Woodstock seem clean. The sort that, inevitably, some day will result in some famous actress selling her autobiography detailing how she left the cult.

Rekani is clearly shaking his head back and forth in an expression that tells Ravn he was absolutely saying no to that question, “Nah, dawg. Everytime I’ve dealt with the other side, shit has tried to straight up crip me if I didn’t play along.” There’s a hand outstretched to Aidan in agreement of the additional conversational element would have made it so much better. This of course gives him thought, “Well... All the club ones have just kinda been bullying and roughin us up but... I dunno, it was just like... not violent. I didn’t get it. The rest of the people probably got more out of it.”

He smirks at Aidan, then shakes his head, “I mean, I would, but it’s gotta be when we’re over there. I can’t believe I’ve never showed you it. I could always do it, guess I just never thought to.” Probably because he never knew he could until then, but that’s another story.

The conversation between Ravn and Rekani is unfathomable, and seems majorly private, so Zoey takes the opportunity to see to her tables, her customers, and cleaning up after the morning rush. This gives them relatively eavesdropper-free privacy at the front counter. Eventually, however, she alights on the other side of the counter from them, asking them if she can get either of them anything else?

"I mean, the dancing things weren't violent exactly," Aidan says to the mention of the club things, though at the same time, he's nodding. So maybe at least the bullying part. He starts in on eating, looking very happy with what he hath wrought, and nods a couple times as Rekani talks -- then pauses, head tilting and eyes narrowing a touch. "Wait, hold up though," he says after swallowing (thankfully), "if you could always do it how come you had to give her a sock? I mean that seems like some kinda hustle. A really weird one unless she's, like, a house elf and needed to trick you guys into freeing her, but still. Who else was there?" This does not prevent him shaking his head at Zoey when she asks if he needs anything more, or informing her that, "This came out awesome. Thank you for all the stuff!"

Ravn attempts to catch Zoey's attention for just a moment; long enough, at least, to net himself a coffee refill. When he does, he murmurs softly, "I know how we sound. It's all true. Make friends here, it's important." His tone of voice, though, hints of defeat. Maybe he realises exactly how much he sounds like someone who's going to go out back in a moment and make himself a tinfoil hat while talking about rays in the bathroom stalls.

He doesn't press the point after that. Some things have to be seen to be believed.

Rekani was absolutely not the kind of person that seems like what he was talking about was a private thing. No sir, he was loud enough for the tables nearest him were looking over their shoulders, giving him the stink eye for all his drug-addled rantings. It was a wonder no one had told him this was a Wendy’s yet. Rekani sits back a moment and crosses his arms across his bulky body, having a good think on Aidan’s point, “Shit, like... I dunno, I didn’t think about it? Dat bitch put one over on me, I guess.” He follows this with an easy-going shrug, “I dunno, uh, well, Alexander was there, Rosencrantz, the rich guy, and his lady who put that birthday thing together, uhh...” He thinks it over more, trying to remember who all else, “There was some lady with Alexander, I dunno her, but they seemed close, uhhh... I think that’s it?”

What does seem private is when he leans towards Aidan, hooking a thumb at the redhead, “Who’s the new girl, though? She sounds like one o’ us, don’t she?”

"Okay, boys," Zoey shows up with her tickets to put in front of all, examining each one for correctness before turning them face-down before each, "Thank you for an /interesting/ conversation." A pointed, grinning look is given to Rekani but she starts to take off her apron. Her tables are cleaned, shakers and syrups refilled, all of the little duties that come with the waiting of tables at the Shoppe le Waffles. She's clocking out soon, "It was nice meeting all of you... hopefully you become regulars, yeah?" Nothing like drumming up business via customers that ask for her by name, right?

"Nice meeting you, too!" Aidan tells Zoey, brightly and what seems like entirely genuinely. "And yeah, I come here pretty often, so. Also I'll see you at the art festival thing, probably, though I dunno what weekend Bax is planning it for..." Note made to ask. Note probably to be lost even before these jeans go into the wash.

Mental notes are also made of the others who went to the not-exactly-circus, and from the expression, Aidan is not entirely confident he's got everything sorted there. Close enough he doesn't try to get more, though. "Well... at least you were only wearing boring socks anyway, then." This decided, he returns to decimating Mount Wafflexcessiva. It appears to remain delicious until destroyed.

"I turn up like a bad penny because cooking and me are mortal enemies," Ravn says with a smile. He steals a third cup of coffee before paying, and leaving a tip under his cup -- apparently that's a thing Europeans do. "I'll be sure to come around. You have maple syrup. What more reason does a man need to claw at your door at six am?"

Rekani laughs, taking his plate and hunching over it to begin his consumption of his killer carbs, “Yeah man, cheap shit.” He agrees with Aidan. Briefly, as with any millennial, his phone comes out, is checked, is thunked on the counter. “I’ma make one totally out of snacks. Like, just piled high with Hohos and Bugles, you just fuckin wait. Maybe if I go in with Rosencrantz we can just have em fight each other, be like fuckin Pokémon trainers,” He points across the way, making a face that at least appears serious enough for the joke, “Beefcake, use Hamfist!” Then devolves into riotous laughter.

To Zoey, he just chuckles and holds a fist out for her to pound, if optioned. “Girl, you must be new. I’ll see you...” he taps his phone, having to check the day, because who really keeps track anymore, “...Friday.”