2020-10-06 - Convoluted Conversations

On cool autumn days that rain as heavily as it currently is, the patisserie shop is, as many places are, rather peaceful. It's not quiet: people shuffle and move and customers enter in and out of the upscale area, wanting to escape the rain and feeling guilty enough to buy something to pass the time while they do so. Ginger, however, has been here for some time. She's dressed in a black tweed vest dress, worn over a silky soft yellow top with ruffled ornamentation along the neck and front. Plain oxfords and black stockings keep her warm, and a simple gold bracelet, an oval locket necklace, and her wedding band complete the look: simple, understated, and uncomplicated. Her hair is loose, a simple gold pin on the right keeping that side clear as she writes notes on a sleek little tablet, occasionally sipping her tea-- refreshing it from the pot, because indeed, there is a small pot along with the cup on her table.

The bloke who wanders inside probably does so in part to seek shelter from the weather outside. He's a tall copper blond in a sort of half-assedly stylish black leather jacket and matching shirt and jeans, carrying a laptop computer under one arm and clearly looking for somewhere to plonk it down -- and possibly acquire something hot to drink in the process. The latter part is the easy part; now, deciding where to sit is difficult. Because there are numerous empty seats but they are all within range of people.

Pick a people, Ravn.

And so he does. Wandering over to the table where the lady in the black vest sits he asks politely, "May I join you? It's a little hard to type while holding the tea and the computer."

Ginger looks up, eyes wide and startled at the sudden appearance of a person, but she's quick to bring up a polite (if slightly nervous) smile. There's a glance over him - one can almost read her search for potential red flags - and clearly she's a bad judge of character because her smile softens slightly and (with a touch of hesitation) she reaches to move her tea pot a touch closer to herself. "N-no, not at all. You're welcome to, it's a large table." Her eyes flick towards his teacup once more, but she says nothing else except, after another moment "I--I'm Ginger."

Whew. That's tiring.

The tall guy settles at the table and in his defence, it must be said, he's probably got the least threatening body language this side of a bunny rabbit (provided that it's not a bunny rabbit with a switchblade, looking at you here, old school web comic geek). He neatly arranges the tea mug next to the laptop and opens it, hitting the power button. Then he looks up again and offers a small, lopsided smile. "Ravn Abildgaard. Nice to meet you, Ginger. I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

Patisseries are typically not de la Vega's bag, on account of 1. the hipster decor, 2. the proliferation of tea and dearth of coffee, and 3. the hipster clientele. But as he's had some business to attend to involving a high flying lawyer from Seattle (who's late, no less), here he is. Parked at a stark, steel and glass table by one window, and dressed (for him) quite smartly. A crisp button-down shirt, tie, black pants, and a tailored jacket that neatly covers up all of that prison ink. He's even introduced a comb to his scruffy curls, and trimmed his beard.

There's a flick of dark eyes from his phone to the door as it opens, a glance to Ginger. Then back down to his phone. Steam curls slowly from his cup of tea as he waits.

"No no no no no." Ginger says, hastily raising both hands and giving it a bit of a shake, as if to wave off the very idea. "No, really. I... I was actually just going through some old d-data reports." Ginger picks up her tablet, holding it up to show Ravn the screen. It's... very chart-y. And graphic. So many graphs. Lots of data and numbers, with titles like 'Sand-Steel Interface Strength Response' or 'Steel Slag Heat Transference Rates' among other things. And as soon as she does it Ginger looks a little sheepish, setting the tablet down with little smile. "R-really just a review of past work data."

She looks towards the door and windows, probably to avoid further eye contact, just spotting the incoming Ruiz. How smartly he looks! And-- vaguely familiar? She stares a moment, trying to place him.... juuuust in time for him to glance over! Caught (maybe), Ginger hastily ducks her head, too-pale cheeks flushing as she reaches for her cup of tea. Steadying breath, a nice sip. "Abildgaard-- nordic, isn't it? No-- not quite--" She says, distracting herself. And maybe quickly peeking towards Ruiz again. Where's his face from?

"Danish, as it happens." Ravn is blissfully blank on the graphs. He looks at them politely, with the clear and obvious understanding of a goldfish looking at quantum physics. Ginger's ducking down prompts a raised eyebrow and then an understanding -- just, unfortunately, the wrong one. He shuffles his chair a little to the left, obscuring the view. Because there's clearly someone somewhere making this woman nervous and given that it's obviously not him, and why the heck do I always end up thinking somebody needs me to play hero, I'm about as heroic as your average sheep.

There's some more fiddling with the phone, a couple of swipes to the left, and one to the right, before the thing is tossed onto the tabletop with a faintly irritated sound. The cop contemplates his tea for a moment, then contemplates the girl who keeps looking over. Unlike her, he has no compunctions whatsoever about observing her steadily. Nothing particularly lewd about his attention, but it's certainly intense; like all the air's suddenly gone out of the room.

Then after about a minute or two of this, he sniffs sharply and pulls to his feet, and starts digging in his pants pocket for his wallet as he ambles up to the counter. "Croissant, please." Yes, he mangles the French word horribly. No, he doesn't care. The girl behind the counter regards him with an impressive amount of equanimity.

At least Ginger's glances are also not flirtatious: curious, puzzled, infinitely embarrassed at being caught TWICE -- the second time, at least, she freezes, offering a weak smile before Ravn settles to block the view. The action earns him a curious, once more confused expression, but she settles for looking back down at her tea and having another quiet sip. "I was at least in the same family, so I suppose that's something." She attempts to joke, before lapsing into an embarrassed silence. Another tiny sip of tea.

Until that mangled call for a croissant has her smiling despite herself. "I always do enjoy hearing the ways different people say croissant, and other french words." She confides - and her own accent is natural, nigh-native. But after a hesitant pause, she leans forward, biting her lip before she asks, "D-do you know who the g-gentleman is who ordered? I-- I keep thinking his face looks r-rather familiar. Is he famous?" Only as he's Chief of Police, clearly.

"Croissant. Nah. I'll never convince anyone I'm French." Ravn looks in the direction of said gentleman and then breathes out slightly. No stalking husbands, no angry boyfriends, no -- anything that might end in an unpleasant scene in which he somehow got to be the middle bit.

"Yes. Yes, I do -- well, I know who he is, I don't know him. That's Captain de la Vega. Gray Harbor police." He nods in de la Vega's direction in the manner of someone who doesn't really expect much in terms of acknowledgement but wants to be polite all the same.

Pastry ordered and received, de la Vega withdraws from the counter, almost comical looking with that fancy little glass plate and all his tattooed, prowlish, rough trade self. He takes a detour back to his table to stop by Ginger's, and raps on it with two knuckles. "Ravn Abildgaard, right?" He mangles that horribly, too. Even horribly-er, if that's possible. He doesn't smile, but he looks like he wants to. "Who's your friend?" His dark eyes rake over the girl with open curiosity, and without a lick of manners.

"It c-could use a bit of work." Ginger says, ducking her head to hide the smile that forms, lest Ravn think she's teasing. She looks up again at the new information Ravn provides, however, and her nervousness seems to just-- evaporate into nowhere. Police Captain. The good guys! Her smile softens - though her blush doesn't. It's clear from her face - a very expressive face that just gives everything away - that she's probably kicking herself for any unintended stereotyping or concerns she had. "Oh! Captain, no wond--"

And then he's approaching, and rapping on the table, and Ginger immediately straightens, looking up with wide-eyes again. But it's more the surprise of the rapping than anything, and soon she's offering Ruiz that same polite, warm smile. "H-hello. I'm G-ginger. Ginger Johanssen Lovage-V-vydal, but that's always a bit of a m-mouthful, Ginger is fine. Or Mrs. Johanssen if you're formal, but r-really, I'm very used t-t-to just Ginger."

She clutches her teacup tightly with both hands before she offers Ruiz her hand for shaking. It's a quick bracing before offering her hand, something easily missed but present. "I-I've actually only just met Mr. Abildgaard."

"Close enough, and better than my Spanish any day," Ravn returns with a small smile. He shuffles his laptop to the side in what might easily be an invitation for the other man to take a seat -- at least there's space for his croissant now, however one chooses to pronounce it. "Ravn is fine. Mr Abildgaard is what it says on my father's headstone, or the sound my lawyer makes at me when he yells at me on the phone. I'll use Ginger, if that's all right. We don't really use last names where I'm from unless we're being very formal or very pissed off, and I'm still trying to get used to the American usage."

People stereotype him all the time, he's probably well accustomed to it by now. Build the wall, and fucking pigs and so on and so forth. "Ravn," he tries on for size, watching the other man for a moment or two before swapping the plate to his left hand and offering his right for Ginger to shake. It's rough and scarred in an odd, grooved pattern along the palm. Heavily tattooed along the back of his hand, all the way up to the first knuckles. His grip is firm, warm, though not overpowering. "Javier," is offered in kind, in lieu of his own full name. HAVE-ee-yay is how he pronounces it. "You must be related to, uh, Vyvyan? The owner." Of this place, naturally.

Ginger accepts the handshake, her own hand soft - the sort of soft that implies desk work and hand lotions all her life. The wedding ring is the only exception, as warm as the rest of her. She attempts a firm grip of her own. It's not entirely convincing. "J-javier. I'll remember." And she manages to pronounce it fairly accuratedly! More french than Spanish, but at least not 'have-year.' "I grew up w-with surnames, but I ended up w-with such a big one it's always nice w-when I can downgrade." She admits, taking her hand back as soon as possible...without being rude. But she does brighten at Ruiz's query. "Yes! D-do you know Vyvvy-- Vyv." She corrects herself. "We're c-cousins. He w-was always more Cory's -- my sister, Coriander's -- playmate, but he was one of my favorite c-cousins."

Ravn curls his fingers around his teacup -- a plain Irish Cream with two drops of milk and a bit of sugar because somebody is honestly a rather vanilla boy when it comes to tea. Ginger's observation about big surnames net her a surprised quirk of an eyebrow and then a nod of understanding. "Names can carry a lot of weight, can't they."

It's not a question as much as just an observation. The Dane seems perfectly content to warm his gloved hands on his tea and simply breathe in the atmosphere of the place. A little posher than most places he seeks out voluntarily. A little less crowded. And best of all? No bloody paparazzi or people asking him to sign autographs -- or their tits. His face brightens slightly at that thought. Thank god it's over.

A more socially savvy person would likely have pulled up a chair by now, but Javier sort of.. stands there, awkwardly, in his suit and tie, like the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing. He glances at his watch, grimaces slightly at the fact that the fucking lawyer is half an hour late, and goes to grab his phone. He responds to Ginger while composing a message, "Vyv? Uh. Yeah, I guess you might say I know him. He pitched a shitfit at me once." Meanwhile, he's busy telling the high flying lawyer where he can shove it. Hopefully with a few more euphemisms. "You French or something? Your accent's not bad." Ravn's drink is given some side-eye; and the man himself, a judgemental glance.

Ginger's jaw drops at the knowledge of how Ruiz and Vyv are acquainted. "Vyvvy--" She says- almost squeaks - her surprise raising the register of her voice before she stops, clamps her mouth shut, wide-eyed... and then closes her eyes and sighs. Deeply, while shaking her head. "W-well. I'm s-sorry if you didn't d-deserve as much pitching as you r-received." She says, biting her lower lip but not looking as if she's going to reject this outside the realm of possibility. "W-was it about anything important?" Ginger asks a bit hesitantly - reaching for the small teapot, opening to check the level of tea before she refreshes her cup. Her own tea is a curious yellow-green hue, gently steaming. "Grandmere is French, and she was insistent we all know how to s-speak properly." A fond, somewhat exasperated half-smile at the memory.

There's a small little half-smile towards Ravn at the idea of names carrying weight, but she doesn't expand on it. Just sees him having a Tea Moment(tm) (she assumes) and instead looks back at Ruiz, her eyes falling to his phone curiously. He's a busy man! As expected of the Police Captain. "D-do you need to go? You're welcome to sit, if you like." She offers, though there's all these empty chairs everywhere else.

Ravn in turn quirks one copper eyebrow at the look from the police captain. Then he looks back to his tea and places it on the table, next to his laptop. He dips into a pocket and rather absentmindedly procures a small coin of some foreign denomination; moments later it's weaving an intricate late little dance between gloved fingers in a fashion that probably is a dead give-away that somebody ought to go buy himself a fidget spinner instead. At least it's a little less distracting and makes less noise. "Please, do," he murmurs. "I'm just --"

Working, probably. At least he looks to the laptop which is helpfully blinking its request for a password. He taps it in with his right hand, coin still dancing on the left.

The police captain, thankfully, is merely an empath of no small skill and not a literal mind reader, or he might be liable to lift the password right off Ravn, with the way he's looking at him. The coin, too, is observed for a moment or three, and then he finishes composing his message, shoves the phone into a pocket of his pants, and goes to fetch his to-go cup of tea (which to-went nowhere) and another chair. The latter's dragged over, spun around, and he settles in with spread knees and a solid thunk of his plate making contact with the table.

"Don't worry about it," he tells Ginger, belatedly. "I was giving him shit, too. It was a mutual shit-giving. He seems like a decent guy, though, if in need of chilling the fuck out." Speaking of which, he's about -><- this close to asking Ravn why he's trying to get work done in a pastry shop. The question's sitting there on the tip of his tongue. He takes a bite of his croissant, instead.

Obviously it's because the sugar's good for your brain, Ruiz! Brains love glucose. Or something. And really, who isn't thankful Ruiz isn't a mind-reader? Even he should be thankful, consider the well-hidden but rather... let's go with neurodiverse table he's joined. Ginger darts a glance towards Ravn and his coin, but she says nothing about it, instead turning her teacup in hand - it's a fancy one, with no handles. She does use the moment everyone is technologically focused to check her own tablet, picking up the stylus to tap away some notes and sort out this or that in the settings. Ginger seems to be becoming more used to the loud noises, too, as she only turns in the direction of the thunk, without startling as much as previously.

There's a relieved smile when Ruiz clarifies the situation involving him and Vyv, "That's good. And y-yes, Vyv is quite good." She grins, hiding her smile once again by looking down while she sips her tea. "He's... well, h-he's actually sort of middling, in our family." She says to Ruiz-- apologetically, even. "And he's kind about helping me relax when I need to. I can be... a b-bit particular about things, myself."

The Dane may be keeping his attention to himself outwardly but he's got at least some of that keen spatial awareness often associated with the kind of people other people around here call movers. While never quite meeting the captain's gaze he nonetheless picks up on the unspoken question -- or at least what he thinks is the unspoken question. "I need to submit some texts -- but the wi-fi in the Marina is horrific." His tone is a little apologetic -- some people might absolutely think it rude to fiddle with a computer in front of other people.

His background screen picture is some old, posh house; maybe he's into architecture. Either way the Dane opens an ftp transfer client and -- well, lets it do what it does, shuffling files from his machine to somewhere in cyberspace.

Javier likely knows a thing or two about movers, being involved with not one, but two of them. He fidgets at the lid of his cup absently with a thumb; his knuckles are a little scratched up, though starting to heal over, and the juxtaposition of this along with his current attire is.. perhaps a little jarring. He doesn't ask about the texts, or comment at all on the unspoken apology. Just that steady watchfulness, and maybe it's a little disconcerting to have the town's acting Chief of Police staring you down from a foot away while you transfer perfectly legitimate files to some remote server. Or maybe it isn't. Eventually, he takes a sip of his tea, and then another bite of his croissant, and his eyes rove back to Ginger.

"Nothing wrong with that. Some things are worth being particular about." And then, inexplicably perhaps, it's his turn to look apologetic. For what? "You, uh." He runs his tonguetip along his lower lip thoughtfully. "You mind if I..?" Words. What are words? He taps his temple with two inked fingers.

"I've only w-walked the marina: do you work there?" Ginger asks curiously-- then notices he's ever so focused on his work and bites her lower lip, chewing it a moment before she's distracted by Javier. "Hm?" She asks, turning to look at him with a puzzled expression. His tapping at his forehead only makes her look... more confused. "Er...sorry...? Oh! Oh, of c-course." Ginger says, looking momentarily flustered. "If you need a m-minute to think, that's perfectly fine!" She assures, smiling in what she hopes is reassurance but is really more nervous second-guessing of her manners this whole conversation. "I can go b-back to reviewing data, really, I'm terrible at conversation so th-this would be a good break." She both overpromises and overshares, reaching to grip her tablet in both hands and hold it up. See, Javier? See? She's not lying! It's fine! Have all the time you need to think.

Ravn looks up, clearly a little surprised that a question was directed his way. "Oh -- no, I live there. On a sail boat, that is. I have to go up to town if I want to send anything larger than a text message, the wi-fi falls out all the time."

He glances at the police captain and then at Ginger, and then back, probably having caught at least some of that temple tapping gesture and looks exchange. "I'm absolutely interrupting a conversation here, aren't I. Please carry on. I didn't mean to do anything but find tea and wi-fi, and I can definitely do that from another table."

Ginger, now holding her tablet in her arm and setting her tea down to grab her stylus, looks towards Ravn and blinks, before she shakes her head firmly, "No, of course not! I did mean for you to be part of the conversation." Ginger says, keeping her voice low, lower lip catching in her teeth again as she chews. The hand holding the stylus taps lightly against her own knee, the taps... patterned? A particular sequence in a particular shape. "Unl-l-less you d-didn't want to be. I'm s-so sorry. " She keeps her voice a whisper, leaning in Ravn's direction so Ruiz can have his moment to concentrate.

Tapping. In patterns. Stimming. Ravn glances at Ginger, suddenly understanding a bit more of what's going on there. He's taught students like that. People who needed to tap. There is coursework you have to do before you're allowed even a TA spot, covering this. This is what fidget spinners were invented for.

Or Euro cents.

"No, I -- have a talent, it seems, for being at the right place at the wrong time," Ravn says quietly. "And the last days have been a little hectic. Gray Harbor is very... Gray Harbor at me lately. Though it's not all bad, at least people stopped thinking I'm some kind of celebrity."

Whatever Ravn is saying is clearly very confusing for Ginger. Her bafflement is positively legible on her face, blankly confused. "Celebrity...?" She wonders, brows furrowing together. The stylus taps slow slightly, but not stop. They only become more measured. "Did something l-large happen? I've only-- well, I b-bought an apartment m-months ago but I had some w-work outside of the country. I've only recently returned." Her tone is apologetic: one can almost hear the verbal cringing. "So I-- well, I don't know... what's happened.. locally. That is." Ginger bites her lower lip again, looking down at the table. "B-but I'm sorry it w-was hard. Do you-- Vyvvy's s-sweets are very good. Do you w-want one? My t-treat."

"No," the Dane hurries to clarify. "I'm not a celebrity. I am definitely not a celebrity. People thought I were for some reason. It created a lot of trouble for other people. I'm very glad it's over. Some of the gossip rags were getting... bad. The sort of bad that leads to people getting divorces or drug charges. I'm a little on edge because of it, but it's over."

Ravn offers the woman a lopsided smile, one that probably takes a bit of effort considering that one of those rumours involved him making out with the boyfriend of the police captain sitting on the next chair. "Thank you, but I am actually not very fond of cakes. Please don't tell Vyv -- I don't want to break his heart. Or have him break my fingers," he adds, in some weak attempt to restore a semblance of humour.

The police captain, in the meantime, had to handle what appeared to be a very important (and aggravating) phonecall involving said high flying lawyer. Who was very sorry, but got held up on the I-5 and could we reschedule for tomorrow. After a brief conversation punctuated by an expletive in Spanish after he's (hopefully) hung up, Javier settles back down. And even remembers not to thump his phone onto the table, and startle Ginger.

"You know I don't mind if he fucks other people, right?" Itzhak. He's probably talking about Itzhak. Though he's looking at Ravn when he says it, with that characteristic aplomb of his. A bite is taken out of his croissant, flakes dusted out of his beard as he chews and swallows, then finally gets around to responding to Ginger, "I meant that I could.. talk to you. In here. If it helped." And then he does actually smile. Brief; it dimples his cheek and sketches crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

The conversation with Ravn does have Ginger slowly edging away from the contained nervousness of before, though this only shows in a touch of untensing and a sympathetic nod towards Ravn, "Oh. Gossip is very troubling, sometimes. Especially if it involves you." She agrees, smiling ruefully. The smile turns more sincere as Ruiz returns, but then there's a series of rapid blinks at the sudden talk of fucks going on. A hand rises, fingertips covering her mouth as she points towards Ravn and then Javier, apparently having decided to mainly link "break his heart" and Javier's sudden commentary in her mind as one conversational item, "Y-you... you're both dating Vyv?"

Her eyes are so wide, right now. So. Wide.

"Oh! Or-- exes?" A flinch as she looks towards Ruiz and Ravn, "Oh, I'm s-so sorry, I wasn't aware. I hope-- umm, really it's n-none of my business, I don't really know much about Vyvvy's love life, I had n-no idea, oh no," She pales, "D-did I bring up bad memories? I'm so sorry!"

Mention unpleasant rumours in vague terms, have somebody get very specific. Ravn blinks. First at the police captain. Then at Ginger. Then at both. The last one takes effort.

Then he takes a breath; the coin stops dancing and comes to rest on the back of a gloved hand. "I'm not dating Vyv Vydal. I am pretty certain Vyv Vydal is not on the market for dating in the first place. I'm not dating. Or fucking. Anyone. And this is exactly why I have had it with gossip magazines and newshounds."

Hey, Javier's not a man to beat around the bush. Information dispensed, he returns to his tea and his overpriced croissant, Ginger given a quizzical look when she implies he might be dating Vyv. Or have dated him. Ravn and the cook together is one thing, but the surly, tattooed Mexican? Surely Vyv's tastes don't quite run in that direction.

"No," he offers flatly, and then waits to see if his earlier offer will be accepted.

Ginger is still looking wide-eyed at the two, face crumpling - just a touch - with concern while she tries to process sudden information. Her hands reach out to adjust her tablet along the table, sort the tea cup and the small tea pot and the stylus, then adjust them in another way. "I-- you just mentioned Vyv and a broken heart, and Javier--" A glance between the two, as Ginger timidly reveals the point at which these two threw her for a loop. She ducks her head now, fidgeting more with the stylus as she taps it quietly in one direction, then another, trying, apparently, to perfectly center it between the table's edge and the tablet, reviewing the conversation before finally saying - rather meekly - "I m-must have misunderstood something." A look up, a weak smile for the pair, "Sorry, I just-- well, I thought-- err. Well. I, I often come to the patisserie. Sometimes if I'm bored I play with the tea blends. You're always welcome to s-stop by, Javier, so long as Vyv has no problem with it."

Hyacinth walks in like someone is about to lose their soul. There is a withering look issued that would make the Devil's balls crawl up into his body and pray for mercy. The sunglasses are slid down to half mast to the individual with their phone. If the tone grows any colder Vyv will have to replace his front window. "One word out of you right now and I will find where you work, buy it, and fire you from it. With a canon. Into the harbor." That's one way to deal with paparazzi.

Glasses slid up the woman in the white sundress and white spiral banister leg comes in with a measured gait and doesn't even let the crumb catcher ask before she says 'Yes, that." She's done this before, and thankfully the counter service knows how to keep things happy. Turning to the gathered she takes a slow deep breath greeting, "Ginger, hello. Ravn." There is a faint smile, "Captain. How are we?" The eyebrow arches as the sunglasses come off and fold. Is she 'on' all the time? Likely and probably because of pre-pubescent twits chasing her with phone cameras. Something something hashtag Revisionist problems. It's Ginger that gets her attention and then Ruiz and then back with a wry grin, "Trust me if those two ever consorted I'd have deets. I think he means lack of care for cake." Looking to Ravn she says "Scones. They don't taste all callorie-y. Quite nice."

"... Yes. Yes, I meant, please don't break Vyv's heart by telling him I'm not very fond of his cakes." Ravn takes another deep breath. "Sorry. I shouldn't snap at people. It's just, Vyv would be the fifth person in less than forty-eight hours that I'm apparently having sex with, except no one told me. It's getting very annoying. Particularly the one version which the other person was not consenting -- I'm going to have nightmares about that one for weeks. Seriously. My sex life is the most boring topic of conversation on the bloody planet. Now let's talk about tea. Or the weather. Anything interesting."

Javier's apparently not been in the loop on Ravn's sex life, and the perseveration thereupon. His brows come up a fraction when Vyv's mentioned, and.. hell, it's probably better he keep his mouth shut, because his own reputation likely precedes him here. The swath he's cut through this town's female population is best left unmentioned.

He clears his throat, and looks up as a familiar gait signals Hyacinth's approach. Because what day isn't made better by an Addington? "Hola," he greets in a low murmur around the rim of his tea, and slurps at it noisily. "We're fucking fine, last we checked." He chooses to ignore the bit about consorting with Vyv. "You look like you're on the warpath. Who pissed in your cheerios?"

Poor Ginger looked as if she desperately wanted to hide beneath the table-- but luckily, there's a Hyacinth approaching! "H-hyacinth!" Ginger says, looking just a touch relieved, offering a smile... that falters when she notices the other woman's mood. She reaches a hand for the stylus again-- but sets it back down as Hyacinth's mood seems to improve. "It's l-lovely to see you again." Ginger doesn't look surprised Hyacinth knows everyone else here: one comes to accept these things. She does cast one more guilty look towards Ravn before looking away quickly, down to her hands. And begins adjusting the tablet and stylus once more. It's not lined up /right/. She does offer a, "He makes s-savory scones, you know. They're very good. I c-could bring you a box next time he m-makes them." As a peace offering/apology.

Hyacinth takes a deep breath, holds is, and in decent Mexican Spanish punctuated by her ever imperious posture retorts to him, "Hola. Que onda?" At the question of her and a warpath the smile warms and no doubt has serrated teeth behind it. "Your favourite person." Yes. Him. Her mood that is, is not, however, directed to the table. And Ginger is family. Well...she's Vyv's family so Hya seems to have effortless approval, nay fondness for the woman. "I was happy with the apricot one." Looking back to Ravn she accepts her tea and said cherry scone today. Iiiinteresting! "So your fantasy life has exceeded your real life? I should get you a membership card. Welcome to fame doom."

Ravn looks at the Euro cent still sitting on the back of his left hand. It's copper red the way those coins are. Its denomination labels it as being of German origin, not that this means anything but design cosmetics. He picks it up with his right hand and carefully tucks it into a pocket in his leather jacket. Then he reaches for his tea cup, holding it in both hands, balancing the rapidly cooling tea carefully so that its surface is perfectly horisontal. When he does reply to Ginger's inquiry his voice is quiet; the woman's spooked enough as is. "I'm sure Vyv's products are very good. I'll be sure to try the scones in time. I don't really have much appetite at the moment, though, and that would not be fair to them."

He looks back to Hyacinth. "Honestly, I don't want to hear any more about it. The -- Revisionist? They changed things. I'm a ridiculous foreign fool breeding combat seafood now. It suits me fine. No one gets hurt, people can laugh at me all they like, situation back to normal. As soon as people stop thinking I tripped their partners, anyhow."

Ravn's agreement to accepting future scones relaxes Ginger somewhat, and she exhales-- but she's still fussing with her portion of the table. Tablet, stylus, the tea cup and the tea pot - she's finished the tea in the teapot, pouring it all out, and has settled it directly in front of her, towards hte center of the table. The cup is placed directly in front of it. Tablet. Stylus. Despite it looking VERY orderly-- Ginger apparently isn't satisfied, fussing continuously. "The Revisionist?" Look at Ginger, look how very confused she looks - enough she actually looks up. "Is-- that a tabloid writer? The one creating all this gossip?" She asks tentatively as she looks from Hyacinth to Ravn.

Hyacinth arches an eyebrow at the trials Ravn is going through. "You have plans later because it sounds like we should be taking a trip to topple a mini bar." She leans to the side so the Captain (nee whatever) can move to take his call. Looking back she sits, uninvited and un-needing of invite to make herself comfortable. Purse goes on the back of her chair. "I've been informed that I got marries to the man who eloquently turned me down on my birthday, who is near and dear to me, and is seeing someone else so my work is now entirely overshadowed with someone else's sex life I get to hear about in stereo. SO. You. are. in excellent company." Her finger wiggles, "Eat. Drink. Just remember yooooou are better than those that stoop to 'scandal'. I mean it though, don't plan anything later." Looking back to Ginger she smiles, "it is the one causing all the gossip. I mean it worked out alright for some. I don't mind a successful actress doing my hair, so." There's that! That's a thing right?

Ravn winces at Hyacinth, still holding his teacup. "Can't say I envy you. This whole rumour thing has been pretty rough on the people who get singled out for public attention. Pretty sure the poor girl with the thirteen kids is still the one who's been hit the hardest. I think what I'm really struggling with the most is the idea that I roofied a girl. If there's another sunken yacht in the Marina tomorrow I absolutely had nothing to do with it, and the hull seal will definitely not occupy a place of honour on my nightstand."

Ginger's fingers fidget a little less as things are put in order in front of her, and her hands go to her lap. Then up to her hair, carefully brushing through the strands and fixing her bangs with her fingertips. Then her hands are back in her lap, as she looks back up towards Ravn and Hyacinth, brow furrowing, "Those are terrible. And so hurtful. Is there a fund to s-sue them for slander?" She frets, looking so concerned. Her hand even reaches out to offer Hyacinth a little hand-squeeze, if the woman is willing. Poor Hyacinth! Ravn, a stranger more or less, gets a deeply sympathetic look, but she does add, "Property damage isn't ideal. I'm s-sure there are other ways."

"I'm not going to sink any boats," Ravn murmurs as a reassurance even as he lifts the teacup (only to realise that once again, he's let a perfectly innocent hot beverage go cold). "I'm sure as hell going to fantasize about it, though. Their names are Bunny and Herschel, and they've spent the last week watching me in the hope of getting another story to sell. I would shed some very dry tears if something was to convince them they need to go home to Olympia now."

Hyacinth turns over her hand to give Ginger's a squeeze in return. Hya doesn't do pity but she will do commiseration and earnest intent. There is a pause though and her eyes get larger and Ravn gets a curious look. "Did they... harm your floating abode... flobode? Schooner?" There that word works. Those green eyes narrow jsut a titch. "You know that's home invasion, destruction of property, littering, and an environmental fine to the harbor. Who are these people?"

Ruiz has been distracted, once again, with his phone. It likely surprises no-one, the number of people on any given day trying to get in touch with the (acting) Chief of Police. This particular conversation was conducted in rapid Spanish while he paced by the window, and as he hangs up, the man grumbles something to himself about needing a fucking vacation in the Bahamas.

For Hyacinth's edification, he's dressed today in a rather fetching combination of a button-down shirt, tailored trousers and suit jacket, and striped tie that he keeps adjusting every so often to not pinch his throat. The jacket presently comes off, since the meeting with the lawyer's clearly not happening, and is draped across the back of his chair. The sleeves of his shirt are turned up with brisk, agitated motions, as if he can't bear the sensation of anything touching his wrists for a moment longer. And he studies Ginger across the table throughout this entire ritual, as he settles back into his seat.

Ruiz gets a smile at his return, but Ginger's attention flits back to Hyacinth, "I th-think it's more he's imagining d-doing it to them. Especially if they were h-hired by that rumormonger." Who uses words like 'rumormonger'? Ginger does. "P-perhaps you can get some sort of restraining order? Or move your b-boat. Is there a different place to set it?" She looks at Ravn, a touch embarrassed, "I d-don't know much about boats. Saffron - m-my brother - he's the yacht person. And c-cars, and planes. He enjoys fast v-vehicles."

Ravn shakes his head. "It doesn't matter now. The story has been changed. The tabloids never printed those stories. It all never happened. And Herschel and Bunny saw nothing though they probably wonder how much seafood one Danish guy can possibly eat, and why all sorts of blokes turn up on his boat three nights a week mumbling about how the first rule of Lobster Fight Club is that you don't talk about Lobster Fight Club."

With a slightly exasperated smile as he closes up the laptop the Dane adds, "It's certainly better this way. I think my file transfer is done, though. And I -- need to get to the library for a book on crustacean care. I'll see you later, Hyacinth?"

She did talk about a minibar. There are things to be said in favour of minibars. Coping mechanisms, indeed. The Dane stands. "Try to stay on top of things," he murmurs to all and none in particular as he heads out.

Hyacinth tilts her head and says to Ravn, "Tryiiing. I'll look into the Hershey and Bunny thing. Get me addresses." They who live by the ordinance shall die by the ordinance. but hey, the ice queen is willing to do a favor? Not bad.

Ruiz sits and one sparkly manicured hand gives the cop a pat pat on his arm. "Sit. We'll hide you." Looking to Ginger her expression softens. "Awww you all have matching names too! My sister and I are both named after plants. Father lied and told mum that 'Vincenzo' was an Italian grapevine. We didn't have Wikipedia." There's a wry smile there as she breaks apart her cherry scone, "Soooo yes. The REvisionist is someone that is apparently making life more exciting that writes for a tabloid with substantial influence. No doubt thinking they are helping and... well... Everyone keeps reminding me of what I don't have but they think it's real so I'm going to ride that horse til it's dead. I earned it but... it's tiring to be honest. Could be worse. I could be remembered as being flippant and useless."

Javier's eyes travel slooooowly to the manicured hand that lands on his arm. Then tick up to the woman who owns it, midway through turning up one of the cuffs of his shirt. He resumes the motion a moment later, and reaches for the remnants of his croissant, shoving it into his mouth with approximately zero delicacy. And then resumes his study of the younger woman across from him while he chews and swallows. "The Revisionist?" he repeats, brows furrowing slightly, though he doesn't look away from Ginger. "Let me guess, more Gray Harbour bullshit."

Ginger smiles at Hyacinth, nodding and taking back her hand. "Y-yes. My mother's name was R-rosemary. So we're Basil, C-coriander, Saffron, and me, G-ginger." Her hands are still in her lap. Her eyes roam back to items in front of her, so very neatly aligned-- but then Ginger seems to stiffen, eyes widening, her hands balling into fists on her lap. "Yes." She manages, sounding very distracted. "B-being useless. Is bad." Ginger doesn't seem all that... present... however. Instead, her hands suddenly reach out towards the things on the table - there's a plate, a teapot, two tea cups, a tablet, a stylus. And, apparently, their set up bothers Ginger. Because she half-rises from her seat and picks up Ravn's tea cup to set near her own and (rudely) takes Javier's plate with a mumbled, "S-sorry," setting the cups and plates and teapot together, all surrounding the plate, all on one side, and putting the tablet and the stylus on the other side of the table. And then looking at it all, unhappy, before she reaches to try a new order, "The cups aren't the same, and there's two, but there's no s-symmetry with just two..."

Ruiz's phone rings again, and he checks the number before murmuring to his companions, "Lo siento, I've got to take this." Then he pulls to his feet, touches Hyacinth's shoulder on his way by, and pauses to murmur something in Ginger's ear. His jacket's collected on his way out the door, and he doesn't return.

Hyacinth gives Ruiz a glance on the sly, "Yes. MOre of-" and his phone rings and there's an understanding nod. "That. Precicely that. Aren't we glad wewrok for the city?" Oh the dry humor of it, but still, the seat will be held.

Attention torns to the array of tiny things, Ginger's hands, and then Ginger with a small sigh. Does she pick up on her nervous tic? "I swear if you are ever looking for work I would give my left leg to have an assistant with your attention to detail." There's a pause and she admits frankly, "I mean I have several more and might jsut make a new one, but I'd give up one of them for certain." How often can one say that unironically? There's a pause and she holds up a finger making the commere gesture. "Another tea. Another scone for...there." It's not a question. the gratitude is implied. "Appreciated, thank you." She looks to Ginger. There. four AND she gets another tea out of it and the table need not be lopsided.

Ginger does actually look-- genuinely upset about the state of the table. She even picks up her tablet and, for a moment, looks at the tablet and then the trash can with a considering look.

It's a very nice tablet. Business model for sure. Sleek and useful. The pause is enough that Javier has a chance to whisper something to her, and she turns her face, looking towards him with confusion and concern, watching him leave with both hands still holding the tablet. And then looking to teh trash again, before she finally decides to put the tablet on the floor. Beneath the table. There, right in the center. And when she pops up again, Hyacinth has already ordered new dishes, and earns a very grateful look from Ginger. "Th-thank you. I-- I can't go until it's fixed." She says in a somewhat helpless tone. "It's simply not right at the moment. I need to go home once it is, but I c-can't until it looks right. Symmetry and angles and numbers. And I can't get rid of any of it." Ginger explains the arbitrary rules to Hyacinth, shifting her weight from one side to the other while waiting for the new cups and treats. "I h-hope you don't give up one of your legs. They're very p-pretty, of the ones I've seen. And-- well, an assistant with my c-credentials may be even more expensive." Said apologetically. Honestly apologetically... and a little distressed, perhaps, that she doesn't have better news. Her hands clench the sides of her dress, release, clench again. There may be wrinkles later.

Hyacinth watches with a balanced curiosity. "Lovely, I'm an architect first. You need not explain it to me. It matters. It very, very much matters." She leaves the saucer and sips her tea and has a mercy to leave the handle matching the position of the others. "I still chair the zoning commission, I have my own business, and am now also the active CEO of the largest lumber utility int eh Pacific Northwest. Money is the least of my concerns. That the city is off and people think cutting corners leaving the state of things lopsided? This very much matters." In a rare show of being completely patient she admits, "I've set my own art on fire because it was out of balance and started over. I've tried the same with people who decide that just 'whatever' is acceptable...but I've been asked to stop wishing this on people." THERE is now a sigh a bit put upon. "Turns out I don't have the ability to set people on fire with my mind, but I am a perfectionist. I get it."

Hyacinth's words flow over Ginger, who is trying to pay attention-- but also waiting eagerly for the server to come with the extra items. Except Hyacinth then says something which has Ginger looking at her in horror. "F-f-fire? But then you can't put it right anymore." She says, one hand over her chest, fingers curling over the blouse material there. It's a genuinely distressing thought for Ginger-- but luckily, the person arrives, and Ginger's eyes automatically focus solely on the person putting the items on the table-- only when they do does she take the items and arrange them quite particularly between herself and Hyacinth. Everything else is left momentarily as is, thrown a despairing, waiting glance, but Ginger forces herself to sit back down, looking at Hyacinth expectantly. After all, some of it is fresh food. It has to be emptied, so she can order the table. "I d-didn't realize you had so much to d-do. It m-must be tiring."

Hyacinth picks at her scone and says to the beloved crumb caretaker at the counter, "I'm going to need one of those little boxes for that. That would be amazing." Oh yay people not needing to be asked twice! And whoever said putting the fear of Vyv into someone isn't an effective management tool has clearly never dined here. "Helping a city achieve perfection should be exhausting. If it's not I question if that person saying so really cares. Still, you have a gift. " There's a pause and the iron Addington muses, "This does bring into question about zen gardening. Hmmmm... " The box is brought and the added bits are added into the box so the table... is it balanced? It's empty but for the plates.

Empty plates! Finally. Everything is in the correct state, and Ginger half-rises from her chair like someone blew a whistle for a race, her hands taking in the surface, brushing off any errant crumbs, and then ordering everything on the table. Nothing in the center - well, the tablet is, beneath the table - but the cups are arranged just so around the plates, which are each just-off center to add symmetry. The teapot is placed directly above the plates, the cups on either side of the plate - and all of this doesn't happen quickly, because Ginger spends her time shifting each plate, shifting positions, eyeing things and then fidgeting with them until - finally! - things are just so. Once she's done, she exhales breathily, flexing her fingers - hands maybe a bit shaky, and Ginger herself a bit pale. Crouching, she reaches down to pick up her tablet, "I'm g-going to need to clean my house tonight." She says absently, before looking at Hyacinth and grimacing, "Too much sand in Zen gardening. You c-can't precisely control for it. I'm always p-paranoid one side is more lopsided or not curved enough. And since I never finish, it-- it's better if I find things to finish." Ginger admits, looking down, heavy bangs mostly covering her face. "It's n-not really a gift, however. It's just an exceptional personal characteristic, being a little particular about th-things." 'A little.' An apologetic look at Hyacinth, "I h-have to go home now." She leans in for a parting air-kiss on each cheek, because Hyacinth is family enough for it - once per cheek. Sure, three is the proper french way, but Ginger is only part french, and all her own mess of diagnoses.