2020-10-13 - Social Strata

Today, Ravn Abildgaard is wearing a scarf. Nothing unusual in that on a cold, rainy autumn day. What's unusual is that the scarf is a dark shade of purple, rather than black. For him, that's practically a change of the world order.

The copper blond Dane strolls into the Patisserie with his hands deep in his pockets, water dripping from the tussled mess he calls hair; at least he has the decency to shake himself off in the doorway before dripping up the place. He looks around and tries to establish whether he got here a little early or the two people he's supposed to meet for lunch have arrived yet -- and at the same time, he smiles a little at himself for agreeing to that lunch date. Vyv Vydal and Hyacinth Addington. The kind of people that he normally would avoid like the plague. Just, he happens to like them both. Both of them are the kind of people he considers to be Society. They're just not assholes about it.

Hyacinth is already there with her fabulous, fancy, fabricated ass parked at the Patisserie. There's a small beverage (she didn't inquire about and received) and a small pastry she's not bothering to identify as anything but 'mine'. Is there ever a time she's not put together? No. She's got an outfit for carpentry you can believe. Hair done, nails on point. Finger in a bandage?! Manicuring incident maybe?

Fingers flit in a 'hullo' greeting then a hand flapping at where to sit. There. Right there. "Oh good you are here." Shaking her head she elaborates quite conversationally, "The new assist I'm not particular caring for said woman. I told her Being abjectly terrifying is a good way to filter out the weak of purpose." The smile though is still fond and not showing sharp teeth. "Loving the scarf. How are you? Dare I ask about underwater lobster battles or are we past that?"

There are all sorts of tells suggesting that Vyv is not PNW born and bred, one of which is on display as he approaches: he's walking through that rain out there with an umbrella. And because of that, despite taking care with where he steps so that his shoes aren't spoilt by a puddle, when he steps inside his hair and indeed the majority of him overall remains dry. The umbrella, of course, does not, and he pauses in the doorway to give it a good shake off as he closes it. Carmen at the counter lightly elbows Daniel, who seems to have sort of just zoned out for the last few minutes of nothing-particular-to-do, and he jumps slightly, looking around for something to be doing aside from Looking Decorative. To be fair, that may well low-key be part of his responsibilities, and he does do it admirably. The bright "Good afternoon!" Carmen had for Hyacinth and then for Ravn gets reprised, this time with a quieter male echo. Vyv looks their way appraisingly as he approaches the counter, and passes Carmen the brolly to, apparently, be kept back there. A couple seconds of discussion, and then he turns to head toward Hya and Ravn while a little bit of fuss starts up behind the counter.

Vyv slides off his camel coat as he nears, revealing a three-piece suit in a gun club check, with a pale blue shirt and chocolate silk tie. Today's pocket square is pale blue as well, the accessories quite plain to balance the fabric of the suit. The pair get a small smile as he reaches them, and leans over to give Hyacinth the traditional air-kisses before he claims himself a seat, draping the coat across the back of the upholstery as he settles elegantly onto the plush velvet. Dark blue, that one. Is it coincidental that it works with his outfit overall?

"Dipping a toe into colour, are we?" he inquires of Ravn, amused, "Suits you. Easy does it, I suppose, but by this time next year perhaps we'll see you as far as red or yellow. Or, dare one dream, perhaps even a paisley! You look lovely, Hya. What've you done to your finger, and does something need to pay?" This reminds him, and he gestures vaguely toward the counter, noting to Ravn, "Feel free to ask them for whatever you'd like, I've told them you're my guests today."

Ravn reaches up to touch his purple scarf -- and it really is a very dark shade of purple -- with gloved fingers. A bit sheepishly he murmurs, "Someone suggested to me that I might actually draw less attention by adding some colour. Apparently my -- look -- sends the wrong signals to at least some eyes. Either way, I went and bought a few scarves, that ought to take care of that. If I could ditch the fetish fodder gloves too, heaven knows I would."

He decides, eventually, on black coffee -- what a surprise -- and a slice of chocolate cake, the dark and bitter kind with raspberries for maximum tongue burning tart, before settling properly. "The lobster thing... It's still going, sure. I seem to be stuck with it. This is my life now? I'm... not thrilled about it, but no one is getting hurt. No one ends up with their name and picture plastered all over the morning papers or needing to have an uncomfortable talk with their partner because of me. I am honestly quite happy about that. And maybe that kind of 'do no harm' is the best we can hope for?"

The Dane cuts a small bit of cake with his spoon and toys with it. "Everything seems a little gloomy this week. I was kind of hoping to hear you both talk art festival at me. Positive things. I think we all need a bit of that positivity right now, or maybe it's just me -- the dreams have been a tad unsettling lately, very personal."

It's now a point of discussion and Hya is judging it in her judgy judgy way.. Mmhmm. The world is not going to improve on its own. Her hand reaches out and in thoroughly uninvited capacity attempts to fix the scarf into a slightly more 'ideal' state. "Hold still." is the only warning he receives with the undercurrent of resistance is futile Her eyes squint with a nod and an actual smile. "Better. I like it." Her eyes carry that ever pleased expression in them to Vyv and says "Well then I will be certain to abuse it. hank you." Looking back to Ravn she gushes, "When you are ready to move into patterns talk to Vyv. Vyv is perfect if your attire needs to make a statement and Byron is the ideal source if you need to take over the world." So proud of him, really.

Taking a bite of her scone there is a mmhmm! and a nod of agreement. One finger carefully banishes a crumb on her lip and she updates. "Planning is going well. We're still looking for docents as our stage was destroyed last year. We are also investing in new decorations for downtown to build on the Venetian masquerade from last year. Need to find out where that's going to be held."

Vyv isn't about to disagree with at least half of Hyacinth's assertion: he is perfect if one's attire needs to make a statement. And judging by the head-tilt and slight narrowing of eyes, then hint of a nod, he agrees that her adjustment is indeed more ideal. A detail, but details matter. On the other hand, the assertion that Byron is the ideal source (sartorially speaking) if one wishes to take over the world gets a quiet "Enh," and small handwobble. No detail, just not a wholly resounding endorsement.

"Tried many other glove options?" he asks, sounding like idle curiosity, and there's a breath of a laugh for the 'lobster thing'. "I do have to give it points for originality," he says, "...and as you say, no one's harmed. The lobsters, perhaps. But that's really their own fault for being delicious. Seems worth the letter, overall." There's a quiet pleasedness there that has nothing to do with being brought a pot of tea and a pain au chocolat. One might notice there's no longer any sign of anyone fearing infestations today, and the leatherbound book of health inspections -- yes, he did it -- is no longer on the counter. Perhaps behind it.

He pours himself a cup of the tea, and spreads the linen napkin across his lap. "Is the colour scheme fully settled?" he inquires of Hyacinth, and adds to Ravn, "Bax's sidewalk art event will be part of the festivities. That ought to be worthwhile."

"I tried silk gloves because they're thinner. Latex gloves, for the same reason. And if you think black kidskin gloves send fetish messages to some people... Those who want to imagine certain things, will see those very things, but I'm not going to encourage them." Ravn winces at the memory; those were a couple of interesting weeks at Copenhagen U -- if you define interesting in the same way as the Chinese curse about living in interesting times, anyhow. "But apparently the scarf makes me look like a male model instead of like the angel of death. I suppose that's an improvement."

He lets that topic drop like the lead balloon that it is, and glances at Vyv. "You did it too, didn't you -- you sent that letter just like I did. What did the Revisionist set you up with instead? What are we remembering about you now that wasn't true until this week?"

Another bit of chocolate and raspberry cake gets dissected; one could get the impression that Ravn is a slender man in part because he really is more prone to picking food apart on the plate than to actually eating it. "Right. Let's talk festivals, then. Docents -- can't help you there. I don't know this town's history well enough to give guided tours or lectures on it. Pretty sure finding people who do will not be that hard, though -- small towns like this always have a group of older folks who love sharing stories of their wild youth when this was all fields. How are the finances? You mentioned Byron Thorne -- he's the resident millionaire, from what I gather? I don't know about taking over the world as such but I imagine that a town with a substantial number of well-of people residing in it shouldn't be struggling to raise funds for this sort of thing. Hell, I'll be happy to pitch in and I'm still just a tourist as far as most people are concerned."

Hyacinth admits, "I thought you were an author or a barista to be blunt. Then you started talking and I thought, hmmm no. But" her tone takes an upturn, "you sound lovely when you do speak and you're not an idiot escaped his village so you may continue." Aww is... that seems like a compliment in the most sweet-toned, bitchy, and approving way possible? Checks out and she moves onto the rest of the matters. Sipping her tea she says haughtily, "If it's not flattering it's not true." There's a pause and a side-glance to Vyv, "Except for making that one woman cry. Granted she was insufferable but, hmm." It's not a shrug so much an 'oh well' tip of her other hand before the small bite is popped into her mouth.

At the list of things she clarifies with the directness of a bullet. "People who like to hear themselves talk we have plenty of. To be blunt these things are not cheap and we're happy to put advertising all over, a good word, and so on, and so forth. Or volunteers." There's a pause ans she wonders curiously, "How are you at reading to children?" Suspicious leading question alert!

Yes, there's quite definitely a touch of amusement at the mental image of what sorts of reactions Ravn's other gloves might have received, but Vyv lets it drop, beyond noting on the male-model front, "I'm not entirely certain it's the gloves."

A sip of the tea as he finishes settling comfortably, and again, he looks quietly pleased. "Nothing," he answers, "At least, nothing I've found as yet. No one's reacted oddly to anything, nor have I overheard any unusual remarks... if anything else has changed, it appears to be quite subtle. Very kind of her," the slightest question in that tone; he's not entirely sure why he feels that's the right pronoun, and yet, "unless I've just somehow missed it. But if I have... it still seems to be an improvement. Perhaps I ought to send a thank-you note."

Taking a bite of his pastry (as with the others, well-balanced and not over-sweet), he inclines his head in agreement with Hyacinth's decree of 'may talk', amusement remaining bright in his eyes, if not much showing otherwise. "What, just one?" he inquires, tone light and innocent. "I think author does currently apply, doesn't it?" is posed idly toward Ravn, "Though I suppose some would argue only books truly qualify." The mention of reading to children gets a wrinkled nose, and he takes another sip of tea to stay well out of that potential.

"I'm fairly certain that author is a bit presumptious for a bloke who writes a blog very few people actually read," Ravn agrees good-naturedly and then glances at Vyv. "Wait, did you make a woman cry, or did I make a woman cry? Who did we make cry? Was it at least warranted?" He chuckles lightly. "Bartender's probably what I can aspire to putting on my calling card at the moment and even that is stretching it -- I'm still learning. Is barback a protected job title?"

He leans back on his chair, still without actually having tasted the chocolate cake that he is dissecting. "Reading to children, right. No. I don't do children. I don't dislike children. I just have no experience with them. I was an only child, and I loathe every cousin I have. Better hand that one off to someone who actually has some kind of experience with kids. I've taught, but only adults. And, well. You know me. There's nowhere I'm more uncomfortable than at the centre of a group of people all looking at me. But I could chip in with the advertising, maybe -- unless you already have that covered."

Hyacinth considers this news and those sharp eyes snap back to Ravn, down, and up again where he sits as if appraising.. There is only a "Hmm." of a mental decision made and another bite of her pastry consumed. "So why? You don't care for the germs of others, injury, people are gross?" She sips her drink as one picky, opinionated finger comes up to emphasize "People are gross." If this is the case there is an entire style support here.

She pauses and looks to Vyv and then to Ravn. "No. No it's not. I... Ravn...I'm concerned here." But low, the revulsion of being ensconced in children actually endears her here. "Ooooh Vyv, he's our people." The manicure flaps slowly at the newest import in a reflection of holofoil sparkles. "Still, I'm concerned about you living on that little boat and worrying about job security. I mean if you like what you do? Be the best at it, but is it what you want to do longterm?"

"They are. And who does like the germs of others?" If Vyv knows the 'why', he leaves that for Ravn, but eyes him a moment, then the plate, then the man again. "Well, I can't speak for you, but it could certainly be either Hya or me. But of course it was warranted. Eat your cake."

He has another bite of his viennoiserie, a corner of his mouth quirking upward at the declaration that the Dane is Their People. "Children are particularly gross. Anyway, I don't think you need to worry too strongly, Hya. I'm fairly sure he needn't do it if he didn't want to." A slight quirk of a brow to Ravn, adding the confirmatory, "No?"

"I have a touch disorder," Ravn murmurs, deciding to answer that question first. "If I touch something and it's not what I expect, it feels rather like holding on to an electric fence on a rainy day. Wearing gloves saves me from yelping at random every time something brushes against me, or something doesn't feel exactly like I thought it would. I'm not germophobic, I just don't like screaming in public."

The copper blond glances at Hyacinth and can't quite resist the opportunity to challenge her a little. "I actually rented a place in Kicklebury for the winter months. Can't stay on my 'little boat' during the winter storms, she needs to be dry docked. Fortunately one of my co-workers just bought a house so her place in the park sits empty. You should come over for a cup of coffee sometime."

He sighs lightly and actually nibbles on a bit of the quite excellent cake before nodding at Vyv. "I'm not without means. I am where I want to be. Because I want to be there."

Hyacinth listens and her eyes squint as if trying to understand touch disorder "Because people are gross." This apparently she grasps in its entirety. At the end of it she admits, "My leg still has a bit of neuropathy. Also, the general public is best avoided at all costs." The challenge doesn't go unnoticed. Eyes get wide and then narrow her mouth opens, then closes looking to Vyv and were this a cartoon a ! would be imediately visible above her well-coiffed head.

Looking back now there is concern. Well...she makes this face and concerned words come out. "Sweetie are you having a nervous breakdown? did you give up whoring for rent and had to downgrade, or- I mean there's no shame. I think I've heard it all, but... Why... Why would you live in a closet on wheels without proper hot water? Trust me, even when he's back from shooting Justin's also glad to be done living in a trailer a while. OH!" her eyes light up, "You're practicing for a method acting gig thing??" Please. maybe???

"Generally best avoided, yes," Vyv agrees regarding screaming in public, and his brows lift a touch at the Huckleberry mention. "You do know there's virtually an entire townful of options that very rarely get invaded by gunmen or burnt down or covered in Christmas lights mid-summer, don't you?" It's exceedingly difficult to tell what percentage of that might be teasing and what part sincere; it could be virtually anywhere along the spectrum from one end to the other, with that tone and expression.

A bite of the cake is being eaten? That is an improvement, at least. and it comes along with a confirmation that he's right, which is nearly always welcome. It's a minor balm even when his assessment had been pessimistic, and in this case it's unadulterated by downsides. He allows himself to look faintly pleased as he lifts his cup for a sip, which puts it in a good position to hide any traitorous upward curves to his lips that Hya's sudden concern -- particularly the suggestion of past employment -- might otherwise elicit. In fact, he manages to sip his tea casually enough that one might almost miss the brightness and crinkle that seem to have sneaked into his eyes, and stays there as he watches Ravn for his reaction and reply.

Ravn pauses. Freezes in mid-movement even, spoon full of cake in the air, and just stares at Hyacinth for a moment.

Then he puts the spoon down on his plate and laughs. For a moment he's entirely too busy cracking up laughing to respond to her oh so concerned inquiries. At least his is a silent kind of laughter, not one that draws the attention of the entire Patisserie.

When the Dane does indeed regain the ability to speak he does so with grey eyes that glitter with laughter still. "I'm not -- a male prostitute. I have never been one, sorry -- though I have had offers a few times, I'll admit that. I did have a nervous breakdown, five years ago, and yes, it did cause me to take off from home two years later, to go wandering down through Europe and eventually, over here in the States. But, very much past tense."

He shakes his head and looks at Hyacinth with obvious amusement still. "It's about -- proving myself. To myself. That I can take care of myself, that I'm more than a family name. I suspect that on some level, you of all people know exactly what I'm talking about there. You choose to wear yours like a badge, and I respect that. I left mine behind in Denmark, and I live in what you might call a closet on wheels because it's more important to me to make my own way than it is being comfortable. I still want to offer my help with the festival funds -- because that's not about me. Just, I want my name kept out of it. For that very reason."

Hyacinth just watches the pair of them in alarm and silent horror. Her eyes can't get any wider if they tried and instead look like two polished emeralds internally screaming. Vyv's barely contained amusement and Ravn's snickering are not helping and brings her hands to smack the tabletop thrice in glittery emphasis. "This is serious!" Okay that might have been a tad loud. She tries again in a concerned and emphatic whisper, "Ravn, I need you to take a good look at what you're doing to yourself." And then with emphasis on eevery syllable, "you are not helping, Vyvyan!"

Peering at Ravn she says (quite officially) "I need you to help me help you help me help you." Oh yeah, totally cleared that all .

There is a deep put upon sigh and her shoulders slump, index finger tapping the tabletop. "Yes, I know my family and I kept my name because it's mine. Also I can do this better than most of the self-indulgent dimwits, the money grabbers, and the ass grabbers. It's like... I'm really tired of people not trying and not applying themselves. And there is being efficient and using your resourcefulness, and then... whatever the hell this is with you living in a shoebox waiting to get blown to Oz. Listen to Vyvvy. Get resourceful. Use your contacts. There's proving yourself which, yes, Vyvv and I are keely insightful on, and then there's being stupid and dangerous with your health. A- that place is a crime have. B- it's dirty. It's like that Nimh movie where the mice live in...whatever and just add shelves!"

"Shame," Vyv remarks at the not-and-never-have-been, and that one probably is teasing, dry as it may be. "Does it have proper hot water?" Grant's did, of course, but it was one of the bigger, newer trailers there. Who knows with the one Ravn's taking? And this is an important feature. Particularly if Vyv is likely to be within smelling distance at any time.

Taking another sip of his tea, he watches Hyacinth in her distress, then studies Ravn a moment. "The boat at least has a certain style," he says, with a small tilt of the head, "...albeit with a checkered past. The trailer park doesn't even rate louche. Look what happened to Bax there. The A-frames or even just Broadleaf would be better options. Surely they're not wholly out of reach, even with your wrists self-tied?" He lifts his pastry, but doesn't yet take a bite, the studying continuing a beat before he asks, "Or do you find the idea exciting?" It could have been accusatory; what it actually sounds is interested.

"Anyway, yes, I'm sure the festival would appreciate the help. Quietly." And now he does take another bite.

"I have a shower, though not endless amounts of hot water -- which is more than I do on the Vagabond and I did get through a month there without being proclaimed a threat to the public health," Ravn notes with a dryness that rolls up its sleeves and tries to arm wrestle Vyv's ditto into a Mexican stand-off around the plate of chocolate cake.

The Dane relents a little at seeing how genuinely concerned Hyacinth appears to actually be. "It's a trailer park. It's not supposed to be comfortable. The place does have everything I need -- a place to sleep, a sink, and a fridge. Everything else is just frills. I used to live in a backpack -- I've definitely slept in less comfortable conditions -- bus stops, hostels, hell, the occasional park bench. I'm not some fragile flower who wilts the first time the wind blows in the wrong direction. A lot of people have no choice but to live in trailer parks -- and if they can do it for a lifetime, I can get through a few months. I don't have anything worth stealing, I don't keep a stash of illegal substances -- the odds of my place getting robbed or burned are pretty low."

Ravn's lip curls slightly into a small, wry smile. "It's Gray Harbor, after all. Let's be honest here, the odds are greater of me being eaten by Cthulhu in my next nightmare."

He shakes his head at Vyv's last inquiry though. "It's not about interesting. It's about finding out who I am, and what I want to achieve in my life. Even if that turns out to be not very much at all -- just somewhere to sleep and enough cat food to convince Kitty Pryde to stick around. At least it's mine. I didn't inherit it, I didn't just go out and buy it with money somebody else earned. What I have, I made with my own hands. This is me. Not somebody else's expectations of who or what I ought to be. And it's something I don't usually talk about, because very few people understand why this matters as much to me as it does."

Hyacinth listens and is not consoled but there is more information to go on here. "Yes but is the person you are borrowing it from or previous owners you know... reputable people?" This is her concerned face, her why is my coffee not in front of me face, and also her Are you out of your damn mind face. Alton Brown does hate a uni-tasker in a crisis.

"I mean I get that. I moved to Savannah and used that, which is ours by the by via 'just', to go figure things out for myself. Seize the day darling. Make them bloody well pay for it." Sitting back and assesses Ravn looking entirely unconvinced, however, "This is not you. This is you trying to be you. Thiiiis" she says tapping the small notebook where the event details are "is you. You chose to do this and is you apply what you are passionate about and use what resources you have productively and put them to the use they ought to be going to? Then you are doing everyone a favour.

"Think of it is forcibly making the 'Have's' spend their money on worth while investments like actually improving things. IT doesn't even have to be my project." She pauses and notes, "I mean it should but it needn't have to be." (It does. in part. Good job, Ravn. Cookie for you). " There's a sigh and she confers with Vyv and back in a weird sympathy. "We're always going to be those people, Ravn. But we can still define ourselves without terrible disadvantage so we can't get things accomplished while we can." She pauses and is about to say something else, looks back to Vyv and then to Ravn and squints. "If you need some source of employed revenue Let.... let me know. There are options where you can toil about." There's a pause and she tacks on, "If you must." Says the woman running 2 companies eat up majority of her time and still charring a committee for City Hall. Does she sleep? No. Hell no.

"Mortification of the flesh is not strictly speaking necessary in order to find oneself, you know," Vyv replies in a tone that accepts that challenge and tries to curl the hand slightly back for an advantage. "And I'm unconvinced on those odds, since currently incidents of robbery and arson at that park have proven to be infinitely more common than anyone I know being eaten by Cthulhu. So far as I have evidence, at least." It is Gray Harbor, after all.

A small gesture of a hand in Hyacinth's direction can be taken as his agreement with that first question. Mistaken identity is a thing, after all. There also appears to be at least something of an agreement on 'getting that' too, though he doesn't look any more convinced that living in a sardine tin on the wrong side of the freezer aisle is a required step. "You are stuck with it, you know. What one comes from is forever part of what one is. And won't is never the same as can't. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for figuring out what one wants to be and becoming it." Another little gesture, this one vaguely indicating the shop around them. "I just think it's perfectly possible to achieve in something somewhat less likely to end up unexpectedly parked on the yellow brick road." As if tornados were a common feature of the Washington coast.

A light shrug. "Just don't make me have to be rescue chariot again. It won't be nearly as stylish an escape with the top up." Apparently he can laugh about that a touch now, albeit in a way that doesn't technically include laughing. Another sip of tea, and he requests, "Do let me know when you find out."

"Oh, I'll go home eventually. Write a few very dull books, sign whatever papers need to be signed, and make whatever social appearances I can't possibly wiggle out of." Ravn conveys another bit of chocolate cake to its ultimate destination. "But before I do that, I'd like to have stood on my own feet for a while. To have made my own decisions, even if they're possibly very bad decisions. The problem with becoming what you want is that you need to know what you want. I'm still working on that part. I admire people who have a clear idea of who they are and what they want. People like you two, who have a very clear sense of identity and purpose. I'm not like that at all. Mostly I just wing it and when things get complicated, I get on the next bus out."

Something Hyacinth says does prompt a curious light in the man's grey eyes though. "Are you offering me a job? Hyacinth, I have no background in administration or city affairs. Any job you might offer me, there are at least five other people in Gray Harbor who would do it better. You should hire the best man or woman for the job. I promise, if for some reason the situation becomes intolerable to me, I will ask for help."

Hyacinth pauses and slides Ravn a very flat look. "Yes, but I want to bury most other people alive. So this puts you far ahead of the curve doesn't it?" That sharp green glance slides back to Vyv picking up her drink, "Hmmm yes. That." She sips it. See Vyv does so well explaining all the things. There is a stop though and her head turns to Ravn and there is the smallest flinch in her eyes with a small frown.

"You and everyone else like to presume a lot about how we got to this point, and at least in Vyv's case that's true. He was....sort of born to a kitchen. If you were to tell me as a child his first words were, 'There's too much cinnamon in this' I wouldn't tell you you're lying. However, we develop our own reasons over time and some of those are still becoming clear. I didn't have the company until my father and grandfather passed this past winter and my own as of only six months ago and until then spent more of a good deal of time working for the city. I didn't always know, and I only know what I love." Taking a deep breath she draws in a pause and relaxes her hand flat on the tabletop, quietly, "I'd appreciate it in this town if more than three people could ask instead of telling me who I am and how easy everything seems to be."

"Why in the world would you bother writing dull books?" Vyv inquires, arching a brow. "If one knows one's being tedious, one ought to stop and improve. Unless one really hates one's audience and knows they've no option to leave." He has another bite of his pain au chocolat, head slightly tilted as Ravn goes on. "Mm. Make your own decisions regardless, I say. But yes, I suppose I have always rather known who I was. Though I didn't know what it was I wanted to do until I was nine or so." Hey, he'd been alive for years by then!

The lack of desire to murder Ravn is acknowledged as the mark of approbation it is, via a small inclination of the head; it might well qualify as a seconding, as well. His gaze shifts sidelong to Hyacinth over his tea as she sounds more distressed, and somewhat uncharacteristically, his free hand drifts toward her enough for fingertips to just barely, briefly, brush against her wrist before it drifts back.

"I don't presume anything about anyone's past or their journey to where they are presently," Ravn replies and carefully puts down his spoon next to his dissected but largely uneaten cake. "What I said was that you appear to have a clear sense of identity and purpose. Whether getting to that point was easy or difficult is for you to tell me -- assuming that you think it's any of my business in the first place."

Something changes very slightly in the man's posture; a faint hint of guardedness that was not there previously. "I don't usually discuss my past or my position, or for that matter, my finances, for this very reason. Everyone that I do discuss such matters with, however briefly, seems to have an opinion on how I should be living and what I ought to be doing. It sounds like you have had similar experiences." The you in question goes undefined; perhaps the Dane includes both other people with whom he shares a table.

Hyacinth just watches Ravn, emotions still worked up in her eyes, and now trying to figure out from where that all got summoned. It's a struggle remembering abruptly that one is actually human and not a glitter elemental. There's a quiet warble, "But...it's actually unsafe. It...matters." And for a moment the chrome woman seems a bit adrift on that whole having a feeling thing.

With a sigh her shoulders relax (reluctantly), "Well people who are often stupid with their assets- not" she gestures in a bit of a circle, "here but... these people get things and presumably know how to conduct themselves, and then? Then they forget the purpose of even having it. Being affluent is not a job. Doing something worthwhile with the things you have access to improves the world around you. I'm ... having an expensive car is not the merit for which one ought be adored. I see so many of my cousins wasting their influence getting nothing done and so... much needs to be fixed."

And for a moment she looks her level of exhaustion as she drinks her coffee. There is a slightly apologetic look given to them but she's not going to actually do so. "I bust my fantastic ass for the preservation and structural integrity of this damn town because I actually do love it and it's my responsibility. I just feel like I'm one of three people that care about it most days so... your efforts to help us make the strife o it 'less' are, I assure you, entirely appreciated."

"Well, in this case it has little to do with past, position, or pecuniary particulars," Vyv says, "We simply prefer palatable people protect themselves. I wasn't sanguine about Bax living down there either, and as it turned out, I was correct." Which was distressing despite being one of his favorite hobbies! Probably that whole having-a-feeling thing. Exhausting.

"No one ever seems to adore me for my car, which is almost a shame because that thing is a work of art." Which is, of course, why he chose it and puts up with arranging all the necessary upkeep the somewhat temperamental thing demands. "They ought to at least appreciate it. But yes. One does have a responsibility to the world to improve it. In whatever way one's equipped." The dissected and perhaps abandoned cake gets a look over the rim of his cup as he takes a sip of tea. Hmph. "The specifics vary. But things that help the state of the town certainly count."

He picks up the last bit of his pastry, confirming to Hyacinth, "It is fantastic," before he eats that final bite.

Ravn nods slightly. "As a matter of fact I did have one break-in. It was a case of mistaken address, though, and the only thing that was injured was my modesty. We settled matters over coffee and then went back to sleep since that's generally the sensible thing to do at four a.m. when at least one half of the equation is silly drunk. I do appreciate your concerns -- and I do realise that it's not the best neighbourhood in Gray Harbor, either. But at the moment it's all I need -- and I have friends there who have lived there for some time and haven't had any trouble. In a few months I'll be back on the marina, on the Vagabond -- without a shower, maybe, but also without the local drug dealers and arsonists. Until then? I've slept in bus stops and in whorehouses, and a lot of other places that makes having your own trailer feel quite luxurious. I know what a drug deal looks like. I also know how to mind my own business and not get involved."

He leans back on his chair a little and nods to both. "What you're saying about the city though -- that's what I'm talking about when I speak of having clarity and sense of purpose. I don't have that. But I think maybe I'd like to get it -- and Gray Harbor's little community of strange magic-using people may not be the worst place to look for something like that. I feel more like I belong here than I ever have felt anywhere else. I have made more friends here than I have in thirty years previous. So yes -- I have this little... thing... going with myself, challenging myself to get by only on what I've made with my own two hands. And I'm pretty stubborn about that, at least until I start feeling like I've actually proved anything. But I'd like to help out with your marketing budget, Hyacinth, because I think you're doing a good thing. Only, I want it to stay between the three of us. Both because of that challenge to myself but also because I like living here, and I'd like to go on living here. In my capacity as beach bar table cleaner, lobster fight league manager, and all-round washed-up academic, that is -- I'm positive I don't need to tell either of you how much social dynamics can change when people find out that you're not who they thought you were."

Hyacinth just gets wider-eyed as Vyv admits to dating someone that lived in (to her) the architectural equivalent of a box of moth balls. For now, and maybe because this is her bestie in his baking abode, she refrains from saying anything on it. Her hand pats Vyv's arm with a sigh, "It is. I like the green too. Very classic." The compliment to her is enough to placate her for the rest of the morning it seems.

Then there's whores and drug deals and compliments and it's much for her to take in. The fabricated fashionista sits very still and...concerned? The man speaks sense and there is a little frown, "Well promise me should it arise you'll bother me to use my shower. I have two and a guest room and I will be happy to put you to work so it's not cheating on your... life project." Her hand swooshes in a figure 8 to indicate all of that for which I have no name rather than dismissive gesture.

"Well you're not who I thought you were. You care and that's...well okay you care about important things," her things, not living in a shoebox things. The ones she's counting though! "and I would love the help. On the upside I answer to moi so your secret is safe."

Oh. Right. Vyv hadn't got round to mentioning that particular detail to Hya, had he. Well, it's all moot now! And surely splitting time between Oak and Bay is entirely acceptable. ...okay, she might not be wholly in favour of the Bay portion, actually, but one can't have everything. He gives her a very slight smile at the pat to his arm and proper appreciation of the automobile. It is nice to have one's services to the world appreciated. Even the smaller and more strictly aesthetic ones.

His brows lift at the mention of the break-in -- oh look, more being right -- but there's a hint of a shrug at the assurances and mention of even worse options (by his assessment, anyway) previously chosen. A small inclination of the head could be read either as 'as you wish' or 'your funeral', depending on the mood of the observer, and he leans back a touch more in his chair, sipping the tea.

There's something of a pause, as if he were about to say something, when the matter of social dynamics and people catching on to one's actual background comes up; he studies Ravn over the edge of the cup for a breath before his gaze trails down to the ruthlessly destroyed but uneaten cake on the Dane's plate. "...shan't say a word." Sip.

"I'm not sure who you thought I was," Ravn murmurs to Hyacinth. "But yes. I do want to care. I do want to help. But I also know how silly Americans get over European nobility. No offence intended, Hyacinth, but you people go nuts. I am not a celebrity, I don't want to get treated like one. I'm definitely not Prince Harry -- nevermind the fact that I'm not British either. I'm just some bloke who's trying to find out what kind of value he's got that he didn't inherit. It's not a secret -- just, I keep quiet and hope no one notices. Or that like Vyv, once they do notice, they understand or at least respect my position."

Hyacinth goes to explain and when he mentions nobility her jaw freezes. Her jaw snaps shut and it's crystal clear no one's informed her , nor has she had any indication. There's a blink blink. Her posture shifts to entirely casual flipping her hand over toward Ravn as if to indicate this guy, "I didn't know there were any still around. My god." Her eyes sharply shift back to Ravn and narrow shrewdly. She's considering something. "God, sweetie, trust me paparazzi sucks. I get it. I'm married to a movie star I'm not married to. Honestly? getting away to Savannah was the best move I ever made.

Shaking her head she breaks off a chunk of her muffin pointedly telling Vyv "This is... amazing, Vyvvy, so you know." Whiplash back to Ravn. "I get you. It's okay. Dear god, though, seriously take me up on using a decent shower. This is not a come on, this is an act of humanity." Pausing she sighs, head wobbling she murmurs reluctantly, "I won't say shit if you won't. I like the city being terrified of me. It's...convenient. They look busier and I never have to ask."

Speaking of things Vyv hasn't got round to mentioning, apparently. Or perhaps he expected Hya already knew that little detail? It could be that he didn't know either, though if not, he does a better job of failing to visibly react. Might just be more used to encountering random European nobility, given how much time he's spent in Europe. Regardless, it manifests itself as another sip of tea, and perhaps slightly more crinkle near the edges of his eyes when he catches the blink-blink.

"Have you considered writing in?" he asks Hyacinth, when the paparazzi and marriage bits come up; it sounds genuinely curious, rather than the push one might expect. Her compliment draws a small but genuine curve of the lips and a little nod, the pointedness appreciated nearly as much as the praise. "Thank you. I do try."

"I'll admit, the paparazzi were pretty bloody awful while people still thought I was a celebrity chef. Not so much to me but to some of the people around me. Never experienced anything quite that bad before." Ravn shakes his head with a shudder of distaste at the memory. "I don't get hounded like that usually. Just -- silliness. People thinking it's posh to know someone like that. Or that I'm somehow better or more interesting. Or for that matter, assuming that I must be an entitled arse. Which I am, at least the entitled part, but you get my point. It's really not a big deal in Denmark anymore. A bit of a 'hah, really, that's nice, so what do you do for a living' thing."

Hyacinth blinks to look at Vyv, "Writing ...to the Revisionist? One I need no help from the damn Veil. I fought my way though the heart of the Goblin City or whatever and I'm not kowtowing to someone fucking with my fate. I control it, not them." Pausing she sulks and admits to Ravn, "Yeah okay I see where you're coming from on that. Don't worry I was posh before we met." There's a wink of some assurance there and if anything there is a small modicum of relief like he's become a normal person to her.

Then there's still the Revisionist on the table. Hyacinth sighs and her shoulders slump "Also NOoOOOoOooooo because it would be embarrassing for me and hurt all both of my feelings thank you." There's a pause and she frowns, slightly sullen at her muffin, "And...I don't want to go through that again and it could hurt Justin and he's actually a really actually nice guy?" Not usually a trait she respects but there's a lot to unpack here. She's not particularly fond of regrets, pity, or not getting her way but here we are.

"It would be much more fun for it to be literally true when people accuse me of being entitled. Apparently I may have a marquisate in one of the realms on the other side, but I suspect the whole political system there may be getting overhauled." Vyv sighs. He'd make such a good marquis, too!

One corner of his lips quirks up slightly at the mention of the Goblin City, though he notes, "Convincing people to do as one prefers is also a form of controlling one's fate." Still, he's hardly going to wish embarrassment and hurt feelings on his BFF, so there's just a nod to the rest of it. "There are worse options," he allows.

"Nothing less? Why not go for Grand Duke if you've got options?" Ravn can't help a small laugh at Vyv's entitlement woes. "We don't have either title in Denmark, though, so I hope it's one of the other little realms on the other side you've got your eye on."

He shakes his head and actually picks up his spoon again before glancing at Hyacinth. "And that's about how seriously most of us Europeans take this thing. When we're not the royal house of Britain, anyhow. They've got a lot of issues still, royalty tends to."

Hyacinth i looking at her muffin and trying not to swear into it really. practiced poise goes a long way. The very put together woman stills to the point of quiet. her hand flaps as if in agreement but there is disappointment. "This word's going to fall apart and all people want to do is sit on their personally trained sculpted ass and look fancy... and they ought to but... People with useful influence should be useful with it and... I appreciate your help. I do and ... I need to finish eating this before I start wearing and call my mother with a piece of my mind on the matter." Looking to Vyv she says dryly, "I don't think she's been sober since last summer at this rate."

"Mn. Because 'Duke' involved agreeing to marry some Duchess for a period of not less than 200 years nor more than 1000, or until we spawned a dozen sprogs to ensure inheritance, whichever came first." It could hardly sound drier if Vyv were spending the day in a desert. "We never even met. Worse than visiting my grandmother." A flicker of a sidelong glance toward Hya with that, as though either she might agree, or there might somehow be teasing involved.

The look he gives her for the remark about her mother actually might qualify as sympathetic, particularly if one's already measuring it on a Vyv-scale. "Are you going to end up the one who needs to do something about that, too?" She has siblings, right? A slight sigh; she probably is, isn't she. "Let me know if you require a canelé." One helps as one is best equipped.

"I don't know what else I can do to help with this festival. But I'll make some phone calls in the morning if you have an account number, Hyacinth. That much, at least, I can help with." Ravn actually eats a spoonful of his cake. Whatever is going on there does not seem to be the cake's fault.

Hyacinth's observations about parents net her an unexpectedly sympathetic grey look. "Ah. Mothers."

A tone of voice that really did say it all. "I'm so sorry."

"Your Grandmum is a lovely woman that knows what she wants. Also she sends her regards to you. I caught her up, don't worry." Worry. Worry now. There's a pause and Hya tilts her head in that look. "I have no idea what my brother Enzo is up to but I forbade him from bringing gnomes into the Addington line." The festival! riiiiight. Looking back to Ravn there is a contemplative and human enough expression to her considering this. "That would be amazingly helpful. Your anonymity shall remain in tact. If you need to borrow my mother in the meantime she's mostly checked out and trying to act... normal."

"Ye-es, and so does everyone else around her, at all times." Which is of course entirely unlike anyone currently at this table or anywhere in Vyv's family, surely. "In any case, I'm not worried." Maybe. He sips the tea calmly enough. "You outlawed gnomes, didn't you? Or is that still going through? Regardless, he can't actually want to bring the gnomes in after what they did to him, can he?" It's weird how things in Gray Harbor somehow become 'normal' when you weren't looking.