2020-10-31 - Halloween Midnight Skate

For everyone not going to the Casino or the beach for a gamble or a rave (which is which is debatable) there is the pop up block party at the Skate Shop attached to the dispensary. It used to be a parking lot but they repaved and it loos damn nice really! Polished wood ramps are toward the back and have been secured towards the back while elements in the foreground are wide apart but a fun combination of metal rails and half walls. The counter of the pro-shop has a buffet, there are a couple of kegs going with someone checking IDs there. A few folks are skating, the majority of people are dancing in the middle under the strobing lights as the DJ plays out the beat with some trance techno and Eurobeat and other stylings shuffled in with popular club and some underground tracks. Around the outside of the track are people rollerskating the oval. Some didn't bother on a costume, others got intensely creative and some have a questionable amoung of fabric to qualify as an outfit at all. Who cares? It's looking neat under the black lights like an electric rainbow.

There are three reasons Ginger has chosen to leave her home this Halloween: one, this is a new place, and surely as a good neighbor it's a good idea to go outside and absorb the local color and flavor of her new temporary home. Two, it has been heavily encouraged that she must leave her house and interact more with the world when she can, and Three, she heard about this event from her favorite cousin's beau, and of course she must show her enthusiastic support for her new family member. Is it too early to say that? Probably, which is why she doesn't say it out loud, just crosses her fingers and throws positive energy into the universe for things to work out.

Would the Skate Shop attached to a dispensary be the kind of place Ginger would normally come? No, and even her outfit probably sets her apart: she's wearing a black sheath dress over a long-sleeved red blouse with white polka dots, a pair of white gloves on her hands with ruffles at the wrist. As it's cold, she also has on black stockings and red flats, with a red shawl over her shoulders. A black dot is on her nose, and lines of whiskers to the side, is the extent of the visible make-up, with her hair left loose in a heavy sheet, on which is perched a pair of round ears and a red-and-white bow: it's a very classy, DIY sort of Minnie Mouse.

She was very clearly not quite expecting a party like this, her wide-eyed curiosity implies, as she gives shy smiles to whoever looks her way, but mainly hovering near the food, cup in hand, and does her best to look less awkward-- she's already made a fool of herself once already, having been terrified by a sudden group of teens playing a practical joke. They apologized - one even offered her an apology brownie which she felt was rude to refuse, and now rests inside her purse. Still, Ginger doesn't look unhappy, more... a little nervous, a little awkward, and very curious as she watches the goings-on.

Certainly the GHPD's been made aware of the dispensary's festivities tonight; they've been required to notify the city of the goings-on, and anything the city knows about, you can rest assured the police has some idea of. And though they could have sent out a couple of lowly patrol officers to check on things, it's the acting Chief who climbs out of the snub-nosed cruiser that pulls up to the curb. The engine simmers down with a vaguely hungry sounding growl, and the cop slides out, GRAY HARBOR POLICE emblazoned across the jacket thrown over his tee shirt and jeans, and not quite concealing the handgun holstered at his ribs. His watch is checked, something spoken into his radio, and he slams his door and starts trudging over to where the kegs are set up at a slow prowl.

Grant forewent his board tonight in favor of his black roller hockey skates that were thankfully here instead of at home when it burned down. HAndy! He pieced enough of his 'Warboys' costume together from last year with the long black jean shorts, black leather collar, fingerless black gloves, all his bracelet cuffs made with bits of found metal and macrame, face and body paint that look a bit vaguely skeleton-ish on the face but illuminate in the black light. Around his neck two dog dag shaped objects . On the beaded chain a medical alert one, though its purpose not facing out, and the other the polished meteorite on the heavier rounded box chain.

Can he dance on skates? Yes, eith ease apparently as if he needed to ever be doing anything faster. He's currently with Vyv and technically off duty tonight though pointing people in various directions. Talking is... an actual uphill struggle here and most is sign. Seeing Minnie Mouse his hand pats Vyv's shoulder and points her way with a wave of his hand "Awww she's adorable. She's amazing. Let's rescue her before she gets lost." And then? The fuzz. But hey it's the fuzzy fuzz at least! There are two sharp whistles and he signs to Ruiz Wolf man! Hey, it's his hunting buddy.

This is not entirely what one would call Vyv's scene. Whether it might ever have been is a secret for the ages (and possibly people who knew him about a decade ago). Still, he's made an effort, and honestly, it's not a bad James Bond. Might as well, since he already owns a perfect tux and a martini glass. There might possibly be a toy gun in there somewhere, too, but if so it's currently well-concealed. The one somewhat 'off' note for the outfit is that his black oxfords are brogued... and have rollerskate wheels. Also black, about as subtle as skate underpinnings get, but the fact remains: rollerskates. Can he dance on them? ...yes, as it turns out, though he's not risking overdoing it. It is very difficult to look suave if one has to try to get up off the floor on wheels.

He takes a sip of his drink -- which if it's genuine, he must have brought along? -- and follows Grant's indications toward first his cousin, who gets a lift of the glass in greeting, and then Ruiz, who does not. "Let's," he agrees, "There's an awful lot going on." His signing has improved; holding the glass doesn't really slow it down, and nothing gets spilt.

Ginger is awkwardly trying to bop along to the music, sip her drink and continue looking at all the exciting people! Isn't that man cold wearing-- I mean, if you can call it wearing -- but while she doesn't notice a wave, in all this noise and light, the sharp whistles do have her turning to crane her neck in that direction, just enough to catch Grant's fantastic hair and Vyv's razor sharp suit. Nothing cuts through a crowd like a well-fitted suit, after all.

Rising to her tiptoes, she hastily raises an arm and waves, smiling-- only to have to hastily take a step or two to the side with an apology as a gaggle of surrealistic and neon woodland creature-themed people hurry for drinks. One of them probably compliments her, judging by the way she ducks her head and smiles, murmuring something before she stands right back on her tippy toes to try and spot Vyv and Grant again. This time, she also notices Ruiz, and the Avatar of Legal Justice also gets a quick, bright smile and small wave. The police are always there for our own good, after all! When any of them are close enough, she'll call out -- but she's not moving through the crowds to meet them. No, She seems to have firmly decided her place, for now, is right near this mostly-full bowl of candy corn.

The crowd, the noise, the lights and the music; none of them seem to disturb Ruiz in the least. He's accustomed to this, and he cuts through it all like a well-honed knife, sharp gaze sliding from one face to the next as he moves. He's cheating a little, of course; the rush of his power here, the ebb of it there, like the scuttling of water at low tide amongst the shoals. He manages to catch a pair of minors who oughtn't be here drinking, much less partaking in cannabinoids, and gives them a warning to be on their way. They scurry off nervously almost before the words are out of his mouth; everyone knows the captain in this town, even if they haven't been the direct recipient of one of his vicious moods.

Then Grant's spotted, and his vaguely irritated expression softens slightly. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes multiply, and he veers off in the younger man's direction, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. Ginger's wave is returned with a brief little flick of his fingers and attempt at eye contact, and Vyv gets a polite nod. The two of them haven't been on precisely the best of terms, but no reason he can't be civil. "Hola," is offered to the pair as he approaches.

Itzhak shows up wearing that skimpy 'sexy little red riding hood' outfit that had to have come out of a plastic bag from a pop-up Halloween store. It's not bad, kinda cute really, has a laced bodice and a puffy-sleeved shirt and a very short flared skirt. And a little cape. It's just being worn by a guy well north of six feet. Makes that short skirt raaaather shorter. He's ditched the hooker boots at least, in favor of rainbow-soled Converse. Still got the thigh high red stockings on, though. "Crotchbiter!" he bellows at Grant from across the skate park, grinning like a guy who knows he looks hot in this dress.

Grant rolls over and does a circle to stop around Minnie Mouse with a smile, warm, delighted to see she made it out. Did he expect her to take the invitation? Why not? There's more sign than words but he's aiming to be loud enough to be heard...he thinks. "You look amazing. Yours?" Signing back to Vyv he looks for all the world entirely impressed with absolutely no poker face. The laugh is infectious delight. yeah yeah he's going to gush on the details and then... Itzil??! (o.0)!

"Itzil? Oh holy shit you made it!" It's like a tiny cloud of joy follows the skatepunk around. Ruiz is offered a hand though. "Suuuuup, Lo'bro. Hey Ginger, I think you know Master Chief, and this is my buddy Itzil. I've known him since I was like ten or something. Good people. Guy guys guys, please meet Vyv's cousin Ginger. She made this." Looking to Itzhak he says "Beer's there. Here." Hand fishes around in his pocket to hand him one of the medical blue tear off raffle tags redeemable for drink. "How you guys been? Stag party tonight or makin sure shit's ok?" That's not what a great hunt is, Bax. That's not a... nevermind.

Vyv rolls along with Grant -- just behind, in this case, letting the shorter man guide them through the general crowd. He remembers how to skate far better than he'd have expected, in all honesty, but there's still a certain amount of care taken, albeit as casually as he can manage. His cousin gets a small smile as he comes to a stop by her as well, and a good look at her her costume. "You look delightful," he informs her, and returns Ruiz's polite nod with one of his own and a, "Good evening," before being distracted by that particular holler above the music and looking over for the source. What he sees when he finds it draws a sudden, almost silent laugh. "Why Little Red, what long legs you have," he says by way of greeting once Itzhak ends up in range.

Luckily, Ginger is attentive! And can half-guess between the shouts and Grant's enthusiasm, and she blushes, tugging the hem of her dress down surreptitiously but looking pleased. "Thank you! You b-both look marvelous!" She assures them both, with a smile aimed first at Grant, but that grows to encompass her cousin - who she might take a step or two closer too, but after all, he's family. "I p-put it together a bit last minute, when I found the ears," A hand rises up to make sure the ears are still there, self-consciously, before she also smiles towards Ruiz, though slightly more uncertainly, "H-hello again, Javier. It's nice seeing you again, t--"

Did someone just scream out Crotchbiter? Ginger can't help but blink, wide-eyed, at the name, looking around who is getting called such a thing and-- wait, Grant knows-- oh, well, that's new. Ginger's cheeks color further, and she smooths out her own skirt once more before she looks up towards Itzhak. Yes, his eyes are up there, and that's where she'll keep her own gaze, offering him a small, nervous smile. "Ah. H-hello. Your costume is v-very pretty, but--" A moment's hesitation, before she blurts out the rest, "Aren't you /c-cold/?"

The captain's ostensibly on duty, at least for another five or ten minutes, so he has to at least give the illusion of not checking out little red riding hood and her eight miles of leg over there. Even though he totally is. It's getting a little chilly out here, now that October's getting ready to hand the mantle of fall off to November, and he's got his shoulders hunched up near his ears as he ambles on in toward the small grouping of townies.

"We've met," he confirms, watching Ginger a moment, then flicking his eyes back to Itzhak. Then back to Ginger. "Briefly. Miss Vydal. Me gustan tus oídos." He indicates the top of his head with an index finger and a wink, then speaks to Grant while his gaze slopes back to little red riding Jew once more, as if he can't help himself. "I don't think you need a babysitter, so I'll be out of your hair once I'm off duty in five here."

"No kidding, Chef's cousin? You're adorable." Itzhak offers a hand to Ginger, and hikes his eyebrows at Grant, amused. "He's known me for a year," he mock-confides to her, like it's impolite to correct Grant that Itzhak was not in fact at his bar mitzvah. "Nice to meet you, yeah? Eh, I'm a little cold but that's why I gotta start drinking!" Which is why he takes the ticket Grant gives him with a flourish. "How's by ya, boychik, you look fantastic. How's those pants staying up? Do I want to know?" Vyv's compliment makes him laugh and fingergun at him. "All the better to wrap around some lucky wolf, am I right? Damn you look sharp, Double-oh-Vyv!"

Those little glances he's getting from Ruiz have Itzhak smiling lopsided, and maybe reddening some too, not from the cold. "Ahhh what's the rush?" he says to him, and he doesn't make a move to touch Ruiz or anything (guy's on duty, after all); it's all in the voice and the lingering hitch to one side of his mouth. "Stay a little, yeah?"

Grant has no idea how time works, clearly. "Itzil, why you gotta kibbitz over the details?" There is more signing than there are words. He does answer the answer, "Vyv's force of will alone. He threatened em." Or it's the most self-serving,, utilitarian use of Physical discipline in a minute here in the Harbor, and not out of the realm of possibility.

He really...can't stand still. There's too much music making that thump-thump feeling come up through the concrete and his wheels and the odds of him possibly rolling on something right now is a low 3:1 odds. Itzhak makes fingerguns at Vyv and there's a wide grin joining in appreciating that damn view. "Yeah he practiced getting the accent right forever for this get up."

Seeing Ginger's face turn read he snickers and shakes his head, "It's um, it's a long story and weirdly table appropriate?" He boggles conferring with Ruiz and Itzil about that. Looking back to Ginger he says "Look short story: You want a guy to drop a weapon have a small critter bite them in the junk. They will drop the weapon." Looking back to Ruiz he pauses and frowns, "You feelin alright these days, man?" because the last time they really talked it was oh yeah, when Ruiz was possessed. Oops. "we doing holidays again or what this year, Itzil? My dad is negotiating teaching Vyv some trade secrets." Looking to Ginger he says "Couple months out but you are absolutely welcome to come. It's baout family...and most importantly, food."

Vyv gives his cousin a small mock-bow for her compliment, with an equally small but less mock smile. "Did you find them in a store, or did you have them just lying around?" The latter would be much more interesting. Certainly she's allowed to step nearer if she likes. The amusement remains in his eyes at Itzhak's greetings and reply, and he inclines his head slightly to the man. "I suspect you're quite correct," he replies, probably regarding the uses of thse legs rather than his own sharpness, though the latter's definitely what gets the, "Thank you. Now no one can say they had no warning when I start making cutting comments." He seems to be in a fairly good mood as they go, however, even if he probably isn't on whatever Bax might be, so it just might be a while before that warning comes into play.

"If it were truly my force of will, they'd have the decency to shed their excess pockets and start fitting you properly," doesn't even count, with too much amusement still in his eyes to truly get there. "But I suppose we all appreciate them at least deigning to keep up to the most basic trousering standards." Maybe. Possibly failing to would also have things to recommend it, though it'd certainly make skating difficult. The mention of holidays -- other holidays -- has him blink once, a thoughtful look passing across his features before he glances to Ginger again and notes, "His father makes rather a good challah."

Ginger just keeps reddening at the compliments, reaching up to touch her ears. It's a little splotch at this rate! But she also rolls her eyes towards Baxter - the only one more her age, beyond Vyv, when she's called 'adorable'. She's a grown woman! Really! But she does smile, a touch sheepishly, at Itzhak, offering her hand. It's soft, smooth, and clearly the palm of someone whose manual labor consists almost entirely of maybe mild cooking or tea making. The hardest manual effort she likely does is perhaps the dishes. Looking at Vyv, she just shrugs, murmuring almost inaudibly, "I did w-work for a Disney assssssociate a few years ago." MYSTERIOUS. GASP. The exuberance of the boys-- and trying to keep the various relationships straight-- has her gaze flitting like a hummingbird from one to the other, having another sip of her drink as she tries to listen.

She does duck her head and grin at the joke about Vyv keeping Grant's pants up-- "He's got a t-talent for making clothes behave, it's true. He used to f-fix my hair ribbons for me at f-family parties, and they always stayed longer than when my s-sister did them." A fond grin, as she outs Vyv as having been born finicky! And then promptly outs herself, "Though I th-think Cory might have planned to be worse than Vyvvy, since I would keep bothering her to h-help." A rueful little smile, after which she glances back towards Baxter, "I'd be g-glad to, if you wouldn't mind me. It'd be... n-nice, having a h-holiday with other people again." A somewhat wry smile, and she's ducking her head, fine with fading, slightly, sipping her drink and trying to hash out the old friendships here, her fingertips lightly tapping against the cup.

Grant's got a funny idea of table appropriate, or so says the look the cop gives him, up and down with his eyes a couple of times. "Be feeling better once they appoint a new Chief," he tells the guy, then checks his watch again as it beeps once to tell him his shift's over. Turning away from the group, he speaks into his radio in brief, crisp fashion to inform dispatch that he's out of service, and to relay a few other uninteresting bits of minutia. The dispatcher flirts with him a little; he flirts back, laughs, and signs off before stripping the radio down and shoving it into his jacket's pockets.

On his return to the little group, he doesn't attempt to re-engage in conversation, but simply observes the costumed revelry and listens with some amusement. "Guess I can stay a little while," he offers to Itzhak, somewhat belatedly. And, "Vestido caliente," as he digs out his pack of cigarettes and goes to light one up.

Itzhak's hand has a lot going on, by contrast; scars and callouses and ink, a hand that plays many roles in a complicated life. He wraps it around Ginger's gently, as if afraid he might hurt her. "'Course we're doin' holidays," he says to Grant, scoffing, like how dare Grant doubt it. Ruiz flirting with the dispatch gets his attention, narrow-eyed, but then he breaks out a sly and alluring look at the interim Chief. "Yeah? Caliente enough to get you to dance with me?" And with that he's trying to lure Ruiz to dance. If Ruiz won't? Well, somebody around here will!

Functional invisibility. It's something Ravn Abildgaard has in spades. Not the mentalist kind where a man might quietly nudge the minds around him to ignore him; what he's got is a lifetime's worth of practise at simply being quiet and not drawing attention. Some people are like that; somehow always managing to be over there when something happens here, just out of focus, one step removed from wherever everyone else is looking. How long as the Dane been just wandering on the edge of the crowd, not drawing anyone's attention and just watching? Who knows?

He'd probably have gone right on doing that. Staying unnoticed. The way he likes it, alone even in a crowd, the way he goes through life when no one shatters his self-imposed solitude. Only, this is the moment where someone actually notices him, and he finds himself cornered by a burly lumberjack-shirted man in his forties, asking him loud and boisterous questions -- about what calibers of plastic utensils are allowed in which leagues of seafood combat.

This is apparently a thing. At least Mr Flannel is extremely serious about it. Serious enough to in turn get into a near-argument with another man, wearing a lobster costume in bright orangey red. There needs to be a limit to the length of the blade of the plastic knives that are duct taped to the backs of the crustacean warriors.

Somebody save him. Ravn, that is. Not the giant lobster.

Ginger's brows rise at the exchange between Ruiz and Itzhak, but she ducks her head, hiding a smile as she works on fitting people into the growing pattern in her brain. A little wave is given at the departing Itzhak, before her eyes catch on something else happening there, in the distance. Squinting, she recognizes the face-- vaguely, "O-oh! It's that other man, from the cafe. The d-danish one." She leans a bit as she tries to peer over the crowd to what's going on-- those burly lumberjacks look quite buff and angry, "Why is h-he fighting with a lobster and a lumberj-j-jack?" Her eyes glance down, biting her lower lip before she glances back up at poor, beleagured Ravn, then back down at the ground again. Then she takes a deep breath, stands on her tippytoes and gives a big wave in Ravn's direction, "R-r-ravn! Hello! Hi!" She's so red she's practically a lobster herself -- clearly she's not one who enjoys drawing attention to herself. But, well, this may well give Ravn the opportunity to back away from his predicament!

The flirting's brief, and has the quality of something done by rote, and without a lick of sincerity to it; this is how they get through long, grueling shifts.

"Depends," Javier tells the tall musician in the little red riding hood costume, plucking at a ribbon on his corset. "On whether you think you can keep up." Then he gives the lankier man a shove backward with his palm, and off they go to dance. At least until he manages to tire Itzhak out, and they both break for drinks, and stop to watch a few skaters spin past lit up in neon.

Abildgaard is spotted somewhere amidst the fray, where he hadn't been a moment ago, and if he manages to catch his eye, the captain lifts his glass to the Dane with a taut twist of his mouth in greeting. Could be a smile, wants to be a smile when it grows up, but it's not quite there yet.

Oh thank god, is the obvious expression on the Dane's face. He practically flees to Ginger's side with a mumble about 'can't keep a lady waiting' which at least one guy -- probably the one in the lobster costume -- is no doubt going to read the entirely wrong way and come to all sorts of conclusions about, but it's an escape. Ravn dodges that way, and as the other men turn to cheerfully pursue, beers in hands, there's a moment of oh shit -- because supposedly, lobster fighting leagues are illegal(1) and why hello there, captain of police. Suddenly, the corn dog stand over there is remarkably interesting to men in lumberjack flannels and lobster costumes.

(1) It is unclear which law is being broken here but it's probably something about ethical treatment of animals before you boil them alive.

Ravn at least just looks vastly relieved as he makes his way across. "Thank you," he murmurs to de la Vega and Ginger alike. "Those crustacean combat fans get a little excitable. This is the craziest story I have ever been part of. Although --" his gaze wanders towards a disappearing spot of red in the crowd. "I didn't just see Rosencrantz in a small red dress, did I?"

Ginger is still faintly mortified, fingernails tapping against the side of her now empty cup as she tucks a strand away behind an ear, shifting her weight from heel to toe. But when the relieved looking Ravn appears, she also seems to be a bit relieved, exhaling lightly and offering Ravn a tentative smile as well. "You s-seemed to be having trouble. Are you a f-friend of Bax's as well? I'm discovering Vyvvy has a whole s-secret life of friends I never dreamed of." She jokes, with a small, amused smile. Sshe glances towards where Ravn looks, "Is Rosencratz named Isi-- no, Itzhak, I think? Itzhak. B-because yes, he just went dancing with Javier. I don't know how he's g-going to refrain from freezing in that outfit. I could never do it." As is proven by her dark stockings on even with her rather modest dress.

Itzhak and his little red dress have gone to fetch themselves a refill on a drink, it appears. Leaving Javier, in his civilian attire with the very un-subtle GRAY HARBOR POLICE jacket drawn over top, and the sleek outline of his service pistol barely visible underneath, pushing off to approach the pair.

"You're not in costume," he observes, cutting his eyes up and down the tall bartender in a singular, critical glance before downing a sip of his drink. In the strobing lights of the skate park decked out for a rave, the swarthy-skinned Mexican is limned in bright shades of fuschia and indigo, while the rest of his severe features sit in shadow. To Ginger, he gestures to her empty cup, "Want me to grab you another? What're you drinking?"

"I didn't realise I was meant to be?" Ravn glances at the crowd -- and for that matter, at one police officer who isn't, either. He's not entirely certain about Ginger; people's ideas of 'costume' vary a lot and he's already mistaken a number of bohemian style dresses for costumes and a number of costumes for nice sundresses and no, let's just not go there. Fashion and style is very much not Ravn's forte. But then again, anyone who knows him can testify to that -- the man recently added a dark purple scarf to his usual range of black with black, and half the town has commented on it because that's how out of character for him it was.

He glances in the direction the little red dress disappeared, then shakes his head with a good-natured smile. "Also, I don't own a dress. I did get told that the proper attire for Halloween is a slutty dress -- though I think the person who was wearing it may have been biased. I don't think she meant for me to wear one."

"This is actually m-my first Halloween dressing up since I've been back in the US." Ginger admits, tugging at her dress with a small smile. It's a very mild form of dress-up, but she does make for a stylish Minnie. "It's always acceptable to dress up at least a l-little bit on Halloween, wherever you g-get invited. Except some religious events." Ginger helpfully attests to Ravn, so he can quickly acclimate. And has no excuse next year! To the approaching Javier, she offers a smile-- and at his gesture, looks down at her cup and then back at him, "Oh! That's so kind. Th-thank you, yes. I just had the lemonade punch - the non-alcoholic one. I'm a l-lightweight." She admits, looking down at her cup-- then back at Javier, and then realizes she should probably hand it over. Which she does, with that sheepish grin. "Thank you, Javier."

The captain is rather conspicuously not dressed up, isn't he? A fact that's accounted for a moment later with a rap of a knuckle on his badge, which still sits pinned to the front pocket of his snug jeans. "I stopped by to keep an eye on things." Then he winks at Ravn, and manages not to crack a smile when he does so. "Don't worry, I'm off duty now. Not going to arrest you for lobster fighting leagues, or whatever the fuck you were talking about over there."

Then he claims Ginger's cup in one big, ornately tattooed hand, and lifts it to acknowledge he's heard her order. Lemonade, non-alcoholic. He might even get that right. "Ya vuelvo. Compórtate." And off he prowls, in that way that makes people move for him.

Ravn looks after the man with a look of quiet admiration; that's a level of crowd control he should be taking notes for when watching. "I didn't think anyone actually would," he murmurs, mostly to Ginger. "I mean, the whole 'he gets away with the oh so illegal lobster fights' is part of the whole story this Revisionist person made up. So I get away with it, yes? It's all very silly. Although on some level, apart of me does want to call my lawyer to ask for help with charges of... illegal crustacean abuse."

He shakes his head. "We don't really have this holiday in Denmark? Dress-up parties have become a thing in recent years, and so have kids trick and treating, but we're missing the whole background, I think. We adopted Valentine's Day too, largely so that shops can sell chocolate and flowers. I suppose I shall have to do better next year. This year I'm mostly just trying to find a pattern in the costumes -- traditionally, All Hallow's Eve should be frightening but I don't think most of the costumes here are?"

"The R-revision-- oh!" Ginger shakes her head, "The gossip, yes. I remember. It really isn't fair of her. You sh-should sue for libel." Ginger says, clicking her tongue. But her eyes also follow behind Javier, curiously, seeing the way he manages to cut through the crowd with something like resigned envy. But she glances back towards Ravn and smiles, "It's r-really something of an excuse to be creative or silly, get lots of ch-chocolates, and dress up ridiculously. S-some people try to be clever, our outrageous, or s-simply, well-- err, attractive. Others just have a b-bit of fun with it." The stuttering returns a bit more as she tries to explain, gesturing towards the group partying on the dance floor as a whole. "It's, well, the p-patterns exist, but they're a bit, well, unflattering in s-some cases." She adds, biting her lower lip a bit, "So I'd r-rather not say."

To be fair, it helps that he's a recognisable figure of authority. The top of the cop food chain, so to speak. He's not gone long; A fresh drink's procured for Ginger, and another for himself, and de la Vega returns with one in each hand, once he manages to extricate himself from a redhead who thinks the cop getup is his costume and pretty cute. "One lemonade. Non alcoholic." It's handed over with an attempt at a smile that comes out a little awkward, and then he goes to pat himself down for another smoke while the pair chat.

"I was told that slutty costumes is the point. But I was told that by someone for whom the point is to get drunk and start fights, so maybe it's also a matter of priorities," the Dane observes in a tone that implies that no, he's not going to be turning up in a Chippendale exotic dancer costume next year, regardless of where he might be at the time. "I'm not really -- big on these things. I like to watch them, but maybe not so much be an actual part of them. The whole... everyone looking at me thing, I don't do very well with that."

He glances after the redhead that admired the police captain and for a moment the man's expression is quite clear: Better random redheads admire your backside than mine.

Ginger, having seen the connection with the redhead, glances down with a grin as Javier flirts his way out of it, before he returns to the little group, and she glances back at Javier with a quick smile, reaching for the cup, "Thank you. I have to s-say, the police here are some of the nicest I've met." Ginger praises, in all her naivety. Her gaze does go towards Ravn, at his talk of necessarily slutty costumes, and that /expression/ of his, and she takes the cup in both hands and brings it to her lips, trying to suppress her smile enough to take a sip. Another surreptitious glance at Javier, back to Ravn, then back to Javier, before she gathers the nerve to ask, "And wh-what about your opinion, Javier? On costumes and Halloween and dressing up. Well," She looks at the uniform a little apologetically, "I g-guess you couldn't this evening, but it's rather fun. Even if you d-do something small. Or, well, I rather like it." A self-conscious readjustment of her Minnie Mouse ears, before she looks to both men. "I h-haven't been to a party like this since... ages ago. C-college? And I didn't last very long at that one."

"De nada," Javier offers, a little distractedly, as the cup is handed over and a little of the drink sloshed onto his wrist. It's licked off as his gaze tracks the redhead through the crowd, shifts back to the younger, dark-haired girl speaking to him and her little smile. Then he reaches for her Minnie Mouse ears, pauses like he's going to ask permission to touch them, then opts to simply go ahead and adjust them instead. Since they're sitting askew on her head. "Better."

As for Halloween, "Día de las Brujas? It's a children's thing, in Mexico. We celebrate Día de los Muertos instead." So that'd be a no to dressing up in slutty costumes, probably. Ravn's given what's probably supposed to be a sympathetic smile, but it comes out a little awkwardly on him. "Nothing wrong with that."

"We don't have that custom at all. It hasn't registered that there might be money in sugar skulls -- which is odd, because our commercial sector certainly latched on to the idea of commercial holidays from abroad fast enough otherwise." Ravn cants his head and looks at the Mexican. "It is a catholic custom as I understand it? We have a carnival in February which is a remnant of catholic times, it is probably the closest thing."

Ginger's little revelation meets with a sympathetic glance and a nod from the tall fellow, though. "Not everyone's made for crowds, or at least for being at the centre of them." He nods his agreement with the captain, perhaps attempting to convey his reassurances to the woman as well. "Some folks are made for the spotlight. And some of us are the audience. None of us would be happy with the other, I figure."

Ginger looks warily at the hand approaching her -- not with fear, but with the natural mistrust of a younger sibling with far too many brothers (two, but even one is too many, sometimes!). But Javier's uniform and general good manners have earned him a likely worryingly high amount of trust in a short time, so she allows him to adjust her ears with a wrinkle of her painted nose - but also a murmured thanks - and then almost immediately reaches into her purse for her phone, pretending to check the time while actually hitting the camera function to check her hair.

Still there? Good. Great. And even! Though her bangs are uneven - a gap on one side. She has to take a moment to correct that, before she tosses the phone back and pretends that moment didn't happen, awkwardly focusing on her drink and half-turning to examine the crowd while Ravn talks. "It's m-much more complicated than theater. It's just some gears are more obvious than others. Some things are m-meant to be outside, and some inside. And I've only done Día de los Muertos, in high school, for a cultural fair. Mexico is one of th-those countries I've only briefly visited." Safely hiding behind the two men away from the bulk of the party, Ginger seems to be relaxing, soewhat, her most obvious tell almost disappearing entirely, despite the environs. "Did you at l-least enjoy it as a kid, Javier? I would s-spend weeks choosing my costumes as a child. And I'd want them to be p-perfect. They were usually puns, I admit. Like in f-fourth grade I carried around a baguette and s-several medals as a breadw-winner. I was horribly disappointed no one got it."

No, he hasn't trolled her. Not that it's the sort of thing he wouldn't do to one of his sisters, but a) she isn't his sister, and b) he isn't drunk enough. "Catholic?" He squints at Ravn thoughtfully for a moment, drags off his cigarette, chases it with a swig of whatever he's drinking. "No, I don't think so. Though they probably borrowed it." He flicks some ash off the end of the cigarette, and watches Ginger check her phone.

"Enjoy what, dressing up? No. My family was too poor for that shit. We had an ofrenda, but.." He makes a moue with his mouth, and shakes his head slightly. Then another drag off his cigarette, and smoke exhaled away from the pair. "I should go catch up with Rosencrantz. You two have a nice night, yeah?" A quick smile is tendered to the pair, and then he eases off, and into the neon-strobed dark.

Well one thing is for certain when the DJ is out breaking in with the electronica K-Pop and the lights strobe Bax vanishes with a passing "Be right back". There is something certain in that the more freedom of movement given to this guy the more he will use like a hummingbird hopped up on pixie stix.

He doesn't ask but he spins around and catches Vyv's hand to drag him hence. yeah, he will try all he will to get 'James Vyond' out to dance. Say what one will about Bax being an ADD mess some days, but the Warboy can bend and move like bones are a suggestion and he's really just assembled with an intricate series of rubber bands and plastic parts stamped by Hasbro. His good mood is one of those infectious elements like sun radiating heat, and it is enough so that the B-Boy on skates can manage to get Vyv to have a good time here and actually dance. In public no less, now with a Warboy club dancing all up in his world on wheels.

So many fun firsts.

The song plays out, though there is an eye kept on Ginger and so long as Ravn is there to keep her rescued from being out-of-water fishie all is well. Face flushed with colour under the white body paint he is all lopsided grins for Ravn, "Ah, ya made it!" Winded, yes, but he's still dancing in place somehow not rolling over anyone's feet. "Gray Harbor, where the Police Chief gets to dance with his dude dressed as a meal delivery courier for the elderly to K-pop in uniform. I love this city."

"Captain," Ravn corrects absentmindedly while trying to sort his way through the rest of the references in that delivery -- and then declaring defeat. He would have sworn Rosencrantz was Little Red Riding Hood, but Korean pop singer girl? Sure, why not. The man can probably be anything he wants. "He's the police captain. This is pretty important to Rosencrantz so I assume it makes a difference."

Who exactly is there to rescue who out of the combination of Ginger and Ravn is debatable. Neither are crowd people. Neither seem entirely comfortable in this scene. Neither is looking around frantically for an escape at least. Ravn does make sure to keep his back against a wall and himself out of the beaten path of people coming and going -- much in the fashion of someone who'd rather prefer to not get jostled or bumped into. Definitely somebody who is not going to be found on a dance floor unless forced there at gun point.

"I might go read up on the Day of the Dead thing later," he murmurs to Ginger. "It's a little embarrassing how anglophonic our culture is sometimes. Even in Denmark, I've had to almost scream at students to get them to understand that no, the world elf was in fact not coined by J. R. R. Tolkien."

It seems unlikely that this is precisely Vyv's jam, but when Bax attempts to drag him off to the dance floor, he succeeds nonetheless. This may, granted, have something to do with the fact that the chef is on wheels and therefore easier than usual to relocate with or without his full cooperation, but regardless, it works. That contagiously radiating joy of Bax's is probably a factor as well, and although Vyv doesn't dance nearly as impressively as his boyfriend (he's less flexible literally as well as figuratively), he acquits himself all right. A bit too much care taken, maybe, in avoiding risks that might make him fall, but if he can't display similar terpsichorean prowess, he can at least maintain a certain elegance in the way he moves. And... he does rather look as though he might be having fun. At the least, he's not inclined to complain about having that particular Warboy dancing all up in his world, even with wheels.

He does not dance in place himself on their return, but he does have gliding smoothly back into his spot down tonight, and does so. "Ravn," he greets the folklorist, giving him a small smile. "I see you've come as the first hint of dawn. You know each other, do you?" This to Ginger and Ravn both, of course. His martini glass is, alas, now empty, aside from the lemon peel garnish. That does at least keep the general impression more or less intact.

"He stopped by for a t-touch at the patisserie." Ginger explains, smiling towards the returning Vyv and Grant. "You t-two were brilliant dancers." She praises, entirely sincere. There's a bit of a blank look as she ALSO attempts to parse Baxter-- but she seems to give up and and accept her loss far sooner than Ravn: some things are just incomprehensible, and popular culture is one of them. Probably. It was probably pop culture? Either way. There's also a nod in Ravn's direction, affirming the day of the dead thing, "I was q-quite lucky I travelled about a while during college. But it's true that things are always t-taking me by surprise." Though... truthfully, that is likely somewhat more a class/business/field thing than a cultural one. "You just missed saying goodbye to J-javier. He's such a n-nice man, isn't he?" Her smile is warm, as she peeks in the direction he disappeared. "Everyone must be so h-happy to have such a nice practicing chief of p-police in the area."

Grant takes teh compliment with some modest gusto splaying his hand to his chest. "Thank you. It's our responsibility to ourselves to enjoy what we have when we can. I made myself a promise to miss out on nothing and....that includes Vyv on wheels getting his club" there's a hip bump, "on. Ravn,"

Looking off in the direction of Javier he smiles fondly and back, "Yeah and to think last year I was breaking into a garden party with him and hiding him from the police." That one...still mystifies him as he has all the right puzzle pieces locked down in the wrong places, "Guess everyone wants a day off work pretty bad." Looking to Vyv he blinks, "Except you." S o proud, though.

"Ravn, you guys don't have Day of the Dead?" He pauses and frowns, "I guess Europe's a bit far from Mexico, huh? well, it's pretty cool. It's a form of ancestor worship I can really get behind. Some people never talk about someone after they pass and these guys have this big fuckoff party where they invite them back. Last year I heard there was a party and the ghosts showed up. The food was amazing."

"Protestant Europe is far removed from Catholic tradition at least." Ravn glances after de la Vega again. "I don't know the Day of the Dead traditions of Mexico. I would not be the slightest surprised to find that the captain is quite right when he insinuates that the Spanish lifted from the Indians, not the other way around. I do know that most Catholic countries have a tradition of remembrance feasts for the departed during which these very same departed are believed to return to parttake of food set out for them. A tradition which was rooted out rather strongly in Northern Europe by the Reformation in the sixteenth century."

He pauses, and reminds himself that he is not in a class room and no one came here for a lecture. "I think I'd rather prefer for my family's ghosts to stay on their own side of the Atlantic, though. At least a few of them would probably be very confused to hear that there is such a thing as an American continent. We don't really have Halloween either -- that's why I decided to go take a look. Someone told me there'd be slutty dresses and fights." A joke? Probably, at least he smirks slightly.

"Mn, he was brilliant, I was acceptable. But thank you," Vyv replies, looking faintly pleased nonetheless, whether for the compliment or the pure fact that he seems to be pulling off this whole skating thing without wounding his dignity. Thus far. The hip bump doesn't exactly make this easier to maintain, but maybe he expected it, as he manages to keep his balance quite well, despite the sidelong arch of a brow he gives Bax in return.

The assertion of Ruiz's niceness gets an even more dubious look, that brow quirk getting a work-out. "Not that I'd noticed, no," he says dryly, though Grant's contribution does intrigue him enough to ask, "Why were you hiding him from the other police? What had he done?"

For his part, he does look vaguely interested in the mini-lecture, though... only vaguely, at present. The joke, on the other hand, gets a faint smirk back, and a gesture around with his glass. "And are you disappointed?" There are indeed plenty of slutty dresses (and non-dresses) to be seen. "I've missed any fights thus far so they can't have been that good, but give it a few more hours, perhaps." There is, after all, alcohol being served.