2020-10-31 - Not Really Into Social Things

It's a lovely autumn day, with a slight breeze that carries just the smallest hint of the sea air. And pollution, of course. The trailer park is fairly empty; most of the people here are shift workers, if they work at all, so they're either at work, or sleeping, and will shoot you for disturbing their sleep. Alexander doesn't live here, although he's familiar in the neighborhood. Familiar, but not really /wanted/. There are wary looks from windows as he slouches his way through the densely packed trailers, heading for one in particular, it seems. He doesn't walk up to it, though, but instead...lurks. About five trailers away, trying to look nonchalant.

He does not look nonchalant.

Someone who does in fact look nonchalant -- he's just not aware of it -- is Ravn Abildgaard, strolling down the road with his leather jacket up around his ears, dressed in his usual black ensemble of turtleneck and jeans, and only a purple scarf to sort of break up the mood a little. Wind in his hair and hands in his pockets, there's just a casual I own the world sort of air to the man's body language. This is someone who knows exactly who he is, and where he is, and presumably, why he is.

Spotting Alexander the Dane raises a gloved hand in a lazy wave and changes direction to catch up. "Hey there!"

Do people stare at him too? Of course they do. He's not lived here for seven generations, not even one -- who is this tall foreigner staying at Vic Grey's trailer, her new boyfriend or something?

Alexander doesn't jump and scream at the call out to him, although since he's normally as nervous as a stray cat, that clearly takes effort. He turns to look at Ravn, first with a suspicious scowl, although that clears when he recognizes the Dane. "Ravn. Hello." His voice is hushed, and he frowns, his brow furrowing. He's wearing an oversized olive green jacket, and under that, an ugly purple sweater. More color than Ravn, even if it's not color that goes together. "What are you doing here? Visiting someone?"

"Wintering if you mean generally, going home from work if you mean more specifically this moment," the Dane replies with a small grin. "I'm spending the winter at Grey's Airstream -- until I can get the Vagabond back in the water. Do you live around here too? I've tried to meet the neighbours but... It feels a little like home, to be honest, you have to live here for seven generations before you've earned your right to call yourself a local. Talked to a bloke the other day who said people here are wary of outsiders."

"Victoria Grey's trailer?" Alexander blinks, considers Ravn a little more thoughtfully. Like maybe he's wondering if they're dating. He gives another quick look towards the trailer that he was watching. It hasn't exploded or anything, so he turns back to the other man. "It's not really a friendly neighborhood. You should be careful, walking alone." There's a nod back towards Elm street. "I live down the street. 13 Elm." And yeah, he says that without a hint of recognizing how terrible that address is on multiple levels. "But yeah. It's a small town. Townies tend to not...like outsiders all that much." A pause. "Not true. Outsiders are exciting. But not always trusted."

"Yeah, it's the same where I'm from, very much the same. Might be the same in small towns anywhere for all I know." Ravn grins and actually allows Alexander a few moments to entertain those curious notions. Then he shakes his head. "Vic bought herself a house -- a nightmare of 1970s interior design. So her place is empty and I needed somewhere to hang my coat that wasn't drydocked. I don't think I want to be here next winter as well but it works for now. People do keep telling me it's a dangerous neighbourhood but I have yet to actually meet anyone that I felt nervous about."

He shrugs lightly. "It's Gray Harbor, I guess. I'm a lot more worried about what I might meet when I go to bed than I am about some mugger in the street. I've got very little worth mugging me for in the first place."

Alexander blinks, then nods. "Yes. I've seen her house. We burned her furniture a little. It was fun." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "And it's less random street crime you need to worry about, and more, uh, getting mixed up in non-random crime. A lot of drugs get dealt here, people fight. I think Miss Grey's trailer was burnt when someone committed arson nearby." His eyes flick back to the trailer, then to Ravn. "Just be careful who you get mixed up with." He sighs. "But, yeah, getting Lost is more likely to be terrible. Street crime can only kill you, after all."

"I caught the first bit of that party, yeah." Ravn hitches a shoulder lightly. "But, that's me. I'm not very good with the whole social group functions thing. And if somebody needs to take the shift at the bar anyhow, it might as well be the guy who isn't all that comfortable at a party anyway."

He glances in the direction of the trailer park proper and nods. "I'm not unfamiliar with drug trading. Never got into it myself but, there's a lot of it going on around the kind of people I used to spend time with -- hustlers, carnies, small time crooks, prostitutes. I know what a deal looks like, and to just cross the street and mind my own business. This -- I can handle. Dreams that turn me into a teenager and rewrite my waking memories, those are a hell of a lot more disturbing than whatever strongman thinks he runs the pot trade around here."

Alexander smiles, just slightly. "I'm not, either. It's okay. I usually just stand around and let other people deal with the talking parts." He listens to the rest with a growing frown. "Sounds like you had an interesting life. And some interesting Dreams." A pause. "High school? I've had a couple of those, lately. They seem to be going around. Some horrible version of Addington High where the teachers are feeding students to the principal?"

Ravn blinks. And then declares, "Yes. That exactly. Or something like it. I missed out on a lot of the context because I was not a fluent speaker at seventeen. Something about an absolute bitch of a substitute, a missing math teacher, and a monster hiding in a closed-off building. There were several other people there whom I recognised -- hell, teenage Rosencrantz socked me one for being a dick."

He can't help a small, lopsided grin at that memory so clearly, his pride cannot have been that badly damaged. "I think the worst part honestly was trying to speak English. Ever had a dream where for some reason you couldn't communicate? That's what it was like. And of course, the whole aspect of being reminded that I was a sullen and miserable little piece of shit at seventeen."

Alexander thinks about it, and nods slowly. "Yes. Like that. In one of the two I had, I was a teacher. The only one who remembered that I was an adult, and everyone else was a kid in my class. I tried to behead the vice principal with a ruler." He frowns. "The other one was prom. I was seventeen, and also a miserable little piece of shit." A quick flash of a smile. "I think most teenagers are, to some degree. Try not to feel bad. Itzhak's been in every one I was in, too. I hope he's okay." He gives Ravn a worried once over. "Are YOU okay?"

"I'm all right. Nothing really happened to me -- being the miserable little piece of shit that I was, I absolutely made sure to guard the rear." Ravn looks a little sheepish. "I mean, last in, first out, I had my priorities pretty straight at that age. I never actually did go to an American high school, though. Had another dream like it earlier too where Gina Castro was staying at my parents' house in Denmark. I vividly remember being set up for a blind date with her, but -- that also never actually happened. The memory re-writing, I could do without that. It's bloody awkward, remembering things that never actually happened."

He looks the other man up and down a moment and then asks, "I thought you were -- done with the teacher thing."

"A blind date with Gina Castro?" For a moment, Alexander just looks gloriously and completely blank. Like the idea that something like that might ever happen has just hit him across the face like an angry, stereotypical housewife. "Wow. And I thought my Dreams were fucked up. You're lucky to have survived." That fades into a sympathetic grimace. "It's horrible, not knowing what happened and what didn't happen. Especially when no one agrees with what you think did happen," he agrees, quietly.

Then takes a breath. "I am. But Dreams don't care. Anyway. Did you see the antlered thing?"

"Like a giant... mermaid elk?" Ravn searches for words that will describe the... creature. He doesn't find any more suited ones. "I think I did? I was still at what the hell is going on when suddenly the missing teacher tackled me and that thing appeared -- and then I was back in my bed trying to not scream loud enough to wake the neighbours because I'd managed to hurt my hand in the process."

He shakes his head with some amusement at Alexander's bluescreen moment and waits for the other man to reboot. "We didn't actually go on a date. We just smoked pot in my parents' greenhouse and whined about our parents. But Gina Castro remembers it too, so it wasn't just something my subconscious cooked up over a bottle of wine."

Alexander brightens, and nods. "Mermaid elk. Yes. I like that. I think that's what it looked like. I only glimpsed it briefly, at the prom. But if it's showing up in all the dreams, somewhere...maybe it's causing them?" Then he chuckles, low and not quite under his breath. "Smoking pot and complaining. Isn't that the essence of a teenaged date? I mean, add some fumbling around under the clothes and awkward sex, and you're pretty much got the teen experience in a nutshell." He smiles. "Gina's okay. She's...unique. But has it together more than most unique people in this town. Myself included."

"Mm, well, for the record and Gina Castro's reputation's sake, allow me to clarify that fumbling around and awkward sex was not involved." Ravn chuckles lightly. "Just pot and whining. That said -- it felt more to me like that substitute teacher was the henchman, and the -- thing -- orchestrating it all was whatever that creature in the building was. Someone said something about a principal? I'm sorry I can't be more precise but I really was struggling to just find out what was going on. I'd never seen people fly or explode doors with their mind before, either."

Alexander shakes his head. "Don't apologize. Dreams are hard. Terrifying. Bewildering. It's okay to be freaked out. Especially if you're a kid again. " There's a slow nod. "Yes. The principal. Principal Sykes. I think it was a giant fluid-spider thing. It said that I negotiated a deal where we would feed it the occasional student, and all the others would live. I didn't. I don't remember doing that." He licks his lips, nervously. "I would have remembered doing that."

"I also doubt you'd agree to doing something like that." Ravn shakes his head, looking at the other man. "You're not a compromiser, Alexander, not from what I've seen. Sacrificing a few, culling the herd, to keep the flock safe and the wolves at bay? That's not you. You're not very flexible, in the good way. There are compromises we shouldn't ever contemplate making."

Maybe Alexander isn't the only one who isn't very flexible.

"I did try to talk to Castro about it after but... well, you know her. Always hard to tell whether she's taking the piss or just messing with your head because she can." The Dane buries both hands in his coat pockets and squares his feet. "Mostly I think she just found the idea of me feeling awkward about it all kind of amusing."

Alexander tilts his head to one side, and smiles. "That's nice of you to say, Ravn. It's not true. But it's nice." He turns away to look at the trailer again. "That sounds like Gina. She can be cruel, but it's a very feline cruelty. She doesn't mean any harm, I think. She just likes to watch people squirm and wriggle." A glance back at Ravn. "Other than the time warp, are you doing all right? Things going okay at the bar with Easton back?"

"It's the impression of you that I have. I could be wrong -- you tell me." The Dane rests his weight on the back of his feet, hands still in pockets.

Then he nods. "Eh, it's a little awkward in the manner of someone literally coming back from the dead. We haven't spoken much -- and, I mean, why would we? He pays me to clean tables, not to be his therapist. From what I'm seeing, he and Bennie probably have some things to work out. Not between themselves -- think they're pretty grounded there -- but more, the man has been through a lot. I don't imagine you spend six months in Hell and come out without scars. They don't talk about it, but, not saying anything is a message too. I think they've got it. They'll get back to normal eventually -- whatever normal means exactly. It's the Twofer, everyone's relationships with each other there are like what's left of a basket of yarn balls when three kittens have been let loose in it for an hour."

Alexander blinks. "I did tell you." But then, he smiles. "And that sounds about right. Easton's a good guy, and has been...through a lot. Even without Gray Harbor. I dunno if it'll ever be normal, if it ever was normal, but they'll find a way." His eyes twinkle a little. "And, yeah. It's a small town. There's not a lot to do except have sex, so people tend to end up with relationship trees that would rival a spider's web. It makes cases interesting, because about seventy percent of people are hiding at least one affair with someone they shouldn't be having sex with. Or they're embezzling funds. Or laundering money. Or have a drug habit. Or are supplying other people's drug habits."

"Or all of them at once? I must be very boring by Gray Harbor's standards. Maybe I'll up my game when I've been around a while longer," Ravn says with a grin and then adds, "Someone did tell me that the week I got here, actually. That with all the things going on, the only way to stay sane here is to drink a lot and get laid a lot so that's how everyone passes the time. Personally I think they might have a -- skewered view. It's not that bad, or I'm blinder than I thought. I like a cold beer or a glass of wine as much as the next bloke, but I haven't noticed an increase in my alcohol intake and I literally work in a bar now."

Alexander grins. The expression is brief and bright. "Now you're getting it." There's another low chuckle. "It's not the only way. It's the way a lot of people choose. But it's not the only way. Talk to August Roen. He's probably the sanest person I know, and doesn't regularly get drunk, and probably gets laid a perfectly ordinary amount. I don't drink at all, hardly...but I don't think I qualify as sane, so maybe not the best example." More seriously, he continues, "The important thing, I think, is to have something that grounds you, and makes it worth the rest of it. A lot of people drink and fuck to forget the things that happen...but that doesn't really help. Not in the long run. So you drink and fuck more. And eventually everything lies in ruins around you."

He sighs. "I think it's better to find things, or people, you love."

"I think you're probably pretty spot on there. It is one of the fun parts of my job, I'll admit that -- watching the tangles people get themselves into, the games they play with each other, the -- negotiations. But that's me, I like watching people and trying to figure out what makes them work." Ravn cants his head slightly. "My coping mechanism used to be leaving. Just -- get up, put on a coat, get on the next bus out. Never stayed anywhere for more than a month in three years until I got here. I haven't worked out what to replace it with exactly yet. Drunken orgies aren't on the table, though." He pauses and then adds, "Actually, that sounded horribly pretentious, as if I'm wading in invitations to them. I'm not. Just, I don't think that coping mechanism would work for me. I don't really connect with people much, but when I do, I connect too much."

"Drunken orgies on tables aren't very fun. Everyone thinks they're going to be, but most tables aren't really big enough, and the edges of the table keep banging into your thighs, calves, and arms, pretty much no matter what you do. And the friction burns are awkward." Alexander says this all with deadpan seriousness. "But leaving isn't the worst coping mechanism. Sometimes it's the best decision. As we've discussed." A flicker of a smile. "Have you tried taking up a hobby? I like to garden."

"I watch people. I listen to their stories. I'm a folklorist, it's literally in the job description. I'm realist enough to admit that I won't be leaving here -- at least not until I leave for good. I'd settled with a boat and a cat and a job within one month, I mean, I've never done anything like that before." Ravn does quirk a copper eyebrow at the very -- detailed -- knowledge that the other man is demonstrating. He doesn't ask, though. "I have managed to keep my two little potted plants alive, that's practically a miracle. Apart from that -- I walk, I read, and I play the violin a bit. I'm not bored -- it's very possible that is my coping mechanism: Just, watching people and listening to them. What kind of gardening do you do? I did wonder whether you had a green thumb when your present to Vic was a wheelbarrow full of garden things. You can always tell who's got their hands on right in a situation like that -- everyone else, myself included, brought booze."

"Does it feel good? To settle in somewhere? Or scary?" Alexander seems genuinely interested in the answer to the question as he stares at Ravn. "And there's nothing wrong with being interested in people. People are fascinating." He brightens a little at the question. "Um. Nothing too advanced. I have an indoor herb garden. Things that smell good, and some of them can apparently be used to cook, so I'm trying that out. My garden has only tried to eat people once." A pause. "Twice. But it's not a regular thing. Outdoors, I just put in some flower beds, some small edible veggies when I can. It's fun. Nice to see something grow." He looks sheepish. "And Miss Grey probably appreciated the booze more than the wheelbarrow."

"I don't think so. Even if she's not a gardener kind of person, she'll appreciate the effort -- you put in more than us slackers just grabbing a few bottles on the go. Me, I picked up a few sixpacks because I was honestly not quite certain what I was being invited for or how formal it'd be. If it'd been one of those suit and tie affairs I'd probably just have turned around on the doorstep and left." Ravn grins slightly. "You saw me at Addington House, I mean. I don't do suit and tie if I can possibly wiggle out of it. Only time I've put on something remotely posh here was to get into the Eighty-Eight to see Rosencrantz perform."

He ponders the question about settling for a moment, shifting his weight back and forth a little. "To be honest? It's frightening. I'm not used to getting to know people. It's easier when you know that in another week, you'll never see them again. Now it actually matters what I say and do around folks."

"Luckily, the only time anything around here calls for a suit and tie is if it's a wedding, a funeral, or...yeah, anything associated with the name 'Addington'." Alexander's smile back is wry. "And you were fine. The tour guide wasn't real, so I don't think you have to worry about her snitching on you." To the rest? There's a slow nod. "Yes. Starting to care about what other people think, hurts. Having a history that people remember, hurts. Even if it's a good history, sometimes. But. A lot of us are broken. Don't stress too much. We expect broken."

Ravn hitches a shoulder. "I have lunch with Hyacinth Addington every so often. She doesn't seem to mind my dress code, at least not enough to ask me to change it. I like her -- sharp tongue, sharp mind, gets things done. Not what I'd expect from someone in her social position, but one can be pleasantly surprised, you know?"

He chuckles. "The only person who actually tells me to dress different is Itzhak Rosencrantz. I blame this scarf on him entirely. He told me I'd attract less attention if I added a bit of colour. Might be right about it too, at least it was less than a day before someone told me I no longer dress like the angel of death."

Alexander shudders, lightly. "That woman scares me," he mutters. "We were in high school together. Real high school, not fake evil dream high school. She was a freshman. I was a senior. She still scares me." He kicks at a broken brick on the ground, pulling it out of the soft dirt with the edge of one workboot. "There's nothing wrong with black. Black is nice. And you don't have to think about matching colors when you get up in the morning." Not that Alexander looks like a guy who has ever, ever worried about matching colors. One might suspect he pulls his wardrobe out of the nearest garbage can, although it is clean, at least. "It's a nice scarf, though."

"Vic?" Ravn quirks an eyebrow as he's wont to do when curious or surprised. "She's a tough cookie. Probably seen some things she wishes she hadn't. Definitely keeps people at arm's length, definitely keeps secrets. I don't really know much about her, because of that -- she doesn't talk about herself. She seems... Lonely. Good co-worker, though. Can't say I have any complaints about the way she's been mentoring me a little, teaching me the basics of bar tending. What was she like back then? Schoolyard bully?"

Alexander blinks. "No. Not Victoria," there's a hint of emphasis on the full name. "Victoria's not town. I don't know what she was like in high school. I meant Hyacinth. And she's not..." he frowns. "I don't think she was a bully. We didn't hang out." A note of wry amusement in his voice, as if there's a joke in even thinking that he might have hung out with anyone named Addington. "She's just...intimidating, is all."

There's a pause. "I like Miss Gray alright. She was a bit of a troublemaker in the prom dream. Spiked the punch. So she was probably a handful as a teenager."

Ravn makes a duh! face. "Oh. Right. Hyacinth. I don't know -- she reminds me a lot of people I grew up with, except that unlike them, she's actually a decent human being. Sharp tongue, definitely. Just, I've only really seen her apply it to people who deserved to have someone call them out on being hypocrits. You could definitely convince me she was a right nightmare at fourteen though -- pretty much the local baron's daughter, all the money and all the attitude, and no real consequences, I imagine."

"Very put together. Intimidating." Alexander pauses. "I don't think I've ever thought about barons." He peers at Ravn, then shrugs. "But she seems like a good person. She just scares me. A lot of things do." He gives another look at the trailer he was watching, then shakes his head. "Sorry. I should get going. Um. It was nice to talk to you, Ravn. Don't buy anything anyone tries to sell you out of a back of a car around here, and don't die." With that abrupt parting, he turns and walks away, towards the trailer he had his eye on.