2020-11-14 - Friendzone Is Best Zone

If this was tourist season, you can be certain that yachters and other visitors to Gray Harbor would be asking if there's something in the water around here. Most of the town is acting exactly as you'd expect from a sleepy rural town in late fall. But the ones who aren't -- really aren't. Imagine a town where one man in ten acts like he's constantly zonked out of his skull on potent weed. Except, there is no weed because the dispensary burned. The air doesn't even smell like pot anymore. But there they are, one in ten, still giggling, still eating everything in sight, still doing all the things rational adults shouldn't be doing.

While trying to do the things they should be doing, too. Which, in the case of Ravn Abildgaard, means cleaning tables, picking up after the occasional eater -- the munchies guy who ordered eight servings of tater tots included -- and keeping the place neat while the bartenders do the actual servicing around here. He's a quiet guy who tends to not draw a lot of attention; a glance, perhaps, because he's not that shabby looking, but he's really good at just not making himself noticed. Except, it seems, the green cloud has deprived him of his functional social invisibility.

You're not supposed to swagger while strolling through the seating area with a tray full of dirty glasses. But maybe staying out back for a bit is a good idea because that swagger certainly spawned a few ideas in a couple of otherwise rather bored soccer mums.

Vic has been eating tots herself, grabbing them in between making drink orders. This time of day there isn't as much of the booze being ordered, as people eating at tables, so she's less likely to punch any customers. Right now she's pretty much entirely unlikely to punch customers, as she's giggling and smiling and veritably friendly, which may have a few of the non-shining folk looking to call a priest for an exorcism of the bartender. At least her mood today so far is a good one. She's been swinging between happy high and depressed since the dispensary blew up.

She glances over at her Sith Apprentice and a brow goes up up up. "Abildgaard, are you SWAGGERING?" she calls out, full volume, looking stunned at the change in her friend.

Ravn pokes his mop-haired head back out through the door to the backroom. "No! I'm walking! I just -- it's funny, okay? Walking like this! It's funny!"

He shuffles back in -- belay that, he struts like a peacock. He also makes the tactically sound decision of aiming himself at the bar where the ladies at the table over there might stare at his backside, sure, but they're not likely to armwrestle Vic for the privilege of getting behind the counter to do more than that. "I can't -- this green smoke thing? I fucking texted the chief of police by accident and ended up promised brownies." He shrugs helplessly. "This is my life now. Everything is insane."

"Oh man, I think I texted Clayton a bunch of shit I definitely should not have," Vic sympathizes. She does admire the strutting and barks out a laugh at the ladies staring at his backside. "Better be careful or you're gonna get ass patted by those Karens over there at table five. They are looking at you like you're a delicious tater tot."

"Why the hell do you think I'm over here?" Ravn can't help laugh. Then again, everything is funny to him at the moment. Except when it isn't. Then it's all very sad. Life is too short for anything but extremes. Or something. "God, I ended up texting Rosencrantz afterwards. I mean, that's who I was trying to reach in the first place. I think I whined at him for an hour. If he comes in later and asks if I've hanged myself yet, tell him I took it outside the city limits like I promised de la Vega I would -- less paperwork that way."

He rubs his temple with a gloved finger. "Next week? When this blows over? I am holing up somewhere with ten bottles of wine and waiting for everyone to be so busy remembering the shit they said that they won't remember mine." Swearing isn't really Ravn's usual style, either, but there you go.

"Heyyyy, when you're like this, like totally stoned, does your problem ease up? You know, the touching thing?" Vic asks curiously. Because she knows she's feeling a bit less freaked out about her scars herself. "Inquiring minds wanna know. Like I'm sure half the women in town wouldn't mind testing that out with you, my apprentice!" She giggles girlishly, catches herself doing it, and pours herself a whiskey to try and look tougher than she feels right now. Right now she feels like a pretty princess who could eat a side of beef.

"If it did I'd be stoned out of my mind twenty-four seven," the Dane says and swipes the bottle to pour one for himself too; never let a lady drink on her own. "You know that's not how it works, right? This place." Sweeping grandiose gesture that nearly knocks down a row of beer bottles on display. "This place -- one of the reasons I fucking love working here is that people don't hit on me. No one gives a shit about the guy who cleans tables and urinals. Ew, right? When you're on the boardwalk playing the whole charming hustler act, people keep trying to pick you up like a cheap gigolo. Here? No one bothers, this town is full of hot guys who do want to get picked up so why the hell home in on the guy who's trying to fade into the shadows over there behind the bloody ficus."

Turns out he talks really fast when he's high, too.

"People like a challenge, my friend. Some of us also see the guy trying not to get picked up as prey to stalk," Vic notes, waggling her brows. "If you weren't so nice, I'd be stalking you. But while I love causing pain, I don't think you like receiving it, so that's a no go for me." Too much sharing! TOO MUCH INFORMATION! She slugs back half the whiskey in one go, before going back to wiping out glasses. "This celibacy thing blows moose balls."

"I wish, then at least something'd get blown." Bit more direct than usual too, when high, that Dane. "Listen. Seriously. You can get laid if it's just about getting laid. Looks like yours? Not a problem. But you're picky. That's a problem. I'm gonna go on shipping you and Monaghan. He seems like he can take what you dish. And you can sure as hell take what he might dish. Match made in heaven."

Ravn pauses. "Me? No. I get pain enough in my life just existing. I don't do relationships."

Vic grunts. "You and Clayton both seem to think Monaghan and I should bang. We might need to bang just to see if everyone is right. Cavanaugh is plainly not interested so I am moving on from throwing my bad flirting at the astronaut." She gets a faraway look in her eyes as she starts pondering, spacing right the hell out in the middle of work. Then she snaps back. "What were we talking about? Waffle tacos? Clayton says he created waffle tacos and they're gonna make him rich."

"No, I think I see two halfway decent folks talking to and about each in other in a way that suggests maybe they should go out for a few beers nice and quiet and find out if there is a spark. There's more to a relationship than banging. Or what the hell, so people tell me." Ravn shrugs and takes a good swig of that scotch. "But I imagine that moving on from someone who's not interested is probably best, sounds like a waste of time. You know what else is a waste of time? Taking relationship advice from me."

"What makes you think either of us would want a relationship. I don't do real well with those. I'm like de la Vega levels of bad at them," Vic points out. She snorts and downs more of her whiskey. "Yeah, I know, just Cavanaugh is on that higher level of hot. And I know he'd love it if I broke him in half. But yeah, moving on. C'est la vie. All that happy horseshit. What about you? You gonna shove people away to arm's length forever?"

"Is that the de la Vega who's in a steady relationship with two other blokes who are blind to anyone else around them? Because in my book, he seems to be doing pretty all right in that regard. I could eat a horse." Ravn looks around a moment, and then pulls the complimentary bowl of peanuts over because hey, salt and protein. "Yeah. Pretty much? I don't do relationships. And neither do you, apparently. So we're pretty alike in that regard, aren't we?"

Vic smirks over at Ravn. "When he was my age he was a total man whore, and I'm guessing continued to be until he came to this town. And probably a for a while IN this town. But yeah, he's settling down in his old age." She blinks. "If you call giving me permission to shag his boyfriend settling down. Like Oh Em Gee. But it works for them so, whatevs." OMG she talks like a valley girl when she's high? She nods at him and grabs a handful of peanuts when they're in reach. "Yeah, we are sadly alike there. But I'd totally bang you if I didn't think you'd not survive it." She grins wolfishly.

"Oh, I know. Man's got a reputation of having shagged half the town and being proud of it." Ravn hitches a shoulder and stuffs peanuts into his face. "I don't think their relationship would work for me. But it works for the three of them so who am I to judge? I'm just glad that people have stopped thinking I'm screwing Rosencrantz on the side. Even if de la Vega calls me Rosencrantz' straight boyfriend, I mean, at least I know he's just ribbing me about it."

He, on the other hand, just talks faster and with a bit heavier accent. But mostly, just faster, like he's not pausing to actually think about what he says before saying it. Filters are set to OFF. And oddly enough, Vic's little confession there doesn't cause the Dane to even bat an eyelid. "I don't do relationships," he repeats. "I mean, not that way either. The whole 'I can touch you but you can't really touch me' deal? Not a good place to start anything. Besides, I'm the kind of bloke who doesn't even notice when people come on to me. People keep telling me that I get propositioned all the time. I keep not noticing."

"You're Rosencrantz' hetero life mate, totally. It's a thing." Vic grins, chomping peanuts happily. "These would be better in a hot fudge sundae. So much better. I want ice cream." She looks amused and giggles a little. "OH yeah, the ladies are always looking at you. And some of the guys too. You'd have your pick if you cared to. But I think the 'not realizing it' is part of your charm. It works for you."

"Yeah, it works great, at least I don't need to worry about it," Ravn murmurs drily. Then he shakes his head. "I've been in a relationship. It worked like utter shit. She made my life hell, I made her life hell. She ended up getting herself killed in a drunk driving accident, that's how shit it was. I'm not getting into that again. At least not unless I meet someone who'll let me angst over it for a year or five first. Think we have any bacon? I want bacon. This bar needs to serve bacon."

"Shit, sorry to hear that man. I almost got married. Mike was a great guy. Is a great guy. Like...a short Captain America, patrol cop. But he couldn't handle the ugly aspects of my job undercover in narcotics and he split, went to New York. Haven't been in a real relationship since." Vic sighs and drains the rest of her whiskey from the glass, setting the empty into the rack under the bar for them. "Guess that's why I get hung up on assholes now. I had the best good guy and screwed it up." His question has her blinking. "We have to have bacon, it goes on the loaded tots and the burgers. A bacon burger sounds so good."

"It does!" Ravn straightens up. "Oh god, I need a bacon burger like I need to breathe. You mean you think you're not good enough for a good guy, is that what you're saying?"

Way to play amateur psychologist there, Ravn.

"Something like that. Or maybe I worry I'll just compare them to Mike in every way, and that isn't fair to anyone. Either way, nice guys rarely get my motor running anymore." She moves over to the order pad to tap in an order for two bacon burgers." Two burgers coming up!

"You know, there are two women in this town who have actually suggested in some way that something could happen that involved me and them and not too many clothes. You're one of them, obviously." Ravn apparently feels a need to share and happily does so while trailing after (and turning his back on the two Karens back there, not that they're complaining, nope). "Both of you pretty far outside the kind of women that usually go for a guy like me. It's a little funny. Usually? They want a dog."

"Nah, a lapdog is boring. Women who want that have problems with their own sense of worth." Vic gets pensive as she explains. "They think they have to go about their lives in a specific way, according to some long written stupid traditions. Find a nice boy, settle down, get a house with a white picket fence, and have two point five kids. It's not what they want, but it's what society expects, and they go for that. People like me, and whoever the other gal was, we give expectations the middle finger, and just kinda go for what we want."

"They want that, and they want a husband who does what they tell him to do, brings in the money for their tennis club, and looks good at garden parties. If I sound bitter it's because I am bitter. I don't do well with women." Ravn leans in; at this rate he might eat the bacon raw. "I do fine with people who happen to be female. Once they turn into women on me, it all goes to hell. Then there's expectations and obligations and explanations. I get distracted. I wander off for a week to research something. I bury myself in a book and forget to pay attention. I hate social functions, and I don't want to get dressed up nice."

Vic snorts. "That sounds terrible. You horrible man you. Doing RESEARCH." She shakes her head. "I go off for a week to break someone knees for fucks sake. You aren't giving yourself enough credit. Someone out there is looking for a hot not-Swedish-chef who isn't going to pester the fuck out of them all the time, and who can do their own thing, while still enjoying time with them."

"Yeah, well, give them my number if you find them. And tell them they better have fucking good time and a lot of patience because I wasn't joking when I said I'd take four years to angst about it first." Ravn leans in further. Done yet? Are they done yet? Now? How about now? "If I ever decide to involve myself in something of that nature again, they better be my friend first -- and know what they're getting into. I've done the bit where an introvert bloke is so fucking grateful to get noticed he'll fall for the first person who does once. Not doing it again. And you need to stop being so fucking hard on yourself. Yes, I get it, you do bad shit that no one's supposed to know about. I bet you have your good bloody reasons."

Vic grimaces. "Yeah, thanks for that. Sometimes I wonder if my reasons are really good enough. But for now, they're what I have. And I'll keep a look out for your perfect woman for you. She'll have to get through me first, I'm like the bouncer at the door to your heart." She grins and smiles at the DING of Order's Up in the window.

"Hey, works for me." Ravn beams. Food is happening! With bacon! He really does carry some resemblance to a hyperactive squirrel when high. "If I sound like a fucking misogynist I'm sorry. I don't hate people who happen to have female bits. I hate the whole... some women thing. I hung out on the red pill scene for a while but... Then I realised I was just being a bitter dick. So I got over it. Only, not to the extent where I can be arsed to go to all the effort it'd be, sorting through my own shit and the whole touching thing and no, I just can't even."

"All I can say is, if you're unhappy, work on you. The rest will work itself out," Vic points out. She should really take her own damn advice. The burgers are put up and she grabs the plates, handing one to Ravn and moving to drag a couple stools BEHIND the bar so they can eat and work.

Ravn Rikers on to his in a gesture blatantly stolen from, well, Riker, but also very much from Seth Monaghan. He holds that burger like his life depends on it not escaping. "Yep. That's the part the red pill guys don't get. They just sit around blaming single mothers and socialism. So I came to that realisation and got back out of that. But I was there long enough that yes, I do realise how I sound sometimes. And I want to clarify, my problem isn't with anyone who isn't trying to turn me into a trained dog. Which is unfortunately the kind of woman I do tend to attract when I finally do attract somebody. So, thanks for understanding that. I'd like to keep my face intact and I kinda enjoy hanging out too. Even if you're this terribly scary, knee breaking person."

"Yeah, I'm super scary. Just ask those idiot college kids who cornered me on Halloween." Vic grins evilly. "I'm betting they screamed every time a nurse walked into their rooms in the hospital."

"Good. Teach them to pick a fair fight next time. Good life lesson. Pity they didn't know which way the unfair went." Ravn winks and tucks into that bacon burger like a man who hasn't eaten for a week. "Don't have it in me to feel one fucking ounce of pity for blokes who gang up on one person in an alley. I've been that one person a couple of times."

"If anyone does that to you here, I'll make their elbows bend the other way. You just tell them you have a very, scary knee-breaking friend who will avenge any harm done to you a hundred fold." Vic omnoms her burger like a damn lolcat.

"I didn't let them do it to me before either. But elsewhere, I can do things other people can't do. Here? A few flying things? That's a joke in a town where every other person goes Emperor Palpatine on things they don't like. Anywhere else I'd tell you can defend myself. Here? Yeah, that's why I started buddying up with Kelly and Monaghan." Ravn is apparently capable of inhaling a bacon burger just like that. Wonder where he puts it, skinny guy and all.

Vic also makes her burger vanish at an alarming rate. It's clear her other job activities go to burning all those calories up, as well as demoing her house. "Kelly is a good guy. You could have worse friends and teachers, man."

"Yeah, he is. I like him a lot. Guy looks like he could fold you a few times down the middle without breaking a sweat but every time he opens his mouth, something profound comes out. I mean, I can hear from the way he talks, he's got very little in terms of formal education." Ravn smirks. "And here's me, with a fucking Ph.D., and the guy makes me feel like I want to just sit at his feet and take notes. Guy has a lot of stuff sorted out that most people don't even get started on. Really proves that sending someone to school doesn't necessarily make them wise."

"Kelly is totally the Plato we deserve," Vic quips with a giggle. "Just need him and de la Vega to kiss and make up. Them being at odds is making my job harder."

Ravn rests his elbows on the counter while idly wondering if he should ask for another burger. "What are they fighting about? Can't imagine a gym teacher runs afoul of the police a lot -- something personal?"

"Yeah, something personal," Vic gruffs out. She at least has enough presence of mind not to dip too deep into the underworld around Ravn, for fear he might get caught up in it. "Anyway, I will try not to crawl into your bed high."

"Only drunk?" Ravn scarfs down the remaining peanuts instead. "Look, I rib you about it. Because it was funny. It was funny. But it was also not a big deal. No harm was done. You find yourself out of a place to sleep some other time, come over. It's not like two adults can't occupy the same damned room without having to get handsy. You find yourself with enough presence of mind to pick up a couple of bottles of something on the way, even better."

"Deal, and the same goes in reverse. Once I actually have places to sleep in my nightmare of a home reno," Vic notes. She gets a page and frowns down at her phone. "I need to go clock out and head to the other job. You got clean up here?"

"I got it. And I'll probably eat it. Watch your back, all right?" Ravn gets off his chair. He'll deal with Karen 1 & 2. Possibly by charming them into fighting each other over him. Because well, why the hell not. You're not this high for this long often.