2020-11-23 - Human Manure and Other Unflattering Allegories

November is cold. Chilly and damp, the air thick with moisture that forms as something between a drizzle and just a heavy presence in the air, the skies bright but clouded, as if someone has chosen to put a frosted cover over everything. And, in a small town like Gray Harbor, not all roads are equal - some are still edged with the half-rotting piles of leaves in the edges of streets and tucked into corners, muddy edges and and unkempt yards. There are also strips of woodlands, not quite forests, between certain neighborhood - just green spaces meant to break up areas, and occasionally forming shortcuts from one neighborhood to another. It's one of these roads that Gina is currently walking down this fine afternoon: walking, yes, with her hands on her bicycle handles, pulling it along. She's dressed in her usual winter coat: the long, dark grey wool tailored expertly so almost no seem shows, with its skirt-like bottom half and the thin chain going from the final button on the bottom to the side pocket - like a robe, nearly, but not quite. Her hood is lowered, in defiance of the weather, her deep purple hair tied back in a ponytail and gaining quite a bit of volume, but her plum lipstick and expertly applied smokey eye, complete with sharp, abstract eye design, shows her usual immaculate care.

Anyone watching would see her crossing someone's front lawn at an unhurried pace, leaving the main road to go to one of those tree-filled strips of woodlands: a shortcut, no doubt, from the rounding curves of the neighborhood at its edges.

The car that comes around the corner just then, heading back to towards the city, is nothing special. A plain and ordinary rental, a metallic shade of grey, and the only thing unusual about it is that it pulls up where Gina is heading off the road. Ravn Abildgaard closes the car door behind himself and starts off after her across that unfortunate lawn -- pulling his wind breaker up around his ears against the cold and very clearly intent on catching up with her, regardless of how many 'don't step on the grass' signs he needs to ignore in order to do so.

"Hey, hold up a second?" The copper blond is at least not trying to follow her unnoticed. He's got long legs and while he doesn't run he shortens the distance between them quick enough. "I'd like to talk to you a moment, if you can spare one."

Some women might be worried at sudden footsteps behind them, slapping against the wet ground and clearly audible. Gina? Of course she doesn't turn around. She doesn't deign to pay attention to others, this is known. She doesn't have to acknowledge them. Some parts of the Deep and Low can't be turned off, and the ripples of the human mind - of life - are one of those things...or she's just a spooky overconfident bitch, either or.

Still, when it's a VOICE she recognizes, calling out to her, she doesn't stop, but she does slow, looking over her shoulder to see that yes, Ravn is talking to her, and is in fact even approaching her. A moment of consideration, before she exhales, shoulders lowering slightly, and stops in place, taking a single step to turn and take in the approaching Ravn, then flicking her gaze towards his car. Sadly, it doesn't look convenient to put her bike on. Then her eyes scan the rest of the neighborhood - fairly empty, at the moment, kids and adults likely all in school. Her eyes return to Ravn. "Sure. Start up and we'll see how long this moment gets."

"I can give you a ride but the bike won't fit," he agrees upon seeing that look back towards the rental. "But I don't mind walking back later."

The Dane falls into stride next to her, hands buried in the pockets of his black windbreaker; as usual, the only item of colour is that dark purple scarf that he invested in largely to get people to stop hassling him about only wearing black. "I wanted to apologise. I had no right to get upset with you because of my own hangups. Weed cloud or no weed cloud. Drove out to the diner to see if I might catch you on a break, but they told me you'd left."

There might be a slight flick of her gaze, a minor reassessment of Ravn that happens as he claims he doesn't mind walking, but Gina doesn't comment. She only continues pulling her bike into the woods, letting Ravn follow behind. And in the space between the cleared lawns and the woods, the change is-- palpable, really. A little chillier. A different smell in the air. A richness in the moisture-laden air enhanced by the greenery. It makes it...hard to tell of the small exhalation, the slight drop of her shoulders is due to Ravn's apology or her comfort in the woods. Her words are light, however, in that particular way Gina's words are light - light enough to drive one to search for more weight. "Knock yourself out. But you can get upset all you want. Next time if you could just not bitch at me about it, that'd be cool. Glad you realized it was all a you problem."

The corner of Ravn's mouth twitches. "Oh, no. It's not all a me problem. You're still a right bitch who gets off on needling others for shit and giggles. But I take responsibility for my part of that argument, and I apologise for my bad behaviour during it. If you don't want to get bitched at, it's generally a good idea to not kick a man where it hurts. But it's also still my choice to stay and let you, instead of walking away. So yes, mea culpa."

"Needling?" Gina says, both brows raising and looking at Ravn at his word choice. Then she rolls her eyes. "Anyone ever tell you you're also defensive as fuck and make a lot of assumptions?" She asks, her attention returning to the road in front of her - eyes glancing towards the branches, once in a while, as the crows squawk overhead. The PNW is full of them, even now in November. "It's also your choice to act like I get off every time I'm a bitch to somebody else. Nice shortcut. Means you don't have to wonder what you're doing, you just get to comfortably write me off. Probably your hangup with politeness, too. Nice people are polite ones." The amusement-subtle mocking in Gina's voice is mild, so mild-- but there, nevertheless. "Convenient shortcut. Whoever doesn't make you uncomfortable is a great person."

"A non-threatening person, perhaps. The people I call friends make me uncomfortable quite often -- and challenge me to learn to overcome. Itzhak Rosencrantz? He's taught me more about myself in four months than years of therapy ever managed." Ravn seems unperturbed as he walks along. "But for what little it's worth -- I am not trying to write you off, no."

He hesitates a moment, perhaps asking himself if he really wants to open this can of worms. "You don't need me to write you off, Gina. You do it yourself. Every time you speak, you make certain to remind me that we speak only because you allow it, and that nothing I have to say is of any consequence. You're entitled to that opinion. You act as if you take pleasure in hurting others, and pretending that you do it in order to teach them something about themselves. If this is not how you wish to be perceived, then you need to look at yourself -- not me."

"I'm sorry, who was it that came into my diner the first time we met, demanded a card reading, and refused to believe - and probably still refuses to believe - that I'm not some kind of expert conwoman?" Gina says, not pausing in her walk, only turning her head to look at Ravn for a long moment, eyes steady. "And chose to praise me for a craft I fucking insisted I didn't have? I'm petty, birdboy. I remember shit like that, especially when the behavior doesn't fucking change. And you haven't done much to make me believe you're not paranoid and arrogant." She shrugs, looks back to the path they're walking. "I hate bullshit. You walked in and you stank of it, and you smeared that shit on me. And no matter how much I try to drop you a clue, you instantly decide to explain it to yourself instead of fucking listening to me. I treat your words like shit because as far as I can see, you keep turning my words into 'what Gina meant' instead of 'what Gina actually fucking said.' "

"I believe you. Your talent is not deception. What you have is the real deal." Ravn calmly addresses one issue at a time. He seems a little more capable of keeping his focus when not strung out of his mind on random weed fog. "I told you as much when you gave me that reading -- that I was mistaken. You're clearly not petty enough."

A hand leaves a pocket long enough to scratch his chin before going back. "Paranoid and arrogant? Yes. I have to accept that. I've certainly been called worse, and I am arrogant. I try not to be, but I am well aware that I don't always succeed. I'm a privileged layabout slumming it in order to prove something to himself, and I can't run fast enough to outrun that. But maybe you should consider the idea that if you keep getting misunderstood, you are not expressing yourself well enough."

"And maybe you should consider that you're the only one in town giving me shit for how bad at communicating I am, so maybe it's actually more of a you problem." Gina points out with a careless shrug. "So let's try a little experiment, birdboy." Gina reaches into the pocket of her coat, shifting one hand to the center of the bike's handles to keep it travelling straight while she taps away at her phone and scrolls through... something or the other. "I'm going to say some shit. You're not going to respond to the shit I say. You're going to tell me first shit that comes to your head as to why I said it." Gina smirks, glancing at Ravn, "You can choose not to play, obviously. But we've got another five minutes and a ditch coming up before we hit the street again."

"Sure? Mind, if I play that game straight, you might not find me more likeable for it." Ravn shrugs lightly. "I am not going to make up sweet nothings for you."

"As long as you remember this. Maybe record it, for posterity." Gina's tone is dry, so damn dry, as she keeps her attention on the phone, scrolling, before she pauses. "You don't seem to give a shit what people say once you pigeonhole them into a role. You make up your mind based on their action, and you don't really feel like asking them what's up until you blow up at them." Gina says, and she gives that statement a heartbeat before reminding, with a smirk, "Remember. You're answering why I said it."

"I am not sure I understand what it is exactly you want me to say," Ravn admits. "I tend to find that people don't want to be asked what they really think and feel. They project a facade which you can accept at face value or not, but if you don't, you will probably not like what happens next. Case in point." He nods slightly at the woman next to him. "Either way, what comes to my mind at that is that I am very bad at connecting with others, particularly others who happen to be female. This is not news to me. I am trying to learn. I am not doing all that great at it."

Gina shrugs, "The game is that you decide why I say what I decide to say in the game. The point is because I'm interested why you think I say shit versus the shit I'm actually saying. And to throw the pressure off you to make a judgement call, you don't even have to worry about yourself. Just me." Is this some sort of twisted mental game? A not very subtle commentary? Gina just being actually curious? It's so damn hard to tell. "Females are fucked up. Most people are assholes. I don't get along well with people who overthink me, either. I told you before. Just ask me shit. If you hit a landmine, I'll blow the fuck up at you, but it's not like you'll die. The fact that you think everything I do is some sort of calculation for maximum effect, and that effect is to get off on hurting other peopl-- which is sort of what I think you're telling me - that? That pisses me off. That implies I'm putting a whole lot of fucking work for nothing." She exhales. "I don't like people, birdboy. I haven't since before I could talk. The way I act is a direct result of that. I'm not trying to be actively dis liked. I just don't try to be liked. And I think I'm pretty fucking polite and restrained considering how I feel about humanity as a whole."

Ravn considers Gina's words for a moment. Then he says, "All right. I'll buy that. You feel that way about humanity. I feel that way about women. Makes it sort of obvious why we don't get along very well, doesn't it?"

"Pretty much. Plus, you've got some weird expectations. Which is normal." Gina checks the ground, before her eyes go skyward, blinking a little as a soft, fuzzy sort of sound starts - rain, but not true rain. A drizzle, light, caught mostly by the leaves with the occasional collection of mist forming large drops that fall from the leaves. She stares up a long moment, and -- pauses in place, briefly, before she tugs her hood up over her head. It's not raining hard enough it's NECESSARY - in fact, one can probably escape with only a few drops. "People do. I pretty much consider most people equal-opportunity dumbass shitheads until they show some other direction." Gina is being... pretty open in this conversation, isn't she? Well, she-- doesn't hold back normally, either. She keeps walking. "And I don't expect them to change. I say shit and give my observations. But no one gets kicked out of the diner for being themselves, unless they want to force me onto their level."

"Your stance is entirely fair. Wouldn't argue otherwise. Take it or leave it, no one forces anyone to do either. Your manner is abrasive as hell but I can relate to that -- heaven knows I've used the same shield to keep people at arms' length once or twice." Ravn nods his agreement. "For what it's worth, I don't disagree with your assessment of people in general, either. Gray Harbor blindsided me in that regard -- the ratio of dumbass shitheads to people I actually want to talk to is surprisingly low compared to anywhere else that I have been. All right -- hit me with the next one?"

"So long as your brain not on weed realizes this. Because you on weed apparently just wants to blame me for all the shit." From her smirk, she's more amused-- but in that very Gina way, where perhaps it's mocking, barbed, or she's okay with it. It's so hard to nail down her feelings sometimes. "Wanna continue with the game, then? You're a total catty bitch when it comes to women. You just pretend you're not because you still care what people think about you. Too much, I think, but that's whatever."

"I don't go out of my way to advertise my views on women but I don't make any secret of how I feel, either. I don't trust women. I like people. People who happen to have female bits included. It's when they move themselves from the People shelf to the Women shelf I have issues. A fact which I readily admit to, and which is one of the weightier reasons that I don't do relationships and I don't do hook-ups. I want the female-shaped people in my circle to remain people, not potential partners." Ravn smiles slightly. "But given that I am a catty bitch, I don't imagine that your gender is missing out to any great extent. Unless you're one of those women who can't stand the idea that a man might not be desperate for your backside -- which I honestly doubt. You're not that type."

He shakes his head, a few copper locks falling into his face. "The only reason I care what people think is that I want to stay here, Gina. I never did before. You met me, as a teen. Did I give you the impression that I wanted friends? I do now. So yes, I do care what impression I leave. But not enough to pretend something that isn't true."

Gina smirks, once again. The hood really does help hide the more subtle parts of her features, especially walking next to Ravn instead of facing him. She tugs the bicycle over a particularly knotty, upraised root, then shifts to hold both the handle and the bicycle seat - the next section is a sharp decline. The ditch Gina mentioned earlier. At least it seems just a muddy, brambly, green fused ditch and there's no water pooling at the base. Focused on her descent, she still comments, "Do people with dicks ever get added to the Women shelf? Because the catty bitch shelf is gender-neutral. Get with the times." Oh hey, a muddy bit- Gina shifts to try and avoid it, purposefully sticking to the places with signs of the year's foliage as she descends down. "And if you don't care what people think, you do a shit job of projecting it sometimes."

"No. I add those to the Asshole shelf instead. Which amounts to the same thing except that the Assholes generally don't assume I want to screw them. Exceptions happen." Ravn sploshes through the mud without much concern; maybe that's why he tends to wear good, solid boots -- elegant design, yes, but practical. "You misread not going out of my way to piss people off as caring overly much, Gina. I tend to think that if you have nothing kind to say, shut up. The weed didn't do me any favours in that regard -- I'll readily admit that. That's why I wanted to apologise to you in the first place."

He sighs. "I genuinely do believe in just keeping my mouth shut. If you can't be friendly or at least polite -- be somewhere else. I don't think you and I are ever going to find common ground in that regard."

"I don't find much point in friendliness or fake politeness. Faking enthusiasm and faking emotions reads like bullshit to me. My feelings on bullshit are pretty clear." Gina takes a moment to eye the very bottom of the ditch, then she tosses her bike gently to the other side, before she follows with her own long step/half jump, picking the bike up again. It might've thrown off her balance. Does she do this all the time? She seems familiar with the motion. "Not gonna lie and say it doesn't entertain me to see how long people can keep the fake niceness shit going on. But most of the time, I'm not trying to break down their usual cute little delusions about the world. I just refuse to take part in it, and they get smoke up their ass all on their own." A sideways glance to Ravn, then an eyeroll to get her focused on going the small way uphill, now. Because, well, case in point. "People who like me, like me, for reasons their therapist can deal with. People who don't, but pretend they can? It's not going to win them any prizes, what are they faking it for? Nine times out of ten, it's manipulative bullshit to get me to act the way they want. Don't care."

"I don't pretend to like people unless I actually do. I keep quiet, often enough, because I don't think me telling them that I think they're idiots will achieve anything. But for what it's worth, we wouldn't have this conversation if I disliked you." Ravn shrugs. "Why would I care if I did? I'm not known to stick around and resolve my conflicts, remember."

Oh, that? That makes Gina give an amused snort, "But you care now, birdboy. Because now, you do want too stay." She points out, then gives a small shrug, pausing to look around the woods for a moment, check the sky (the brief drizzle is over again, things have returned to the not-quiet-quietness of the woods), "But let's switch it up. Pretty sure I've clarified all the bullshit accusations you had on me. I don't care what people think of the shit I do, but I don't want someone else's shit shoved at me . Your turn. Better get it off your chest now while I'm still feeling chatty."

"I don't have anything to add to that list that I haven't said already. I do have the impression that you enjoy watching others be miserable. I do agree with you that no, I don't trust women. Nothing we haven't discussed already. Nor do I expect you to change just because I happen to disapprove of your behaviour." Ravn pulls his windbreaker up a little, to protect himself against the last drops of rain. "But for what it's worth, there are things I like about you as well. You're honest. That is a big deal to me -- I'd rather be called an asshole outright than lied to. You're knowledgeable -- I am attracted to knowledge. And some of the people in this town whose opinions I greatly respect think very highly of you -- which tells me that you must have qualities that I have failed to see so far. I am curious about those."

"Not much to say. I lived." Gina says, dismissing those high opinions away. Just-- brushing aside. "Even in Gray Harbor, most people don't start the Fall until they're nine or in puberty or whatever. I had a decade of experience on them back in middle and high school. Never really dropped the reputation. Small town. Who you were in Teddy mattered. All there is to it." From her voice, this is an open and shut case for her. Ravn can tease out the implications of a five year old physicalist in a town like Gray Harbor on his own time, if it even occurs to him. Gina herself? She just leaves it at that. Old news. Outdated reputation. Unimportant. "Or you just greatly respect people who wish they had the balls to be more honest in their lives. Sounds like you're making friends with some repressed-ass people."

"That has got to be the first time I've heard anyone call Itzhak Rosencrantz repressed." Ravn smirks. "But you're not all off the mark there. I respect people who are honest. It's the rest of them I don't bother with. Unfortunately, the rest are the majority. That's why I want to stay here -- when the Veil comes knocking, most people here remember what team they're on. This town may be hell to a lot of folks. It's paradise to me, because for once in my fucking life I feel like I actually belong somewhere."

"It's just home." Gina says. Already, in the distance the trees are breaking up, and there's a car driving by through it. They're not yet there. They might be soon, now that they can see it. "Also Rosencrantz-- Maybe talked to him a handful of times since he's been around. He's probably mistaken about me in general." Blandly spoken, with a sort of amused-unamused not-smile Gina's excellent at. "I'm not that big a deal anymore."

"Why do you assume that I think you are a big deal? Or that I care?" Ravn raises his eyebrows. "Your talent impresses me, certainly. Everyone's does, I have practically none of my own."

"I don't. Your friends who 'highly respect' me are the delusional ones." Gina's tone is dry, so dry. "Also not sure how being myself is a talent, because I'm pretty sure I haven't really done shit around you. "

"You want to call people in Gray Harbor who respect you delusional, that's your choice. It's certainly between you and them. It's pretty obvious that I'm not the only person in this end of the woods with a few self loathing issues." Ravn shrugs again. "Your worth doesn't depend on what you can do. I want to like you. But you do make it very difficult to do so. I find it hard to not get the impression that you are trying very hard to keep me at arms' length, and I wonder what I've done to make you feel that you need to. It's not as if I'm trying to pick you up here -- I meant it when I said, I don't do relationships."

"It's not self-loathing." Gina says, and her tone is frank. Even. Pragmatic, even. "Self loathing's a luxury, birdboy. But you're right. That's between me and other people." As for Ravn wanting to like her, Gina... shrugs. "You're taking it personally again. I don't like people. Instead of thinking yourself as a human, imagine yourself as a literal bag full of shit that somehow came to life and wants to be my friend. That's the context this is in. It doesn't matter if you're grade-A shit that's been sanitized as fertilizer and great for growth, disease-free, whatever. You're still a bag of shit. That's not an attack on you, personally, birdboy. It's the best metaphor I've got. Eventually I can tolerate some people. It can take a while."

"I don't feel attacked. That's a legit point of view. Every bit as legit as my general assumption that the only reason women show interest in someone like me is that they want to make someone else jealous or have me pay their bills. It's not a popular opinion, it's not flattering, but it's true." Ravn pockets his hands deep and steps around a puddle. "I'll stop bothering you. I'm not delusional enough, or ambitious enough, to think that you're just sitting around waiting for someone to notice your well hidden heart of gold. You don't want friends. I respect that. Heaven knows I tried hard enough for most of my life to avoid human interaction, least I can do is not force it on others."

"Mine's more a knee-jerk reaction physical reaction." She turns to look at Ravn, that little half-smile, mocking and taunting and... self-depreciating? Wry? It's so damn hard to tell, especially with the changing shadows as the leaves shift in the wind. "But otherwise, yeah. No secret heart of gold here. She shrugs, and hoists the bike above a fallen tree trunk, half-rotting, "Do whatever you want. All I ask is you stop trying to throw all these labels on me or tell me what I meant by shit I say or do. If people did that I'd get to stop feeling like I need to be setting more roach traps out." The edge of the treeline approaches quickly, and is then-- there, and she lowers her head against the brightening of the space around her, the hood helping her adjust. Just another neighborhood street, middling families, a dark purple-greyish slate-colored home standing out and yet not quite standing out against the worn bieges, blues, greens, and yellows of most of the homes.

"I will try. But do you realise that you do the same? You decided within minutes of meeting me for the first time that I am this arrogant, stalkery asshole who tries to force you to do things you don't want. You never actually came out and say, 'I don't want to do this'. You did what I asked, and have been complaining at me about it ever since. Some men do take no for an answer." Ravn hitches a shoulder again. "I like to think myself one of those men. But I also tend to get told I am having affairs with everyone in sight so maybe I give out more mixed signals than I realise."

"Actually. I'm pretty sure I said several times I wasn't feeling it. You kept asking. /That's/ when I decided you were a stalkery asshole. Pretty sure you also mentioned something about showing up all the time to ask, that you could be persistent and were curious." Gina gives a little chuckle, dark as it may be, "I remember having flashbacks to toddler-sitting," WHO THE HELL LETS GINA WATCH THEIR KIDS, "But you had all that fresh-faced newness on you. I was probably nicer than I should've been. Usually new people have more to deal with than they can handle anyway." Gina... actually says this as if it was an actual possibility. Lightly, considering, as if new people DO get preferential Gina treatment.

Ravn will have to judge that on his own experience.

"You also thought I was a straight-up conwoman before the actual reading, though, and did a lot of claiming I was trying to maintain an air of mystery and assuring me you understood, thanks to your carnie background. Really self-confident you had me nailed. Least from what I remember. You didn't actually start listening till after the reading."

"Then I owe you an apology for reading the situation wrong, yes." The Dane can be infuriatingly reasonable when he wants to. "I did think that you were a conwoman. That your hesitation was part of the act. You played the part of a modest but gifted wisewoman wanting to be seduced into using your powers against your better knowledge very well. It took me some time to realise that that was in fact not what you were doing. I was in the wrong, I am not denying that. I was new in town and still not truly believing in the things people can do here. Anywhere else in this world I would have been right."

"Anywhere else in the world, I'd still be me." Gina says. They're out of the woods, now, and she stops on the sidewalk they've transitioned to. Somewhere on the street, someone is having a late night barbeque, and the smell of roasting meat and smoke occasionally drifts by. Gina kicks lightly at the bike, setting the whole thing on its stand and leaning against it as she faces Ravn, her hood pushed back. Her expression is... neutral. Usually she's...ambiguous. Always seems as if she just might know something-- it's rare her expression defaults to simply-- expressionless. And then it... shifts, easily, right back to that regular Gina look, relaxing into sly, teasing, amused...knowing, sarcastic? Again, why is Gina so difficult? "Apology accepted. Got a feeling it's the best you can do." She drawls, a hand slipping into a pocket as her eyes glance down to check what she's pulling out.

No, not those keys, or that one, nobody wants a slim jim right now, or an almond kiss. "I don't care if you're a dickhead. I care if you're an honest dickhead. You can stay away if you want. Probably should, since I've got zero fucking clue how to do any friendship shit you seem to expect." Ugh, not in that pocket, what about the other one? Small notebook, switchblade, half-braided straw doll... "I'm not going to wake up and magically not feel like people aren't piles of roaches." Ah-HA! A... why does that satchet look like a human nose? A cloth knit one, certainly but... well, this is what she chooses to give to Ravn. "Shove the catnip up a nostril. Only plastic part's the shit keeping it inside. I'll bring Vee by to see your girl another time."

"Now's the first time in my life I have fucking friends, and knowing me, I'll mess that up soon enough -- but at least I will have tried." Ravn nods yet again. He does look a little surprised at the sudden present -- perhaps wondering if whatever the contents of that little packet are go up his nostril or his cat's. Maybe it's better not to ask. "You don't owe me anything in terms of friendship. There's an offer to find out if there could be a friendship on the table, I suppose. Or an offer to leave you alone if that's what you prefer. Nothing more. No need to keep reminding me how much you hate everybody, I get it."

Hands go deep in pockets (now with additional strange little satchet). "I'll come around one of these days. If not earlier, then when my stomach convinces me it needs to know what the Unbelievable Burger actually is. See you, Castro."

Gina just smiles, that-- terribly knowing, ambiguous, mocking, self-depreciating, teasing, sly, whatever you want to call it, that difficult-to-read, barbed smile of hers. "I keep telling you. You'll know if I want you gone - you're not new anymore. I'll fucking tell you. Otherwise, do what you want. I don't really think you do get it. But that's probably for the best." She turns to mount her bike, kicking the stand up with one heel, and quite easily, the way she always does-- just departs.