2020-12-03 - Friendsgiving Dinner

Vic and Walt Grey have secured a table at Sitka in the casino. Dante's upscale restaurant isn't too fancy to price locals out of using it for a special occasion place, and celebrating Thanksgiving with friends on a day that isn't the holiday proper is definitely special.

Vic is wearing a modest silvery-grey dress with low heels, her hair done in carefully molded waves, and her makeup simple. She looks downright presentable, which is likely the influence of her father.

Walt is wearing a navy suit with blue and white pinstriped shirt and a burgundy tie. The pair are chatting amicably and perusing the menu, laughing over some private joke.

One curious factlet about Danish culture is that it's polite to be not on time, but five minutes early. Turning up late is a snub that only is acceptable from people whose social status is miles above your own. Turning up too early is over-eager. And being exactly on time means you're desperate. Ravn accomodates the demands of his upbringing by agreeing to turn up ten minutes after the Greys -- and then arriving five minutes before agreed on, which is five minutes after them, and if you're still keeping track of this, you just might survive trying to set up a dinner date in Copenhagen.

Sitka is not quite the place for the Dane's usual jeans and shirt ensemble, but nor has he decided to turn up in that designer suit that the promise of Seth Monaghan in a kilt somehow incited him to wear during weed week. He's picked out a simple affair of a blazer over a turtleneck -- classic, casual, but indeed, not overstated. He lets himself be guided to the table in part by a helpful waitress and the sight of familiar faces. Walking up to the table he notes the absence of the Monaghan in question and says, "I trust I'm not too early?"

"I think you are right on time." the familiar voice of the Irish enforcer utter from over the Dane's left shoulder.

The ginger is not dressed in a kilt, thank God for small favors, but he is dressed up in a nice double-breasted bespoke suit of a charcoal gray color, with a black shirt and tie underneath the woolen ensemble. "Happy Thanksgiving, Ravn, Vic, and you must be Mister Grey." The later said as he offers his hands over in greeting and awaiting an acknowledgment to join them before sitting down. "Your daughter speaks of you highly, and often. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope I haven't overstepped, but I ordered a round of scotch for the table. Macallan ok with everyone?"

Vic looks up from her menu to take in the dressed-up Dane from head to toe, looking either amused or impressed, perhaps both. Her dark blue eyes have a definite twinkle in them, and she seems...lighter in the presence of her father. Like the weight of her life has been lifted for these brief moments she has with him. "Not at all! We were just debating cocktails or beer for dinner. Have a seat, Ravn."

Walt gives Ravn a smile. "I should have gone with a turtleneck too. I estimate this tie is going to last about twenty more minutes before it's off and shoved in my jacket pocket." Seth's appearance has him standing to take the man's hand and shake it. "Vic speaks of you very little. But that's my Vickie. She has been more forthcoming since I came to visit though. It's nice to know she has friends she can rely on here." He resumes his seat and Vic flashes Seth a smile. "Scotch works fine for us."

"Scotch is my preferred dog to pick hairs off," Ravn says with a good-natured smile, possibly unaware what horrors he is inflicting on American facsimiles. He grins lightly at Mr Grey and adds, with a bit of cheek, "I will do a lot for your daughter, sir, but wear a tie is not one. The only time a man should wear a tie is if he's trying to hang himself. I hear the food here is good, we should not have to resort to such drastic measures."

Then he nods to Seth and says, with amusement, "Looking sharp today, Irish," as he pulls out a chair and settles on it.

After the handshake, Seth returns the elder Grey's nod and smile, "Truth be told I'm surprised she has mentioned me at all, to be honest, but you don't have to worry about her, sir. She has plenty of people that look out for her here." Taking his seat, Seth unbuttons the jacket and slides into his chair, casting a glance over at Ravn with a chuckle. "I have been known to clean up nice. It's not all paint-splattered jeans or gym clothes."

The enforcer turns his attention over to Vic and gives her a nod, "So, what looks good tonight, Vic? I haven't been here in a while, do they still have that steak flambe?"

Walt looks at Ravn with a new bit of respect for his wit. "Denmark hm? I spent a few weeks in Copenhagen once, on a leave. Happiest place on Earth they say, other than Disneyworld. Rosenborg castle was particularly nice. Interesting aquarium too, great architecture. Weird idea of a hotdog though."

Vic snorts quietly at Seth. "I have no idea. I haven't actually eaten here, just had drinks at the piano bar once. But it's French in flavor so I can't go wrong with duck confit." She pauses, and looks to her father.

Walt grins. "I'm going to tackle Coq a Vin myself." He nods to Seth. "Good to know. Not that Vickie can't take care of herself. I'm pretty sure she could take down half the restaurant before anyone landed a punch on her," he quips, pride glimmering in his eyes.

"I've never been here before," Ravn admits. "I've visited the Eighty-Eight a few times but never the restaurant proper. A friend of mine -- Itzhak Rosencrantz -- plays his violin at the bar every so often, and it's quite the show."

Mr Grey's words have him smiling lightly though. "Denmark isn't quite the fairytale country it likes to present itself as, Mr Grey. We have our problems as well as anywhere else. Copenhagen is a beautiful city, I'll agree, though personally, I am partial to the countryside. It is provincial in that strange way of somewhere that is a national capital -- but of a micro-nation. If I want to actually spend time in a city, somewhere like London or New York would make more sense, perhaps."

His smile grows just a bit wider as he adds, "I'll fight you on the hot dog though. Our way is clearly the only true way to eat hot dogs."

"Ok, I'll bite. How do you eat a hot dog in Denmark?" the enforcer says, chuckling over at Ravn. "Though speaking about hot dogs in a high-end French restaurant seems a bit odd."

Looking between Vic and Walt, Seth chuckles and shrugs a shoulder. "Than maybe I should be adventurous and try the escargot. Go for something a bit different than the normal fare I am used to. " Seth picks up the menu in front of him and starts to peruse the contents, "Boeuf Bourguignon sounds like it might be good. As to your daughter's ability to take care of herself, I have no doubts, sir. Still, never hurts to have someone watching your back."

"Vickie tells me you're a violinist as well, Ravn?" Walt inquires curiously. As the scotch is delivered to the table he places his order and Vic does the same. "As far as hot dogs go, the only way to eat one is in a ballpark, watching a game." He grins at that, handing the menu back to the waitress.

Vic looks at Seth and smirks. "I'm not embarrassed to admit I'm more of a hot dogs and fries gal than a fancy food gal, but I'm also not embarrassed to admit I just like food in general."

Walt nods to Seth and arches a brow at Vic. "This one your boyfriend?" he asks her with amusement dancing in his eyes.

Vic looks to the ceiling and sighs. "I don't have a boyfriend dad. Or a girlfriend."

"I play, but I don't think I'm going to be giving live performances anytime soon," Ravn replies with the amusement of someone who knows very well that the first thought people tend to have when an amateur violinist offers to play is 'who do I need to kill to get out of here before he starts torturing that cat?' "I think I might accept a ball park hot dog as the second best option, sir. The best, obviously, is at 5 am in the morning after a night on town, starting with a good play or movie, then visiting entirely too many sneaky little establishments that you ought to not know about, and ending up at the hot dog stand while you try to decide if you're so drunk you should just keep on drinking, or sober enough that you should try to hail a taxi."

He too picks up a menu, definitely not hiding a small grin at the boyfriend assumption behind it, no sir. "The confit de canard does look rather good. I'm not brave enough for escargots. Call me squeamish, I'm partial to food that I don't need to dig out of its own shell."

Looking over to Vic and chuckling, Seth rolls one of his shoulders in a shrug, "There is nothing wrong with being a hot dog and fry girl. In fact, I wish more women would throw out the 'I can't be seen eating this...or eating anything but a salad!' bullshit. People eat. Women are people. End of story. Enjoy what you like when you like, as far as I know, we only get one turn at this game of life so we should make it count, right?"

The boyfriend question doesn't seem to phase the Irish enforcer as he turns his gaze over to Vic's father with a shake of his head. "I am afraid not, sir. We are just friends, and neighbors, and occasional snacks and a movie companion. I just live a couple of houses down, and I've been helping her remodel the house she has bought. Though at this point in time it is more demolishing what is there and sending it all to 70's hell from where it came." He doesn't mention they also work together from time to time because trying to explain that might be a bit awkward.

It's Ravn's turn for attention, as Seth shifts his focus over to the Dane. "You know, if you didn't know what it was you probably would like it. Honestly, it just tastes like butter-drenched garlic. I had some on a cruise once, since it all came 'free'. It's not something that I would go out of my way to go and find a place to order it, but if it was ordered I wouldn't shy away from it. Though I may have a differing opinion on the hot dog debate. I agree that after a concert or something it is the best, grabbing a bacon-wrapped one from a street vendor smothered in peppers and onions. "

Vic tries to hide her relief that Seth tows the company line and doesn't mention the company they keep in their non-day jobs. "He and Ravn and Alexander have all helped out. So have Javier and his friend Joe," she notes to her father. "And the owner of the gym I train at is right across the street from me too. I promise, I'm very well looked out for, dad."

Walt chuckles and shakes his head. "Fine, fine, I promise to worry ten percent less about you. And being able to play an instrument is always a good thing, Ravn. Vic preferred karate classes to piano though, so she never picked one up."

"I know what escargots taste like," Ravn murmurs with obvious amusement. "And oysters too, for that matter. I don't want to eat things I need to coax out of their shells first, however fancy. Sign me up for being a hot dog and fries kind of girl, too."

Maybe the Dane isn't always quite as oblivious as he likes to maintain that he is; at least he smiles at Mr Grey and contributes to the overall effort of steering the conversation away from day jobs that aren't reported to the IRS. "I gathered that you own a bar in Portland, sir? I kept meaning to go to Portland, so it's entirely possible I might have ended up your customer if Gray Harbor had not intercepted me. Vic's taught me a fair bit about bartending during my stint at the Two if By Sea, and she mentioned learning from you. Who knows? Maybe some day I will in fact manage to make it to Portland, I might drop in."

He's certainly someone who'd fight right into the blue collar kind of patronage that Mr Grey described earlier. Possibly in the same way that a Pomeranian would fit into a troupe of Alaskan sleigh dogs.

"Ten percent?" Seth says towards Mr. Grey with a grin as he leans back into his chair, "Far too generous., sir. I'd say maybe five percent is reasonable, but I would go up to eight percent max. She is a troublemaker after all."

When the server arrives with the scotch, Seth lifts his up in a bit of a salute and takes a quiet sip as his eyes flick over to Vic for a moment, "I kid, obviously. She can certainly take care of herself. I've spared with her at the gym and if it wasn't for pads I would certainly have the bruises to show for it, or worse. And the group of friends she has around here will always have her back in the event that she comes up against something she can't handle on her own. It is your job as a father to worry, and I respect that sir. Nothing will ever keep worry away."

Seth glances over at Ravn, shrugging a shoulder. "Fair enough. I have issues with eating things with eyes still attached, so we all have our lines I suppose. But drown something in enough butter and garlic, and I am at least willing to give it a shot.

Walt chuckles at the banter. "My place is called The Grey Area. Silly pun, I know, but considering the number of veterans who drink there, it's accurate for the hair at least." He sips his scotch and when the salad course arrives he tucks into it. He does quirk a smile at Ravn though. "Sure, drop in anytime, any friend of Vickie's is welcome." He points at Seth when the man points out his kid is a troublemaker. "You've got that right. She never sees a conflict she doesn't feel the need to get into the middle of and solve for people."

Vic shakes her head. "I'm right here, you know. While you're all talking about me. Right. Here." She digs into her salad with the attitude of someone who knows this is the only path to the meat after.

Ravn looks at Seth and shudders. "One of the few times in my life I've walked away from a dinner table. A buffet, in the Faroes. Main course was half a sheep's head, split down the middle. Enjoy nostril, eyeball, and half a brain. I'm sure it tasted delightful but I for one spent the rest of that evening nibbling on a nice helping of iceberg salad and a few slices of tomato while trying to not see what was on people's plates."

Vic's little outburst makes him chuckle as he sips his scotch, though. "I suppose we could always start telling horror stories from the bar about you. While you are sitting right there. While we are all talking about you. Right. Here." Somebody must be feeling playful. Or possibly just confident that he won't end up shanked with a dinner fork while Mr Grey is watching.

Seth looks back to Ravn, a bit green as the Dane describes the meal he avoided, "Ok. You win. Not enough butter and garlic in the world for that one. Nope. I'm out."

He then chuckles at Ravn and Vic, "Of course you are, which is why we are talking about you. I mean, it isn't like I have said anything that isn't true is it, Vic?" He reaches over and pats her lightly on the shoulder, tossing a wink in for a playful good measure. "And you invited me, what did you think we were going to talk about? I for one would love to hear these stories. I don't have that many I can tell, so I will have to just be content to listen to your escapades."

The enforcer digs into his own salad, leisurely stabbing a few leaves of the lettuce and a slice of tomato onto a fork before dragging it through the dressing. "So, Mr. Grey, what is your favorite story about Vic?"

Vic looks exasperated as she downs half her scotch in one go. But she can't help but smile as her father launches into the first of, no doubt, many stories he'll tell tonight. There was the time she put makeup on the dog, and the time she defended a classmate from a bully in 6th grade, and how she beat all the boys in her class at the Academy, and it goes on from there, through dinner and dessert, and after dinner coffee. Seth and Ravn will get a dad's eye view of the woman they call a friend, and it's a very different picture from the one they know day to day. Happy, friendly, helpful, compassionate. No doubt, there will be questions later. But not tonight, tonight is for friends and family.