2020-12-08 - Omelettes and Other Horrors

Winter is coming.

Which, in Gray Harbor, mostly means storms and relentless rain, and today it seems like the town is getting a jump on it. There's a steady rain falling, accompanied by grumbling thunder and the rare flicker of lightning that doesn't come all the way down to the ground. As a response, the diner isn't exactly full, although there are a few shift workers who won't let any stupid rain keep them from filling up on carbs. They're towards the back, half-asleep over their pancakes.

Alexander texted Seth and Ravn and invited them to breakfast. He's sitting at one of the tables. looking...peculiar. His nose is much healed. Too much healed compared to where it was before, and he's somehow added injuries. One side of his head has green and blue bruises, fading now, again too fast, and his hand is now in a full-hand brace for all of the fingers. But he's relatively bright eyed, and has a cup of coffee.

When Ravn appears -- five minutes before the agreed time, sharp because that's the Danish way of being polite -- he's wrapped up in his leather jacket and a thick black turtleneck, and wearing that purple scarf like it's going to personally save him from the winter of Washington State. Given that the climate here is not very different from his native, maybe he fully expects it to -- at least he's not broken out an actual winter coat yet. He wanders in, and runs a hand through his copper hair to remove the worst of the water, in a gesture that somehow reminds at least some people of a dog shaking itself out after a swim. Then he walks past the counter, placing a request for black coffee -- just black, no sugar, milk, almonds, pumpkin spice, vanilla, syrups, pecans, or coconuts, thank you -- and a serving of the diner's excellent bacon and hash browns. He's not brave enough to take on an omelette for a second time in his young life.

Wandering over to where Alexander is sitting, Ravn pulls out a chair and flops down on it bonelessly. Then, taking in the other man's appearance, he murmurs, "Please tell me Dan didn't catch hold of you after I left."

The rumble of the '68's engine is what announces Seth's arrival before he even walks through the front door. Upon entering, the enforcer takes a moment to case the place like he usually does, looking for possible problems and easy ways out, before he commits to walking fully in the door to look for Alexander and Ravn. He is dressed for the weather, wearing his own dark-colored mock-turtleneck under a thick looking overcoat which is belted loosely around his waist.

Seeing the duo, he lifts his hands in a wave of greeting before making his way to the counter to order his own mug of black coffee among other breakfast items like bacon and corned beef hash before pointing over towards Ravn with a grin and saying in a voice loud enough to be heard, "And he wants an omelet."

Order placed, Seth makes his way over to the table and Rikers over the back of a chair to sit and join his breakfast mates, "Gentlemen."

Alexander brightens when Ravn walks in, greeting the man with a brief but bright smile. "Ravn. Hey." There's a shake of his head. "No. This was something else. It's okay. The thing with Dan went off without a hitch. You did well. Seemed to enjoy it, too." He's about to say more, when Seth comes in as well. The smile reappears watching him make his way to the door. He doesn't say anything else until Seth sits down, and then points out, "Cruel, Seth. Omelets are for people who don't know not to order them. We don't inflict them on people." A glance between the two of them. "How are you two?"

"I'm all right," Ravn murmurs, and studies Alexander's face for a moment or two longer before deciding to not press the point. Then he nods. "I did. I used to make my living that way, travelled with Romas and carnies down through Europe. Being the tall, blond guy made me an obvious choice to be the distraction. It was fun to do a bit of it again, not going to deny it."

And then, with an air of complete gentlemanly indifference the Dane adds, "First person to place one of Gina's omelettes in front of me gets to pick it off the floor after I use it as a frisbee and aim for his face. I ate one of the things. I've done my part for humanity."

Seth just laughs. It isn't one of those little chuckle types of laugh either, he full-on belly laughs at Ravn. "Poor server won't even know what hit him...literally. But something tells me you wouldn't subject yourself to the ire of Gina and toss plates around her establishment like that."

Seth turns his attention towards Alexander and nods with a shrug of his shoulder, "I'm alright. Nothing really new in my world. You do what I suggested?"

"You're good at it," Alexander says. "Thanks." He takes a breath at Seth's question, and nods. "Yeah. She's staying with her sister for a couple of days. Told him that her sister's kids had the flu and she needed an extra pair of hands." He reaches with his good hand into his pocket to get his phone, brings up the pictures of the paintings in all their strange, gory glory, and pushes it across the table towards Ravn. "We found these in the shed. I read one of them. This guy, he's being...um. Primed. To hurt people in the real world. I don't know if it's something that anything over there does intentionally, or if it's just a thing that happens. But sometimes it does."

Ravn takes the cell and looks at the pictures. After a moment he says, very eloquently, "Fuck."

Then he looks from one man to another. "This is a serial killer in the making, isn't it. Another sacrifice innocent travellers to the Babylonian gods, bring about the apocalypse, flay people in the woods kind of type. Except this time, we got to him before anyone actually dies?"

"That we know of, in any case," says Seth. "That was pretty much my assessment of things as well, Ravn, and If I had my way I would make sure that it never gets to that point, but I told Alexander I would give him a chance to 'fix it' his way first." Because Seth's way of fixing it would be much more permanent.

Seth nods over at Alexander when he tells him that the wife is gone. "Good. Hopefully, she will stay away until things are resolved."

Alexander grimaces as he takes back the phone. "It's not...that's not certain. It takes more than sadistic proclivities to become a serial killer, or a murderer at all. Actually, sadistic proclivities aren't either necessary or sufficient for murderous behavior. If he thinks they're just dreams, then it might never move beyond this sort of," he looks down, "artistic catharsis. Usually, even if someone is prone to such acts, there requires a trigger point. A trauma that makes the unthinkable...necessary. The type of trigger matters for the type of manifestation. In his case, he lives a solitary life. The most likely trigger would be the loss of his wife, either through accident or divorce," he muses, with a strange detachment. Like it's an academic sort of question.

He clears his throat when Seth mentions fixing it 'his way', and looks up at them both. "I think we can, yeah. If he thinks what's happening are dreams. Then they seem to happen regularly, and we might be able to interrupt them with something that's less /pleasant/. Break the association of murder with pleasure." A pause. "It might be dangerous. You don't have to. But I think it's the best idea."

"I'm not a killer," Ravn says quietly. "And I am very wary of anyone who considers themselves morally superior enough to be judge, jury, and executioner before the crime has been committed. If there is any way we can un-Prime this man? What does Priming even mean? If we can somehow stop this process before anyone gets hurt? I'm listening, Clayton. I'm the guy who keeps saying that Gray Harbor is a good place because we've all got each other's backs. So let's try to have Dan's -- and everyone else's if Dan does crack. Dan is an asshole but he doesn't deserve to be a Veil chew toy, or be turned into a Veil murder machine."

Ravn gets a side-eyed glance at the comment about being judge, jury, and executioner. "Sure...you can take the Minority Report stance and have the moral high ground. That's fine, I don't blame you. But you weren't in that room with those paintings, Ravn. The place is just wrong. It didn't feel right even before I saw those paintings, but after...I felt like I was in Lecter's basement and someone was telling me to put lotion on my skin." Yeah, so that was Buffalo Bill and not Hannibal, sue the man for mixing it up. "I am willing to give Alexander the chance to make sure this guy doesn't turn out to be the next Ed Gein, if anything that might show I have some semblance of a moral compass...but whatever."

Seth leans back and falls silent, lifting his coffee to his lips and taking a slow sip to let the two more morally north pointed people discuss their ideas.

"It's not a formal term," Alexander admits to Ravn. "It's just..." he sighs. "Most people, even people who have a deep desire to hurt people, have an instinctive resistance to doing so. You can call it morality, if you like, but it's as much fear of consequences as anything. Training, like in a military, can overcome that. Social pressure and normalization, like in a gang or an abusive family, can too. Or reinforcement. Reinforcement works for everyone, just about, if you find the right reinforcer. We want to disrupt that. I can, um, shut off the ability to use abilities in an area. It's worked on monsters before, too. Kept them out of a place. It might work here, but on top of that, we need to break the association. I'm thinking shut down the shed so he can't be pulled into a Dream, then scare the hell out of him."

He glances at Seth. "You have a moral compass. And that place was...it did feel wrong. If we can stop him from going that far, then we should. If we can't." He grimaces. "I'll keep an eye on it, afterwards. Intervene if intervention is required. And if intervention is required, I'll ask for help."

"If we can't turn this guy around, then maybe your solution is what we need, Seth. Let's just... not leap to it as the first solution." Ravn's face is a little pale; he has not forgotten the decapitated bodies of men whose skin had been carved with Sumerian runes, and what they smelled like. Nor has he turned a deaf ear to stories told -- by, among others, Alexander -- of killers in Gray Harbor who left so many bodies in the water that it looked like pods of whales playing in the waves. Or remained oblivious to the fact that this is the kind of city where seeing your friends in a cast or beaten black and blue is so ordinary that people don't ask what -- just how bad this time. "Let's agree that we need to stop him. Preferably the right way. Any way we have to, if the right way doesn't work."

He nods at Alexander, not at all comfortable with the situation, but accepting it. "That's... what I mean, yes. The problem with declaring ourselves judge, jury, and executioner is that it can be a gateway to becoming just like him. Don't tell me the Veil would hold itself too morally superior to play off somebody's need to be a righteous crusader. I'm not saying we shouldn't act. Just, let's try to do things the best way we can."

Seth glances over at Ravn, lifting his shoulder into a shrug. "Look, it isn't like I am wanting to do anything, Ravn. I hope Alexander's plan works, I really do. I am also not willing to sit back and watch this guy go out and butcher someone when I could have done something about it. It's that question about going back in time to kill Hitler...I'm the asshole that would do it. No question. I will understand if you want me to walk away and not bother you guys anymore."

The enforcer shrugs once again, falling silent as the food arrives...and sure enough, an omelet is placed in front of Ravn causing the redhead's lip to curl upwards ever so slightly.

Alexander's eyes flick back and forth from Seth to Ravn, and then, back to Seth. There, his gaze comes to rest, his expression thoughtful. "I'm bad at people," he says, after a moment. "Because I'm creepy. And I'm an asshole. If I didn't want you around, I'd tell you to go away. I'm not very polite." A faint smile. "So. It's okay. It's an option on the table, if it needs to be. I hope it doesn't. But I've never ruled it out, and I don't think less of you for suggesting it."

Ravn looks at the plate. And then at Seth. "I'm not accusing you of anything, and I think we are actually reaching the same conclusion: That we have to stop him before he hurts somebody. I'm tempted to ask you to walk away and make sure this omelette doesn't bother me anymore, though."

He looks back to Alexander. "What is it exactly that you are suggesting we try, and how do we help?"

Seth eyes Ravn for a while, "Sure you're not." the enforcer says, stabbing at a piece of sausage on his plate and shoving it into his mouth. "But that's ok. I'm good with it. I have thick skin." The enforcer scoops up a fork-full of his corned beef hash and chews slowly, shifting his eyes to the plate in front of him. "So, Alexander, it's your ball. How do we play?"

"All right," Ravn says and upends his coffee before looking at Seth. "I'm accusing you of attempting my murder by omelette. And of being the one man out of the three of us who is capable of doing what needs to be done, if the other plans don't work. Look, I'm not used to debating the idea of... dealing with people... like that. But he needs to be stopped. I hope we won't need to go to those measures -- but if we do, then I for one am glad that least one of us knows what to do. It's the Veil we're up against here."

Alexander gives Ravn an odd look at one man out of three, but just says, "At least murder by omelette is interesting. It's no murder by frozen turkey, but then again, what is?" His gaze shifts to Seth. "My idea is this - from what I read, and my own observations, he goes out to the shed like clockwork. I don't think he's pulled into a Dream every time, but he dwells on what happens there. Paints to recapture it. If we sour that experience for him, it might help derail the rest. Ravn, you're a slight of hand artist, and you're a mover. You can help us stage it. Seth, you...well, you said you wanted to learn how to use your abilities. Want to practice on some awful paintings?"

The slightest grin there. "That's my idea, anyway. I can provide support and...emotional wrangling, as needed."

The enforcer looks again to Ravn, and rolls his eyes. "Oh my god, can you be any more dramatic?" Seth reaches over the table and grabs the plate of omelet, taking a knife and fork to the thing to cut himself off a large piece, and then shoves the offending egg mixture into his mouth as he stares at Ravn in the eyes as he chews and then swallows. "Pussy."

The redhead turns his eyes to Alexander, "Sure. Why not. I wouldn't be sad to see those things go up in flames," he says as he reaches for a glass of water, guzzling a bit of it before going back and adding some hot sauce to his corned beef and taking another bite. "Just burn down the whole shed."

"I am notably better at picking pockets than I am at moving things," Ravn notes. "I can probably pick a lock too, if it's not digital or too complicated."

He notes the look Alexander gives him and mentally updates his files. The man is an investigator who's fascinated by murder -- he knew this much. And with that comes, obviously, the technical know-how. But the technical know-how is not the same as the doing. Theoretical knowledge is one thing and the willingness to actually pick up a gun is quite another. Ravn has faced quandaries like that a few times before; and walked away from them because while he's definitely not above scamming the heck out of fatcat tourists, he's never viewed himself as a real criminal.

Well, that may be about to change. Seth Monaghan and Alexander Clayton is capable of killing if they have to. If Ravn wants to stay in Gray Harbor -- it's only a matter of time before he has to cross that bridge as well. Not like dead men walking haven't tried to kill him a few times already. Morality is a very muddy affair around here.

And then he just waits with an expectant smile. Because Seth Monaghan just bit into the living nightmare that is Gina Castro's chef's omelettes, and there are reasons that chefs as far away as Portland have nightmares about those things.

"Don't do--" It's too late. Alexander's eyes widen in horror as Seth shoves the omelette in his mouth. He actually scoots his chair back a little from the man, a fear reaction stronger than anything he showed from the horrible paintings in the shed. He gives Ravn a look. "Might be just the two of us for shed duty," he mutters. Then adds, "And we're not burning the whole shed down. The idea here is to be subtle. He doesn't want people to see the paintings, so he probably won't seek redress. But a whole building? That's hard to hide. And keep people from asking questions about."

Then he shrugs, takes a sip of his coffee. "But it doesn't matter. Because you're probably gonna die now." A nod at the horrific egg abomination. "Don't vomit on us."

It's about that point the omelet hits the stomach and there is a loud gurgling sound that emanates from the guts of one Seth Monaghan. Seth arches a brow and looks shocked as he glances down at his own belly with a look of betrayal and horror. He looks from Ravn to Alexander and back, a brow arched questioningly as if pleading to both men for answers to questions he is mentally asking the two of them. 'What in the hell? How can this be? Am I really going to die from a bite of an omelet?' The enforcer shakes his head, answering his own questions with stubborn dignity. Beat fire with fire, as they say. The enforcer doubles down and adds more hot sauce to his corned beef before shoveling it into his mouth in an attempt to counteract whatever horrors that omelet will try to do to his insides. No, he isn't going to let that eggy monstrosity win the day, at least not in public. Later on, well, he might end up looking like Jeff Daniels' Harry from Dumb and Dumber. There will be a time his bowels will revolt, but that time is not now.

"If we are going to do this thing, let's do it now. No time like the present."

Ravn winces in sympathy. "You'll live. I ate mine, out of spite. I'm pretty sure I'm still alive. But I won't pretend I didn't regret letting my fragile masculinity get the better of me that day."

Helpfully, he scoops up the bottle of hot sauce from the next table over. Fight fire with fire, indeed.

"You don't fuck with the Black Bear's omelettes," Alexander says, solemnly. He shakes his head at both of them. "You spit that shit out, or you regret it. Thus sayeth the Law of Omelettes." There's a long, thoughtful look at Seth. "Yeeeeah. We can do it today, this is one of his days. But you're driving. And we're picking up toilet paper on the way. Luckily, there are a lot of woods." He finishes off his perfectly non-omelette breakfast and fishes out enough cash for the bill and tip. Then he gets up and leaves, because 'I'll wait for you outside' is one of those things that happens to other people.