2020-12-18 - Fresh In From Spokane

Isolde was behind the bar, wiping it down and making some small talk with one of the regulars. It's cold outside, maybe there's a light dusting of snow but it hasn't really started coming down yet. It's warm inside the Pourhouse though. There's a scattering of regulars and there's some soft rock station playing on the overhead speakers. Isolde isn't a fan of it, but the other staff on duty are and the patrons don't seem to mind it. Isolde's hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail and she's wearing a pair of nice faded blue jeans and a plain black T-shirt.

Chris needed a drink after a long day at the fire station. Or, more specifically, out of the fire station. With his exhaustion etched on his face, he was not one of the regulars; indeed, he scans the place like a man on his first trip inside. He wears a red flannel shirt over dark denim jeans, with a heavier coat hanging from his shoulder, left unzipped. After a moment weighing the relative merits of a smaller table and a barstool, he opts for the latter and eases himself onto the edge of the seat, stacking his broad arms on the counter. He cranes his neck to survey the beers on tap.

The Poorhouse is the kind of place that caters to a largely bluecollar group of patrons; it's certainly not somewhere you'd expect to see anyone in a suit and tie. The tall copper blond who wanders in not too long after the firefighter is not quite up there, but his black turtleneck and blazer ensemble under a leather jacket does have that certain 'art director out of Seattle' or 'thinks he's Steve Jobs reincarnated' air. He heads for the counter and a free barstool, taking out a cigarette and lighting it with a match. "Evenin'," he murmurs, because that's clearly the polite thing to do -- though the man seems to be a little distracted with something on his phone, an old Samsung model housed in a bright sparkly pink Hello Kitty casing. Lots of mixed signals there.

Isolde looks up as two new arrivals wander in. One she recognizes, one she doesn't. "Hello! Welcome to Poorhouse." She offers up cheerfully. Though she is certain it was called Pourhouse, she figures it best not to confuse the customers. Since Chris sat down first she offers to him, "What can I getcha?" Leaning lightly against the bar. "Seems like you've had a long day?" Half asked, looking a little curious.

To Ravn she adds, "How about you? What're you feeling like today?"

After acknowledging Ravn's arrival with a polite nod of his head and a quiet "good evening," Chris fingers one of the local draughts with an unusual handle.

"I think it's a stout kind of night," he replies to Isolde, lifting the gaze of his brown eyes and suggesting a smile at her observation. "Busy day for GHFD, yeah. That nasty schoolbus crash over on Bayside? Thankfully, I," he pauses to amend his words, "we were able to pull the kids out before the whole thing went up in flames - but got a little singed."

"Anything scotch on ice, please." Ravn smiles at Isolde, recognising her from the library and that other night -- and then Chris places his order, and the Dane looks at the other man with the expression of someone who is not a rescue worker and to whom the idea of kids roasting in buses is rather horrific and definitely not every day business. "Goodness. That sounds terrible. I hope no one got too badly injured." He speaks with a clear foreign accent, one of those that really wants you to think it's very posh and British, but which was probably inflicted on him by some language teacher elsewhere.

"Oh no! That's awful!" Isolde echoed Ravn's words. "I'm glad you were able to get the kids out. And that you didn't get hurt any more severely." She grabs a mug to pour out the stout and slides it over to the firefighter. "Here, this one's on me." Isolde smiled at him and then put together a scotch on the rocks for Ravn. It's a middling brand. Not too expensive but not cheap either. "How've you been...Ravn right?"

Chris lifts the handle of the mug in gratitude. "Cheers, ma'am," he replies. At Ravn's and Isolde's sentiment, the exhausted firefighter raises his shoulders dismissively, adding, "I'm just a fellow doing his job." With the warm interior quickly chasing away the nip of the outdoors, he finally eases his coat from his shoulder, settling it on a vacant adjacent barstool.

"The name's Chris," he offers them both, "A few months in from Spokane, but the family's from the area." He adds cryptically, "Or so I understand."

"Ravn Abildgaard." The Dane smiles lightly and nods to both. "Sounds like you did a good job there, Chris. Isolde's the one out of the two of us you want to ask about local affairs -- I'm new in town myself. Been here, what, four months?" He tastes the whiskey and nods his approval with the bartender's choice. Looking back to the woman he asks, "You're a native, aren't you?"

"Nice to meet you Chris! Isolde, like he said." Isolde nodded towards Ravn's introduction. She giggled some. "Lots of people think I am for some reason. But I'm from Portland. Oregon." She clarified. "I was here about 6...or 8 months back? Had to leave for a while but decided to come back. Don't ask me why." She shook her head a bit. "Never been to Spokane but, ah, whatcha mean so you understand? Checking out the family tree?"

Are we doing surnames? Chris amends his introduction at Ravn's greeting, fixing him a friendly-enough smile, "Baxter. Christopher Baxter that is." He intones the last name without any indication that it might carry a certain weight around town. To him, it's just another family name.

"Oh yeah? Where from?" Chris presses Ravn to elaborate mostly for the sake of small talk while lifting the stout to his lips, enjoying the rich chocolate flavor.

"Something like that," he replies to Isolde, returning his brown eyes her direction as he angles his head to rest his chin against his balled fist. "I found an old yearbook from here among my father's things, but he'd never mentioned it. And I never knew my mother -- the drunk bastard didn't even put her name on my birth certificate. I figured, maybe, I could find some answers here."

"Baxter? I know a couple of those." Ravn studies the other man a moment, possibly looking for a family resemblance. "Great kid, Grant Baxter. Skates. Couple of others who married into other names but they still consider themselves members of the Baxter clan. They're a big name around here from what I gather."

He sips his drink again, letting the ice cubes clink, before answering the firefighter's question. "I'm from Denmark. I was backpacking down towards Portland --" a small grin to Isolde "-- when I sort of landed here and failed to keep moving."

Isolde doesn't offer up up her last name. She doesn't quite see a point, but she does grin a touch at the Baxter name. "Yeah there's a handful of 'em." She agrees. "You should talk to Alexander." She offers. "He's related to them at least I think, he would know something." She pulls a bottle of water from under the bar and takes a sip. "I hope you're able to connect with family though. Having family is a good thing. Good to have people you can turn to. How are you liking Gray Harbor so far?"

"Backpacking is fun. I've wanted to hit the Olympic Penninsula for a while, and now I won't have the excuse that it's a six-hour drive to hold me back anymore. Odd place to decide you've seen enough, though, if you ask me."

The names were helpful, and Chris seems eager to take mental notes about them. At the mention of Alexander, Chris digs out a well-creased business card from his pocket, which has Ruiz's information on the front and Alexander's contact information written across the back. "Oh yeah. Captain de la Vega mentioned that name, but I didn't realize there was a family link there too." He taps the card with a worn fingernail a moment, considering it with a look down. A beat later, he pens, "Grant - Skater," beneath it in a different handwriting than the name above.

After some thought on Isolde's question, he hesitantly summarizes, "It's been okay, I guess. It can be hard to be a new face around here; people seem reserved. And the city's best times are obviously in the past, but I figure it's always going to need firemen, and the paycheck goes a bit further here than the bigger cities." Tapping the coat at his side, he adds with a hopeful smile, "And while it's grayer than Spokane, at least it's not so cold all the time." So score one for the weather?

Ravn cants his head. "I've found people here to be very welcoming, to be honest. I'm probably as much of an outsider as you can possibly be, but most folks are quite friendly. Alexander Clayton's a relative of yours, in some line or other. Good man. He's a private investigator of some sort. Grant Baxter is an artist. And there's Aidan Kinney -- he does stage magic. A quarter of this town are probably your relatives, to be honest. Baxter and Addington are the two big names here."

Isolde listens curiously to the conversation, smiling a bit again when Chris talks about his opinion of Gray Harbor. "It's a very gray place. But there are some bright spots. The people mostly. It's a strange town..." She could see his faint shine of Glimmer so she was sure he'd realize that sooner than later. "And something about it just, ah, keeps drawing you back in I guess. It can take a little time but I'm sure you'll find where you fit." She flashes another grin. "And yeah, this town is always going to need Emergency Services. No doubts about that."

Chris gives his mug of a beer a swirl before taking a long pull from it. "I'm sure I'll figure things out. I guess it's just a little harder to meet new friends and the like out of school. I mean, the coworkers are friendly enough, but usually too busy or too disinterested to hang out - so here I am." He adds a hopeful smile. "Apart from being flooded with my extended family, anything else I should know about things around here? What sort of things do you two get into for fun?"

"I don't do fun," Ravn says wryly, with the humour of someone who has been accused of being exceedingly boring many a time. "I'm a historian. I tutor online, and I talk to people. That's -- pretty much what I do. What I am doing as we speak, even. I suppose folks have already told you to get on the next bus back out of town?"

"Hmm...I collect frogs - fake ones, not real ones. Yet. Watch tv...research art history things for school." Isolde pondered. "I walk around a lot too. There's not a lot, ah, fun stuff here really. At least not for my taste. But the scenery is pretty...sometimes." She shrugs a touch and grinned again. "Just don't go to the sawmill if you find yourself in the woods. Been hearing a lotta bad things going on around there." And with that, Isolde slides off to tend to another customer!

"Yeah. I think what they said was 'Do yourself a favor and leave,'" Chris mutters to Ravn after finishing off the last of his stout. He pulls out a brown leather wallet from his front pocket, leaving a $5 bill as a tip for the free beer and hospitality. "I guess I should get some food in me. Thanks for the ear and the information. Imagine I'll see you two around." Slipping his coat back onto his shoulders, he rises from his stool to make his departure.