2020-12-30 - Something Hand Made

Fabrikanterne -- literally, the Creators -- is a rather upscale little art and crafts gallery in central Vejle. That, in turn, is a reasonably sized (by European standards) provincial town with 1500 years' worth of history and questionable traffic design. Very questionable in fact, because Vejle is kind of the bottleneck between two highways, and all that traffic needs to go through the main street of a city that was laid out to accomodate a few medieval ox carts a day. They built a bridge across the nearby fjord to alleviate traffic some and it did help but, as Ravn explains on the drive, you need to be patient to drive through Vejle during rush hour.

It's a charming city, though. Most of it dates from the 20th century and red brick town houses is very much a thing. The shopping district consists of some five or six streets in the centre of town, twining in and out between arms of the river that is both the city's original heart and the reason that its road network was never expanded. There are ducks. There are tourists. There are Christmas shoppers.

The art and crafts gallery is one of these little affairs you'd find in Seattle too -- a kind of communal boutique where various artists and crafters present their goods on its shelves. You can buy them, certainly -- clothes, vases, paintings, assorted knick-knacks and sculptures -- but the real purpose of the place is to advertise what you can do, and then hope for private commissions. It's high level but not so high level as to require making an appointment in advance; Christmas shoppers wander in here too.

The weather is being decidedly Danish; grey, chilly and not quite able to make up its mind whether it wants to rain or not. The people on the streets don't look much different from what you'd expect in Gray Harbor. Ravn certainly doesn't stand out in jeans and wind breaker; a fashion choice which seems to be remarkably ordinary in these parts.

"Oh this is pretty!" Hyacinth Yvonne Addington likes something. It's a bloody Christmas miracle. The buildings. Hyacinth is now in a torrid love affair with a building, and its charming little motes of history and periodic embellishments. The frieze, the architraves, the hand carving around the fireplace. All of it. Still the trip is a short trip and while she's been positively unburdened by the present well being of Gray Harbor she's actually enjoyed reliving her college years of being in an old building and manufacturing what one needs rather than survive on demands.

There is a lot of drawing in earnest and the demands on Ravn, in particular, low...until now. She wanted to find something to bring back. NOW the specifics come in to play that it must be both local and also handmade and lo here we are. Why she's punishing something by moving it to Gray Harbor one only can guess. There's no ostentatious glowy leg nor being particularly covered in rhinestones. That's for New Year. Winter will, cozy, practical, tailors, and hearkening back to the late 1940's perhaps stylewise. Come gets some, rain. SHE found an umbrella. It's fine.

"Ravn, I think I could spend a whole week just right here." She's still practicing. While she's picked up parts of the language it's not as fluent as she likes but it will get by. "Right here." out of nowhere she also adds, "You know on this trip I think I've decided to buy my house from the family. I'm just going to keep it. Ooh I should get something for Eleanor while I'm here too. And Vyvvy. And you do you want anything?" There's a pause and she blinks with a reasoning wave of her hand, "Since you are now doing scarves in colour you might find one."

Ravn grins slightly; he seems to find Hyacinth's enthusiasm a nice breath of fresh air too. Gray Harbor is a ball and chain to the Addington heiress a lot of the time, and that is a feeling that he can very much relate to. It's a nice change of pace for her, and by extension, he gets to feel a little less weighed down by the pressure of being back here too. Although, as it turns out, he's been telling the truth about not being somebody of significance -- at least no one seems to recognise his face and on the few occasions he's had to sign anything, no one's paid particular notice, either. In fairness, he doesn't look much different from a lot of other tall, brown haired, blue eyed men in wind breakers around here; Danes are tall, and his colours aren't unusual.

"I think that might be a good choice," he agrees, following the American into the little art gallery. "Make it yours. You can't leave your name behind and probably not parts of your heritage either, but you don't have to take everything the clan throws at you and smile. You have your own life to live." With a lopsided smile he adds, "I'm not really someone who owns or wants a lot of things. If I see the perfect scarf in a not too gaudy colour, maybe? But I can buy it myself. You've already given me the Christmas gift I really wanted: Christmas not being a week of utter boredom in hotel rooms, waiting for papers to get signed."

That no one's asked her about celebrities or that he has to be on to talk about current projects and wonder how the immediate space around her impacts future growth and investors is huge. Discovery and the exchange of tiny factoids is it appears a hobby. There is also a delight in being 'average height' and not communing in the land of munchkins as her office so often is. IT will take more than tall shoes to be threatening here but there also seems to be no inclination to want to be the villain here. That's, again, for the office. The compliment seems to please in its simplicity, "Same, and... you're very welcome. But as it is? You find the scarf and I'll get us coffee after."

The smile warms with the consideration of the triumphant emancipation of her own projects. "I have, after talking with Justin and Vyvvy," no one but Ginger and Hya get away with calling him that; neither family or pet projects. She's abusing the ability at will, "that I think to undo the stigma," She looks up lined eyes noting, bold and underlined in the statement that his situation is exempt of this, "in my predicament, that burying my head in the sand and walking off will resolve nothing but, I can take what I have, make it mine. Redefine it and I think... I think that's the plan." Pausing there's a sigh, "Thank you. For... this. Talking me into a change of perspective. I do genuinely appreciate this... opinion born of pragmatism. If you run into bumps on the US side let me know. I don't know if they are of any help but I do communicate back with state Rep's office a bit- Oooh the little clay ashtray is lovely. Do you think I can find someone and convince them to smoke?"

"I think we're supposed to encourage people to stop smoking." Ravn laughs softly. He does so himself, but not every day; a very casual smoker at best. "That said, I don't know if my perspective is all that great. I mean -- I ran away from any responsibility I could have taken on. I could have gone into finance instead of the humanities, I could have managed my own business the way you do. But I do think that yes -- you need to be a little egotistical about this. You are not the crown princess of America. You have your own life. You have responsibilities, yes, but you also have an obligation to look after yourself. You're going to flip a table and run off to be a grifter in a foreign country some day if you don't."

He leafs through a number of scarves and shirts on display; some unique designs, others with unique embroideries or hand made prints. "I don't expect trouble. I have a clean record -- largely due to a good lawyer but no one needs to know that. I'm financially independent as far as the US is aware. And well -- I'm a white man from a Scandinavian country. The kind that the US does in fact want to come over."

Hyacinth laughs and wrinkles her nose arguing, "But it's a great shape. I just want to touch it... probably best not to do if someone's put ashes in it though." There is a sigh. Alas. She pauses and and tilts her head when he talks about how 'she does business' "Scaring the shit out of your control board to pull their head out of their rump? I mean it's a bit like 'humanities'." She holds up her fingers. Little bit. There is a mock scoff as she looks not with her hands, eyes only. "Don't downgrade me to princess. I'm not useless and spoiled. I prefer...Corporate Conquistador this week." There is the wry grin. "I don't know it's working for you. This art nuveau boho chic in black."

"Well, excellent. That solves that then. And in the meantime?" She does at least fin something for her mother, her sister...There's a pause and she frowns looking to Ravn using him as the peer sounding board, "I should get something for my PA shouldn't I?" Her eyes squint a tad, "Have I been a little awful to her?"

Ravn's lopsided smile widens a bit. "Well, maybe. But, I suspect you pay her well enough, and that she knows what to expect. She was not afraid to say no to you. I'd worry more if she'd turned up after all, and looked miserable for the entire stay. I am putting 'art nouveau boho chic in black' on my stationery, if only to see how many people suddenly discover a need to ask me if I'm actually a chick -- or want to be one."

Most 'chicks' don't have a two day chin scruff, Ravn. But hey, don't judge.

"I don't think I'd be very good at pulling heads out of control board rumps," he admits. "I can do the whole... smug and arrogant upper class asshole act if I must. But while I'm pretty sure that I've made people want to punch me in the face many times, I don't think I've ever actually frightened anyone. I'm not a very intimidating person. But I can be talked into having coffee with a corporate conquistador when we get tired browsing here."

Hyacinth lights up with amusement while her attention is on smaller items that seem to be carved wood and ceramic. "Not chuck. 'chic' as in the French for very fashionable in good taste. But I suppose we can cover you in feathers." She pauses with a wry smile, "Black ones so they don't clash with your..." her hand waves vaguely at him in a figure 8 "'to-do'."

Still she pauses over her very beleaguered PA. "I do like her not plotting against me though. I'll get her something." Because if ANYONE has reason in GH to do so it's her, then maybe angry Baxter Ghosts who have never had to make three separate trips for a coffee, a bagel, and nope a scone instead.She is so pleased by the term and preens on it, "Really rolls off the tongue doesn't it? Mmm!" Turning curiously and using her new found language skills to complete her acquisition she asks, "So now that you are liberated from bar backing temporarily, are you thinking about writing full time or? You have a plan? What excites you?"

"At the moment I am doing a bit more of tutoring. I'm not enough of a writer to make a living from it." Ravn shakes his head and smiles slightly. chic, chick, what's the difference (besides, you know, different languages, different pronounciations, different meanings). "What excites me is people. I think I am in a bit of a learning process at the moment, to be honest. For most of my life I've been very solitary. And here's me, getting to know people all over Gray Harbor. Visiting people." Somehow, that last remark sounds like the very idea was nigh unthinkable not too long ago.

He sticks his hands deep in his windbreaker pockets and smiles lightly. "I think what excites me is that. Finding out who I am and what I want to do with my life -- instead of just running away from it. It's a process that's probably going to take a while, and I should probably consider some kind of more regular employment. I just -- what you and Vydal said about finding something you want to be doing ten years from now resonated with me. I don't want to be cleaning restrooms ten years from now. Or if I do, I want it to be because I love the place where I am doing it."

Hyacinth listens though manages, in the end, on a simple, well made, carved box with a lid on it. "If I get this for Vyv he'll be able to use this for his fish flakes and stop lamenting them eating from plasticware." It's a plastic jar, but the principle stands. He's seen Vyv's apartment after all; if it doesn't go with it's buried in effigy never to be spoken of again. It's that or the spoon rest which may not go with his kitchen? She has no idea. She does note though that his spoon NEVER rests, it is always vigilant and laying in wait. The box wins.

There is meritorious consideration for the evidence he's stacking up seems to hold. There's a wry grin of amusement, "Well look at you there, Mister Social Butterfly. SO proud of you. And good. This is your life. You should be absolutely thrilled about it and put others on a VIP list to the event." She pays, and as they move along she stops, eyes falling to the middle distance somewhere and over to him. Soberly she silently judges and approves, "Good. You should. You might end up having to gut out what doesn't work and rebuild like I did, or start brand new from the ground up like Vyv did too. You might have to make your own but.... good. I think my father went his whole life without doing that which explains both his affair and his demise, but, it's still sad. Like... If you're going to define yourself go all the way. Good."

"I suppose it's easier when you know what you want to define yourself as," Ravn replies, still smiling. "I'm still working out that part. But I know that I want to stay around Gray Harbor for now, and that I have made friends there whom I want to stay around for. It's something. Can't sort it all out at once. That said, Hyacinth, most people do not have VIP guest lists to their lives. Most people would get very lonely if they tried walking through life with that attitude, I suspect."

The case gets a nod of approval; perhaps Ravn has guessed whom it's for. "You have an eye for design that most people would kill for. You have the stomach and the brain for business and management. And you know what you want. Corporate conquistador is an apt term except for one thing -- the conquistadors were rather big assholes, and you're not."

Hyacinth goes to say something not unpleasant either! She stops though and nods. This. All of this. He gets it. "Awwww, it's also weird. The weird like to keep people but for all it is, since it is the holiday I will deign to say something nice." There are 0 issues she has owning the public caricature of herself, "It's nice to have you, so, that works out."

Then the compliment and her smile fades, "Well don't tell people I'm not an asshole or else I'll have to fend off the lazy and smug." Her nose wrinkles wobbling her head, "Only my brother's allowed to have that much smug with me. Also? You've never seen me cut swathes through people that think because I'm a fashionably minded woman that I'm stupid and easily confused. Gooood I love those meetings. So much fun." really that smile lights up, "There might be opportunity to work with the library in part doing research and cataloging. If you're looking for some side action. The job, not the librarian. That just occurred to me. I'm going to enjoy living vicariously through your discovery process, I hope you know this."

Ravn can't help a short laugh which no doubt causes the gallery attendant to wonder what's so bloody funny about the watercolours of garden flowers he's currently looking at. "Definitely not looking for side action from the librarian, no. Met her a few times doing research. Then met her off duty and her boyfriend tried to pick a fight with me. I'm very much not into women who like to watch blokes posture at each other for their attention."

He straightens up and looks back at Hyacinth, appraising her for a moment. "I guess you do have that fashionista look that sometimes get read as vain and vapid. But you don't carry a small yappy dog in a hand bag and you do use multi-syllable words so one'd think that to be a misconception easily remedied. I don't begrudge you the fun, though. Rosencrantz likes to tease me that I have, according to him, cheekbones that are probably illegal in thirty states -- and sometimes, that apparently leads to people assuming I chase everything in a skirt. I tend to walk away from that -- I really don't have the patience. Not to politely decline, or worse, having to defend myself to some husband or boyfriend who thinks I'm trying to seduce their partner."

Hyacinth arches one eyebrow high, then higher, "Oh really? A small town is always hungry for a scandal isn't it?" Can't help it, it is interesting at least on a very base level. "I'm sorry that won't sort." The amusement floats on her good mood as she points to the watercolour of the lighthouse instead. That one. "Heh, well it's not my fault the majority of the peerage sit on their laurels. Not Byron. He's a good boy like that. He makes sense."

OH her eyes light the hell on UP when he gives the good gab on Itzhak's summary, "Oh god, he's not wrong though. That's hilarious. Not untrue, sorry, but...it is funny and no, you have decency not to be a sheep grazing on low hanging fruit. Honestly? I respect that. I think if you were like that I'd have rung you out and hung you up to dry like breaking in wet leather, but honestly?" She's not even going to blush saying that. She's an adult that deals with business investors every damn week. "Honestly I prefer having actual conversation that matters. Really though you do have great cheekbones and we should get you a fantastic hat to go with. It'll be fun on the boat. Also? Not your job to defend the feelings of others. We are not 12 and unless very stupid or easily misled responsible or our conduct and our emotions so my advice?" Oh god here's the social Web MDing, "Listen to yourself. It's going well for you." Or not!

"I'm good at sitting on my laurels," Ravn grins, not at all bothered by the implicit accusation of slackerdom. After all, it is true -- as far as his family obligations and funds are concerned, all he's done with them is bail and let somebody else handle things in his name. "That said, I feel like I have to warn you that as a European noble, I am probably contractually obligated to point and laugh at Americans talking about peerage. Even if you're honestly a lot closer to being the feudal liege lord of anything than I'll ever be."

The hat comment prompts another laugh, though, and then Ravn shakes his head. "No, no. I'll leave looking fabulous to you and Vydal and Rosencrantz. You enjoy it, and all the attention that comes with it. Me? The more I can just fade in with the background the happier I am. If I wanted attention I'd dress the part, walk like I wanted to get noticed. I do know how to do that -- I used to be a confidence artist and boardwalk grifter, strutting one's stuff isn't difficult."

"Yes, and while they are meritorious at that you're also not looking for someone to take care of you like a helpless twit." There's a pause and this? This amuses her too, "Yes well you are using it with a capitol P and I am using this in the lower case to indicate those that share a level of responsibilities and social accountability who happen to be contemporary...to the people from 30-40 in Gray harbor trying to, or should be trying to, just reasonably run a business."

"Confidence is key. I'm glad you love your art for what it is." Yep she missed that one. "So is it just the violin then or do you paint too?" There's a pause and her eyes light up, "You don't paint houses do you? If you did there's your business. Very active. Super cathartic. I kinda hate it, but you work alone and get to travel and make the world a little better than you found it." Totally missed the point with a reasonable idea. Hunting the stops and points. Scarf, lighter one. Blacks and silver greys. "That one. See if it's too scratchy."

Ravn laughs softly and lowers his voice a little lest that shop attendant thinks he's planning to try to make off with any of the art pieces on display. "No, that's not what a confidence artist means. I used to be a boardwalk grifter. A carnie. Fast talking, faster fingers. I can pick a lock or lift a wallet if you need, but painting houses is probably not something I'm very good at. Or I can fake read your future in a deck of cards, or make you guess which cup the nut is under -- except that in Gray Harbor, everyone knows where the bloody nut is, and most of them probably can tell the future."

Hyacinth doesn't have her good mood sullied but there's a wrinkle of her nose all the same, "No we can not though I have tried. I've seen the past. No one wants to see the future and the Harbor is determined never to give up her secrets anyways. I think though, in regards to that, it's fairly predictable what the masses want to hear and they only hear what they want anyways. Still..." There is a thoughtful pause and her eyebrow goes up at him, then the scarf in question and back waiting, "I think it could be a rather oddly spectacular show." There a tiny Hmm? waiting for him to endorse or deny the find. She's not forgotten his tactile situation and has taken this into account with design consideration. Still she's not the user to know.

"I tried to impress a co-worker with the nut and cup game shortly after I arrived in Gray Harbor. She looked at me like I was slightly damaged goods and pointed out that the nut was in my hand and had been there all along. Bloody movers." Ravn obligingly takes the scarf and looks at it; the design seems to suit him well enough and silver and black certainly would work with his usual choice of haute couture. He subjects it to the ultimate test, pulling his sleeve up ever so slightly to expose a tiny bit of skin which he then brushes the corner of the scarf over.

Nothing much happens. The scarf doesn't combust, and neither does the man's wrist. He nods. "I like this. And it doesn't seem to set off my neuropathy which is somewhat important for fabric that will be touching my neck and face. Good find."

Hyacinth shakes her head but the amusement is there. "Movers are... something. I know enough to know how to keep things in place so I can level it and that's really about it." Not her forte truly. "Hmmm I'e been considering that. Your... proclivities. I'm thinking cotton fibers are going to be preferable to most anything with a synthetic component." The compliment to the find is met with a perfunctory nod. Mischief managed. "Good. You're welcome. That one's coming with us. God knows it stays windy on the water enough you'll likely want it later." Still she's pleased and finds a green one to add to the assortment and also one in lively scarlet and tangerine for herself.

Ravn surrenders the scarf with a chuckle and nods. "I tend to have more luck with natural fibre, yes. Some of the acrylics in particular give me trouble. Static electricity is not my friend. I know I dress simply by your standards, but I usually do end up investing in proper quality, at least. Also? When I find somewhere that I want to live a little more permanently, I might even buy a few shirts that aren't back. I have a tie-dye in purple and blue that I was given by the lady who helps run the other sweet shop. Or do you prefer me in, what was it, dark and boho shabby chic?" Is he teasing a little? He is teasing a little.

Hyacinth arches an eyebrow and starts the orderly process of organizing what she wants and purchasing it. Really there is the incentive to be quite gracious to artisans not causing her problems. There is a pause and one eyebrow goes up partly affronted and mostly still holding in passive amusement, "Oh HO let's not go back to presuming my standards other than they are present and in tact." she knows when her buttons are being pressed and while she would prefer her feathers not being ruffled ever they are proverbially speaking, comically puffy right now.

Ooh, but choices while she utterly ignores the tie dye, "Hmmm I think I prefer you making the statement that is yours but not under the shadow of fear and judgement from others. I'm not as allergic to variety as some," see Vyv for ALL the examples, "but I do believe that an outfit is a statement. That statement should be clear, personal, and defined by one's own belief and not by what one is regurgitated. Had I done so I'd be where Easton's been up until recently." There's a pause and admitting even though her nose wrinkles slightly from her past with the bodacious bartender. "I'm proud of him though. Finally owning hiss uniqueness and I think you do fine looking like the love child of Steve Jobs and Jack Kerouac. That's fine. So long as your message is hours and your clothes fit an adult properly." It's a very round about endorsement. Fixing her hair back into place she smiles, triumphant over this marketplace, conquest in purchase.

"So shall I, my pressies, you and your statement do lunch?"

Ravn follows her out, looking only mildly puzzled; this is not an unusual expression for him -- his is an academic mind, and stream of consciousness chat tends to throw him off the rails. He doesn't seem to mind; after all, being thrown off the rails is an excuse to go explore the wilderness. "What statement is Marshall making? I only know him as an employer, I've only had one or two actual conversations with the man."

He peers down at himself myopically. Clothes fit an adult, yes? He's an adult and he's not naked. They fit. Right. Moving on. "Actually, I do know a rather sneaky little café downtown, the kind that seats about ten people and only serves four kinds of tapas, but bloody hell, they're good tapas. You don't want to look for something specifically Danish for lunch, our lunch out of office tradition is so new it's pretty much international anyhow."