2021-01-03 - Coffeeshop Chitchat

It's been a long time since Dante Taylor just sat and wrote for long periods somewhere outside of his home office. Even then, he'd get a few hours of editing in before something came up at the restaurant or he had to dash off to go to work. But with Sitka closed for a few weeks post-holiday, the restauranteur and author gets to be more of the second for awhile.

He's seated at a table by the window with a silver Chromebook. He's sporting a beard these days, but neatly trimmed with bits of salt and pepper making an appearance. He's also a bit more casual, which is to say, a heather gray suit with a white cotton ringer tee beneath. Still dressier than most authors outside of readings, certainly. He's squinting at something on the screen.

"Mind company?" The words come from another writer -- though not one to have international acclaim such as that of the Brit. Ravn Abildgaard has a black laptop tucked in under one arm and a steaming cup of hazel roast in the other as he draws up, wearing his usual -- one might almost say trademark -- ensemble of black jeans and turtleneck sweater under a black leather jacket which admittedly seems to have had a few unfortunate encounters with something sharp recently; the left sleeve is gashed as if by a knife, and it has the occasional rip and tear in other places as well. A silver pattern in an otherwise black scarf is his sole sacrifice to the idea of 'colour'.

Dante looks up from his work. He blinks, and it takes a second for him to place the Dane. When he does, he smiles warmly. "Well hello, fellow expatriate. Happy New Year." He motions to the seat across from him. "Did you have a good holiday?"

Ravn settles and places the laptop on the table although he does not open it just yet. "Not too bad -- had to fly home and sign a fair bit of paperwork which was profoundly dull. Then I took a friend from here for a tour of my home town which was considerably more exciting. Heard you announced your engagement at New Years, though -- congratulations are in order, I believe? That can't be a bad way to start 2021, getting started on the wedding preparations. Got any idea yet where you'll go? Or are you one of those unfortunate peers who are contractually obligated to turn up at Westminster with the entire press corps?"

You know who loves coffee? Esme. These days it's less about actually enjoying the beverage and more about needing it so she A- didn't strangle anyone and B - could stay awake in general because even though it's a holiday and technically even the LEO and EMS services are on low capacity, Esme's still working round the clock. 2020 was not a good year for her, so she's desperately hoping 2021 will be better.

The homicide-but-really-everything detective walks into the coffee shop stifling a yawn as she makes her way towards the counter. Ordering her usual drink with one of the extra large cookies. Breakfast of champions! Her head tilts, surveying the other patrons, and she gives a wave to Ravn and Dante - though Ravn is really the only one she recognizes.And only because of him and Leon cornering her at Waffle House and working together with him some on the weird ritual killer thing.

Dante chuckles. "Oh, fortunately I'm so far out of the royal pecking order that I'm out of reach of protocol like that." He mimes wiping his brow in relief. "And thank you. As distrete as Cris tried to be, I'm not surprised the whole town knows already." He picks up his coffee. "I'll need to do one of those trips soon, m'self. The obligatory trip home to sign paperwork and take care of various affairs that comes with not being a citizen of the country you reside in. And Cris floated Vegas," he drawls. "Which I vetoed. But we do know we're not getting married here. A party, likely. But not the wedding itself. It seems like that would invite bad luck."

He catches the flutter of Esme's wave out of the corner of his eye. "Friend of yours?" he asks Ravn.

Ravn upnods to the detective, in that 'come on over' way, and then nods at Dante. "Kind of. She's a homicide detective -- I put my notes at her disposal once. Wilkinson, take a seat. Detective Wilkinson, Dante Taylor -- bloke who runs Sitka. Man's getting married one of these days -- and he's wise enough to have decided to do it somewhere else lest Cthulhu and Slenderman invite themselves over for the reception."

Esme paid and plucked up her coffee, taking a bite of cookie as she walked over to the men. Swallowing, she flashed a smile to Dante. 'Well congrats on the engagement. You can call me Esme. She settles into the seat carefully before offering Dante a hand to shake if he wanted. "Not getting married here is an excellent idea." She gave a wry grin and then looked to Ravn. "It's been awhile, Abildgaard. How's the new year treating you both?" The question angled at both of them though.

Dante is indeed wearing a new band on one finger. It has a sacred heart symbol where the stone would be on a woman's ring. His other hand has a signet ring with his initials, because he's that kind of fancy bitch.

"The other part of getting married elsewhere is that Sitka is the only really suitable venue." For said fancy bitch standards. "And I don't really want to get married where I work." He quirks a grin.

Then when Esme joins them, he smiles pleasantly. "Well, hello detective. A pleasure. And it's treating me well so far as it's given me a breather."

"Can't really complain about it so far," Ravn agrees and curls his long, gloved fingers around his coffee cup as if to warm them. "Finally resolved a family affair rather decisively. Showed a friend around my home town. Made arrangements for more permanent residence here. Ruined this poor jacket, I shall have to find a new one at some point when I have the time -- need to go murder a pack of lawn gnomes first, though. This is the kind of town where you can say something like that and people will not assume that you're insane, and that's just bloody amazing. How was your holidays, Detective?"

"I've been up to Sitka once or twice, it's a pretty nice place. But I can understand not wanting to get married where you work." Esme chuckled, taking a longer sip of her coffee and then slowly exhaled "Sounds like it's been good on all fronts for both of you." An idle finger pointed towards Ravn, "Let me know if you need help with the gnomes. I hear they're slippery bastards." It's hard to tell if she's joking or not admittedly. But she totally believes him about the gnomes.

"What holidays?" Esme deadpans and then cracks a touch of a smile. "Spent working, mostly. I went up to Seattle for a couple days to visit my father but otherwise? Nose to the grindstone. Don't have much in the way of a personal life anymore." There's a shrug of her shoulders. "But that's the way the dice roll. There's plenty going on in this town to keep me busy."

"I have a few sources for quality menswear if you're interested." Because of course Dante Taylor, clothes horse, has the fashion hookups.

There's a pause where he sips his coffee and looks at Ravn. "Lawn gnomes are real? Why am I not bloody surpried?" He shakes his head and chuckles.

"The problem with getting married at Sitka is I'd be working my own wedding. Because I am physically incapable of letting someone else take control in a space I manage. It's something I'm working on for the sake of being able to keep a manager and a chef, but it's a challenge."

"If mystery plastic gnomes keep happening at four in the morning, I might encourage my friend to file a report for harassment." Ravn's lip quirks into a small smile. "Someone did sneak onto my friend's property in order to... uh, strategically place lawn gnomes making rude gestures." As far as Gray Harbor's horrors go, this ranks rather low on the scale of galactic horror. "They're real enough -- the kind of plastic horrors old ladies put in their flower beds, little plastic wheel barrows and all."

He nods to the observations about Sitka, though. "I went there for a thanksgiving dinner -- sort of running interference for someone who did not need her father to think she'd gotten a boyfriend so she invited two guys. It was rather nice. Went to see Rosencrantz perform at the Eighty-Eight once, too -- that's an experience I can warmly recommend. Almost worth putting on a tie for."

Ravn is admittedly not the kind of man you'd expect to meet in a suit and tie anywhere from the looks of him -- jeans, slashed sleeve leather jacket and all. He throws Dante a slightly amused smile and murmurs, "I think that you and I shop for clothes in different places, my friend. I keep warm, you make a statement."

"Well at least it was lawn gnomes and not something worse, right?" Esme broke off another little bit of cookie to eat while she listened. Nodding along with Dante's reasoning for not wanting to get married at his place. "Totally understandable, yeah. I can understand that being something of an issue - hard to let go and just let someone else do the work in your area." She quirks a smile. "Besides, knowing Gray Harbor - something bad is bound to happen to ruin the happy occasion."

"So where are you gonna be staying these days anyway, Ravn? Since you're making more permanent arrangements?"

"Ties are always optional. I can't stand them, m'self. Side effect of school uniforms." And in fact, although Dante is always dressed quite dapper, there's never a tie. Occasionally a bowtie (like on NYE) but never a traditional tie. "And as others I've dressed can attest, including Mr. Rosencrantz, when I help people shop I don't do it to my taste. It's about quality and fit. And you seem like a man who would want something that wouldn't fail him."

"And yes, exactly," he says with a nod towards Esme. "Getting married in Gray Harbor is like...getting married after smashing a mirror, walking under a ladder and being crossed by a whole clowder of black cats."

"I am renting a place in Kicklebury at the moment while my boat's dry docked for the winter," Ravn replies, referring to the town's trailer park. "I am looking around a bit for someplace to rent with two bedrooms, though. I've got a friend who also lives alone, so we're talking about shacking up together. He's in a long distance relationship and I am single, so we might even manage to not drive each other crazy. When his girl does come over from England, odds are I'll be on my boat most of the time anyhow."

He grins slightly at Dante. "I'm not the outdoorsy type. I just like to be able to reach into my wardrobe, pull out the nearest item, put it on, and get on with my day. Black is practical. But for what it's worth, I've got Vyvyan Vydal and Hyacinth Addington both trying to get me hooked on at least wearing some colour. Hence the silver in this scarf -- it was a present from the latter."

"Precisely. No one wants to get married under those conditions." She laughed and then considered Ravn for a moment. "Well, I've been trying to sell my parents' place but the sane people aren't biting." Probably for the best. "If you and your buddy want to take a look, I wouldn't mind renting it out to you. I'm sure we could work out something fair." Esme offered.

And, of course, on queue not too long after that her phone rang! With a customary roll of eyes, Esme fished her phone out of her pocket to answer it. "Wilkinson." She made a couple 'mhm and uh-uh' sounds before, "Yeah, alright. I'll be there shortly." And then hung up and flashed an apologetic smile. "And thus my presence is requested. " She starts to rise from her seat. "Have a good day gentlemen."

"Nothing wrong with basic black. And you can play with texture and fabric," says Dante. "And I just mean, pointing you towards a quality secondhand leather jacket rather than a high end new one or fast fashion. Then you've a reliable item of clothing."

He lifts his coffee in cheers towards Esme as she departs. "Stay safe, detective."

Ravn looks amused. "It's not a matter of money, Taylor. I have decent income and few expenses. No family or girlfriend to tap my finances, either -- I've got a cat who likes a can of tuna a day, and that's it. But thank you for offering all the same. You've got a good eye for style, no argument about that. It's just something I've never managed to muster an interest in, much to my parents' regret back in the day. Once I escaped private school I vowed I'd dress the way I bloody well wanted to, and outside of formal occasions, I have ever since."

Dante shakes his head and chuckles, dark eyes dancing in amusement. "Everyone assumes I'm going to give them a posh makeover when I offer fashion advice. I promise, I wouldn't try to change you unless that's what you wanted. All I was offering was to point you towards a few consignment stores that might have quality leather jackets, is all." He inclines his head. "Though I do understand, given my peacockish nature, why some might think that's the direction I'd take it."

"Nothing wrong with being a peacock. You enjoy it, and you can afford it. Men blow as much money on cars. My father blew it on climbing mountains. My fiancee, on horses." Ravn shakes his head lightly and sips his coffee. "But you're right -- I did assume that, and I apologise. I'll buy a new coat when I find one I like as much as I liked this one before someone put a meat cleaver through it. I think it's a bit of a sore spot for me to be honest -- grew up with the same expectations to standards and appearance that you did, but unlike you, I didn't own it. Should have seen me at seventeen -- hair dyed black, eyeliner, leggings that looked like they were spray painted on. I was a fashionista's nightmare."

"Oh, I didn't own it for a long time. You should have seen how I dressed in my early twenties. But then, that was also a time when I was trying to be straight." Dante lifts a shoulder. "So my current style of dress is absolutely rebellion. I have aunties who would clutch their pearls at many of my suits." And from the sharky grin, this pleases him.

"And I don't know if that would count as a fashionista's nightmare. Done right, that could be quite a look," he drawls.

"I'd argue that on me, that look was mostly 'piss off Mum'." Ravn smiles with a hint of wryness. "I suppose it all comes down to how we want others to see us. Some people like attention. Personally, I hate it. Put more than four people in a room with me, and I will be checking for ways to make a discreet exit. Dressing well and showing surplus tends to draw attention."

So does wearing nothing but black, but the Dane apparently missed that memo. He watches as Dante gets up for a coffee refill and opens his own laptop. Powering it up he sighs audibly as the emails begin ticking in. It's not that there are a lot of them -- it's more that the ones that are all originate from the same first year college class somewhere in in the suburbs of Copenhagen, and not one of those kids give a fig about the Baltic Crusades. Sometimes, being a history teacher is overrated.

Ignacio comes in, a little tired, but hey he's been working for a year and PT has paid off that he's limping rather than one leg dragging the other around. The skinny Spaniard has messenger bag with him which means he's more than likely setting up to write. A hand lifts to wave to the other authors and Esme, "Hey, busy this morning. How's it going?" The bag is not set down. First thing is first: scone and a Honey Flat-White with Oat Milk.

"Hola," Ravn greets the other man, and in doing so, probably has exhausted his supply of Spanish for 2021. "Pull up a chair. Save me from kids who think that Crusades per definition must be in Palestine and thus are trying to geographically relocate Lithuania to the Mediterranean. I should run them through the Reconquista of Spain next, just to blow their little minds."

Dante gets stuck in line to get a refill behind a group of teens asking for really elaborate coffee orders. "That was entirely my fault. I should have checked the queue before standing up. I don't think I've ever heard more convoluted coffee orders in my life." He glances to who Ravn is speaking to and says, "Good day," to Ignacio.

Ignacio is the local Mr. Rogers and while that might be BS there is legitimized scuttlebutt that he's embraced it and is working on a children's book. The lopsided smile warms to Dante and asks, "Have you heard half these same people with elaborate orders still can't pass Chem 1. It's craziness. Ravn, was gonna look for you now you're back. How was everyone's holiday? Dante you got another project or is it just the restaurant right now?"

"Spent most of it talking to lawyers and being bored on a plane over the Atlantic," Ravn replies with a smile. "But I also got to give a friend from here a tour of my home and home town, and that part at least was very enjoyable. Did you stay here for the holidays yourself?"

He winces sympathetically at Dante. "I have this ongoing feud with the barristas here myself. All I want is black coffee. But being Americans, they think coffee means the entire kitchen cabinet emptied into a cup, and then add whipped cream."

"Restaurant is blissfully closed for two weeks after a very successful, very busy holiday season," says Dante as he re-settles himself. Like Ravn, he has a laptop.

Ravn's comment makes him sip his coffee suspiciously. But he finds it blissfully ordinary. "I am, as a matter of fact, putting finishing touches on my next book. I don't know how I managed to write and edit while opening a restaurant. I do not recommend that, by the way."

Ignacio arches an eyebrow at Ravn's update and considers his order. "Honey flat white. oat milk please, and a cup of diesel, straight." And lo she gives him an empty cup to be filled with straight black coffee from the carafes to the side and hands it to Ravn pleased. There ya go, buddy. "That actually sounds pretty cool. I love taking someone with me when I head back. Makes me appreciate the things I love more and remember why I like stuff and I DO love seeing people try the food. "

Turning to Dante there's a shared look of relief, "Man, I feel ya. When I used to run my pop's restaurant back home that was a great week. I'm glad it's going well. Been hearing solid tings. And the answer is we don't sleep. And time works weird in the Harbor." There's a pause with what he did for the holiday. Normally this might be an offhanded answer but it gets thoughtful. "It was...quiet. No one got hurt."

"No one getting hurt is good," Ravn murmurs and absentmindedly rubs his left arm where he's still wearing a bandage under the slashed leather jacket sleeve and shirt. "I didn't expect to take anyone back with me. A friend decided to go anyhow. It was a pleasant surprise. I don't have any close family so usually, Christmas is just another day to me."

The man looks positively delighted at the cup of black coffee, quickly swapping out his half-finished hazel roast. "I wonder why they can't do that when I ask. Diesel, was it? Hazel roast is the closest thing I've managed to convince anyone to serve me here. I think it's become a matter of principle for the day manager."

Ignacio chuckles and shrugs at the answer to Ravn's question guessing, "I dunno, as the most American member of Euro Club maybe they don't know to purposefully dick with my coffee? I dunno. But uh, yeah my close family is less close than it used to be. Things with papa y mi hermao? Got pretty bad and I'm just trying to just... figure out what I need to do Pretty sure that's what most of us are doing so it is what it is." Looking back to Dante he warms that lopsided grin, "Man I wrote a book once over two weeks on morphine. That one did great. God's own truth? I don't remember writing it."

"I do have a couple of cousins and extended family that would probably not refuse if I was to invite myself for the holidays, but they'd be about as excited as I am about the idea." Ravn hitches a shoulder in a gesture of disinterest -- not in the other two men but in relatives with whom one might share blood but not much in terms of relationships. "So here I am. Picked up some tutoring to get me by while I try to decide on what I actually want to do. A friend told me to find out what I want to be doing ten years from now and then do that. She made a very good point, only, I'm still drawing blanks."

Dante has gotten distracted by an email that comes in. He goes silent for a moment as he taps out a response. "Sorry, gents. I've got to jet. I've got to hop on a conference call with my publisher and for privacy reasons, I can't do so in a coffee shop." He stands and slips his Chromebook into a classy leather messenger bag.

"Happy New Year to you both. Stay safe, stay warm. Stay away from gnomes."

And then the well-dressed Brit is out the door, after bussing his cup like a gentleman.

"Well maybe you need more paper to draw on." How ever Ignacio's euphemism works out? Go with that. "Yeah I kinda got stuck there after the, um, the accident but my short term goals are kinda...working out. Writing's feeding me and I'm wondering if putting more effort into it might keep it lucrative, though getting published in Gray Harbor-" and there Date has it with a wry grin he calls after him, "That's what we get for trying to write non-fiction, pal. G'luck." Looking back to Ravn he looks around and asks, want company?"

"I'm not going anywhere, sit yourself down and make yourself comfortable." Ravn smiles. "I have a lot on my mind lately and spending some time here just being writer boys surely won't hurt. That said, my blog doesn't even pay its own domain name so I don't think I should expect to retire to live off my writing next week. But that's really the big recurring question in my life, and has been for a decade: What do I actually want?"

Ignacio does so. The messenger bag slides off his shoulder onto the back of his chair listening. He might argue listening is his favourite part of the day for all his smartass comments he likes that connection with people. "Well there may be no one golden answer. Life's full of discovery. Maybe that's a good thing. Having a goal ain't a bad thing though. Hell it took me having limbs get reattached to figure this out-" he pauses and adds as an aside, "2/10, do not recommend. Only stars given for helping me get my poop in a group. You got your laptop or a pad of paper on you right now?" There's the curious direct question. He waits for the answer pulling the tablet out but leaving it closed.

Ravn nods at the small black laptop sitting on the table, pushed aside some to make room for coffee cups and elbows. "I've got that -- theoretically I'm supposed to be grading essays on the Eastern Crusades. Just, I know that not one of these kids actually have opened any history book beyond whatever they gleaned from some copy of Assassins' Creed, and it's going to be absolutely painful. Heaven knows I love my veterans but college kids? College kids suck. Did you need to borrow internet access?"

"Did you know that Bethesda Games actually helped save Notre Dame after the fire?" There's a sage-like nod sipping his coffee. "I was talking with Mac about that. Because the Priory let Bethesda come in with drones to film it for Assassin's Creed: Let's Be French they have preserved the architectural elements they thought were lost and are actually able to save it. SO, at least there's some research it's good for." He still thinks it's cool. Leaning forward, however he's focusing on Ravn and the typing. "Dude, okay so first?" sayeth the mini-New Yorker, "I want you to make a list. things that make you happy. Then new column, things you don't like and would like to see changed. can be big or small. This is brainstorming. we did this in therapy and we're learning about it in class. Might help. we take this list and examine that and makte what is existential into smaller pieces we can use to build on. Gives us a place to start."

"Things that make me happy, mm?" Ravn looks amused as he starts to list things and concepts aloud. "There are a lot of those, you realise. Coffee in the morning makes me happy. Friends laughing. My cat purring on the pillow next to me. Spending time with people I like. Music -- listening to it, or playing. Reading. Listening to someone who needs to get something off their chest, or have another angle on their problems. Being listened to -- where you feel people actually hear what you say, not just what they expect you to say. People knowing me, and accepting me, flaws and bad habits, part and parcel. Feeling that I make a difference. Sailing. Being alone -- and not being alone. I could go on, to be honest, my life is pretty good on the whole."

He sips his coffee. "Bad? That list is a lot shorter, fortunately. The only thing I'd really want to remove from my life would be my fear of crowds. It's bloody inconvenient sometimes, and I hate making my friends feel like they need to treat me like a fragile flower -- or that they can't invite me to things because they know I'll make up some excuse not to go. How's that?"

Ignacio considers this and mutters, "Why am I not writing mine down right now I duo. I'll join you." Looking up the grin holds and the hand waves flat palm up like the New Yorker he is, "Well write that down! It's a good list. Absolutely keep going." Pointing he also emphasizes, "Type." He's totally making him engage in this. "I think having balanced time alone and with people is important. Helps us figure out who we are to ourselves and who we are to other people. That's what we're doing. Also I think if my cat ever was sleeping on the pillow next to me it means it's his now and he's waiting for me to vacate it...or there's a bear outside and he wants a snack without being a snack." There's a pause and he admits, "I built Tommy a little apartment. he's doing pretty good. ANd a short 'bad' list can be manageable." Iggy types a few things and looks to what's being added. "Hmmmm that's solid so add dislike of crowds. We'll take a look at what about them ya know later, and " He pauses and frowns a bit. There's a pause and he adds quietly and frankly, "It's okay, I know I'm a big people person and Finch really is not. Ya know If it helps I'll try to be better about mentioingng things and if I gotta be respectful of the no it's okay. I don't know that expecting people to be at a thing is very fair to anyone. And if it's cool I might use that as a jump topic for my column. But seriously a 'naw that ain't my thing, but thanks' I'm totally cool with. Promise."