2021-01-11 - Girl on a Cold Trailer Roof

It's a bitterly cold winter day - the snow is doing its best to blanket the world, but the wind refuses to let it settle, swirling it onto trees and piling it against the sides of buildings. It's a great day to stay indoors! Warm, cozily inside, listening to the wind howl through the trees, the soft staccato of larger bits of snow and leaves hitting the window, the rustle of the snow-laden trees and the occasional crack of branches falling, the soft thuds of--

THUD. Thud. thudthudthudthud.

Wait, that didn't sound like a pile of snow falling. Or a branch. Because it wasn't, but rather one Gina Castro, dressed as she usually is in her expertly tailored black wool dark grey coat/robe/cloak, hiking boots, black gloves and teal-and-purple scarf covering the lower half of her face, is somehow here in the trailer park, and while passing through the trailer park, and apparently apropos of nothing suddenly broke out into a run through the snow. Her goal is a particular trailer, but she doesn't stop as she approaches it, but steps onto the side to give herself a boost, gloved hands gripping to the pull herself up and then she casually walks over the ceiling, arms splayed for balance on the wet and likely slippery roof. Luckily, the top of the trailer is mostly clear due to the wind, save for some stubborn snow pieces.

She doesn't need to walk very far: just to where the small windows are, at which point she.... lays down on her stomach atop the roof, and then sliiiiiiides forward, her purple hair falling out of the hood as she looks in through the window. Upside down. Like you do.

The bloke to whom the trailer belongs is sprawled on the bed in one end with a pile of books; he's looking at a laptop but at least he's dressed and, from the looks of it, ending a conversation with somebody -- one of those that require textbooks, not paper napkins. Small mercies, maybe -- in either case he clearly spots that onslaught of purple hair and large eyes at his window. His grey eyes widen a little, and then Ravn just gets up and pads barefoot over to the kitchen counter to put the kettle on. As you do, because as far as the Dane is concerned, nothing is strange anymore, and at least this girl did not turn up five years dead.

He doesn't say anything. He just keeps eye contact as he takes out two coffee mugs and puts them on the table, along with the container of instant coffee and the coffee creamer. Take a hint, Castro.

Gina doesn't move for a long moment. She's just a half-face of dark eyes (impeccable eye makeup, as usual) and purple hair staring through the small window towards Ravn, unmoving, for just enough time to feel uncomfortable, before she sliiiiides back up. Soon after, the streak of black and small thud shows she's jumped down from the roof. The door is tried: shakes. If it's closed, that's all that happens - Gina won't knock. But if it's open, Gina just-- enters in a rush of cold air, snow clinging to her, and closes the door behind her, afterwards giving a little shake and patdown at the door to get the snow off her.

The Dane still doesn't look very surprised as the diner owner strolls in. "Don't think my instant coffee is any match for yours but you're welcome to try it," he says. "What the hell are you doing out in weather like this, and why are you doing it on the roof of my trailer?"

A small black head pokes out from under the duvet. Then, mao! and bounce, bounce, bounce! A small black cat does its best to scamper on to Gina, climb her like a tree if it must. Kitty Pryde likes Gina. And Kitty Pryde is very much the kind of cat who makes sure to demonstrate to her co-inhabitant and tuna provider that she lets some people touch her. She just has standards.

"Had to work." Gina says, ever-so-mildly - as if that answered all three of his questions. Her hood is pulled down, her scarf removed and hung somewhere convenient. The robe-coat she keeps on, and-- hey, new kitten accessory! Gina doesn't smile, but she does tug off her gloves before scooping up the cat and giving its forehead a nice scritch, before she walks forward towards the table and has a seat. Will her coat drip on the floor? Maybe. SHe did try to brush most of the snow off. "I've had worse coffee. And I was cold." Yup, look at that, all his questions are answered. Right? Right. So Gina just leans back comfortably, like some sort of messy-haired evil cultist plotting world domination, complete with black cat in hand.

"Well, you're certainly welcome to it." Ravn adds instant coffee to the mugs and then water, before nudging the creamer over. Not much has been used; he takes his own coffee black and unadulterated and the creamer clearly exists in case of more lily-livered visitors. "I've been putting off coming out to check up on you at the diner, I admit it. Still kind of seeing my ex smeared over most of the interior every time I close my eyes. Not that I'm in any fashion sorry she's dead, but -- it's not a very pleasant sight, and I think I still have a few hangups with that whole situation. For what it's worth, I'm sorry she went for you. But then, if she could be sorry now, she would be too."

Gina's eyes flick towards Ravn, expression her usual hard-to-read one while her hand stays on the cat in her lap, brushing her teal-and-black ombre nails through the fur in slow, soothing motions. The adds nothing to the coffee, instead saying in a carelessly dismissive tone, "It's not like the real diner's trashed, or like it's the first time somebody's come after me over someone else's shit. It's whatever. I gotta say, though, January did impress me with how he handled that. Rosencratz too." The corner of her mouth tips up, in a little half-smirk, "I wouldn't be so sure about her being sorry, though."

"Oh, she'd be sorry. As in, sorry that she made a bad decision and got her arse kicked. Definitely not sorry as in remorseful." Ravn watches his cat in Gina's lap. It looks back at him with an expression of smug mockery. He has an odd relationship with that cat.

He stirs the coffee, dissolving it in the hot water. "But yeah. I was... not sorry about that, either. Once she'd set her eyes on you there was no point in trying to reason with her. Benedikte wasn't like that in life -- at least not, literally like that. She'd definitely have tried to hurt you if she thought I had my eyes on you, but she would have done it far more subtly. Not just -- go for you, claws out. I guess being dead for five years leads to some decay of social skills." The Dane shrugs slightly. "Assuming that it was her. More likely just some meat doll the Veil cooked up for its amusement. But it'll do for me for now. Very therapeutic experience."

The cat may like Gina, but it's still a cat, and at a certain point it turns abruptly and makes a face at Gina's approaching hands. Gina doesn't push it, and just gives one last stroke before she lets the cat curl up in her lap and reaches for her coffee instead. She has a sip - wrinkles her nose at the taste, and promptly reaches for any sugar and a splash of creamer. "Shame she's dead, I guess." Gina doesn't sound... particularly heartbroken, though. Or even like she can pretend to be genuine. "Probably more of a perversion of her made with your one-sided memories and hangups about her. One great thing about Gray Harbor, though, is you don't need therapy. You either live haunted as shit until you kill yourself, you learn to get over your shit, or you'll eventually be able to relive it as much as it takes for you to stop generating feelings over it."

"She's been dead for five years. Crashed her car driving drunk. Blamed me for it since she got drunk during an argument we had about breaking up." Ravn hitches a shoulder lightly. "I've already gone through the guilt, the breakdown, the suicide attempt, and the running away. She's twice dead now and I'm done running. And indeed, done crying over her, but that was a long time ago. You keep telling me I have hangups about women. Benedikte's why."

"One of the reasons why. Life's a lot easier if everything had a direct, simple cause." Gina notes, her tone still that lazy, conversational one. She blows across the surface of hte coffee before taking another sip, finding this one more pleasing (the badness of the coffee now covered up) and so deigns to take a third sip. "Like I said. Gray Harbor's version of therapy. You'd be surprised how many doppelgangers of people I know I had to murder growing up." Just, you know, casually dropping that in? "Gotta be careful about it, thouogh. Can't solve everything by killing. But it's cathartic for sure."

"Mm, as I recall I didn't do much of the killing. Not for lack of wanting to -- but the fact that you three are the people with the mojo." Ravn shrugs lightly and puts the spoon down. "I hope she was the real thing. I want it to be over, for myself, and for her. She followed me through Europe -- and I would not at all be surprised to find out that she literally walked across the Atlantic to find me here. Vengeful spirits of any cultural narrative -- or revenants, or whatever she was supposed to be -- are notoriously singleminded when they have a Purpose, capital P. I like the idea of her maybe bloody well moving on and getting over things."

"It's something you build to." Gina says, one shoulder rising and falling in some semblance of a shrug. "Or however you deal with it. And none of it's the 'real' thing. But it's real enough to you, which I guess is what matters in this shit." Her damp clothing is apparently becoming uncomfortable, and she sets the coffee down and unhooks the top of her coat, trying to wiggle out of the sleeve without disturbing the cat on her lap. "There are ways beyond killing. Usually that's actually the shit I do these days if I have to get involved at all. Luckily, being retired means I don't deal with this shit as often as the rest of you."

"No, it's not just real to me," Ravn inserts. "If I'd only seen her here? Then yes. But as I just told you -- she followed me all the way down Europe, and that was bloody real. But for now I'll assume that she was in fact real -- and if she turns up again sometime, then either this was the Veil's idea of a clone, or that one is. It doesn't really matter in the end, I'll agree with you on that."

He cants his head and quirks an eyebrow at that last statement though. "And how does one -- retire, from the Veil? Did you hand in a notice? Beat some Veil denizen in an administrative position at chess? I didn't have the impression that there ever was a choice -- just that the more powerful you are, the more regularly things fall apart around you."

"I don't engage." Gina says, simply. "I don't go around whistling in the deep n'low because I'm too lazy to pick up a book across a room or to patch up something by hand. I carry a cell phone and text if I want to quietly talk to somebody. I'm not so obsessed with being special and powerful I have to sing in the dark every fucking day. I still fall into the Veil sometimes and whatever - no getting rid of that unless I move away. But half the shit that happens is because the people who fall keep flailing arouund flexing all day. Of course something follows you when you flex."

"I don't do most of those things either," Ravn murmurs with a hint of amusement. "Mostly because I can't. I don't have the mojo. But that certainly didn't stop the Veil from using me as a chew toy so far. I see your point, but I think you're wrong about it being that simple. If it was, the Veil would have no interest in a soft ping like me."

"You're thinking too big." Gina says, sipping her coffee with one hand and gently returning to petting the now-sleeping (or close enough to it) cat. "Slip-ups count. Subconscious use counts. Some people are so used to it they don't even notice things creep into their hand, or they automatically calm animals they run across, or get a read on people or objects." Gina turns to glance out the window, watching the snow for a moment before turning back to Ravn, "It's constantly being sure nothing leaks. It's relaxing the muscle anytime it tries to flex. And it's worked for months- almost years, now."

The Dane gives this due consideration, and then nods. "That's a fair point. I don't -- calm animals or read objects in passing. But I do tend to know exactly where my keys are, and I've never lost or dropped my cell phone. On some subconscious level I suppose that I am in fact using what little power I have, that doing so is as much part of me as breathing. Losing that awareness -- I'm not sure I could?"

"Can't either. It's part of you. I still read objects sometimes without wanting to." Gina admits, though it doesn't seem to trouble her. But then, has she ever been an easy emotional read? "I can just try to shut down as much as possible. Started trying to figure it out when I was a kid and saw that batshit crazy Exorcist sequel. Looked into biofeedback shit, hooked it into the shit I tried learning about lucid dreaming, and wrote shit down so when I left Gray Harbor for college I convinced dumbass no-memory me to keep it up. But I've had a lot more experience sensing and using this shit than most people."

"Hrm, yeah. I've been reminding myself that maybe I don't need to show everyone the tricks I can do," Ravn agrees. "Besides, most things I would use the shine for, I do better the old-fashioned way anyhow, with my fingers. I can pick a lock moving the pieces inside one at a time the magical way, certainly -- but I can do it five times faster with a lockpick or a bobby pin."

He looks at the purple-haired woman curiously and cradles the coffee mug in one hand. "Does it work, though? Does the Veil leave you alone -- more or less? I don't think that you got sucked into my violent little break-up there because of anything you did -- that was more a 'who's in the vicinity of Ravn' thing, or a 'who is Ravn thinking about' thing. I did mean to go ask you about her catching up. And I did think of asking Røn and Rosencrantz some similar questions. The Veil clearly decided to save me some walking."

"Works so far." Gina looks down at the cat in her lap, running her hand from its head to the tip of its tail, then lifting her hand back up again. Calming, smoothing gestures. "Never can be fully free of it unless you go. Even out there I've slipped once or twice when things weren't thin. One of the few. But I'm one of the rarer kinds." Gina doesn't say this as if it's a positive, or anything to be celebrated. "Don't remember ever not falling. But it's the most peace I've gotten in Gray Harbor as long as I can remember." The words are dry, her attention flicking back towards Ravn before she gives another small shrug, "Probably a vicinity thing. Or an opportunity. Three people way down deep and two of them movers? Could've been an opportunity grab."

"Yeah. You got pulled in because I was thinking about the three of you, or because the Veil felt like it. The point I'm trying to make is that even if you somehow manage to not use those abilities even subconsciously, bad things will still happen sometimes. Bit like traffic, really -- you may drive nice and safe, but there's always going to be some other guy who doesn't, and he may still hit you while you cross the street. Sometimes, bad stuff just happens and there's no karma or higher justice involved." Ravn nods and hitches a shoulder as well; who is he to argue with the fact that sometimes, life is just a bitch? "I suppose it helps if you believe in some higher power? Or maybe that makes it worse, knowing that that power will let these things happen. I'm pretty undecided on that one myself."

"Not arguing your point." Gina says dryly. "Like I said. There's no escaping it. But I get into a lot less accidents than everyone driving over the speed limit." Her eyes flick back towards Ravn, steady and sardonic, "There's no escape. And I don't have any use for a higher power. If anything, I'm siding with Voltaire's ship of rats on that one." She collects her quickly cooling coffee cup for another sip, grimaces slightly at the taste of not only BAD coffee, but bad coffee that's gone cold, and sets it down again. "Retirement just means I have an incident once or twice a month instead of a couple of times a week, which is what I averaged as a kid. So it's stiill an improvement."

"It's arguably better. Not good, but better. I can't imagine what it must have been like, growing here like that." Ravn shakes his head. "I thought my childhood was odd, with the ghosts everywhere but at least they were harmless. Benedikte's the only one back there who wasn't, and that was very personal for her. Clayton told me once that when he was a kid, his toys came alive and tried to eat him. It's no wonder people who have lived here all their lives are a little... eccentric. If anything, it's a wonder that you generally aren't more screwed up than you are."

Gina is silent for... perhaps a heartbeat too long after Ravn's words on the level of eccentricity. Nothing about her is particularly offended or thoughtful or brooding or... anything. She does such a good job of simply...being there, her presence clear but... mild. Like a photo that seems normal at a glance, before anyone asks what's wrong with this particular photo. But just when things become a touch too uncomfortable, she talks again, "Toys, people, shadows, trees. It happens. I still wished I stayed in Gray Harbor full time, though. It's home."

"It's home," Ravn echoes. "You're right. It is. My home as well now. I guess that says more about the alternative for you and I, doesn't it? I don't imagine getting dragged around the world by your mother was all that fantastic, either. In a way, here at least it's pretty clear who the enemy is, and we don't need to feel guilty about disliking them."

Both of Gina's brows rise at that, "The enemy?" She speaks as if tasting the words, trying to see if they fall into place, but then shrugs, picking up the cat in her lap and rising slowly from the seat, "Don't really see it that way. It's too familiar. Do people actually feel guilty about disliking others? Sounds fucked up." Says the girl who openly hates people as a whole and somehow manages to keep her emotions tucked away while making them abundantly clear - it's a gift.

"I can only speak for myself," the copper blond says with a small shrug and turns the water kettle back on; cold coffee is indeed a miserable thing. "I do. I feel that one is supposed to love one's family. Be proud of them, feel at home with them. But I don't. My mother was a narcissist bitch and my father was largely absent because he didn't want to deal with her. Here, the divide is much clearer. You've got the thems in the Veil, they're assholes, and they need to be fought off. Much more complicated with family obligations -- cousins who feel you owe them a hand up, grandparents who think you need to meet a nice girl, uncles who fail to marry Gypsy princesses and then end up with one other abusive woman after another."

Gina shifts through the trailer, cat in arms, making her way to Ravn's bed and setting the cat down RIGHT on his pillows. The cat very likely wakes up through this, but Gina's already brushing her coat of spare hairs and moving back towards the little table... apparently as abrupt with cats as she is with people, sometimes. "Gypsy's offensive." She reminds Ravn, though perhaps with a touch of mockery in the words for...both? Herself? Him? The world? Could be any and all. "Stupid, though. You acknowledge family. And you can love people while hating them. My dad's more family than my mom and he's not even the sperm donor. Also not everyone in the Veil's an asshole and not all of them need to be fought off. I had some good friends in there, back in the day."

"In this particular context, gypsy princess is the accurate term for what your mother presented herself as," Ravn points out. "The issue lies with the whole idea of a 'gypsy princess' in the first place. I've travelled with enough Romas to know how most of them tend to feel about that word being used to describe some shallow but romantic archetype who steals, lies, and dances the flamenco around the campfire at night. The exact kind of archetype that your mother was milking, at least in that dream experience I had the questionable pleasure of sharing."

He glances at the kettle; nope, still not boiling, and certainly not while you're watching it. "I don't think I can love and hate people at the same time. Maybe that's a female thing? I'm pretty clear cut that way -- I either like you or I don't. I have a fair amount of blood relatives but at best they mean very little to me. At worst I hate them for never looking twice at an obviously struggling kid just because that kid's father was the head of the clan, figuratively speaking."

"No, I was supposed to be the gypsy princess. And the friend she rescued. She was just the benevolent white savior trying to tame the savage wild child." Gina says, managing just such a perfect deadpan. "She was pretty good at flamenco, though." Her coat is only half on her, the top half unzipped while she was sitting, and she takes it off entirely, giving it a shake before putting it back on. "Guess it depends what you consider love and hate. Which is a conversation I sure as fuck am not high or drunk enough for. But I start off disgusted with most people and have to go from there. Could just be a 'fucking hate people' thing."

"I start out assuming that people generally are decent -- but also that they are..." Ravn cants his head, searching for the right words. "That I'm not really part of whatever 'people' means? I spent most of my life trying to not need anyone, not want anyone. Now I need to unlearn that, and that's not as easy as it sounds like. I do start out with a general assumption that most people are pretty ready to take advantage of you if they get the chance, or leave you in the dust if they can't. But I'm also finding lately that I am often wrong. And I kind of like that."

Gina glances at Ravn, and she doesn't even bother to hide the dark amusement in them at his new epiphanies on life. But she doesn't say anything. Just hooks her coat back up, smoothing down the seam so it lays flat and indistinguishable, shaking out the bottom half. It's probably still a little damp. "Can't give you any advice. I did it the other way around." Completely without permission, Gina starts checking on shelves and in drawers for a brush or a comb that looks to be for humans, not cats - her own hair is frizzing thanks to the drying snow. "What I assume's on an on-sight basis, mostly."

Ravn's hair is fairly short -- which might explain the absence of a brush, even with that slightly ridiculous, often very messy mop of his. There is definitely a comb on the bedstand, though, and he doesn't particularly seem to mind her inspecting his belongings. Maybe hanging out with Alexander Clayton means he's already used to that treatment -- or maybe it's just that the man doesn't have a lot of belongings in the first place, and hence doesn't feel he's got much privacy to protect. "I am finding that I like the feeling that anyone might actually notice if I were to pack up and leave town," he says at length. "I liked that when I was flying home, a few people actually asked if I was coming back. As if it mattered."

Oh look, a comb! Gina picks it up, eyes it, then gives it a cleaning flick with her fingers, shaking it in the hair a few times before she gathers all her dark purple hair. She runs her fingers through, perfunctorily getting rid of any larger tangles, before she goes through it with a comb. Mirror? Unnecessary! Her actions are tidy and efficient. "People are attached to you. You aren't as boring as a lot of them." Gina graciously points out. "Even I would eventually realize if you skipped town." A quick brush through, and she once again flicks through the brush, removing any stray purple strands left on the comb and tucking them in a pocket. Then, arms up, she starts trying to blind-braid her hair. "Benefits of a small town life. It sucks, but it suits some people, too."

"I don't particularly like how this town will watch one's every move and indeed assume that I am trying to get into the pants of every woman I spend time with in private," Ravn agrees. "I don't like the way that everyone knows everything about everybody, and indeed, how everyone's problems are up for public dissection. But that's small town life for you, indeed. I do like how people actually keep an eye out for each other, and often stand up for each other when necessary. I do think I can make a life here for myself, until some day, Cthulhu eats me, and then that's really all right as well. Everything ends."

Gina finishes braiding her hair, pulling a ring from her finger and looping it to stop the braid from unravelling. Leaving the comb, she reaches for her scarf, wrapping it around her face again, "You keep using the future tense, like you haven't already started doing this shit. You realize that's a distancing mechanism, right?" She asks idly, tucking in the ends of the scarf just so. "Cthulhu isn't actually big here, though. We get a lot more primal shit, not extradimensional. Though there used to be a veil thing that almost exclusively did alien abduction shit. Creepy as fuck." Is Gina opening the door to the trailer as she talks-- "Later."

DID GINA JUST ACKNOWLEDGE SHE WAS LEAVING WITH AN EXIT PHRASE?! Will wonders never cease.