2021-01-23 - Toss a Burger to Your Wi--Healer

Life lesson courtesy of one (presumably soon to be ex-member of) the GHPD: Don't let people punch you in the face and break your nose.

Life lesson courtesy of Addington Memorial Hospital: Don't let a doctor set your broken nose when you have a somewhat severe nerve disorder. Also, when you do, go straight home and take all the painkillers; don't go visiting other patients and thinking you can tough it out.

Both are good, solid life lessons, and Ravn Abildgaard keeps them firmly in mind -- mostly because his broken nose really hurt before the doctor set it, and it hurts no less now. He knows that most of it has nothing to do with the hairline fracture -- it's his broken nerve system insisting that actually, his face has exploded, it is on fire, and oh noes, dude, you're dead. His broken nerve system is generally not much in favour of letting such trivial facts as the truth get in the way of telling a good story.

Fortunately, Ravn knows a guy (he actually knows several, but, this is the one he feels might have the best understanding of how nerve disorders work). He arms himself with a couple of good, solid burgers and fries with accompanying sodas from the diner before heading back to knock on the door of the trailer next to his own. A smart villager brings an offering to the village healer -- and besides, he's starving. Turns out getting into firefights and visiting people in hospital after actually burns some calories.

"Coming!" comes from past that door -- and while the walls aren't exactly soundproof, the construction's decent enough in these trailers to let people remain good neighbours, so Aidan can't have been that far into the place when the call back comes. The door opens onto -- well, him, unsurprisingly, in a long fluffy bathrobe, sky-blue flannel pyjama pants covered in a pattern of cheerful cartoon bacon and eggs, a t-shirt extolling the tourist wonders of The Mystery Hole! and a pair of hugely fluffy monster slippers. The gas fire is on in the corner, along with some old black and white comedy on the little TV. It is cozy in there today.

"Hey!" he starts to greet brightly, the expression falling as he takes in the state of Ravn's face, dropping right on into worried. "Shit, what happened? Are you okay? Come in, can I do something about-- that?" Not that he knows exactly what 'that' is, yet, but anything that results in bandages on his friends, he's inclined to try to do something about.

"That is a broken nose," Ravn says, grey eyes glittering with amusement; he's clearly not about to die from his injuries. Holding up the bag of food in one hand he adds, "I brought bribes? Medicine man fuel? I was hoping to take advantage of your abilities, I confess that openly and freely. I have the headache from hell in spite of the nice man at the ER assuring me that it'll heal nicely if I just man up a bit. You'd be surprised at how many medical practitioners seem to think that you can man your way up out of neuropathic pain."

The Dane shrugs out of his leather jacket with the slashed sleeve and slumps down on the nearest object to present a horisontal surface. "There was a shoot-out at the precinct. Literally, a lieutenant and some officers came in guns blazing. Not sure who they actually intended to kill, but the receptionist ended up dead, Mac from the game store ended up in hospital with a severe concussion, and one officer blew his own brains out. All things considered, I got off lucky with just a broken nose, for trying to stab a cop in riot gear in the face with a pair of scissors."

His tone is detached, almost light-hearted. Ravn either really, genuinely doesn't think all of that was any big deal -- or, far more likely, tries to cope through writing it all off mentally as nothing to be upset about. He's demonstrated that ability on occasion -- to emotionally detach himself, simply flick the off switch when anxieties would cripple him otherwise.

"Man, people keep not taking advantage of 'em and it's kinda annoying," Aidan says, holding the door wide to let the Dane in, and closing it behind him. Gotta retain all this nice pleasant warmth in the place! The description of the pain and orders to 'man up' get a bit of a grimace. "Yeah, I mean, I can mostly pretend shit doesn't hurt real bad sometimes but that doesn't make it, you know, not. And that's just kinda normal pain..."

The nearest horizontal surface is always the floor, and technically the other nearest the door is a kitchen counter, but let's face it, that's both hard and awkward to get up onto, especially when the world's most comfortable couch™ is just a step or two farther away. Aidan follows, eyes widening as Ravn goes through what happened. "Dude." He may not have grown up in California, but he fit in fine when he was there. "I mean... that's kinda a lot, yeah. I'm glad you didn't get hurt worse." A pause. "You okay?" Presumably he is not asking about physically. Another little pause. "And did you stab his face?"

Aidan settles back onto the other side of the couch, which is where he probably was before, based on the TV and the remnant signs of snacks on the coffee table, which will happily receive the bag of food should Ravn wish to set it there. Aidan, for his part, leans in a little to get a better look at Ravn's face and assess where might be the least painful to contact. "Um. Is it okay if I touch you? I think don't technically have to but it always seems like it works better when I do."

"Yeah. Just let me see you coming, all right?" Ravn manages a weak smile at that; he's clearly not thrilled about having his face prodded and poked again but then, being thrilled is not a requirement. "It's mostly when I'm surprised -- if I know that someone's going to touch me it's not really a big deal. Random ticklers are my nemesis."

He keeps his gaze on Aidan's hands as the other man contemplates where to start. "I'm a little rattled, not going to lie. The lieutenant who killed the receptionist didn't do it with his firearm -- he did something shiny. Her head exploded. I was standing right next to her, and it honestly didn't take a genius to figure out who was next. Also, went to see Mac at the hospital while I was at the ER anyhow -- she's skirting frightfully close to a full-scale meltdown. Convinced herself that she's dangerous, that she will kill people accidentally -- not sure how to help, to be honest. I kept the nurses busy and out of the way while Clayton tried to talk her down."

Talk to distract himself from pain? Ravn would never do that. Absolutely not.

There is, at least, no attempt at any poking as yet, and at the caveat, Aidan nods. "I can do that," he says, and indeed, the hand moves in slightly slower than it might otherwise. It also doesn't prod, thankfully -- while part of him is sure it'll work best if it's against the nose itself, the uncertainty of how lightly he could make that contact wins out, and he instead lets the flat of his fingertips settle gently against the cheekbone, about as near as he dares. The rest of the hand curls down against the cheek itself, barely. In other situations, it might almost be romantic. In this one, Aidan looks far too worried about whether he's going to accidentally cause more pain while aiming to relieve it.

Plus other reasons why not, yeah. But that's the really important one right now.

The less he drags it out, the less pain there'll be overall, right? So there's a slow, deep breath, and his eyes close, chin lifting a degree or two. The feeling of focus pulling inward is almost tangible, and as it opens into a channeling, the points of contact between skin and skin begin to warm and slightly tingle, the feeling spreading out from there. It flows through nerves and veins, washes more diffusely across the skin; one could easily imagine a mirror right now might show it appearing as something like sparkly molten gold. It's even easier to imagine how once, this feeling used to chase away the pain and injury entirely, leaving only wholeness in its wake. Now, alas, the nose is still broken, the nerves still all too aware of recent events. But they've calmed, nonetheless, like a child worn out from a tantrum finally beginning to surrender to the crib and the sorely-needed nap. Not happy, not at all, but the fury is over and the intensity is ebbing away.

Aidan sits back with a lingering exhalation, reclaiming his hand, and then breaks into a smile, eyes opening. "That felt right. Does it help for now? I think, probably it should heal up pretty quick, though I dunno how quick exactly." He eyes it again, and adds, "If it seems slow I can always try again, though." His brow furrows a bit. "Man. Really hungry now. Kinda not used to it doing that." But there's burgers, hooray! He reaches for the bag, and once he has it sinks back into his bit of couch in a way that suggests to a sharp observer that the effort may have taken a bit more out of him than the last remaining calories from lunch. The discussion of the rattlement, both Ravn's and Mac's... that may need to wait a moment or two more.

"Good heavens, yes," Ravn murmurs, unable to keep the sensation of relief out of his voice if he tried. "It's not so much breaking my nose - it's just a hair fracture, anyway -- as it's the way my nerves try to tell me that my face is on fire. I really am a one hit wonder -- get in a fight, I better make my one hit count because once somebody punches me back, I'm done for. Not that I ever planned to get into a lot of fights in the first place but, well, Grey Harbor tends to make the calls. Not just going to stand there and watch people get killed."

He didn't scrimp on the burgers. Those are big, calorie-laden affairs with all the works, a hefty side order of fries and onion rings, and there's a couple of donuts in there too. Did he hope to bribe the magician? Maybe. Did someone mention at some point that healing burns energy? Definitely.

"I owe you one for this," the folklorist adds, picking up a fry. He doesn't have a lot of appetite of his own -- but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It means more food for Aidan, right?

"You need to get not hit," Aidan suggests helpfully, and is very definitely going to be getting through one of those burgers fairly swiftly. Also some of the fries and onion rings, though the donuts yet await. "...yeah, though. Um. You do the telekinesis thing, though, so-- I mean, not that I'm all about attacking people but I'm also kinda against the watching people get killed thing so, I mean, did you use that to stab him with the scissors? 'cause, reach, right? Not that maybe he couldn't throw something at your nose the same way but, not so much punchy, right?"

Another bite of the burger, and he gestures with it during the chew and swallow before saying, "I dunno you owe me anything. I mean, you brought burgers. And I woulda done it anyhow. So." He takes another second to make some more of it disappear (not his BEST magic trick, but effective) . Then, "...did she this time? Kill someone accidentally? Or not? And are you," a pause that isn't full of food, just thought, and whatever he was going to ask seems to be rejected. Instead, "I mean, that's kinda a bad day. Even before the nose. Kinda fucks us up. Anything else good I can do?"

Ravn nibbles on a few fries; one could get the impression that he's wary of chewing too intently lest his trigeminus nerve conceive of the brilliant idea that hey, actually trigeminus means three-pronged and since we connect eye, nose and jaw here, why not have all the hurty party instead of just the nose?

"It didn't even occur to me to try something like that," he admits with a small, wry chuckle. "I did use the shine once, to launch a fork into a bloke's crotch. Thought just -- evaded me at the moment. I used my hands, threw myself at the guy. Mostly because I could tell that Cavanaugh and Thorne were doing something -- not sure what, but they're people who have a lot of juice and experience so I figured that whatever they were up to, buying them some time to do it in could only be good. Turns out they were dismantling people's firearms -- I fully approve of that idea."

The copper blond loses the smile on the subject of Mac, though, and shakes his head. "I think she tried. And to be honest? I would have tried too, if I thought I could do it. That detective was trying to kill her -- who would not defend themselves in a situation like that? He bashed her head hard against the desk, she's bloody lucky her skull didn't crack. And then he shot himself and somehow, Mac feels that it's her fault. She's going to have to take the time it takes, to work through that."

He looks back at Aidan at last. "And yeah. I'm okay. It's not the first time I've seen people try to hurt each other. It is the first time I've tried to stab somebody who wasn't a Veil construct but -- I'd do it again in a blink of an eye. I guess I'm pretty much to terms with that already. You explode the skull of an innocent bystander next to me, I will stab you in the face or go down trying."

It might be a wise wariness. Aidan may or may not entirely twig to the why, but he does notice the just-nibbling, and studies Ravn for a few moments more. Trying to assess whether the healing's been insufficient, perhaps? Truthfully, there's not much he could do about it if it were, except perhaps try to call in someone else. But with things like what Ravn reports from the police station going on, who knows who might be finding they need to triage their power use today?

He judges it probably okay, or else Ravn's words are distracting him from the question. The fork-to-crotch remark gets a little snort of a laugh that's both genuinely amused and... something else, maybe a little more wry than Aidan-standard. Enough experience of situations where that'd be a good plan for the need of it to be more than slapstick humour, perhaps. And enough empathy in any case for there to be a little shift in the balance of how he's seated, too. Because ow.

There's not much humour to be found in the rest, and he loses what there is the smile there as well. "Wrecking the guns is a good choice, yeah. And it's." He stops, glancing off for a moment, then back to Ravn. "I mean. She probably is dangerous? Most of us are and not even always 'cause of the magic. But it's gotta be okay for us to defend ourselves if we gotta. Though it does still... suck. And if it ends up big you end up... second guessing like maybe there was a better way, maybe I should've tried this, or this. But you prolly didn't think of it then. So I can get where she's coming from. Especially if..."

Another little pause, and he toys with a fry rather than eating it. "I dunno her really? I think I maybe met her at... Thanksgiving? But I didn't read her for what she can do. So if she does mind stuff. You know how I can help people be calm and stuff, right?" He waits just long enough for a sign of confirmation. "It's kinda not. I think when people find out they can do that the first thing we think if someone's attacking us is to make them feel scared, or maybe some other kinda... like it's a punishment. We're fighting and lashing out. So like. We think if someone's scared they'll back off and run away. But we kinda don't think about how we're actually really scared and that's not what we're doing, right? So... if, like, she maybe tried to fight him off by making him scared. Or making him depressed. Thinking he'd run away or he'd be too despairing to do anything, maybe. Especially if she thought it'd be a way to do it without being violent. And then he shot himself. I mean, I dunno if that's maybe what she did? But then I'd feel that way too. Not sayin' she should. Just. I'd get it?"

He finally eats that fry, and follows it with a bite of burger, as well. "There was a--" Nope. He's not going to go into that right now. Slow chewing as he adjusts that thought. "I do try really hard to try things that aren't gonna hurt anyone first, now. I mean, I always kinda tried to talk first but-- I kinda try harder now? But. Sometimes it comes down to stabbing someone in the face anyway, in the end."

"We are dangerous," Ravn confirms. "Anyone's dangerous if they get cornered or desperate enough. I'm sure as hell no prize fighter, but I'd do it all over again if I had to. I probably will have to, because well, this is Gray Harbor. Shit like this happens, and we deal with it as best we can."

He nods slightly, listening and thinking before he comments on the whole mental powers aspect. "I have no idea what it's like -- being able to affect somebody else's mind like that. But I've had it done to me a few times -- by Maggi Gyre, by Captain de la Vega, by you. It doesn't take a genius to add up that if you can do that -- there are two sides of the coin. It's a terrible responsibility to have. But for what it's worth? I don't think Mac tried to kill that guy, or that she wanted him to die. I think she just wanted him to stop being a threat. The fact that his wife was being held hostage to make him comply -- I think that's why he killed himself. To make them not hurt his family in order to force him to comply again."

The folklorist, trained to listen, doesn't miss the many things that go unsaid at the end of Aidan's little soliloquy. He nibbles on another fry for a moment before adding, "I always try. I will always try harder. And sometimes, words just don't suffice."

Aidan nods. "That's what I'm saying... about, you know, we do stuff meaning to just make someone stop a thing and then-- other stuff happens. I mean. Um. Like if you set someone's hair on fire you still gotta live with that but you kinda know what's gonna happen if you set someone's hair on fire. I mean even if you're doing it to try to make them stop attacking you, part of you knows that's gonna hurt or kill them. But if you doing something like trying to make them feel something that'd make them stop, and it somehow ends up with someone being badly hurt or dead, then you gotta live with that and it's a surprise." He picks at the burger a little while he's saying that, then shrugs a tiny bit, looking up from it again. "Just, yeah. If it was a thing like that then, yeah. 'cause people are unpredictable. Especially feelings."

There's a somewhat glum aura clinging to him as he takes a bite of the burger, mulling this stuff over. It is promptly somewhat interrupted as an empty Coke can comes sailing out of the recycling bin toward his head. His hand comes up and manages to bat it out of the air before it hits, though ideally, it wouldn't have been the hand that was holding the burger that did it. "Fucking stop it!" he snaps at apparently a bit of air in the direction of the kitchen, the thoughtful glumness welling up into an uncharacteristic flare of anger. "Why don't you just go away?" Trash rustles, but doesn't immediately launch, as he glares at the nothing-obvious. "...sorry," he says more softly, and quite definitely to Ravn. "Anyway. Yeah. I'm glad you try. And I'm sorry you got stuck in that." Probably the police situation, not this one, though he's probably sorry about that too, really.

It's not that Ravn disagrees with the story that Aidan is telling, nor with the morale of it. He does, beyond a doubt. Responsibility for your actions is important. And so is the awareness that sometimes, even the best of intentions go pear-shaped, manure happens, cows fall through the ice -- and you are still responsible, at least to some extent.

The folklorist couldn't agree more. It's just that he's a little distracted by the flying Coke can.

Quite calmly watching the spectacle he waits for Aidan look back to him and then asks, "So, -- poltergeist?"

Aidan sighs. Deeply. The kitchen gets another glare. "Poltergeist," he confirms, darkly, "I guess. He's a dick. I mentioned him before, didn't I? He's been kinda behaving while you're around 'til now. I mean, he says shit to me but no one else ever seems to be able to see or hear him? And I'm pretty good at ignoring it mostly now, so."

Throwing things around is, of course, a different matter. And apparently now that it's started it wants him to remember it doesn't need to stop, because the refuse rumbles around until a second Coke can very specifically makes it way up to the surface and pointedly toward Aidan's head again. This time he uses the empty hand to bat it away, but the extra moment necessary to remember to do that means it's just as close a call, even with the arguable warning it (or similar) might be coming. "Quit it."

"I don't think you did, but I could be wrong," Ravn admits. "I'm -- a little too used to this sort of thing, I don't consider it special enough that I always remember. Just like you wouldn't attach any particular significance to somebody mentioned that it often rains in their hometown -- you only notice if their hometown is supposed to be situated in a very arid area. Or somebody's ghost is doing more than just shuffling around and watching. Like, say, throwing things at you. What's his problem?"

Ravn's approach to ghost hunting is apparently to ask the ghost what it's deal is. It may make more sense in context; it's only been a month and a half since his own dead fiancee tried to murder him and three other people. It's good to know what the deal is.

"Hey, angry dead person," he calls out. "I don't suppose you could turn yourself visible and audible enough that I can join the conversation?"

"He's a dickwad, is his problem," Aidan mutters. "He never shows up or speaks up for anyone else. Just me. Moves shit, though." He glares again at where the ghost apparently is, but at least this time nothing comes flying. Maybe the trash is out of Coke. "Throws little stuff at me and knocks things over and down and all. He wouldn't tell you, anyway. All he'd ever say when I used to ask was that I knew why, which I don't, and that blood would tell. Which, maybe it'd help if he'd at least tell me what the hell my blood is, then, since he apparently knows?" A tiny pause, a flicker of his gaze kitchenward. "Yeah, I know that much, thanks," he says with an irritated sarcasm that doesn't properly suit him, 100% genuine though it currently is. A sigh. "Anyway. Sorry about the interruption and all."

"No worries," Ravn murmurs, looking in the direction where he thinks the ghost might or might not be, and frowning slightly. Maybe the idea that he of all people can't see it bothers him? Or maybe he's just frustrated that he's supposed to be somewhat the guy in the know about these things but he isn't? "Do you have any idea what the guy wants? Telling you that it's in the blood is somewhat pointless unless he means the Baxter lineage that you were adopted into. I am assuming that you don't actually have a big, dark secret that you've neglected to mention."

Aidan gives a small, helpless shrug. "Best I can figure out, what he wants is me to suffer. Aside from that," he gestures toward the fallen cans, which he hasn't yet picked up, "he just shows up and hangs around saying mean crap to me and laughing when I get hurt. Especially if other people do it. But that kinda happens less these days." In Gray Harbor, yet! It's a bright side, and he does actually sound a tiny bit brighter for it. "He used to laugh when I got laid, too, but I think he finally got bored with that." He won't complain about that change. Even if that presumably also kinda happens less these days. "I mean. He's an asshole, is the point. It kinda only does him any good to let me know why if I can do something about it he wants more than to be a dick to me? So I figure, I probably can't." He pauses a moment, eyeing what remains of the burger. "I always figured he meant one of my literal parents. Maybe they had a big dark secret? Aside from me." What's left becomes the last bite, whether it really ought to have been two or not. He has some chewing to do for a bit.

"We're in Gray Harbor. Things turning up to make people miserable in order to feed of their misery is par for the course," Ravn notes. "Sounds like you knew him before you got here, though -- which means the Veil may juice him up, but it probably didn't create him. It's hard to tell sometimes -- my fiancee certainly got a boost by the Veil when she got here, she was never able to do anything but scream at me elsewhere. Now Rosencrantz is walking around with four scars of her fingernails on his abdomen."

He cants his head. "Literal parent would be the obvious choice, but again, this is Gray Harbor. When push comes to shove, everything here ends and begins with the Baxters and the Addingtons. I wouldn't rule it out, at least. I wonder -- you know, we should talk to the Magpie. I see ghosts, but I'm a folklorist, not a parapsychologist. There has be to ways to improve communication."

Force that asshole to talk, the Dane's look says. Maybe he doesn't particularly want an entire collection of soda cans to hit Aidan next.

There's probably stuff in the actual trash against which the soda cans could be considered a polite warning shot, though at least Aidan's pretty good about taking that stuff out to the bins fairly promptly. It's not impossible the ghost is part of why.

"I don't remember when he showed up first," he admits, "...I barely remember anything at all from before I left here so I dunno for sure he wasn't around then. Though I mean. Bullying a toddler'd be even more fucked up than being mean to an older kid. And yeah, he was definitely places that aren't here." He worries his bottom lip briefly, then adds, "I don't think he can actually touch anyone. Or he'd probably have done something to me directly by now. But, um. I'm sorry about your fiancee."

That parapsychologist angle has clearly not occurred to him before, and it draws a clear blink, and a counter-cant of his own head. "...I mean. I don't think he'll talk to her either but, yeah, I guess she might have some kinda ideas? I'm down to try anyhow." Try that at least if it means getting rid of him, his own look says. He's not that big on getting hit with soda cans either.

Ravn listens and then smiles slightly. "At least you have a great story for impressing the girls. It all counts, right?" He jumps a little in the fashion of someone's cell going off in their pocket. Dipping into it he takes out that hideous sparkly pink Hello Kitty casing with an old Samsung inside and looks at the display.

Then he chuckles. "Sorry, one of my buddies back home is being silly. It's a rant about baking and frosting. I'll send it to you, you might enjoy it." Tappety-tap. Seems he's deciding to answer the guy back home while he's at it.

(TXT to Aidan) Ravn : Does your ghost follow when you leave this place? I feel like we should talk to somebody like Maggi Gyre about him. I know how the stories work but she'll know the rituals and the workings, if any exist. Pretend this is a very funny cake or something. But let's not tip your boy off that we're considering getting rid of him. He seems hostile enough as it is, and the last hostile ghost I met tried to kill four people.

Aidan makes a sort of 'nyyyeh' expression, tilting his head one way and then the other. "I mean, honestly, so far mostly people just get creeped out either 'cause they think I must be crazy or 'cause they don't. And not a lot of people are into knowing ghost voyeurs are critiquing what we do. Girls or boys." Did he ever tell Baylee about the ghost? Surely he must have. Even if his reflexes are pretty decent against little things within arm's reach, there'd have to have been a day like today with the cans, right?

Despite the warning he blinks once when his phone announces the text, and licks his fingers off before wiping them on his robe and then pulling the phone out of the fluffy pocket. The little snort of amusement when he scans the text sounds entirely genuine, despite the fact that the theoretically amusing rant is not. The cake is indeed a lie. Quick little taps in response, along with a verbal, "...okay, yeah, that's pretty good."

(TXT to Ravn) Aidan : sometimes. not always. sometimes i don't think he did but then he shows up somewhere. i think he follows me less these days than he used to. hard to predict. but he does know i want to get rid of him at least. i've been asking pepole if they know how for years. no one has. i mean. obviously i guess. cuz he's still here. but i haven't asked her so i say let's.

Ravn tucks his cell back into his pocket. The cake was a lie and all the bases were belong to him. "We should go for drinks sometime. I've kind of started hanging around the Poorhouse a fair bit after I quit working at the Twofer -- going back there seems a little awkward and the place is very touristy. The Poorhouse's the kind of place I used to hang out in, back in Copenhagen -- lots of sneaky little places around town that the tourists don't know about, even in the gentrified districts. Locals and piss poor students only kind of places. Have a few cold ones, talk about tricks we've pulled on the boardwalk."

And of course the local parapsychologist owns the place. No need to remind the ghost of what both men very well know.

"I keep hoping they're gonna change the name back," Aidan says, "but yeah, I'm down for that. Also the bartender there," yeah, Maggi again, "and I are still trying to figure out if we can find a way to, um, well, fix our fire? If you wanna spitball about that kinda thing some. But I could definitely go for a chat about the other kinda magic too. And some drinks." A glance toward his cupboards; in the time Ravn spent here he might have noticed there was generally very little alcohol about the place, and what there was was mainly not terribly strong beer. He might also have noticed, however, that it's not as though Aidan doesn't seem to drink other places, and clearly the Po(o|u)rhouse will do. "Lemme know when? I mean, my schedule's pretty open." Particularly while the Boardwalk's this cold!