2021-02-02 - Aftershocks

It's getting to be late afternoon, or maybe it's early evening. Hard to say with the dreary weather outside. At least we're one month closer to Spring. Isolde is behind the bar, flipping through a book about ciphers. Business is slow at the moment, but Isolde is a very aware sort of person - so she's able to easily put the book down and tend to customers when needed. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail and she's wearing a pair of dark jeans with gray t-shirt and a black and blue plaid flannel over top that doesn't look to be hers if the size is anything to go off of.

The Poorhouse may not be the most obvious place to limp off to with a book when you just desperately need to see something that isn't the walls of your trailer in Kicklebury... Heckleberry... Hucklepuffer... the trailer park. It's where Ravn Abildgaard limps to, with a copy of Hideyuki Kikuchi's Mysterious Journey to the North Sea, though. What he needs isn't peace and quiet -- he's got that right where he puts his toothbrush. He needs to hear voices and see people coming and going, even if those don't necessarily have anything to do with him. And indeed, even if he has to down a handful of pharmaceutical pain relief to do so -- at least he's healing and fast. This town's healers are anything but inefficient.

Wearing his customary black shirt and jeans ensemble he's tossed on a matching windbreaker and, a little more surprisingly, a dark purple scarf. The customary leather jacket is getting a little too ventilated for the season -- sleeve slashed by a meat cleaver, and now a hole through the back from a sniper rifle. Maybe he just wants to, well, not freeze. The Dane wanders in and heads barwards, settling at the bar. "I don't suppose I could get a ginger ale? Much as I'd like a beer, I hear they mix really poorly with opiates and common sense."

Isolde sets her book down, pale eyes flickering up to study Ravn for a moment as he sits down. "What happened?" Already moving to get the ginger ale together for him though. She sets it down in front of him and offers a smile. "Anything else? Food maybe?" She relaxes against the bar again, head tilted ever so slightly to keep some of her attention on the Dane and a casual, curious glance towards his book.

Ravn drops his book on the counter, content to strike up small talk now, and read later. The book, judging from the cover, is a Japanese or Japanese style light novel, translated into English -- something with a pretty face and a long sword on the cover. Not quite traditional anime style -- a watercolour, perhaps. "I honestly haven't got nearly as much appetite as my friends have been sending me food," he stage-whispers conspiratorially. "I had to give a lot of it to my cat who turns out to firmly appreciate Spanish cooking in particular. I'll have to tell de Santos he has a new fan."

He sips the ginger ale and shakes his head lightly. "There was a shoot-out at the mall garden expo. Turns out assholes with guns don't have qualms about shooting into groups of regular mall visitors. No one ended up dead who wasn't on the wrong team though, so there's that. And I get to boast I've once been singled out by a sniper, I guess." Ravn's smile and tone clearly references that meme -- everything is terrible, everything is awful, but I have some small thing going for me which is nice.

Isolde chuckles softly at the mention of how he's been dealing with food. "A smart cat. Spanish food is very good." Though her eyes widen at the talk of the shootout. "I heard about that." Brow furrowed. "I am sorry you got caught in it and glad you are okay. Well and that only the bad guys ended up dead." She pushes a hand through her hair lightly. She is woefully unfamiliar with memes but does give him a wry little smile. "An interesting story you can tell down the line. Lots of room for embellishments when you are telling the story when you're getting old and gray too." A chuckle follows that.

"Just watch me when the bikini season starts. I can show off the scar on my leg just fine but I may have to go shopping for a tank top with a low neck cut to get the chest wound showing." Ravn winks. Given his penchant for turtlenecks and gloves and, well, covering up everywhere, he's probably joking. Nothing about him says bare-chested surfer dude, at least.

"Not sure the story can be embellished much, unless of course I want to assign myself a more heroic role," he muses with a small smile. "Detectives held at gunpoint, rooftop snipers, mobster goons spraying the crowds with bullets. It felt a bit like watching a questionable Netflix affair, to be honest -- except for the lack of two attractive FBI agents breezing in at the last minute to save everybody. They did take down the guy who was behind it all, though, so hopefully there won't be a repeat."

Isolde laughs again, pulling a bottle of water from under the bar to take a sip. "Maybe one of those deep V shirts." She suggested with a grin. "You could pull it off." A tease in her tone. Nodding a bit as he explained about embellishing. "Instead of two FBI agents, you came in to save the day." She nodded matter of factly, amusement in her eyes. "It does sound like a Netflix thing - though, admittedly I don't tend to watch many shows or movies like that. It is good they caught the person though."

"There is enough crazy stuff in this town without old fashioned shootouts, yeah?" Isolde looked to her book again. "I need to talk to Alexander again soon. Made more progress decoding the ciphers and such...but need to figure out what to do with it all. " Having so much blackmail information on so many people was...disconcerting. At least no more people had come trying to break into her apartment.

"Nah, all I did was catch the eye of a sniper. Though I suppose that means the sniper didn't take down one of the people who did make a difference, such as the armed police officers, so I'll take credit for being a good decoy at least." Ravn hitches a shoulder -- very lightly because his chest is still sore as hell, no matter how magical mojo no less than four healers have tossed at it over the last days.

His grey eyes light up a bit at the mention of the ciphers. "Is it all the same stuff, then? Blackmailing people with sound and videoclips of them getting handsy and more with legal minors? Do you have a pattern of a sort, any way to tell who's next? I can think of a few people just here who might be juicy targets for blackmail if someone had something like that on them. People like the Addingtons or Thorne, lots of money there."

"Seems heroic! Even if inadvertent." Isolde mused, taking another sip of her water before putting the bottle back under the bar and straightening a such. "It's not pretty. I don't really know if there's a way to tell who's next...it wouldn't be the people being blackmailed. It is the people who were a part of the inner circle of the cult. The ones doing the blackmailing." She lowered her voice a bit. "There's some pretty awful stuff on it...the purer the metal from the symbol? The worse the blackmail." She confirmed, a touch of worry on her features. "But I'm not sure who else in the inner circle might be next."

"Sounds like gold doesn't get pressured a little on jay walking and tax evasion." Ravn winces. "So you're saying that the blackmailing is being done by people outside this cult? That it's been infiltrated by outsiders, who are now going through the members like so many little golden geese?"

Isolde thought a moment and then shook her head. "The cult was disbanded...well the club at the college was. I guess it's possible it's still around in a different way. From the people who attacked me - it sounded like they may have been or are affiliated with the cult in some way. I think it's more likely that it's some former members who want the blackmail book for themselves." She tapped her chin lightly. "And they are going after the people who have the book, trying to get it. Which is now myself and Alexander. There hasn't been any more incidents yet but...I suppose we'll see."

"I don't need to tell you to be bloody careful, do I?" Ravn's smile falters a little. "Let me tell you from personal experience -- lead doesn't belong on the inside of your skin. I got to admit, I'll be relieved when Clayton's investigations reach a point that he can hand this whole mess over to the police and put these people behind bars. Even if it means that a number of other people will go to jail too because, well, he'll be handing over the blackmail material too. I don't really have a problem with that, to be honest -- sex with minors is a federal offence for a reason."

"You don't. I try to be careful - I definitely scared the shirts of the intruders...I think they think I'm a demon? Or friends with demons..." Isolde shrugs and smiles. "But I am staying vigilant." She nods some. "Hopefully soon." Though she doesn't seem so positive that it will be as easy as finding out the culprits and handing everything over. "We have the what and, likely, the why. It's just the who that is going to take a bit of time. Unless he's found out something more and just hasn't shared yet."

Ravn studies the woman's face for a moment, looking for signs of the demonic -- and failing to see it. "So you can do scary," he says at length, grinning slightly. "Magic? Plant memories, that sort of thing? Instill fear? Of course you can. Everyone here can do all sorts of crazy things, it seems. I'm glad to hear it -- means you can take care of yourself. Never good to be in a position where you need somebody else to come play the hero and save you. Always better to be able to save your own damn self."

"And naturally scrappy." Isolde grinned. "Mostly mind things." She lightly tapped her head. "But a little of some other things. All useful. Because yes, it is very useful to be able to save yourself and not rely on other people." She glanced just past Ravn as if thinking of something but then dismissed the thought. "You can do some things too then?" Gaze focusing back on him.

The folklorist shakes his head lightly, offering a small, lopsided smile. "Nothing like that. I'm not very talented when it comes to this whole -- shine, magic, song deal. I can move small objects, bend a spoon, steal your car keys. Nothing I can't do better with my actual hands. But enough, apparently, to qualify for Veil chew toy every once in a while. And enough to not suffer from these rewrites of reality where someone's dog was just eaten by an eight-legged bear with shark fins and they tell the police that poor little Fido must have run away from home and genuinely believe it."

He sips the ginger ale and cants his head. "Jungle drums have it you used to run with Rosencrantz? I hang out a fair bit with him these days. Man's a bloody fine violinist."

"I know the feeling. Sort of. I've always been plagued by he other side...but it wasn't until. My last go 'round here that I gained any sort of control over it. I'm not nearly as powerful as Alexander or August or...Itzhak." She inclined her head in a bit of a nod. "Yeah. I used to." Isolde keeps her expression remarkably neutral with the confirmation. Which is a little out of place looking since she is naturally expressive. She can't hold it for long and just lowers her gaze a bit, grabbing her water bottle back up to sip from.

"He is an excellent musician." A faint smile is cracked as she refocuses. "Among other things. How-ah...how is he doing lately? Haven't seen him since the...New Years party." And even then, they hadn't spoken.

"Pretty settled in. He works a lot -- garage keeps him pretty busy. Gets into arguments and fights every so often because, well, that's what Rosencrantz does. Seems like he's doing all right though he's probably always going to be the kind of guy who sees a threat and throws himself at it in order to shield everyone else." Ravn looks thoughtful. That lack of emoting there is expressive in as of itself, and he's neither blind nor tone deaf. "Hard breakup, sounds like? Sorry, didn't mean to bring down the mood. From what I heard, though, that New Years' party at Sitka got pretty dramatic -- even if the drama had nothing to do with Rosencrantz. Missed it myself, I was on a plane back from Denmark at the time."

Isolde shrugged her shoulders and exhaled softly. "Hard. But mutual and...for the best." She gave a hapless smile. "I'm glad he's doing well - sounds like him. And I know Ruiz and Joseph take care of him well too." She pushes a hand through her hair. "Uh, yeah. I don't really know what happened...The owner? Dante I think his name is? His boyfriend proposed to him and then Ruiz seemed to get upset about...something. Maybe that? And stormed out." Isolde shrugged. "I don't know for sure though. I'm not really...in that circle anymore, obviously." She placed her water bottle back in it's spot. "How was Denmark? What's it like? I've been all over this country but never out of it."

"Don't really know that circle too well, either -- I've met Dante Taylor a few times, don't think I've met his fiance." Ravn nods. "Probably old history between them, something. If there's one thing I've learned in five months in this town it's that relationship histories here are more complicated than the genealogy of Old Testament characters in the Bible. And that's usually best to not open up cans of worms that seem well and thoroughly sealed. I'm part time neighbour to Cavanaugh though -- his boat is at the same pier as mine, when mine isn't dry docked for winter."

He rests an elbow on the counter, shifting his position a little; there may not be a breeze right through his chest anymore, but the injury is stiff and sore still. "Denmark, eh. It's normal to me, of course. Spent most of my life there, so to me, the US is the exotic place. Went back to sign some paperwork, meet with a lawyer, and meet the people I'm tutoring online this year. Ended up spending a few days in my home town, giving a tour of it to a friend. That was surprisingly nice, though it also made me realise that it's all history to me now. Gray Harbor is home these days, even if I'll probably never manage to lose the accent and sound native."

"Ahh...Cristobal I think? Cristobal and Dante. That was the first night I met either of them. I've been away from town for a while getting my shit together." Isolde couldn't help but laugh at his comparison of relationships. "Yeah. That's pretty accurate. Like the tangled web of a soap opera sometimes." She mused, brightening up again, listening closely to Ravn's tale of Denmark. "Gray Harbor is like that. As shitty as it can get some times...it's home. I tried to stay in Portland but got roped in to coming back. And...I think I'm here to stay." A little nod at that. "I want to visit France one day though. My mom was French. Taught it to me. And I've been teaching Alexander's bird, Luigi. I'd like to see it in person some time."

"I don't speak French, and the French generally aren't too keen on tourists who try to rely on German or English," Ravn says with a trace of amusement. "I hitch-hiked through, but I didn't stay around anywhere in France for more than a few days. Paris is interesting, but in that everything moves very fast and is very fashionable way you'd expect from a metropol. I like small towns better. Place like Gray Harbor may not have the Notre Dame but it's got plenty interesting stories and people have time to sit down and share them."

The folklorist chuckles. "And of course Gray Harbor seems to be pretty capable of luring people like us in from long distance -- case in point, me. I was on my way to Portland, actually -- hitch-hiking from Seattle. Just kind of -- didn't make it all the way. Might still go some day, maybe just for a visit -- heard the street kitchens of Portland are really something."

"Small towns are good. Good things can happen in them." Isolde lightly fiddles with the sleeve of her flannel as she thinks. "And yes - many interesting people. I've met all sorts during my vagabond days." She chuckled. "Portland is...wild." She agrees. "Very interesting and odd. Always something going on. It's a nice change of scenery at least. But a lot of, uh, hipsters? I think the term is." She laughed. "You might enjoy it. If you ever plan to go up - let me know. I can tell you some places to visit."

"Some day, some year." Ravn smiles and toys with the ginger ale bottle. "But yeah -- feel you on the hipsters. I know, I know -- people keep telling me I look like one myself. I'm actually not into vinyl records and micro-breweries, and making my own dandelion wine, though. And I promise, I'll trim my head with a sheep shearer before I get a man bun. Had those folks at Copenhagen U as well -- most of them turn out to be well-off kids trying to find their own identity by looking like everybody else."

"I've thought about maybe sailing down to Olympia for a week or two in summer if nothing here keeps me busy. Not so much for Olympia's sake but because the coastline is gorgeous and it might be a pretty neat trip." The Dane chuckles again. "But that's me being very Danish -- we're an archipelago and all. Can literally not go anywhere in Denmark where you're an hour's drive from the sea -- it's simply not possible."

Isolde chuckled. "If it's any consolation? You don't strike me as a hipster." She assured him with a grin. "I never understood following the pack. But, ah, I guess I never had the chance to really try it out. Which is fine with me. I would rather be me with all my issues and stuff now than some plain jane follower, you know?" Flashing another smile.

"Sailing sounds nice. And especially in the summer time. I'm sure you'll have a good time if you get to go! I think...Gray Harbor is the closest I've been to water for a while. It's nice being so close, I can agree with that. I like watching the sunrises or sunsets sometimes on the beach. Though I do wish we had a better beach."

"The beach here may not be the white sands of the Caribbean, but it's clear and open, and not too treacherous." Ravn nods; ask a Dane. "Our west coast back home? Beautiful white beaches. Also undertows that kill a couple of German tourists every other year. Tidal areas where the water recedes so far that you can drive out for miles -- and then, when the water comes back in very fast, be swept to sea. Some of the island communities are only islands at high tide, and that water comes in fast. And of course, luring passing ships onto the sand banks for easy looting was a thing that used to happen, back in the 19th century and earlier."

Who asked for a lesson on Danish coastlines? Ravn is just clearly one of those people who get passionate about sharing information. Maybe he should have been a teacher.

Isolde's eyes widened ever so slightly, listening to the drawbacks of Denmark's beaches. "Ooh that sounds terrifying. Remind me to be wary of the beaches if I ever go to Denmark." She straightened up some, finally closing her book. "Are there any like sunken treasures or buried treasures because of the crashed ships?" She pondered on that a moment. "That would be cool. To discover a lost treasure like that."

"Actually, yes. There's a stretch along the west coast of Northern Jutland that was considered a death trap back in the era of sailing ships. There's a fair number of wrecks out there. Some pretty famous ones too -- the English ships of the line of the Napoleonic wars, things like that." Ravn nods. "More interesting to me personally, insofar that obviously, places like that come with ghost stories and local legends like you have no idea. I'm told the region compares a bit to the Cape Cod area here -- though I've not gone to Maine yet to see for myself. The North Sea plays hardball when it decides to play, though."

He shakes his head lightly. "Where I grew up though? We've got a shallow fjord with not a lot of current or tide."

"That makes sense! People like to talk, tell stories. But also - you know. There probably are ghosts and stuff." Isolde mused. "Only makes sense right? People were piloting the ships and if they didn't escape...well not a very restful way to go I imagine." She chuckled. "Never been to Cape Cod...but there are lots of places like that all over. You deal with folklores and things right? I think you mentioned way back when. Do you have any books about it you've written, or..?" Looking curious.

"No, not besides my PhD. I do blog a bit but, let's just say I'm not about to go down as a household name in the field. I am far more interested in going out there and hearing the stories than I am in going home and writing about them. Probably going to leave four cubic metres of hand-written notes that make no sense to whoever decides to take over for me when I wander off into the Veil here and don't come back out." The folklorist shakes his head at the idea of himself being a proper published writer. "But yes -- stories and folk tales, and how the functions they serve, are my passion. Crazy cat lady who reads too much, should print that on my stationery. What's your story? I think it was Clayton who mentioned that you like frogs."

"I can understand that. Listening is much more interesting than having to compile it all in a written way I imagine. I'm in school right now...studying Art History. The essay writing is the worst for me." Isolde nodded. "I wish luck to whomever has to decipher your notes." She teased lightly. "My story?" She thinks for a moment. "I wouldn't really know where to start on that...but frogs. Yes. I love frogs." She pushes her right sleeve back slightly to show him a charm bracelet with various different frog charms. "I suppose it started from a kid. I had a frog stuffed animal as a baby that survived well into my young child days. Then pet frogs when I was a bit older....they're cute, beautiful and some can be deceptively dangerous."

Isolde leaned against the counter and smiled again. "And when the Veil started making me lose my mind? Frogs were something I could latch on to. Like for example...when I get upset or scared...panicked....can't sleep. I don't count sheep. I count frogs. And I still have this giant stuffed frog Itzhak won for me during a fair. Decorations in my apartment. I'm not like...obsessed...I don't think. But they help keep me grounded in reality."

"I think I can relate to that," Ravn says with a small smile. "I don't have something as -- literal as frogs. But the losing your mind and needing something to hold on to? Been there, got a couple of t-shirts. I actually find that anxieties are easier to cope with here, in Gray Harbor -- because here, the scary things are real. Not just to me, but to everyone who has these abilities or this insight, or whatever the proper word for it all is. The shine. Not having to deal with that whole barrier of disbelief? It really is a lot easier. Besides that, nothing wrong with frogs. I can see how you'd bond with Rosencrantz over reptiles -- he's got a few of his own. That big python of his crawled into my shirt once."

"It is a relief, yeah. Knowing it's real and knowing you're not alone in it." Isolde nodded. "Frogs are amphibians," She winked towards Ravn, "But yes. Lemondrop and Iris are very adorable. Lemondrop must like you if she crawled into your shirt. Or maybe you were just nice and warm." She chuckled, flashing a smile. " I was really...out of it. My mind was a mess. I'd been in and out of psych wards and then just ran away from home at 16. When I finally got around to Gray Harbor last year...or I guess it was 2019, the only reason I stayed is because of Alexander."

"I can handle myself. Even with my head messed up and stuff I survived so long on my own for a reason right? But it was hard for me to convey my thoughts and words properly vocally. So I think there was and still might be a misconception that I'm weak. Fragile." Isolde sighed. "That's why Itzhak and I couldn't work. I love him, I still do. But I couldn't handle him treating me like a porcelain doll. And I know it's just in his nature to be protective...but it just felt like he treated me differently and..."Isolde trailed off and flushed a bit. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear my relationship woes." She cleared her throat. "How long have you been in Gray Harbor now then?"

The folklorist hitches a shoulder. "Actually, I kind of do? I like stories. People are stories. And you're absolutely right about Rosencrantz -- protecting people is what he does, he'll throw himself in the face of any threat to make sure it gets to no one else. I can definitely see how that might make someone want to prove that they can stand on their own feet. To me, he's the friend who drops me in the deep end of the pool every once in a while to teach me to swim, but he's also standing next to me with a flotation ring. What do you call those, anyway? Life savers? Or is that just the candy that looks like them?"

He pauses a moment and studies Isolde's face for a second, before nodding. "With you on the psych ward thing. Did a couple of months in one back home, after a suicide attempt. Decided to start travelling after that -- that was three years ago. Well, three years and five months now, since I've been here in Gray Harbor since sometime around September last year."

"Yeah, and I love that about him. I do. I feel like...even though things are super weird with us right now? If I was really in trouble he would still come help and I would do the same for him. But it was hard for me at the time to think that he thought I was weaker. Which I mean. I am relatively speaking...but what I lack in physical strength and stuff I make up for in other ways." Isolde chuckled softly and sighed. "And yeah...I think thy are life floats or something. I know life savers are candy." Chuckling at that.

"I hate hospitals, hated psych wards." Isolde gave him a sympathetic look. "Definitely tried that more than once but, it never took. This past time I left for Portland though. I went to one. Checked myself in to one I had been to as a kid. It was less scary than I remembered and...it helped. Being on meds regularly are pretty helpful too." She tilted her head slightly to study Ravn right back. "If it's not...too personal. Can I ask...why you tried? You don't have to tell me of course."

"My fiancee died." Ravn looks at his ginger ale for a moment. "Killed herself drunk driving, that is -- after we argued about breaking up. She blamed me for her death. Followed me around, screaming at me. Kept me from sleeping, made me feel that I had murdered her. In the end, I couldn't go on anymore, on nothing but anxiety and sleep deprivation."

He makes a little face. "Hospital didn't help as such -- I mean, she just followed me there, and a psych ward is the last place you want to tell people you see things other people don't see. I grew... used enough to it, in the end, that I could sleep. Probably when I realised that screaming at me was all she could do. Eventually I checked myself out and left. Figured I could travel faster than she could keep up -- she had to walk, after all, I hitched rides and got on trains."

And then, with a small, not too cheerful laugh Ravn adds, "Ironically? She did catch up. Just after New Years. And guess who bloody well put an end to my ghost? Yup, Rosencrantz."

Isolde listened closely, the traces of a frown in the slight downturn of her lips as he elaborated on his own trials. Quiet until he had finished completely. "That's awful." She murmured finally. "I'm sorry you had to go through that...and alone even. But," She brightened a touch. "You survived it, and that made you stronger. And I am entirely not surprised that he was there and the one to end it." There's a pause before adding, "I'm glad you didn't succeed. And that you're here. You're a pretty interesting guy Ravn. And you have way more stories about Denmark and its ghosts and legends to share with this town." Flashing him a smile.

The Dane chuckles. "Well, I'm not sorry I made it, either. Life is good, you know? You do know. You're alive, too, and a survivor as well. Something about going into the dark and coming out on the other side -- it changes you. Ever noticed how you can kind of tell? With other people, that is. You can tell if they've been there, done the time -- if you can talk to them about things like this, and not have them stare at you in horror, then ask if you think you're Emperor Napoleon, or worry that you might stab them in their sleep."

Isolde nodded emphatically. "You can definitely tell. Even if it's different specifics, there's still like...a look in the eye, or the way they carry themselves." She agrees. "That's another thing I like about Gray Harbor. A lot of the others who have the shine and such? They have the look too. They've seen some shit, been through more. It's hard to call someone crazy without feeling like a hypocrite around here I think."

"Yeah. The monsters are real. Here, you know that if you come in looking like death warmed over and say 'evil shark dogs chased me all night' people will not ask if you've taken your meds. They'll ask how you got away from them. And on some level that really makes a big bloody difference, at least to me." Ravn's nod is similarly empathic. "Of course we have issues. We get chased at night by evil shark dogs. The only thing I struggle with here, sometimes, is when to keep my mouth shut. I know that the Veil protects itself but, I am wary of putting the so-called normals in a situation where the Veil might think the easiest way to keep the show going is to just dispose of those people for hearing things they shouldn't."

"Precisely." Isolde smiled at the shark dog reference. "I wouldn't be surprised if that was a thing that actually happened." A beat of pause and angling a look at him, "Did that happen?" She shifted a bit on her feet, nodding. "Yeah...it's impossible to keep them away all the time but, in my experience at least, there hasn't been too many wide spread things that drew in a lot of people in a dangerous way. Though...that ship that washed ashore?" There's a glance towards her flannel again and then back to him. "Did you open one? I think a lot of people did...so I'm not sure how that will end up. I mean...nothing has happened so far but..." She doesn't seem so sure that there won't be some kind of side effect.

Ravn winces slightly at the memory of the shipwreck. "I didn't want to open a crate, but you know how this stuff works. Of bloody course one of them opened itself, on my feet. I found the keys to the first car I stole -- and crashed. And the menu from the restaurant where I proposed to my fiancee, back in the day. Neither of those are things I want to remember today, so I bloody well tossed it all back to sea. It came from out there, let it stay out there."

He arches an eyebrow back at Isolde though. "What did you find? Assuming, obviously, that you want to talk about it."

"Those do sound like things better off in the ocean." Isolde agreed. "I couldn't resist...and I don't know if was good or bad." She pushed a hand through her hair. "I found some weird action figures. Like GI Joes? But...something was off and I swear they're alive...like Toy Story? I've been keeping them in a drawer in my dresser and I haven't found them laying around or anything elsewhere so...I dunno." There's a beat of pause and she plucks at the flannel. "And I found this. It belonged to my fiance...forever ago. I...lost him to the Veil." She exhales softly. "He didn't have the shine...at least I am pretty sure he didn't. So it's my fault. I don't know if this is just the Veil playing me like a fiddle or maybe it's a sign he's still alive in there somewhere?" And what if he was?

Isolde didn't want to think about it. "I lost the flannel I took when I left town. It was destroyed during a Dream...Alexander fixed it for me but it still isn't really wearable so I keep it safe. So having this to wear again?...I'll be pretty upset if it's just all some stupid Veil ruse."

(TXT to Ravn) Seth : So tired, yet can't sleep.

"I'm honestly not sure what it all was about -- it was clearly about us and our memories. I saw a few other people find things that provoked very strong emotional responses. But the purpose? Not sure. Might just be... mental debris, for all we know. Just, living here, it's hard to assume that there is ever such a thing as a free lunch, right?" Ravn blinks as his cell phone peeps in his pocket. He takes it out -- sparkly bright Hello Kitty casing and all -- and then chuckles while tapping in a few words back.

(TXT to Seth) Ravn : Come have a ginger ale with me and Isolde at the Poorhouse, then. It's quiet here.

(TXT to Ravn) Seth : Ginger ale? What am I? Five? Make it a ginger beer and some vodka with a twist of lime in a copper cup. Who am I kidding, that is the poorhouse. They don't do Moscow mules.

(TXT to Ravn) Seth : Be there in a few.

(TXT to Seth) Ravn : Well, I'm not five but I'm on bloody morphine. Ginger ale for me. And tall tales of Veil experiences. See ya here.

"Possible. But yeah, I definitely don't believe anything here comes without a drawback. I guess we'll see." Isolde mused, relaxing against the bar again. Her brow raised when she saw the case. "First. That case is adorable. Second, Why do you have a hello kitty phone case?" Isolde laughed.

The Dane glances at it, and then laughs. "Actually? Because no one sane would steal it. I used to sleep in bus stops, hostels, back seats of cars -- places where it's easy to get mugged if some big guy sees something on you that he wants. Big muscle guys don't want something that's sparkly pink and girly. It also got me propositioned by guys a few times, but hey, you can't have it all."

"Ah ha, that makes sense." Isolde nodded. "There are plenty of sticky fingers out there. Or...in your face fingers..." She chuckled. "I never kept much of anything on me to steal. Though, I also was one who did much of the stealing." There was a flicker of amusement on her features. "You know my first night in town I got busted trying to shoplift from the Safeway? That was the first time I met Ruiz." She laughed. "We clashed something terrible."

"Imagine that being caught stealing isn't a good way to make an impression on a police officer, no." Ravn laughs softly. "Sounds like we have that in common too, then -- not getting busted by de la Vega, but, you know, sticky fingers. I made some questionable friends when I was a teenager and in my early twenties. Stole a few cars, picked some pockets, ran some pot. Nothing really serious, but -- yeah. Enough that the captain probably wouldn't have been too friendly to me, either. Besides, he's a pretty in your face kind of person as it is."

"Exactly. I mean, I still haven't really ever interacted with him on a...what's the word...I guess on a real personal level or in a meaningful way? But we're alright now." Isolde grinned a bit. "Sounds like we do." Have the sticky fingers in common. "Easy to fall in with the bad crowds when you've got nothing else going for you I guess. Or when it feels like there isn't. I think the least in trouble I was what when I was pretending to be a student at the college with Alexander." She laughs. "Easy to blend in and the cult had what I wanted, needed at the time. Plus - I liked the research."

"Myeah. For me, I was a lonely kid. Parents hated each other, home was pretty intolerable. Always a couple of guys who'll shower a lonely kid in attention. I suspect that gangs and cults really aren't all that different. You make a few friends, you hang out, you help them with a few things you know you probably shouldn't, but hey, they're you're friends, and then it just kind of ... gets rolling from there, doesn't it?" Ravn puts his hand under his chin, resting his head on it. "I managed to keep studying at least. And at some point I realised that I was cruising for a bruising, as they say. There comes a point where it's pretty much daddy's lawyer keeping you out of trouble -- and when you realise that, well, then you also realise that if you piss the old man off enough, then you're really screwed. I decided to -- well, that a life as a petty criminal wasn't what I wanted."

"They are sorta similar, yeah. Less like...go out and cause crime things and more doing illegal things like drugs and whatnot with each other in my case. But I can definitely see the similarities. Especially if the blackmail book is any indication." Isolde agreed. "From what I remember of my parents, they were good people. I don't think they had the shine either...so they just had their hands full with me. I left because I didn't want to put them in danger. Thought it would just be safer for everyone." She makes a thoughtful noise. "Not even sure where they are now. Cause they aren't in Portland anymore." A light frown and then a shake of her head and she flashes Ravn another smile. "Sounds like you hand a change of leaf right on time, hm?"

It doesn't take too terribly long for the rumble of a vintage '68 Cobra's engine to be heard outside of the dive bar, quieting softly before cutting off completely as the car parks outside. A few moments after that, the door opens and Seth Monaghan emerges from the outside, pausing at the door to allow his eyes to adjust to the differences in light, before strolling the rest of the way inside and over towards Ravn as he is spotted.

"Whiskey," Seth places the order as he takes a seat, stifling a yawn behind his hand. "The stronger the better. I'd even go so far as to say add an Ambien chaser. Or would that be Ambien with a whiskey chaser? Either way works for me."

"I'll take another ginger ale since I'm a wuss who doesn't believe in mixing Tramadol and alcohol," Ravn grins and nods to the freckled redhead behind the bar. "Have you two met? Seth, Isolde. We were just chatting about -- you know, gangs, and cults, as you do."

"You know, I'd love to do that for you - but I'm fresh outta ambien." Isolde mused, pouring out one of the stronger whiskeys for him. "We've run into each other a few times. I even got to see him in a kilt during New Years." She set the glass down in front of Seth and then got Ravn another ginger ale. "How're you doing Seth?"

Seth snaps his fingers as Isolde gives him a no go on the whole Ambien front, letting out a dramatic sigh for effect. "No Ambien? Well, that's just unacceptable. I will have to complain to the manager..and then Maggi will just tell me to get the fuck out. I guess we will just bypass all that and I will just settle for the whiskey. " Seth grins and lips the glass to his lips, taking a sip and looking at a point between the pair so he addresses both, "We've met," Seth confirms to Ravn, "And I'm alright. Vic is out of ICU, so that is good. I owe her a cheeseburger."

"Good," Ravn nods. "I am salty about the kilt thing, though. Here I thought you dressed in a kilt for me and then it turns out you'll do it at the drop of a champagne cork. My feelings are hurt, Seth."

Only, well, from the man's grin, not really. He keeps smiling. "I was just telling Isolde here how I plan to show off my new scars to all the ladies come bikini season. Even though that might require me to wear less."

"Was she caught in the mall shooting thing too?" Isolde asked with a touch of concern. "I'm glad she's okay though. " She seems to give Seth a touch of a look over as if briefly inspecting him for possible bullet wounds too. "I told him that he should wear one of those deep V t-shirts." She offers up helpfully with a grin. "I don't think he's going to take my advice though."

Seth just nods once to Isolde, but he doesn't seem interested in clarifying just what it is she was doing while getting shot. The fewer that know that, the better. "So am I," he affirms to Isolde with a small smile. Thankfully, Seth's recent set of holes he wasn't born with are hidden behind the shirt his wears, only the slight stiffness of his movements may give away his status as one recently injured as well.

Seth glances over at Ravn, "What can I say? I'm a kilt slut. I would appreciate it if you don't shame me for it, I thought we were friends." The enforcer takes another small sip from the glass in front of him and grins, "Ravn needs to gain some muscle in those pecs if he is going to pull off a deep-v. Either than or seriously uptake on the calorie count to get some decent cleavage going on."

"I'm not a jock and no amount of protein powder will turn me into one," Ravn notes good-naturedly. "I've always been the slender type. On the up side? I'm what the fashion industry has a hard-on for, or so my fiancee used to tell me -- and she was pretty big on that stuff. Always been a jeans and shirt bloke myself if I could possibly get away with it."

He doesn't comment on anyone else's involvement in the rain of bullets either. It's possible that he doesn't know -- the man did get gunned down by a sniper pretty much the moment he was stepping into the dance studio. Things might be a little blurry.

Isolde doesn't press any further on the shoot out, and seems more or less satisfied that Seth seems to be relatively alright. She may or may not be making a couple mental notes. But otherwise is content to listen to them talk about the kilts and Ravn's build. She chuckles. "Jeans and t-shirts are the best way to go." She agrees. "I rarely get dressed up myself. Rather be comfortable and all that."

"We could paint some abs on ya. I'm sure there's someone in this town decent with a brush." Isolde teased. "Or, or ...a crop top." Expression dead serious for all of two seconds before she giggled at the that mental image.

"Hell, I'm sure Vic would lend you one Ravn. If nothing else for the shits and giggles of seeing you in a crop top." Seth chuckles, "Give you the vintage '80's look. Toss in some neon, and we can get you all retro."

"What, have Grant Baxter spray paint abs on me 300 style? He probably would." Ravn can't help laugh at the mental imagery -- and then, slowly and deliberately, he gives Seth a gloved finger. "I will have you know, those pictures exist. And fortunately, Mac hasn't found them yet. Me, emo shirt, spray painted jeans, neon hair. I felt the pain, man. I even wore the mascara."

"Well now that's something I have to see. Maybe I'll tip Mac off so she can start digging." Isolde mock threatened. One of the other bartenders walked up behind the bar, which had Isolde checking the clock near by. "Oh! Time flies with good conversation." She flashed the boys a grin as she started to take off her waist apron. "I need to run though. It was good chatting. I'm sure I'll see you around." And then would head off to the back employee area.

"I concur with Isolde, I may have to give Mac a stipend to use to see if she can't dig up those photos, and then once found I am going to make t-shirts out of them so she can sell them in that game shop of hers." Seth grins. "This is the best day ever," Seth laughs as he takes another sip from his whiskey. "This will brighten up Vic's day for sure."

Ravn laughs softly. "You're all assuming that I'd actually be embarrassed to admit that I was once a seventeen year old spoiled brat with confidence issues? I mean, dig them up,by all means, have the laugh. Pretty damn sure we all have embarrassing teenage pictures, though -- what about you? Pimply ginger, puppy fat, looking awkward while waiting to come into his brawn?"

"Touche," Seth says with a mumble. "Seriously though, how are you holding up? Everything mending like it should?" the enforcer asks, looking to the various wound points he knows Ravn has. "Any issues with range of motion? Now would be the time to PT the shit out of that."

"Think I'm actually going to be all right," the Dane replies, a little more seriously. "I'm going to see somebody about the chest -- but I'm pretty sure that they'll tell me to walk. Keep active. Stretch. It's not a joint so there's not a lot that I can do about it in terms of actual exercises."

He chuckles softly. "Honestly? I'm out walking already. With a bullet gone clean through my lung. Less than a week. This town is fucking fantastic, Seth. Also? My cat is getting fat on all the food people have sent me that I can't eat because there's so much. I think Kitty is changing her name to Juanita and moving in with de Santos, that's how much she loves his paella."

"Is that what it takes?" chuckles Seth, "I mean I got shot and nobody is cooking me any dinner. I feel ripped off," the enforcer snorts. "But I am glad to hear you are healing alright, and getting properly fed. That is important. You. Not so much the cat."

Seth lets out a yawn and props his head up with his hand as he rests his elbow onto the bar. "If I pass out on you, don't be offended. I've slept like shit the last few nights. I think it might be finally catching up to me."

"Pretty sure that when it catches up to me, we can pass out in a screaming pile." Ravn sips his ginger ale. "Honestly not sure why -- maybe it's because people know that you cook while I am the bachelor guy who practically lives off scraps tossed out the back door of the Black Bear, along with the other stray cats? You're welcome to come over and help me eat the loot if you like. I'd hate to throw out perfectly good food people made for me. Tossing something you buy at Safeway and don't like is something, this is something else."

"A screaming pile? I don't want to be screaming, I want to be sleeping..." sighs Seth, "Screaming seems counter-productive to that end goal." The enforcer takes another large sip from his glass, placing the now empty container onto the bar for a refill. "I don't know why I can't sleep, but I don't like it. I've never been an insomniac like this."

"No, I think that any parent of small children will tell you -- you let them scream until they pass out from exhaustion." Ravn rests his chin on his hand and looks at the other man. A bit more seriously he adds, "It got bad, Seth. It wasn't just... some people putting some weight on some other people, issuing some threats, maybe even breaking a kneecap. This was -- crazy gunman levels of bad, except that there was a whole squad of gunmen. This was spray the civilians with bullets levels of bad. This was -- it wasn't organised crime bad, it was war bad. You have every reason to be very disturbed. We all are. I have every intention of having the emotional breakdown of a decade, once the morphine stops wrapping my brain in candyfloss."

"I've seen bad, hell I've done bad." admits Seth with a rub of his temples, "But it has never affected me like this. Maybe it is because people I knew got hurt in the crossfire. That's probably it, and yeah...this is worse than I have ever really been in." He closes his eyes for a sec, longer than a blink would be, but they open again albeit slowly. "I'm sure trying to sleep in a hospital waiting room doesn't help matters."

"I bet it doesn't. And I bet that whatever it is you usually do, you don't do it at the forty nearest innocents either." Ravn keeps his voice quiet; some things you might not want the entire bar to hear. "It's like Vic says. You guys signed on. But Reyes -- involved a lot of people who didn't."

Seth nods quietly. "Yeah, yeah..that makes sense. You know, I don't have any remorse for giving him an extra hole or two. If anything I wish I had the time to give him a few more." Seth's voice is quiet, but the lack of sleep and the drink seem to be making his voice raise, and he really doesn't seem to care one way or the other. "Fuck him. I hope he dies and rots in hell."