2021-02-26 - Puberty Come Lately And Weaponised Altruism

Early morning in Gray Harbor frequently means fog, but this morning, it means flurries of snow. Turner has braved the cold because the thought of fixing his own breakfast after the last few days sounds... exhausting, more so than the quick drive to get something to drink and eat someplace where other people are. Entering the shop, Turner goes through the usual unwinding of his scarf, removal of his hat and coat at the door, making his way to the counter to place his order to the poor bleary eyed employee. A nasty bruise is visible at his right temple, his hair parted to one side to allow a bandage to cover the worst of it, and yellowed flesh shows above the collar of his heavy knit jumper. He moves with a certain stiffness that implies it hurts to even move, still.

Who'd be engaged in his usual argument with Della the day manager at Espresso Yourself but the one man in town who can't just order a cup of coffee, black, here? Ravn Abildgaard got into this argument on his very first day in town and it's still ongoing. Is it some kind of long term flirt? Might be. Della just doesn't like the guy? Also possible. Either way, it ends the way it always does -- the Dane is served the compromise that is a hazelnut roast. He settles at a fairly central table, grumbling, with the newspaper -- and he too walks like his legs aren't working just right. Like he somehow managed to sprain both ankles recently.

Turner gets a nod as he wanders in, and then a nod towards another chair at the same table. Ravn curls his gloved fingers around his coffee cup and closes his copy of the Gazette -- not that he'd gotten started reading but it's a signal to send that one is approachable and all that.

An order of hot cocoa and a cinnamon bagel and honey butter, and then Turner moves to join Ravn, tilting his head at Ravn slightly. "Are your legs still bothering you?" he asks, very softly. He settles into his seat with a sigh of relief, looking for all the world like he got suckerpunched, or worse, a few times. "I can... you know... if you want." he smiles, tiredly. There's a certain bleariness in his features, as if he hasn't slept well.

"A little. It'll heal. Heaven knows I'm no expert on how this healing works but they keep telling us to not use the shine unless there's a good reason, and I'm hardly dying here." Ravn fixes a blue-grey look on the younger man and then smiles. "I owe you one for back there, though. Not sure how you did it, but I'm not convinced I'd be walking at all if you hadn't done what you did. That was one of the more screwed-up dreams. Usually there is some kind of direction or purpose, some sort of story."

He sips his coffee and looks at Turner over the edge of the cup. "Have you heard anything from the other two? Kyle and whatever the older guy from the library is called. Rosencrantz and de la Vega are all right -- I talked to Joe Cavanaugh and he'd have told me if they weren't. I need to touch base with Leon Gyre still."

Joe is Ravn's worst nightmare, in terms of American coffee blasphemy. He comes traipsing in, wearing that greatcoat he sports for half the year here. Along with the white silk scarf, the black watch cap, and the fingerless blue gloves. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, even before he wheedles his way into some sort of butterscotch cocoa abomination. Once he's handed off his card and left a ridiculous tip in the jar in the form of multiple golden dollar coins - then he turns to wave at the others.

Turner's state does not go unnoticed. He's pulling off his gloves and says, "Lemme guess, you had your first Dream and got the crap beat outta ya." It isn't really a question.

Flurries of snow, this close to March. August spent most of the drive in cursing and re-organizing the schedule, so it was on Eleanor to get them into town, and now she's in the back hard at work sorting out any delays in the shipment due to icy roads and closed bridges. And, since August won't be climbing any trees today, he heads into the cafe proper to hang out, write, maybe get more Spring orders and planning done. He's in his black leather jacket,with a red, black, and white flannel and gray waffle Henley under that, an old pair of denim jeans, faded and scarred, and his heavy hikers. His beat up, leather work bag is slung over his shoulder. He's swiping away at his phone as he comes around the counter, grimacing and muttering. "No, don't plant a goddamned vine there, you'll be drowning in it by fall, mom, Christ." He glances up upon hearing familiar voices, raises his eyebrows at Joe and Ravn...who gets a narrow-eyed look. This shifts to a 'you stay right there' kind of expression, and he goes to get his cappuccino.

"I... used to play D&D in college. I played a cleric. Who... looked a lot like I did in the dream, now that I look back on sketches, so... that explains a lot." Turner shrugs ever so slightly, which brings on a wince, and then he's putting his hand on his sternum, pressing gently. "There was more to what we saw. I just don't know what. I... think we freed something we maybe shouldn't have. As for Kyle and Xavier," oh, that's a deep blush, when he says that name, "they're both fine."

He, carefully, takes a slow sip of his hot cocoa, blowing on it first, then smiles up at Joe. "Second or third, actually. Alice in Wonderland beat me and Xavier up with books and threatened to kill Conner and use his blood to paint the roses red." the smile doesn't go away, though, so despite whatever pain the librarian is in, something good came out of the Dream.

"I remember doing that a few times but I never really got into it," Ravn agrees. "There was a pretty active Vampire live roleplaying group at university and they did rope me in a few times but I never really managed to catch the spirit of it. So much posturing and make-up in order to get to do some light-weight BDSM hook-ups. It seemed like too much effort."

He sips his coffee and then nods at Joe and August alike. "Howdy, neighbour. Howdy, Røn." The latter's name is pronounced in a decidedly one-syllable fashion, a very Scandinavian sound that does not exist in English at all.

Joe looks even more pleased to set eyes on August. "Hey, Roen," he says, as he veers aside to wait on whatever ridiculous thing he ordered. Expression utterly innocent. "

To Turner, he says, "That's good. You'll find you wanna keep your first aid cabinet real well stocked, 'round here. 'specially with painkillers and ice packs." Speaking from bitter experience. Then he tips his head at August. "He's kinna a local expert, you'll find."

The comment about vampire roleplay has him noting, voice gone a little more dry, "I was lucky, there was just a more or less actual BDSM club in the town where I went to college. Cut out the middle man, as it were. Or at least a buncha steps."

August fetches his ridiculously-huge mug of coffee and a cranberry orange muffin, heads to a table near Ravn (who's getting the Face) and then Turner (who's getting narrowed eyes, but no Face yet). Joe, not currently sporting shiny new wounds, gets an actual almost-smile. "Gentlemen," he says, setting down his things and sliding his bag off onto a chair. The topic of Vampire leading to BDSM (or just BDSM clubs) has his eyes narrowed, maybe pondering 'why do you need to play Vampire to get someone to tie you up'. He shakes his head a second later. No, no, he's not getting derailed.

"So. This a mundane sort of altercation you had with someone at the Pourhouse? Or a," Ravn in particular gets a significant Look, Turner in an aside, "something fancier." His gaze lingers on Turner a half-second, then he has a sip of coffee. He can see Turner has the shine, of course, but he's noticed that before. Having it and using it, though, those are two different things.

Yes, Revisionist, it's the Pourhouse, and you can pry that from August's cold dead fingers.

The mention of bondage gets a slight squirm of discomfort from Turner, and he looks down into his hot cocoa thoughtfully. "Vampire can be fun but if I wanted doom and gloom I'd look outside. I liked D&D because it was an escape to a fantastical world... where using your abilities didn't get you... negative attention.. and it was good when I was having artists' block and couldn't focus on painting."

To Joe, Turner replies, "Always do. I have some old prescription pain meds from last year when I fell down the stairs and broke my arm, I didn't end up needing them all, but... they helped me sleep last night." And yes, Turner's definitely been using his small power a lot, of late. "Nice to see you, Mr. Roen."

"Less pretentious Goth girls trying to one up each other with ridiculous costumes and coffee grind readings too, I bet." Ravn winks at Joe. "They did try to convince me to join, as a fortune teller. I declined; I do actual cold reading and not only did it sound about as exciting as watching paint dry but I also would be having a hard time separating the actual messes those kids were from the messes they were pretending to be. Cutting out the middleman does sound a hell of a lot easier."

He raises his cup in a small salute to August. "Crazy underwater dream, tabletop RPG style."

It's like Joe really can't resist being awful in Turner's presence. Or maybe he's just a terrible old lecher and that's his default. "Fair enough," he says. "I mean, about the Vampire thing. I had a very gothy girlfriend in college. And good. You'll wanna be....sparing, I imagine, considering life in this town."

A chuckle for Ravn. "Exactly." He ambles over to sit with August, sure of his invitation.

"Hey kid." August settles into his chair, makes a low sound at Turner's comment about keeping pain meds handy. He's not quite enough of a hypocrite to give anyone shit for showing up beat to hell from Their tender mercies. Not quite. He eyes Joe, maybe to double-check, relaxes when there's nothing new. ('New.' Was the shootout in front of this very coffee shop only a couple weeks ago? More than that?) "Well at least you're in one piece, you old bastard. And who didn't have a goth boy- or girl-friend in college, maybe even a couple."

Now he's frowning again, glancing between Turner and Ravn. "Underwater. Likle that time we got turned into mer-people?"

"I didn't." Turner responds to August, still looking down at his cocoa. "I've been kind of oblivious about... all of that." he explains. "And, um... more like 'oh gods if we don't move we're going to drown and also something is slowly turning us to stone'. I think I'd have liked being a mer-person a lot more than what happened... though it was neat casting divine spells. Even if I was apparently praying to a horrifying entity apparently."

"I didn't have a Goth boy- or girlfriend in college," Ravn supplies helpfully. "I was cheerfully busy being a nerd in daylight and picking pockets by night, thank you very much. And yes, kind of -- we weren't mer-people, but we were on the ocean floor in some kind of sunken temple, and we had to fight fish people. Or, well, Leon and de la Vega fought fish people, the rest of us looked pretty and tried to stay alive. And in my case, looked rather hard to find a bloody shirt lying about somewhere. Dream had me kitted out like I ought to be somebody's Goth boyfriend."

He smiles lopsidedly. "I had more high end lockpicks than I ever owned in actual waking life. Should have hung on to those, good picks are hard to find."

"Oh, I'm held together by spit an' balin' wire," Joe returns, sweetly. Like August just paid him a compliment. He sips from his drink, amused. "I had one of each. Simultaneously." So apparently the trio's been his pattern since early days.

"Who were you prayin' to?" he asks Turner, with real interest. "Like, Cthulhu? Someone like that?" Ravn's narrative makes him lower his cup, carefully, like a very mad old Hatter indeed. "I'mma be honest, now I'm just imaginin' y'all in that part of Finding Nemo where they have to escape from the dentist's office."

"Well," August cuts a sidelong glance at Joe of shared experience, "I was making up for some lost time in college. I wanted to get my money's worth. So, maybe it all balances out." He clears his throat, has a bite of muffin as he listens to the descriptions of the Dream. "Definitely sounds like a game," he agrees after some thought. "Since I doubt you'd be able to survive underwater like that, much less fighting and in armor or, whatever. But in games there's always some kind of," he makes a vague gesture, "breath bar." His face tightens with sympathy for Turner. "They're not...all like that. Some are just weird. And some are crazy but not ugly." He shakes his head. It runs the gamut, and that's the risk: where, on the wheel of Their fortune, will the peg stop?

Another of those low, thoughtful noises. He points at Ravn with a bite of muffin. "You can do that, you know. If you're strong enough with movement. Bring things across. But, ah," he raises an eyebrow, "careful. They're not...normal things. Well. Sometimes not. Sometimes it's fine." He shrugs about the times when it's not. The muffin meets its fate.

"You... looked really nice." Turner tells Ravn. And there's that blush again. "We were only underwater part of the time. The rest of the time we were in... air bubbles? Mystic forcefields... something like that. And I thought I was praying to a deity of the sun, because..." He holds up a finger and pulls out his phone, opening the gallery and scrolling to a rough sketch of a sun disc, a whip with a snake head for a handle, and what looks to be a headdress. "Sorry. I'm better with paint but..." he shrugs a little. "There was something trapped in a sarcophagus, that looked like..." he scrolls back another picture and holds up his phone again. The drawing, while not great, shows a sort of grim reaper, skull seemingly laughing. Then, as if remembering he has a bagel, he sets the phone down, smearing honey butter across the bagel and taking a bite.

"Believe me I noticed the bringing back thing." Ravn smiles wryly over the edge of his coffee cup. "I was in this very gory affair with Seth Monaghan and Clayton some time back. I'm a mover. They're not. Guess who came back sparkly clean in fresh clothing and who came back drenched in blood like he'd had Bloody Marys in an abbatoir jacuzzi. Bringing shit back isn't entirely voluntary every time." He rubs his forearm; that was the one with the meat cleaver. Figures that there is one thing the otherwise very low power Dane does manage to achieve; the messy one.

He gives Turner an odd look, and then chuckles. "I go to a fair bit of effort to not attract that kind of attention."

"Yeah. Nothin' like gettin' away from your family to have a chance to explore certain things," Joe agrees, in that mild way he has. Then he's bobbing his head in agreement. "I've seen things that are beautiful and funny and horrifying. If it weren't so goddamned dangerous I'd be there more, explorin'."

He cranes his neck to examine the image that Turner displays. "Doesn't ring a bell, but things don't always have direct correspondence to things here, I don't think." An 'oof' of sympathy for Ravn. "I feel like you had a harder intro than most, when it came to Dreams," he tells the Dane.

August cranes his neck to look at the pictures. They don't ring a bell, that much is certain, but he does ask, "I assume you didn't let it out," and gives turns a brief 'please tell me your reaction was to slam the lid shut' look.

He shakes his head at Ravn. "I don't mean like that. I mean, objects, like the lock picks you were describing? Or," he pulls a face, "bullets. Itzhak brought back some unicorn hair once, made a bow for his violin. People without enough movement can't bring anything back at all. But people like Joe," he nods at Joe, "can grab whatever." A wry smile for Joe; per what Joe's just admitted, he's not likely to do it. But he could.

A small sigh for memories of college. "I was more escaping, you know," another significant look for Joe, a different one, "the Army, and all that." He shifts it to Ravn and Turner. "College was a lot better than the military, let me tell you."

"I understand that feeling." Turner tells Ravn, ducking his head just a little. He takes another nibble of his bagel, then sighs softly, "If we hadn't opened the sarcophagus we would have been torn to shreds. I don't know how to fight, and I'm... not very strong. I just wanted to get home and make sure Kyle and Xavier were okay." he looks down at his hands, again, then at his phone, before turning the screen off once more. "I needed out from the bottom of the ocean."

"Eh, dunno." Ravn glances at Joe. "It was four months before I actually got injured in a dream. That's a pretty good track record. Just having a streak of bad luck now, I guess. One might argue that coming out alive is a good track record."

He nods at August and then Turner. "Got lucky on the draft lottery but even if I hadn't, the army would never take an asthmatic. Worked with enough vets to hear you loud and clear, though. Hear you loud and clear on the not being a fighter, either. I'm anything but. The Veil doesn't ask before it pulls you in, you just have to hit the ground running and try to make yourself useful in some other fashion. Fortunately it's rarely only a matter of punching things in the face."

He could. And has just enough sense enough not to. He got back to the Asylum, which was much of his ambition when it comes to that other world. He slants a look at August. "You were smart enough to doit in that order. I whooped it up for four years in Boston, and then it was like volunteering to take holy orders. Well, for the first while. Then I got my wings."

Nodding along as Ravn explains the skills needed. "Yeah, happily. The other thing is...power grows quickly, if you use it. The catch-22 is that it calls down Their attention."

August coughs a laugh at Joe. "God, I bet. Especially in a boilerroom like you went into." He's distracted from talk of college debauchery by trying to recall when he first wound up injured by the Other Side, toys with his mug. "I don't know if I ever had one where I wasn't injured. But that was a long time ago, and I was young--coming home injured was sort of par for the course, you know? And," he nods at Ravn, "alive's good, but I was a kid so I didn't really know what was going on. Just that my life was somehow weirder than other kids'."

He winces at Turner, offers another of those neutral 'mmmm' sounds. "No blame, kid. I've done my fair share of...things that seemed like bad ideas, so we could get the fuck out. And the only way out is usually through."

"I've been doing everything I can to stay away from Them, but... people keep getting hurt around me, and I can help... so I should." Turner asks, softly, fingers laced around his hot cocoa still. There's a sigh from the young man, and he glances at his phone again, biting his lower lip. "Grams told me I needed to use my abilities as little as possible, not to talk about it, and to keep people away. She normally gave great advice, but I think maybe that was a bad idea. I should be better at all of this than I am, by now."

"Power grows for some," Ravn notes. "I've used mine all my life, and it's much the same now as it was when I was seven. I'm just not very talented in that regard. It's not the only way to get Their attention, though. Have you talked to de Santos? The Veil's killed him twice. He theorises that altruism is the anathema to at least the dolorphages. I think he's got a point -- heaven knows that the more I ride my pet 'we're all Team Humanity here' pony, the harder it hits me."

He looks at Turner and shrugs lightly. "It's tempting, isn't it? Just lie low, keep your mouth shut, don't get involved. Let things be Somebody Else's problem. Ask a historian some day how that tends to work for societies in the long run, though. I'm no fighter, and I have next to no juice. But I'm not going to let this thing steamroll us unchallenged anymore than I'd watch a Nazi give a speech on racial equality unchallenged."

"Oh, man, it was hell. Being basically imprisoned with hundreds of fit, often pretty, young people that I couldn't touch or look at. 'specially the men - even a suspicion'd've got me kicked out," he says, shaking his head.

Re: Dreams, he adds, "I've had some. Been lucky enough. Hell, it's the real world stuff's that came closest to killin' me." A pause at that, and he nods. "I.....can see why she thought that, but yeah, that don't serve long-term. Not here. You could move away, that's the only sure thing."

Ravn gets an approving look. "More I'm here, more I think you're right," he allows. "I used'a think Rosencrantz was full of wishful thinkin' when he talked kinna like that. But....no. Y'all're right."

August just laughs, shakes his head at Joe. "Ah yes, good ol' Don't Ask Don't Tell. I sure don't miss it. Not one fucking bit."

He sighs a little in unspoken agreement for the real world being the pain point of late. His face settles into grim resignation. "She's just trying to protect you," he tells Turner. "I don't think she's even wrong, strictly speaking, just," he tips his head at Joe, "staying here and avoiding it won't work out. Leaving's the only option." He licks his lips. "I wouldn't blame someone with kids, say, for opting to go. Raise them somewhere further out where they're at less risk until they're older. If they even have power." He shrugs. "They might not. In which case, do you stick around to do your part, knowing it might wreck your kids' lives? Or do you move, come back once they're grown up?" He shrugs, a half-hitch of his shoulder in a helpless gesture.

"At least I'm not launching stuff across my room while I'm half asleep, anymore." Turner says with a small smile. "And... it is very tempting. But I saw Xavier get hurt the other night, really hurt. He almost died. And I couldn't let him die. Or Conner. I... miss being in the background, though. Things were simpler when nobody noticed me. Less confusing." And there goes the blushing again, with an attempted cover of it via convenient hot cocoa sipping.

"Yes," Ravn says simply. "It is easier to be invisible. I had that going for me just fine until I got here. Now I don't. There comes a time in your life when you get tossed into the deep end of the pool and you have to find out if you know how to swim, I guess. Or get out of the pool and run off as fast as you can." He glances to August. "I honestly don't know how I'd feel about it if I had children. There are some advantages to living alone and having no attachments. I guess this is one of them."

Joe bobs his head at that. Grim, indeed. Then he's finishing his drink in a last few swallows, and rising. "Taken your first step into a larger world," he congratulates the librarian. A flashing grin for that comment. Someone here hasn't been in the background since his teens. "What's that line of Bacon's, about how he who has a wife and children gives hostages to Fortune?" Already rebuttoning his coat, as he takes his cup back to the counter.

"Oh, you think you have no attachments, do you," August says; it'd be a drawl, if he had one, but he doesn't, so it's just a deep murmur. He gets out his phone and swipes up a text, hits send. Then, "Next time I see your cat I'll let her know how unattached you are, I'm sure she'll have something to say to you in the form of shredded upholstery." He's so smug, and very obviously not joking.

Somewhere else in town, Itzhak gets a text. What does it say? Ravn will find out soon enough. In all caps Yiddish cursing, probably.

He's quiet a bit, though; something unsettled by what Turner's said. "Yeah. Like he says--a big step. Just," he glances up at Turner, "be careful on your next ones. I'm never going to tell anyone to not use their power. But I'll always say: be careful."

And hey, now his phone's ringing. He looks at the number, sighs. "Be back in a spell. Take care if you're gone before I'm done with...this." He shuffles off to answer it in a private corner, raising a hand to Joe as he goes.

"If I had kids I'd... probably be very confused, but run screaming from this place with them under my arms, if I'm honest." There's a little shrug from Turner, a faint smile at the mental image. "Not that it's something I need to worry about anytime soon. I've never even been kissed." he laughs and shrugs a little. "Though... that may change soon." He watches August head off to the corner, and Joe getting his coffee, and his cheeks are as crimson as ever. "I hope."

Ravn can't help a smile at August's back as he wanders off. "The cat owns me, not the other way around," he says, amused. "And trust me, she reminds me often enough." He doesn't comment on Rosencrantz. Maybe there's no reason to -- of course he has attachments. Just, not romantic or indeed, paternal attachments.

He waves at Joe as well. "See both of you around. April will be here before you know it. Let the annual battle of the barnacles begin."

Then the Dane looks back at Turner. "It's a hell of a lot easier to just keep your head down and avoid the whole barrel of complications that's people. Been there, done that. Still doing it to some extent. This town, though? It won't let me. Made a couple of friends who keep pulling me out of my shell. The Veil itself, keeps pulling me out. I am finding that I like it -- connecting with other human beings, I mean. It's not a bad thing. Just, sometimes it's as scary as anything the Veil can throw at us. Don't ask me for love advice, though. I had one girlfriend in my life, and Rosencrantz ended up having to kill her again."

"I'm... really sorry. That sounds terrible, and you shouldn't have had to deal with it." Turner meets Ravn's gaze, briefly, before he looks away, clearly uncomfortable with eye contact but wanting to make an effort. "You're worth connecting with, though. I'm glad you're letting yourself be pulled out of your shell, you're a good person from everything I've seen."

The Dane hitches a shoulder. "I'm not going to say it was fun. But she was five years dead as it is, and the Veil will dig old injuries out of your head and rip them open for shit and giggles. It's how it works. I'm just glad that Røn, Rosencrantz and Castro were there with me, to deal with it."

He studies the younger man for a moment over his cup and then smiles lightly. "You're a lot like me, aren't you? Easier to hide away. The whole humans concept? So bloody complicated, almost not worth the bother. I've been riding that horse hard for most of my life. Coming here, to Gray Harbor, is forcing me to look myself in the eye a lot when I shave, ask myself whether I am as smart as I thought I was. It's not difficult to be all by yourself. No obligations, no complications, no demands. But it's when you're not that you feel anything actually matters."

"My parents and my brother died when I was still a kid. Car accident. My sister pulled me out of the water, instead of her twin brother." Turner's voice is emotionless, his gaze fixated on his hot cocoa. "I started having nightmares after that, and I started Shining. I'd wake up and my room would look like a hurricane came through it. It was easier to keep people at arm's length so they wouldn't notice how weird I was." Turner swallows, glancing up at Ravn. "I don't want to be alone anymore. I started letting myself have friends in college, just a little bit, and then I started noticing... people. Guys, specifically. I shut down so hard I didn't even figure out I might be gay until a few weeks ago." his voice has a bit more emotion, now, a little self-recrimination mixed with amusement.

"Well, you're in the right place for that realisation, at least. Gray Harbor's little community of shiny people have other things to worry about than what combination of bits go together." Ravn toys with his cup, trying to decide if he wants to go through the dance with Della for another. "Can't imagine anyone's going to give you a hard time about it -- it's a little difficult to consider it a big deal when you've got things literally trying to murder you every other week. Most of us tend to just think -- find whatever happiness you can and hold on to it. And of course, the town's got a pretty thriving gay and queer community as it is. Hell, some of us joke that it's harder to find a straight partner around here than the other way around."

"I did notice a lot of people when I downloaded a dating app..." Turner murmurs, glancing up at Ravn with a smile. "Besides, the only person who I'd worry about giving me a hard time never did anything except tell me she loved me and accepted me no matter what. Nobody else's opinion matters about who I decide to be with... if I ever decide to be with anyone. It's all very... esoteric to me, still. But I'll figure it out. I've been reading a lot about it." Leave it to a librarian to think he can figure people out with the help of books, right? "I'm sure you'll find someone, if you want to, that is. You're very handsome."

Ravn hehs. "I like my life the way it is -- mostly complications free. Got a cat who doesn't demand to be wined and dined before she'll go to sleep next to me, I don't need a girlfriend. Rosencrantz told me something the other day -- something Røn told him, just to, you know, expand on the gossip chain here. Said that sometimes, somebody just decides that they want to be in your life, and they'll walk in there and make it happen. Doesn't matter how hard you tell yourself you don't want or need them. I'll wait for that. Saves me a lot of effort in the meantime."

He shakes his head lightly. "This guy you have your eye on. He's got the shine, or whatever you prefer to call it? It's a kind of -- heat, to me, but most people see light. I think that's probably a lot more important -- you shack up with somebody who doesn't, you're going to be explaining yourself a lot. Why do you wake up with stab wounds and frozen legs? They don't remember what they see, reality changes itself for them. I've only been in town since August, granted, but it didn't take me more than a few days to work out just how much this place fucks with the minds of people who don't have our kind of special touch."

"He does... Sort of a... gleam. It's... Xavier. Don't tell anybody, I don't... know if he's out at all. But we've been texting, and maybe we're going to watch a movie sometime, once we're healed up." Turner's nervously twisting a hand around the hem of his jumper, again, "It's all very up in the air because neither of us is sure about anything but... I like his eyes. They're very blue..." he smiles, shyly, free hand bringing the hot cocoa to his lips again. "He healed me a little during the dream, and it helped a lot. I was... a lot worse off when I first woke up than I am now."

"It's not my business to tell anyone about anyone until I see them holding hands on the boardwalk," Ravn says, amused. "I get it. I come from a country where we really don't make a big fuss about it, but we have homophobes as well. Gay guys still do get assaulted or harrassed. Every town has an asshole or three, and someone who's just looking for an excuse for a fight. All I'm going to say is good luck. People being happy can't ever be a bad thing."

"I think it's more a privacy thing, like... I wouldn't want anyone gossiping about me, either, you know? At least not until something's official. I'm sure people will already be talking because Kyle's moving in soon. He's taking Kenzie's old room, and I'm going to put her stuff in Grams' room for now, just in case Kenzie comes home..." a little shrug from Turner. "I needed a roommate, and he's been a good friend." Ravn and Turner are sitting at a table across from each other, both looking beat up in different ways, Turner with a bandage and a bruise on his right temple, as well as visible bruising coming up from his chest, up over his collarbone, fading into his neck. He looks like he got into a fight and lost.

Nicolas steps inside just in time to hear a bit of this conversation. The black clad priest pauses and turns his head to look at Ravn. Oddly enough there is no judgment in his eyes nor disapproval. He smiles faintly looking a bit wistful then concerned when he notes how bruised and beaten the two look. Then he turns away and goes to the counter to order himself some coffee. "Black coffee please?" He rumbles out to the shop assistant paying for it promptly then taking the cup and sipping from it as he goes to find himself a table.

"When I see you holding hands on the boardwalk," Ravn repeats. "Until people make a statement, it's no one else's business. Small towns are pretty bad for that but we don't have to make it worse, yeah?"

He chuckles. "Christ, I feel you. When I came into town back in August? For a couple of months or four, the Veil had people thinking I was some kind of celebrity. The rumours that people got going about me? I managed to almost break up two relationships and get arrested on a date rape charge, all due to gossip. I hear you, loud and clear."

He glances over at the tall priest and raises a hand in a lazy wave. There's a table. It's free. They're all free, but well, it's a quiet time of day.

The skinny librarian across from Ravn looks up, then up, and UP at Nicolas, staring for just longer than is polite, then looking away again, quite quickly, back down to his hot cocoa, his freckled skin coloring. "I can only imagine. I'm glad they got things sorted, though. Prison doesn't sound fun. Not that you... probably would have ever seen prison time. Statistically speaking it's something like 943 rapists out of 1000 never even see the inside of a jail cell for their crime." a pause, and then, "I took a lot of classes in college. Like... more than my electives really needed..."

Seeing the wavefrom Ravn aimed at him and the staring Turner gives him Nicolas approches the pair with a gentle smile on his lips. "Hello to the both of you." He greets in a warm rumble of a tone. "I'm Father Nicolas Morrison. I recently took over the church here." He introduces himself and tilts his head. "May I join you? If its not too much of a bother that is? I promise not to preach." He pledges with a soft chuckle.

"That's not really the point," Ravn says with mild amusement. "The point is, small town gossip is pretty intense."

He looks up at the priest and offers a smile. "By all means. Was just thinking, there's a new face. It's a small town -- we were talking about just that, how small towns talk. The rumour mill runs fast in Gray Harbor but most folks are pretty decent. Just got to get used to the fact that everybody knows who you are and where you sleep. St Mary's, is it? I visited once. There was an -- incident. Haven't gone back, keep telling myself that I ought to. Ravn Abildgaard."

The tall copper blond extends a gloved hand. He speaks with an accent that is decidedly not from around here, either. British, perhaps. Or at least it wants to be.

"Sorry, I word vomit when I don't know what to say." Turner looks up at Ravn with an apologetic half-smile, rubbing at the back of his neck absently. "Nice to meet you, Father. I'm Turner Quinn. I'm the new research librarian at the public library. Well. I do other stuff, there's not really a lot of call for... research librarians around here. Except when finals roll around." he doesn't offer his hand to the tall man, but he does smile... though he doesn't make eye contact for more than a second or two, "Please, feel free to join us." there goes the jumper-twisting again.

Nicolas accepts the offered hand with his own large hand and shakes it gently yet with a firm grip. Then he offers Turner his hand and a shake as well. Smiling to Ravn he nods. "Perhaps I can convince you to return sometime? My sermons are a work in progress but without an audience they will be useless. Though...I have been told I'm too mild for a priest. Not enough fire and brimstone. I just prefer using convincing arguements and facts to help people boost thier faith. Ranting about hell and the end of the world seems counter productive." He grins good naturedly and settles at thier table, sipping his coffee. he notices Turner's inability to make eye contact and smiles reassuringly. "I don't bite every person that looks at me you know?"

"Historian -- specialising in folklore as it happens." Ravn smiles lightly. "I am -- not a very practising believer, I must confess. And from a Protestant country at that. But I would like a tour sometime if you feel like it, hear the history of the church. I gather it's got quite some past -- like all of this town. You're not a native son either, I take it?"

"Not very good with people, sorry. Better with books. I'm working on it." Turner smiles again, though he does look rather nervous still. Probably because he was just checking out a priest and that's got to be a sin, right? "I think the best sermons are the ones that use solid reasoning rather than appeals to blind faith with fire and brimstone... unless you're using the fire and brimstone to get people to support charities, of course..."

"I'm not a crowds kind of person myself. I can do it if I must -- but I gave up on lecturing for a reason." Ravn nods. "I like my privacy, my alone time. I like people too, but not twenty at a time. Not one to turn up much for karaoke night, that sort of thing either -- it gets too crowded, too many voices, too many people to watch."

"Same. I get overwhelmed easily, it's hard to focus when there's a lot going on and it wears me out too much. Too many conversations and loud noises..." Turner shakes his head slightly, as if to clear ringing ears. "I like music, just not live concerts. Unless it's maybe, like... the type of concert where everyone is quiet and wears fancy dress."

Ravn makes a face. "Not me. Not fancy dress. There are few things I hate as much as having to put on a tie and rub elbows with Important People. You live in a country that has no nobility, no aristocracy -- enjoy it. There's still the one percent of course, but eh -- eat the rich? I absolutely detest fundraisers, charity dinners, that sort of thing. If you're going to donate to charity, just do it."

Turner laughs, shaking his head slightly, "We always want what we can't have. Girls in high school used to complain because they wanted curly hair and it was 'wasted' on me, but I remember my sister Kenzie getting up super early to straighten her hair every morning before school. I wear semi-formal attire for work every day, adding an extra layer or two wouldn't bother me much. But just for a night, to go see an opera or something."

"Oh, quite true," the Dane agrees and finally manages to make eye contact with Della long enough that she can't just ignore his need for a coffee refill. "I grew up somewhat privileged. Very conservative family, very proper. Used to run away from home, steal cars and hang out on the street corners. The one perk about a well-to-do family background? You get to be eccentric rather than a nutcase." Ravn makes a half-mocking wave at himself. There are some people in town who consider his all-black turtleneck style to be a little... eccentric.

"I suppose I was fairly privileged too. I never went without, my parents did okay, and then Grams took their life insurance payments and put most of it aside so Kenzie and I could attend college without debt... Are you an only child?" he asks, head tilting slightly, managing to hold eye contact for a few seconds before he fixes his gaze on Ravn's eyebrows. See, still totally maintaining eye contact. Or... the illusion of it, anyway.

"I am. Have a metric buttload of cousins and extended family, not that I have much contact with them. Very -- country club kind of people. Not at all an environment I feel at home in, or comfortable in." Ravn sips his coffee -- hazelnut roast, of course, because black coffee is something that simply doesn't happen to him here. "I upset some of them quite a bit when I decided to move over here. Finalised the paperwork over Christmas and had some shouty conversations on the phone. What about the family heritage, the name, and so on. Pointed out that I'm bloody well still a Danish citizen and if I ever decide to spawn little Ravnlings, they will inherit that citizenship."

He chuckles. "And of course, that's where those discussions always go. When am I getting married, what about grandkids. Be glad you're too young for that one still."

"It's probably never going to happen for me, unless it's maybe a partner's parents or something. My parents are gone, my grandfather died when I was very little, and Grams died a few months ago. I suppose my father's parents might try that at some point, but I think... they forgot I even exist, for the most part, because of... where we are. So unless my sister shows back up and starts telling me she wants nieces and nephews, or the cat starts talking, I think I'll be okay." He laughs, tearing off another bite of his bagel and chewing thoughtfully, before asking, "Did you feel drawn here, is that why you decided to stay, or... were you thinking about staying anyway?"

"Came through on my way to Portland, hitched a ride from Seattle." Ravn cants his head thinking back. "Thought I'd stick around just a day or two? Realised I'd been here two weeks and that I had a boat and a cat and a job. Decided to stay to the end of the boating season at least. Then a little longer. And then some. Went home over Christmas to see how I really felt, and the only thing I was thinking was, when can I get back? Gray Harbor is no paradise, but I feel like a human being here. Like anyone'd actually notice if something happened to me."

"I like it here, but it's my home. You really should probably be running screaming from this place, like Joe keeps trying to tell me I should." there's that sad little smile, again. "But... for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here, and I'd notice if something happened, and I'd care. You're a good man... but this town gets under your skin. I loved my time on the Faroe Islands, and I'd love to go back to visit, but the whole time I was just... missing home, even though I was in one of the most beautiful places in the world."

"The Faroes are gorgeous," agrees the man whose native kingdom they're technically part of (though a great deal of Faroese have Opinions on that). "But that's the thing, isn't it? This place takes you in. It doesn't let you go. Some day I'm going to wander into the Veil and disappear, or I'm going to die in one of those crazy dreams, and that'll be it. I'm kind of all right with that. The time I've lived here will feel like I've actually lived. Before I came here, all I did was exist. Living out of a backpack and scamming my way around, hitching rides and doing boardwalk hustles -- not because I had to, but because I felt like it was the only thing I could do that was mine."

"You're not allowed to disappear through the Veil. Half the town would get lost looking for you." Turner looks down at his cocoa, dark eyes serious. "One of Dreams, you can't help, but the Veil..." his voice is more hushed, but still serious. "I think that's what happened to Kenzie. She just... left one day. No luggage, none of her stuff was missing, nothing. Didn't even take her car."

"Might not be a terrible fate. We don't know what's out there. There are monsters, yes -- but there are also beautiful things, whole new worlds." Ravn looks back to the direction August disappeared in. "Røn showed me once. A peek into a plain, a bit like the African Veldt, except very different. Herds of animals that have never existed here. A strange plant-man, riding one. Hummingspiders. Disappearing is not a good thing, obviously, but maybe it doesn't have to be -- terrible, either. Could be the adventure of a lifetime."

Oh yes. He's going to do it. Some day.

"That sounds almost beautiful. You had me vaguely curious until you said hummingspiders." Turner says, quite seriously, barely suppressing a shudder, the effort clearly unpleasant for him. "I hate spiders, so much. I do my best not to hurt them, but if they scare me all bets are off... Disappearing might be good for the person who does it, but for the people they leave behind, it's... endless waiting."

"I'm arachnophobic as well." Ravn chuckles. "But it proved the point he was trying to make at the time -- that it's not all horror and clowns in the gutter and things that go bump in the night in there. It's also entirely other worlds, beings and places that aren't hostile to us as much as they're just plain alien -- and often utterly indifferent."

He nods seriously at the other point the youth makes. "But that, on the other hand, is very true. There was a bar owner here -- Easton Marshall -- who disappeared. Whole town seemed to be grieving. Miraculously, he came back, but not -- unchanged. From what I heard, he'd been fighting a jungle war for six months. Imagine that that changes a man."

"I think I remember that." Turner says, softly, "Him going missing, I mean. Didn't know him, but..." there's a slight shrug, "When you're in a town as small as this, with as many people as go missing..." there's a soft sigh. "Is he doing okay, now? PTSD is really hard to handle alone, and I can't imagine he came out of that without any." that comment about PTSD sounds like personal experience.

"I don't know. I used to work for him, ironically, but I've only actually talked to the man two, three times? Something like that." Ravn sips his coffee while it's still warm. "I imagine so? Haven't heard anything to the contrary, at least. There was a falling-out of some kind that lead to Cavanaugh deciding to have his Cuba Libres at the Pourhouse instead but I'm not sure it's related. I work with veterans with PTSD -- online. Last thing you want to do is crowd them, demand to hear their story. They'll tell you if they think you need to know."

A nod from the librarian. "My therapist works with a lot of PTSD survivors. That's part of why I went to her, she's really... good at what she does. Well. Saw. I stopped seeing her after Grams died and I didn't have insurance anymore. Which sucked, because having a therapist after that would have been good!" there's a little, surprisingly bitter, laugh from Turner. "But she taught me a lot of good coping techniques? Like grounding myself. I think she's still in practice here, but she may have moved, she wasn't a local and she doesn't... you know. Shimmer."

"The American healthcare system doesn't impress me a lot in that regard," Ravn murmurs and then studies the younger man's face. "How do you feel about maybe putting volunteer work? A few of us are talking about perhaps getting some kind of community centre started. There are a lot of vulnerable people in this town -- not just us who have an actual mail address, but in cardboard boxes on the boardwalk too. The Veil treats them like kitty kibble."

"I used to volunteer with Grams... I could try. I need to get out of the house for something other than work and groceries. Juniper can't throw any wild cat parties while I'm home, and she can't miss me if I'm always around the house. What sort of community center were you thinking, like... a shelter, or just somewhere to get in out of the cold...?" Turner looks up at Ravn again, guardedly curious.

Ravn shakes his head. "Charity won't get far in this town. Need to give people a chance to help themselves, since helplessness is one of the things the dolorphages feed on. Study help. Filling out their C.V.s Paralegal help. But yes, also a place to shower, maybe get basic medical attention. All depending on whom we can get involved. I could definitely see a librarian come in useful though -- some of those people are perfectly capable of learning if they get a chance. Goal has to be, get people to be able to take care of themselves."

"I could probably help with that. I took a first aid and CPR certification before I started at the library, just in case a patron, you know... Hit their head and stopped breathing. Libraries are also a place where a lot of underprivileged people come during the winter to get warm or clean up in our restroom, and as long as they're not bothering anybody, they're welcome to stay all day, but... it would be good to have a place that's meant for more... social interactions. You can't really sit and have coffee in the library and gab with a neighbor without getting shushed." Turner smiles, because goodness knows he's had to do his fair share of polite shushing.

"See, that's exactly the kind of thing de Santos and I were talking about. Find out whatever people need. Try to help them help themselves to get it. Altruism hurts these creatures. Even those around here who don't feel that charity is their thing will be able to get that. Altruism can be weaponised." Ravn nods firmly.

"If... you're weaponizing it... is it really altruism, though?" Turner asks, looking amused. Hey, he's not twisting his poor jumper to bits, so this conversation's got him more at ease. "I think it's a good idea, though. Teaching people to be more self sufficient sounds like a good cause, regardless of the motives."

"I am hoping it'll achieve both goals. Helping people and weakening the dolorphages. We know for a fact that they hate it. They've literally murdered de Santos twice -- he's kind of the local poster boy for boy scout behaviour. Spanish guy, from New York. Writer. Somewhat successful. You'll like him -- everyone does who isn't a complete asshole." Ravn nods. "I am trying to pretty much do the footwork -- talk to everyone who might be interested, before I have somebody with a law degree start looking at buildings and funds."

"Wait, de Santos... Dear Iggy?" Turner asks, eyebrows going up a bit. "I've not read many of his articles, but I know who you're talking about. Bit of a local celebrity. I'm glad he's been feeling well enough to start it up again, I saw the latest article and was a little surprised... wait... literally murdered him twice?"

"That's the bloke," Ravn agrees, leaning back on his chair a little. "The Veil turned him into our local Mr Rogers a little, yes. From what I gather -- literally did kill him twice, and brought him back too. Almost like there are different factions in there, and sometimes, they counteract each other. I haven't asked him the specifics because the man was -- well, a human jigsaw puzzle. He's got some pretty severe PTSD going too, for fairly obvious reasons. Had to fight off the resulting opiate addiction as well. Which means that he knows what it's like to be where some of those people are -- hurting, addicted to various shit, hopeless."

"Gods, that's... awful. I'm so sorry that happened to him..." Turner absently rubs at his side. "Healing's changed from what it used to be able to do. Used to be, people could, you know... no scars or anything. Now..." a slight shrug, "It's like something lost a fight and said we couldn't do that anymore. From the sounds of it... if we had a PTSD support group, half the people who shine would be there..."

"Not just half," Ravn murmurs with a hint of wryness. "You can't live in a war zone for years and not get scars. I know people in this town who were literally locked up on the other side for years. Some of them even claim it helped them."

The look on Turner's face indicates that he might be rethinking his whole 'stick his head in the sand' thing. "I... really hope that doesn't happen to me. I want a quiet life. With books. And a few close friends. And my cat and my houseplants."

"It doesn't work like that," the other man says -- bluntly, but not unkindly. "It seems to be pretty random who gets to go pretty unnoticed, and who gets hauled in all the time. Røn? He's seen more shit than most dairy farmers. Rosencrantz and de la Vega too. Me? I get to play academic observer most of the time, and then, every once in a while, the Veil reminds itself to punch me to the ground too. But there are things you can do in order to lower the attention you get -- use your powers no more than you have to, don't go around openly sabotaging the Dark ones. I realise I'm cruising for a bruising, joining de Santos' crusade. It's a choice I am making, knowing the consequences. You don't have to go quite that far."

A nod from Turner. "I barely use them. I healed Xavier a few days ago, and I tried to use my telekinesis against the swarm of books, but... they were slippery. I've never wanted to burn books before that." he mutters. "I guess, if it means helping people who need it, it's worth the risk, though... Right?"

"I think so, but that's easy for me to say. I have -- very, very little power. And yet it seems I have enough to be on the guest list for the Veil's little parties, so..." Ravn shrugs. "There's a big random factor. Statistically speaking, though -- the more quiet you keep and the less you use your talents, the better your odds. Just got to ask yourself if you can you look yourself in the eyes in the mirror when you shave. And maybe, if you do decide to run, then run properly -- away from here."

Does Turner even shave? It's hard to tell with all the freckles. "That's a very good point." he says softly. "I'm not running away, though. My family's buried here, this town's been our home for generations. So... I should probably learn to fight, however I can."

"I take self defence lessons from a few people at Kelly's gym." Ravn smirks. "I suck at it. And by suck I mean, I really, really suck. I decked a guy once -- accidentally. Probably the one time in my life I actually hit somebody. But it's good to have -- at least the basics. At least I convince myself that it may make a difference some day. No one wants to be the damsel in distress -- the guy everyone else has to carry around, right?"

"If the next dream I'm in puts me in a dress I'm blaming you." Turner mutters, shifting uncomfortably. "I've never really had to fight anyone until the dreams started. I've thrown things but I've never done any real damage with it." a slight shrug, and he sighs. "Once I'm feeling better, I'll definitely check out the gym. I should try to put on a little muscle, anyway..."