2021-03-04 - Ghosts of Our Past

The Ritz it ain't. In fact, the list of things that the Poorhouse isn't could be quite extensive. What it is, though, is a low key, no one gives a fuck who you are here, stranger kind of place where a man can walk in, order a scotch on the rocks and then realise that actually, the Gyres who own the place do give that proverbial fuck. It's a surprisingly friendly place to at least parts of Gray Harbor's little community of people with slightly unusual talents.

It's also Ravn Abildgaard's regular haunt. Out of two bars in town he picked the one he a) has never been an employee of and b) isn't full of tourists. He walks in today with a slightly frazzled expression; wearing his usual black jeans and turtleneck under a leather coat, the only splash of colour being the silver stripe in his scarf. Scampering on to his usual bar stool he orders his usual scotch -- but slightly less usual is the request for it to be a double right away. Somebody's had a rougher afternoon than usual.

Michel is already here, sitting at a table in the corner observing those around him while Jacob the unfriendly ghost looms nearby. The dark haired male is nursing a whiskey that has barely been touched as he watches the comings and goings around him. His grey eyes watch intently calm yet alert, quickly spotting Ravn as the other enters the bar. He lifts a hand in a friendly wave and offers a shy little smile. Jacob frowns. "You really think he would want to be around you? You are an idiot if you think that..."

Ravn's expression isn't cheerful but he does manage to muster a smile of recognition. The younger man is somewhat noticeable -- the otherworldly fashion accessory for one, is a tad out of the ordinary. He takes a good swig from the whiskey tumbler and then half-turns on the bar stool so that he's resting an elbow on the counter and facing the room. "Hey there -- Michel and Angry Ex, right? I'm not great with names and faces. Getting settled in? I think I forgot to ask where you're staying earlier -- part of the usual welcome package is to warn people about the murder motel."

He glances at the ghost. "Not that I think any of the ghosts at the murder motel would bother you a lot compared to what you're used to."

Michel chuckles softly and Jacob growls. Michel eyes the grumpy ghost and then speaks to Ravn. "The angry ex is named Jacob and yeah, I'm still trying to find a place to stay long term." The mention of a murder hotel has him blinking and sipping his drink before replying. "I am not easily spooked by spirits. Plus Jacob hates other ghosts." Jacob glares. "Damn straight I do, nosy assholes."

"What kind of price level are you looking for, do you know?" Ravn cants his head curiously and sips his whiskey again; maybe he really did need that double. "Town's got -- well, the trailer park is the cheap end and the luxury penthouses overlooking the bay is the other end. There's a number of houses for rent or sale in the Elm Street area too. Not the best end of town but from what I've seen, crime isn't really bad here compared to some places." At least not the ordinary, mundane kind of crime where somebody breaks your window and steals your TV is heavily implied there; perhaps it goes unsaid just in case some ordinary, mundane patron in the room happens to paying attention.

"I rent a trailer for the winter myself," he adds. "Come April 1 I'm getting my boat back in the water and living there. I was a bit wary of the idea of moving somewhere like Huckleberry at first but it's honestly been perfectly quiet. The occasional drunk argument from the people across the street, some light drug trading, nothing truly upsetting or dangerous."

The door to the dimly lit bar opens nosily as the hinges squeak with a high pitched metal on metal noise, needing a serious application of WD-40 or some other lubricant. So much for sneaking in and being stealthy, Seth. The bouncer walks in with a cap over his head and a pair of dark and somewhat oversized for his face sunglasses, wearing his usual attire of a pair of jeans, flannel shirt, and a warm jacket thrown over the whole mix.

He makes his way to the bar, holding up a finger to signal the bartender for his usual as he peers over at Ravn. "Darth," he greets with a slow upnod before his eyes shift to the other person in the room. The one he doesn't know. Behind those sunglasses the bouncer studies the other man, mentally calculating the threat level of this individual as he gives the gentleman a once over. "Or when my girlfriend forgets where she is living and slides into bed with you," Seth says as he shifts his eyes back over to Ravn, addressing the Dane with the last comment.

"I may have acquired a door alarm since then," Ravn returns, deadpan. "Have to fend off those house invading blondes somehow."

And then, just a little more seriously, "I'm going to start shooting at crows though." He shudders. "Had a very short and very unpleasant experience earlier. Perfect timing too. No time to remind me why I don't date until such a time that I'm actually considering dating. Anyhow, this new face is Michel -- and the bloke here is Seth Monaghan, he's a bouncer at the Firefly Club but likes to take his whiskey here with the rest of us grifters and pond scum."

"Two cans and fishing line do not make an effective door alarm," retorts Seth as he waits for his drink, "And I suspect because Vic owns the trailer you are living in, she would be the one to install any alarms and would have the codes anyway if you did install something more secure. You're still fucked."

Seth looks over at Micahel again, gives him a shallow nod in greeting before turning back to Ravn, "Crows? Explain."

"I am many things with your girlfriend but fucked isn't one," the Dane points out. "I don't recall the offer being made, either."

"Bad dream. Very short. My cat freaked out, started running around the place, hissing and poofing her tail up. Last time I saw her like that there was literally a gremlin trying to sink my boat so I got a little paranoid, you know? Took out the 9mm you set me up with -- just in case it was one of those little green bastards come around to steal something." He shakes his head and represses a shudder. "It wasn't. There was a bird outside. Big bloody crow -- except it wasn't an ordinary crow. Legs were completely white, looked like they were made from bone, and there was something black oozing from them."

Another sip from the glass. "So I look at the damn thing. It looks at me. Then it caws at me, with a look like it wanted to flip me off if only it had fingers. And it sort of hops up on the window sill and stares at me. Then it caws some more and finally fucks off. All well and good except my cat is flipping mad, there's tar stains on my window, and I clearly heard that bloody bird call out my ex' name. This is going to be a put the whiskey bottle on the table and hold my hair later kind of evening."

Seth chuckles at Ravn starts, "I'd hope not. If so I might have to go see Nova just to retaliate, and I don't think that would go over to well."

But as Ravn continues, Seth loses the smile and it is replaced with a frown. He reaches up and pulls off the sunglasses as his drink arrives, setting them on the bar top and exposing the nice bruise that goes along the right side of his face, starting at the jawline and moving up through his eye. "That sounds shitty. What do you think it means? Just the veil fucking with you?"

"I bloody well hope so. But the timing is suspicious, don't you think? Three months since she died, the second time. When does some kind of god-awful ghost bird turn up to yell her name at me? The week I actually consider dating somebody else." The Dane stares into his glass and then upends it before motioning for another. "Not sure what I'm going to do about that to be honest. Well, first -- get drunk. Then hung over. But after that? Probably have half a dozen anxiety attacks."

And then there arose such a clatter in a very off-season manner. The clak-ak-ak-ak of wheels rattle to a stop on the pavement and a stamp and a swing of the door herald the skater's arrival still in his jeans and Steelhead Garage work shirt with a patch that just reads BAX in embroidered print. He signs in greeting to Ravn, pauses and looks to Seth and pauses blinking. Shit he has no idea where Greg's old business stuff left off but he greets Seth with, "Heeeey, before you ask, no I dunno where he is, sir." Michael get a once over before he murmurs to Ravn, still signing, "Bruh, look like you seen a ghost."

"Just remember the veil fucks us. It doesn't use lube, and it isn't gentle...but we have each other's backs. So if you need anything, you let me know. If I need to shoot up a tar bird, I will shoot up a tar bird, but god damn if I am not going to get you on that date even if I have to drive you there myself while Vic prods you with a cattle prod."

As Grant arrives, Seth's brow raises as he rubs the side of his face, "Uh, I didn't ask." The enforcer forces a smile towards Bax, "But thanks for the information. I'll pass it on..." Seth says, rolling his shoulder into a bit of a shrug.

"Hello, Grant." Ravn even signs back -- the one word he's managed to pick up so far being OK. Or white supremacy but he seems to have missed the memo on that more modern, appropriated interpretation. Maybe he's just trying to appropriate it right back. "I kind of did. Ghost crow of some kind, bone legs, left tar residue all over my window. Called out the name of my dead ex. The one Rosencrantz put in the ground for good three months ago. I'm a little out of it, not going to pretend otherwise."

It seems to be an especially fuck it kind of day for Maggi. Her wild straw colored hair is piled atop her head with a substantial lack of finesse. Gray leggings with shadows of black brambled trees eerily painted across. A black tank stating ‘I am a Bitch Just Not Yours’, comes formfitted down to her hips. Removing her slowly broken in leather jacket, icy eyes scan the bar. “Usual suspects huh?”

She looks tired, expression grim, or maybe that’s just her face.

Speak of the cattle prod and it shall appear. Wait, that's not right. But Vic does appear, slipping into the bar wearing a tee under a flannel under a leather jacket, and jeans. Must be her day off from the Twofer if she's at the Pourhouse. She moves to where Seth is and kisses his cheek, on the side that isn't bruised. "How's the jaw?" she asks, and grins at Ravn. "Did I hear you're going on a date?" Maggi gets a broad smile. "Hey lady, can I get a Molson Golden?"

Grant looks to Seth, a tad wary but letting it pass shifting his weight onto a stool. "No fewer than five people asked me this week. I assumed." The look is apologetic to Seth but he lets it go. he stops, and there's a small smile and holds up a hand in an O and snaps it to a K. He murmurs with a wink to Ravn, "We... don't use that one." He folds his arms on the counter and looks to Maggi figuring out his order for lunchings. This is apparently loaded potato skins with the works. No one said he eats healthy. Ever. He looks up to Vic and arches both eyebrows and says "No, she's apparently haunting him via dead crow." Frowning he looks back to Ravn and tilts his head, "Does the bird know this is very rude?"

Seth's glass of whiskey if slid in front of him, and the enforcer pauses for a moment to take a sip, letting the liquid roll around in his mouth before he swallows. "Wait, isn't there some legends or something about crows calling your name? Or is that owls? You would know, Mr. Folklore....which is it?"

Vic's arrival causes a smile to form on Seth's face, lifting a hand in greeting as she approaches and returning the kiss, "Sore, but that is to be expected. It's bruising up nicely. How are your knuckles?"

Maggi gets a wave in the form of a lift of Seth's hand with the drink, almost in a toast-like manner, "Hey Mags. Usual Suspects was a good flick, I should rewatch that sometime. Ravn is for sure Keyser Soze. It's always the one you don't expect." A pause. "So, how're things?"

And not long behind Vic is Joe. The sailor's got that expression of almost feline contentment he sometimes wears, like he really is a cat that's been handed the key to the creamery. Not limping much, despite the cold outside. He's in that heavy gray greatcoat he sports during the winter, and the black fleece skullcap, with its "Space Shuttle Door Gunner" patch at the hem. The coat has a pair of enamel pins on the lapel: the Little Prince and his Rose.

He rolls up to the bar and claims a stool, hitching up by planting a foot on one bar of the stool and a long palm laid on the bar itself, and looks around expectantly. "Hey, y'all."

"Please just put the bottle on the table and from the look on your face, share it with me," Ravn says to Maggi. They're matching blondes today; both wear black, both look like they need 48 hours of undisturbed sleep.

He nods at Grant and does take a mental note; a few distracted helloes go out to new arrivals, but what Seth just said clearly curbstomped everything else in his mental queue. "Fuck," he says quietly. Out comes his phone. Tappety tappety tap. Somebody needs to look up something STAT.

"We're on talking crows now? What is this, the Secret of NIMH?" Vic asks, arching a brow at Ravn. "Hey Cavanaugh," she greets Joe, sliding onto the stool next to Seth's. She gives his jaw a good looking over. "The beard should hide most of it at least, baby."

Maggi is fairly certain she’s seen Grant somewhere, but can’t quite place him. Moving to the iPad, she rings his order simply in as ‘Skins’ where the name should be. She shakes her ill constructed mop at the female patron. “Only carrying local stuff. Best I can do is a golden ale.” She had been working fairly hard to move in the direction of treasured dive bar and less sticky dive bar.

A brow arches at Seth’s face. “Better than you apparently.” Maggi mutters in his direction. She knew better than to ask.

“I wish.” She adds at Ravn. “The fuck happened to you?” Joe gets an actual honest to God smile. “Hey Cosmanaut!” Noticing his pins she dramatically tips and waves an invisible hat from atop her head. “For the most part we are all looking like we did a tour through Hell this week.”

Grant shows up here more often than not or even drawing on half the city in chalk making a benign graffiti effort. Maggi gets heart hands in response to placing the order and making food and drink show up. Yay! God, some people are so easily pleased. He looks back to Joe while Ravn is trying to articulate and murmurs to Maggi. "eeeh he helped me get to space. His is on mine today." His focus ow takes a pause warming a grin to Vic, "I love that movie. With the talking mice. You find any talking mice, Ravn?"

Seth lifts a hand in greeting to Joe as he arrives, and smirks over at Maggi. "I'm fine, someone," he gestures with his head over at Vic, "just got a lucky punch in during some sparing. Rang my bell like Quazimoto playing over at Notre Dame. Dropped me like a sack of bricks, but there shouldn't be any lasting damage."

He looks over at Ravn, "I'm pretty sure it was owls. I think the crow thing is in the masts of ships. Or is that Ravens? Damn it all, I'm not the folklorist here! Why am I the one guessing at these things!"

Seth turns to look at Vic, "Ravn was visited by a Raven or a Crow. One of those blackbirds. Thought it was made of bone and tar, and said his ex's name. He is a bit freaked."

Grant is next, as Seth shifts his eyes towards him. "Who has been asking?"

"Corvids are psychopomps," Ravn murmurs into his tumbler; why it needs to know is anyone's guess. "Messengers between the realms of the living and the dead, heralds of the underworld. They can warn of death but more likely, they're carrying a message. Like Odin's ravens, Hugin and Munin -- Thought and Will -- who fly out into the world and bring back the ideas and thoughts of men. Which means that the damn thing was either there to warn me she's not as dead as I want her to be, or telling me to get my stuff in order. More likely, the Veil decided to screw with my head for shit and giggles but that doesn't mean I'm not creeped out."

He glances up at Maggi. "Ghost crows turning up at my window, smearing tar all over it, and calling out the name of my dead ex. Whom I really don't miss. Last time I saw her she tried to murder Castro, Rosencrantz and Røn before they sort of -- well, erased her from existence. By which I mean they redecorated the entire interior of the Black Bear Diner with her insides."

Tappety tappety tap. Yes, he's going through a database somewhere. From his phone.

"Hey there, Maggi," Joe says, grinning at her. Then he's nodding at Vic, "How's it goin'?" The comment about a tour through Hell has him looking at the others more closely. "What's wrong? And what's that about crows? I seem to remember a lot of oddities with talking crows here," he says, slowly. "Rosencrantz dealt with one....and I want to say I heard something about it from Clayton and his girl, as well as Thorne...." To Maggi, he adds, "Cuba Libre today, please." He never does seem to just want a beer, this one.

"Golden ale is fine," Vic murmurs to Maggi, setting down some cash for it and a very healthy tip. "You look like you need a nap, Mags. Everything ok?" she asks. Seth's words about their spar have her chuckling. "I think the gym may be cursed for Seth here. Or maybe there's a ghost that doesn't like him, and keeps distracting him just in time to get his lights turned off by a lucky punch. It's happened three times now." She may be the one person in here who doesn't look injured or exhausted.

Grant shifts in his seat and says frankly to Ravn, "I might have only had one serious relationship in my life - and it is presently a work in progress, but I'm a go out on a limb and say that if you use the phrase 'dead as I want her to be' you might really start re-examining your dating criteria man. That's a lil messed up." He listens to the rest and furrows his brow tryin to take this in and finally asks the question everyone wants to know, "Did they use their wings to get the tar on the windows or they have a little brush? Maybe a roller or something?" Okay, maybe not everyone.

"That's it. I'm never sparing again," Seth jokes, a shake of his head as he sips at his whiskey. "I'm just going to send you, Ravn, and Alexander to fight my battles for me. I am just going to outsource my job at the Firefly and open up that hookah shop," he says to Vic with a laugh. "Speaking of, I haven't seen Alexander in a bit. He didn't go off and get himself in trouble did he?"

"It used its feet. I have little tar foot prints on my window." Ravn looks a little distracted still. "Believe me, I want my ex to stay dead. There's nothing I want more than for my ex to stay dead. The idea of my ex not staying dead this time either terrifies me. I am definitely not planning to take her on a date if she pops up one more time. Might have a nervous breakdown in a corner though."

He looks up at Grant, as something else the kid said catches up. "I'm not dating my dead ex. I'm not actually dating anybody. The idea of a date has been aired. Sometime."

Vic chuckles at Seth, then grimaces at Ravn. "If she shows her face while I'm around, I'll punch her right back into the afterlife for you, Abildgaard." Then her phone goes off and she frowns at it. "I have to go take care of some things. See you at your place later?" she asks Seth with a quirk of a grin, before kissing him soundly. Then she's off.

"A hypothetical date, then," Joe offers, lazily. "You should open that shop, Monaghan, I'm dyin' for good shisha." Still looking thoughtful at the mention of the crows, though. The mention of Alexander makes his eyes narrow, just a fraction, but he doesn't comment. Still that feline air to him. "Shows whose face?" he asks of Vic, but she's gone before she can answer.

Seth answers for his recently departed girlfriend, "Ravn's now-twice-dead ex I'd imagine."

Grant tilts his head taking his drink. "Awww that's so cute. Birds are so smart." He pauses and looks to Ravn confused, "Wait so are you trying to date the dead bird or the dead lady?" And the explanation comes and he works to wrap those details together with a nod. "Probably for the best being that you're breathing and also can't fly." Looking to Joe he asks, "How's you been on this week of Planetary Exploration: Earth?" Back filed for later: Hookah bar? Arooooo?

It's probably a good thing that Ravn knows Grant as well as he does; knows that the kid's mind races all over the place faster than six squirrels dunked in candyfloss and forcibly injected with experimental stimulants. He takes a deep breath and explains, carefully, "My very dead fiancee turned up and tried to kill three people because Gina Castro spoke to me. She died. Again. I am definitely not looking to date her, or any birds carrying warning that she might turn up a third time."

Down the hatch goes that scotch. Time for a refill. Going to be one of those nights.

"I see," says Joe, a little wryly. "I'd say 'that's crazy', but honestly, that's life in Gray Harbor, isn't it? You know, I really wonder if I should go talk to the local priest, see if exorcisms and blessings help any, in this town." He scratches thoughtfully at the jaw, the stubble rasping. "I mean, I'm pretty lapsed in terms of bein' a Catholic, but...."

Then he favors Grant with one of those lazy grins. "I'm doin' all right," he says. "No serious trouble. How 'bout ou?"

Grant blinks at Ravn as he lays it out very very succinctly for him. Sloooowly he pushes the plate of tater tots in front of the beleaguered Dane. "You need these. Also? You might consider the bird. It's got your back here I think. I mean big difference between 'Bruh, hide behind the couch' and 'Yo, lady he's over here'."

The question comes to him and he grins warmly almost to the point of a little daft and tries to phrase what is apparently favorable news. "My sister's moved back to the city which is cool, aaaaand Vyv is looking to get a house for us." he pauses and tacks on, "to live in. Soooo we're looking at figuring out how that's gonna work, but I'm pretty excited."

With Vic having left, Seth turns his attentions back to his drink, and the others in the bar. "So many legends about birds, they are hard to keep straight. Owls, crows, ravens...hell, what is the difference between a crow and a raven in the first place? Do I look like a birdwatcher? Shit man, I don't know what to tell you about that thing, other than I will help you get rid of it if I need to."

Seth sips at his drink, tossing the last of it back and sliding it forward for a refill. "And if it is your ex, yet again....well, I don't know what I will do, but I will do something."

"Thanks, Bax." Ravn is nothing if not relieved to change the subject far away from his impending doom by dead fiancee -- and definitely far away from the idea that he might decide to date somebody else. He smiles at Grant's good news and starts picking at the spuds; the Dane's a light eater but he can definitely use having something to do with his hands right now lest they start doing things on their own -- anxiety is a bitch like that. "That sounds pretty fantastic. I didn't know you have a sister. Getting a house sounds like a good idea, though. And knowing Vydal, it's going to be the single most elegant designer home in town, too."

He glances over at Joe and nods slightly. "It's tempting, a little. I'm Protestant myself -- theoretically. Never really believed very much in anything. Wish I could, could use some divine support here sometimes. The battle does feel a little uphill some days." Like climbing Mount Everest with nothing but a wet noodle for support his tone says.

"Corvids. Crows, ravens -- same deal in most cultures. Ravens tend to be the fancy version, crows are baser. They're often associated with the underworld, and with chaos powers. We have a particularly nasty version back home that drives you to madness if you accidentally look through the hole in its right wing. They're damned souls trying to transfer their curse to you." Trust a folklorist to absentmindedly give a lecture.

A house for us. It makes Joe blink, for a second. Go still. "Wow," he says, mildly. "Where's he thinkin' he'll pick?" he wonders. "That sounds serious."

Seth's query has him noting, "Ravens are bigger, much bigger. Deeper voices. They can mimic humans, in fact, and speak. There's this lady falconer on youtube you has a companion raven named Fable. Her channel's really neat." He nods at Ravn. "Right? Like, I'm not much of a believer, but if we're on the anvil and alien gods are the hammer, we might as well see if we c'n enlist the local help. I know that in the myths of the First Nations in this part of the world, Raven is a trickster hero."

Grant might be off on his own little world where everything is wonderful and can be drawn on. Still it's a quiet celebration that gets Joe a whole nod of agreement, "Yeah we had our one year anniversary a couple weeks ago and he brought it up. It's scary, but neat. I think he's looking for something that's still water front. bay street, has land, not haunted. I think you have to pay a premium for that." It's true.

Looking to raven he chuckles, "Yeah, man. She's like 8 years older than me. Sheeeee is a lawyer too so, ya know. No pressure on me or nothin. Kitty's pretty great. though." He pauses with a half roll of his eyes "Katherine...Kinda took over when mom bailed. I'll have to introduce you guys." Looking to Seth he blinks, "She shows up, call me. I wanna meet her."

Seth looks between Ravn and Joe and just shrugs. "A bird is a bird is a bird." As his drink is filled, he pulls it back to take a swallow. "I've heard stories, just like pretty much anyone has. I don't put to much credit in them though, but here maybe I should."

The enforcer shrugs, giving Grant a glance. "If she shows up, I think there will be more important things going on that me being able to make a phone call to you. Like not dying for starters."

"Native American myths are not my field of expertise, but you're right. Why haven't we recruited Raven and Coyote? If we can bring Baba Yaga over from Russia, why not get the full deck of trickster gods? Anansi must be here somewhere, and there's Irish folks enough about that we should be able to get Lugh Longhand. Kokopelli's another local." Ravn pauses, thinking. "Actually, maybe not the full deck. Loki is one tricky bastard in Norse mythology, and contemporary American pop culture has only made him worse. Let's leave that guy out. Bet Tom Hiddleston's busy anyway."

Bit of wry humour there? Well, he is on his third whiskey.

"You should," he agrees with Seth. "It may not be real. I don't believe that literal Baba Yaga is wandering around Gray Harbor giving tarot readings, either. I don't believe that literal Baba Yaga exists. But there's something here that sure as hell uses the name and has the kind of power I'd expect from her, if she did exist. The Veil conjured up a pair of Aztec gods last summer -- a Russian demigod would be a piece of cake. It lifts stories from our minds. If one person here knows a story about Raven, Raven can happen."

"That's a good point. Even if they're only the Veil responding to what we imagine....maybe we can imagine ourselves more help. The Baba doesn't seem malicious, not thus far, which is in keeping with who she is in the tales...I wonder if we could evoke Raven. See what he can do about the crows, if he'd even care."

He's nursing his drink, nodding thoughtfully at Grant. Still a little quiet, though. He glances down into his Cuba Libre. No answers there. There never are.

Grant murmurs to Seth something about he has a point. Even with the hearing aids in there's only so much volume control he's able to be aware of. It's Ravn that slowly pulls his attention away from the glory that is his potatoes and get such a dirty look. "Man, she totally renegotiated and screwed our deal. I was promised a wish and she didn't fuckin deliver on it." He gets up and puts $25 on the counter to cover Joseph's drink as promised, potato skins, tots, and his coke as he said he would and tip cause he's not a monster and zips his coat up. "In fact.... Fuck it. You're right, I'm gonna go fine Bubbe Yaya and I'm gonna tell her she owes some interest here." He stuffs the last of the potato skins in his face and one has to wonder where the skinny skater packs it all away at as his jaw practically unhinges. He isn't talking with his mouth full but there's sign. Not enough people can actually speak ASL but it equates to: He's mad. That's a good idea. Naturally he's off to go find her. That's a plan right?

"Wait....what?" Seth questions as he looks to Ravn, then Joe. "You're sitting here telling me that Baba Yaga, the old had with the house on chicken legs, is walking around and giving out tarot readings? You have to be pulling my leg. I've seen some crazy shit, but a literal god, or demigod or whatever? The next thing you know you are going to be telling me if I thought hard enough, the Stay Puft Marshmellow Man is going to come lumbering down the street."

At that very moment, there is a loud rumble outside.

Turns out it is just a car driving by that is in serious need of a muffler replacement.

"Considering the time of year I am going to have to be on the lookout for fuckin' leprechauns now too, aren't I?

"Baba Yaga is not malicious. She's a portent of change. She represents making choices with large consequences. The one thing we can be sure of, though, is that when she turns up, people are about to live in interesting times." Ravn nods at Joe. Of course the former astronaut knows his Russian stories. Joe knows a hell of a lot more about Russia than Ravn does overall.

Then he glances at Seth. With genuine sympathy. "She's real. She does tarot readings. Scarily accurate. You know I used to do something like that for a living. I'm a fraud -- a professional fraud. I know one when I see one. She's not a fraud. Had me pinned, and -- honestly? This goddamn bird turning up? It's almost as if she'd scripted it."

He sighs. "I'm going to go home and sleep this off. Sorry. I have had a miserable afternoon."

And off the Dane is. At least he's no more drunk than he can find the door.

"I'm absolutely tellin' you that, yeah. Lots of folks have met her. Ain't seen the chicken-legged house, but the lady herself, sure have. She gave me a readin' and some harsh advice, which is kinna what she does." He sounds...placid about it.

But then he's pushing away from the bar, making the stool wobble but not falling off. "I need to get on. Got some work to do, 'fore a hot date tonight." A touch of smugness on the long face. "Y'all have a good night," he says, depositing a generous tip on thebar in the form of golden dollar coins.

"But what about the leprechauns? !" asks Seth as Ravn and Joe both leave him with his concerns unanswered. "Fuck!"