2021-03-04 - Water Melon Laundry Day

Gotta hand it to the local laundromat's new owner: The make-over is colourful. Ravn Abildgaard isn't quite sure what other terms are appropriate here, but colourful definitely applies. Bright pinks, greens and pastel blues visually assault the eye of anyone brave enough -- or lacking enough in clean shirts -- to enter. It's cheerful. It's lively. It's manic pixie girl levels of early 2000s 'white is boring' aesthetics and in some way, it isn't even as awful as it sounds like.

His trailer doesn't have a laundry machine in it; it's barely got room for a fridge and a shower. The Dane is a regular here because contrary to certain myths about die-hard bachelors, he doesn't just toss his clothes out and buy new ones when they get too smelly. He is in fact quite compulsive about it; might even engage you in a discussion about the best fabric softener.

Unsurprisingly, everything he unloads into the first empty machine -- watermelon pink! -- is black. There is a single spark of navy blue. That's it. Everything else is black. Man's got an aesthetic.

A cherry red Nissan Altima, looking like it just drove off the lot a few days ago at most, pulls into the parking lot out front, and out swing a pair of smooth, perfectly shapely long legs, followed a few seconds later by the rest of Perdita. It's cold, but it's past due for laundry day and the young woman is determined not to let herself get into bad habits like... wearing the same item of clothing without washing it between wears. She's wearing a form skimming white silk blouse tucked into a tight knee length black skirt, a pair of metallic silver Art Deco inspired Louboutin heels, and her hair is up in a high ponytail, bangs swept to one side. Seriously. Who dresses up like this to do their LAUNDRY? The trunk pops open, and soon Perdita's wheeling a small suitcase into the laundromat, one eyebrow raising as she looks around at the interior... and then she smiles, wide. Clearly, she loves it.

Ravn closes his machine and programs it before flopping down on a chair. He's more appropriately dressed for the location -- black jeans and turtleneck under a leather jacket. That, at least, looks new and fairly upscale at that -- the Dane may be one of those people who invest in a proper jacket only to expect for it to last a lifetime. As a Pratchett fan might say; applying the Samuel Vimes theory of socio-economics -- a new pair of cheap boots every year is in fact a lot more expensive than one pair of good boots surviving for ten. Rich people are the only people who can afford to not buy new stuff regularly.

He looks up at Perdita's arrival and raises a gloved hand in a lazy wave; if he's smiling slightly it might be exactly what it looks like -- who the hell dresses up like they're going to a garden club lunch, to wash their socks. "Hey there. I see you took no lasting damage from having Atli Addington glare daggers at you."

Michel wanders in, toting a basket of laundry stacked almost as high as his head. The dark haired man is dressed neatly in a white button down, grey jeans and black converse, simple and comfortable. He huffs a bit as he struggles to haul the laundry over to one of the machines, teetering on the verge of dropping it or so it appears. Outside his old silver car has been parked, looking like something that was made in the 50s and restored to look nice again.

Perdita lets out a decidedly unladylike snort of amusement, "I've had better from worse, and worse from better." she responds, bending at the waist, knees together, to lift the little suitcase onto a table. "I also didn't take it personally, sis clearly has some business of her own she needs to work out and I just happened to be the closest target." she winks at Ravn, "Doesn't mean I'll sit pretty and take it, next time, but... fit hot blondes have problems too." she makes a vaguely dismissive gesture, her nails once more painted the same shade of red as the soles of her shoes. Michel gets a long, measuring look from the petite Latina, before she goes about unzipping the suitcase. "I like the car."

Ravn offers a lopsided little grin. "Atli Addington's not usually confrontational like that. Sugar glazed is how I'd usually describe her. The Addingtons are the great old founding family here, own half the town and employ the other half. They're very keeping up appearances but the dirty laundry of their ancestors tends to spill out in this town. I don't imagine it's fun to have strangers up in your business like that but she'll just have to deal with it. Glad you're not ruffled."

He glances up at the other man's arrival. Even in a small town of just 18,000 people, seeing a face you haven't registered previously is not unusual. What is out of the ordinary is the blast of heat he perceives as Michel walks in, identifying him to Ravn as one of the much smaller demographic of people to whom weird shit happens on any random day ending in -y. He raises that gloved hand in another wave. "Howdy stranger. Don't think I've seen you around before."

The tall copper blond has a pronounced European accent -- one of those that wishes it sounded like a BBC speaker but doesn't quite manage to make the cut -- and wears black from top to toe. He looks like he escaped from some coffee shop in Seattle -- an art director, a wannabe writer, or maybe a Steve Jobs impersonator, look at that turtleneck.

Michel pauses, glancing to Ravn with a faint smile as the other waves to him. Then he blinks, nearly stumbling over and dropping his laundry basket. The shine of Ravn's aura has his complete focus. Behind him the ghostly form of Jacob hovers with a scowl, unseen and likely unoticed by everyone else. "He's a freak like you..." The ghost snarls glaring at Ravn as he looms over Michel's shoulder. Michel jumps a bit at those words but smiles weakly and sets the basket down near a nearby machine. "Hello to you both." He greets both of the living beings in the room rather timidly. "I only just arrived here recently. Very recently. I'm Michel."

"Like I said, I've had worse from better." Perdita shrugs with an unbothered smile. "Doesn't mean it doesn't sting but I can take a hit or two when I can tell it's not really meant for me." She claims a washer and begins tossing things in rather casually, clearly not giving a damn if either man sees her lacy underthings mixed in with various blouses and skir-... "Uh... huh." she glances at Ravn, then back over at Michel, eyebrows raising, visibly, behind her blunt cut bangs, letting out a low string of expletives that practically blister the air around her, ending with "-Gray Harbor trebui de pulărie shimulo!"

"Ravn Abildgaard. Also a freak, yes. This town has a lot of them." Complete deadpan there; what, being called a freak by some looming, hovering individual is unusual? He stretches his legs, comfortable on the chair -- nothing quite as exciting as waiting for laundry to do what laundry does, might as well strike up a chat with whoever else is having the same kind of wild action filled day. "Just come into town, or did we just somehow manage to not bump into each other before? We freaks tend to find each other pretty quick from what I've seen in my about six months here."

He glances at Perdita at that little outburst, though. The words? Gibberish. The tone? Crystal clear. "Tempted to agree with whatever you just said."

Michel blinks staring first at Perdita and Ravn then glancing back at the ghost hovering beside him in shock. The human takes a while to gather his thoughts the ghost has no such trouble. "Fucking freaks. Crazy loons the lot of you. The only reason I kept this one around was because he was good in bed." Michel goes scarlet and stammers. "Jacob! I swear if you don't shut up I will find a book on excorsisms!" The ghost growls at him and swings a fist at him which Michel dodges. "You wouldn't fucking dare." Michel curls in on himself a bit and peeks towards the others. "You can see him then? I'm terriblly sorry..."

"Fucking called it." Perdita tells the ghost as if she deals with the undead every day, "Clocked him as gay as soon as he walked in. Or. Well. At least into guys." she turns to Ravn, "First, remind me to teach you Kalderash, it'll be useful later. Second, did Baba Y'ga put some sort of curse on me, or... is this normal around here too?" she gestures to Jacob vaguely, then frowns at the ghost, then down at her undergarments on the floor... which casually float up to her hands to be tossed into the washing machine. There's a fucking ghost, is anybody gonna notice telekinesis? No.

"Sounds like we should be feeling sorry for you." The look that Ravn sends the dead guy is decidedly unimpressed. Not dismayed, not scared, not worried -- just unimpressed. I have seen dead people like you before and the last one tried to gut four people in a diner levels of unimpressed. "Have a friend with a similar problem -- his invisible stalker likes to throw things at him. This town really needs a therapist for dead people with unresolved anger issues."

He pauses. "Yeah. This is pretty normal for Gray Harbor from what I've seen. I want to say you get used to it but, you don't. You just learn to roll with it. I'm still digesting the idea that fucking Baba Yaga is in Gray Harbor -- or an interpretation of the figure, anyhow. Don't get me started -- I'm a folklorist, I'll go on for an hour."

The Dane looks back to Jacob. "So, let's try that again. Hi, welcome to Gray Harbor. Dead people talking, living people bending spoons and levitating underwear, hard to tell when you're dreaming and when you're not, all par for the course here. You're welcome to think we're insane but, well, the guy next to you kind of hints that you're not exactly a stranger to this kind of shit either."

Michel blinks at Ravn. "Its not so bad. I probably deserve it." He admits quietly. Jacob is louder, scoffing. "Hell yeah you do! You let me die you motherfucking idiot! I KNOW your pretty fortune seeing ass saw something. But did you say anything NO! You wanted me dead." The ghost is snarling and Michel looks like he is about to cry. Then he spots the floating underwear. He offers Perdita a faint timid smile. Then suddenly his laundry lifts into the air and starts sorting itself and loading itself into a washer as he tries to breathe deep and focus. Michel looks back to Ravn and blinks. "Baba Yaga?! As in the witch? Really?" He looks facinated.

"Listen, shimulo, lay off him or I'll exorcise you. And don't think I can't." she reaches into her blouse, drawing out a unicorn pendant, which is... utterly unimpressive, but when she turns the pendant around, it becomes an image of a Black woman with one hand over her heart, the other raised as if in benediction, forming the unicorn's horn on the reverse side. The whole thing looks expensive and custom, with elements of both Catholicism and Hinduism in the design. "Yes, Baba Y'ga, she read my cards the other night... she was very accurate."

"Something that looks, walks, and talks like Baba Yaga anyhow," the folklorist grouses. "Sets up a table and does tarot readings in the park here every now and then. Would tell you she's a fraud except every damn reading I've seen her do was spot on accurate, including mine. Not sure what to think. The Veil does tend to lift things right out of people's heads and make them real, and there's plenty people in Gray Harbor with Slavic or Russian ancestry and the fairytales to go with it."

His laundry, at least, stays where it's supposed to: In the machine, going spin spin spin.

"Angry ex?" The dead guy gets another look. "Might want to tone it down a little, angry dead ex. I'd tell you to ask my ditto but, she pissed off the wrong people with powers here, and ended up decorating most of the interior of the Black Bear Diner with her insides. Don't think some of the more experienced folks here can't touch you just because you're noncorporeal."

A small, lopsided smile to Michel. "You're not crazy. Or this whole town is crazy. Most people here don't see ghosts or believe in Russian fairytale witches. The ones who are like us -- warm, or shiny, or however you perceive this thing we have -- you get a little jaded quickly here, but we're good at looking out for each other. Don't be surprised if all kinds of strangers decide to reach out and talk like you're part of the club. You're part of the club, after all."

Michel smiles gratefully to Perdita and Ravn both. "Thank you. You don't have to stick up for me though...not that I don't appreciate it. I'm used to it..." He shrugs his shoulders lightly while his ghostly ex simmers moddily nearby, glowering at the pendant. Thankfully the ghost stays quiet now though. Ravn's lopsided smile has Michel smiling back though. "I suppose being part of a club would not be too bad. Back in new orleans I worked as a fortune teller, people may have heeded my advice but normally they never believed in my methods. Its good to meet others with similar gifts and interests."

"I've been on my own a lot, too, but from the bit I've gathered, it's good to have a club here." Perdita finishes throwing her laundry in, utterly uncaring of mixing various colors, before adding her own detergent from a small bottle in the suitcase. She fixes the ghost with a look before tucking the pendant back into her blouse, closing up the suitcase and walking to where Ravn's sitting, casually draping herself in another of the plastic chairs... after a casual glance to make sure she's not going to be sitting in something. She crosses her legs, examining her nails casually. "I'm half convinced there's something in the water supply and we're all slowly being poisoned... but I've only been drinking bottled water and coffee, so... Probably not."

"Used to do a bit of boardwalk grifting myself, working my way through Europe and across the US," Ravn says with a chuckle. "I don't have the actual gift, though -- fraud, all the way through. One fraud recognises another, though, and whoever the old woman who calls herself Baba Yaga is, she's not a fraud. I'm pretty good at cold reading myself, but she had intel on me that I know for a fact she didn't pick out of looking me over, either. Might be she's the real deal, or at least a very convincing reenactment."

He nods slightly at Perdita. "Yeah. I can relate to that feeling. I've been here long enough now that I've become furniture but I haven't forgotten what those first weeks in Gray Harbor were like. You live your life thinking you and Uri Geller are the only people who bend spoons with your minds. Suddenly you're surrounded by people who heal wounds like Jesus, blow things up with a thought, or go exploring your inner mindscape for a picnic. It takes a little adjusting to. Most people here who are like us are pretty keen on the whole have each other's backs, though. We've got to -- when things happen here, you need to be able to rely on the other guy in the foxhole."

"My abilities have always been real ones. Or so I think. Maybe its all in my head but I never lie to those who seek readings from me. I'm a terrible liar anyway." Michel admits this with a sheepish smile. His gaze turning thoughtful. "I wonder...should I try getting a reading from this woman. I mean purely for scholarly reasons that is. I admit I'm curious about whats possible. But...you sound like bad things happen here often?" Jacob takes this chance to pipe up again. "Remember what your crazy old granny used to say? Something about bright stars attracting the darkness or some shit like that?" Michel gives the specter a scolding look. "Talk like that about my granny and I will let the nice lady here send you on your way. At least granny was able to pass on..." Jacob glares and clenches his fists.

"I've found what I can do pretty handy, but... I've met quite a few people more powerful than me since I got here..." she regards Michel, full lips turning to a slight pout. "Including the pretty boy, maybe." she mutters to Ravn, lips barely moving, "I'm starting to feel like a small fish in a very large pond." She glances down at her shoes thoughtfully, then up at the ghost, pointing her index and pinky fingers at him, thumb out. Those nails look sharp enough to cut the specter, if nothing else. "Don't insult Pretty Boy's granny. I'm sure she was a lovely lady and even if she wasn't, don't go speaking ill of the dead, er... deader-than-you." yeah she probably couldn't exorcise him, but she projects the sort of confidence that says she could. "If you don't try to find Baba Y'ga, she'll find you... and be irritated that you didn't try to find her, in my experience."

"Bad things happen in Gray Harbor a lot," Ravn says honestly and somewhat bluntly. "The Veil is thin here, and there are entities on the other side that feed on our power and on our pain. They want you to use it, and they want you to suffer. Life here is never boring, though -- and to some people at least, it's better than the alternative. To me, Gray Harbor has become the home I haven't found anywhere else. People here don't look at me like I'm insane if they catch me talking to somebody they can't see. The community's pretty supportive -- we see each other, we try to have each other's backs."

With a grin to Perdita he adds, "We see new people like ourselves and pounce on them in sweets shops or laundromats, too. It's a bumpy ride. Not going to lie -- the smart thing to do would be taking that car of yours and keep driving. People told me that too, and I'm still here. It's not how much of the power you have -- it's whether you have it or not. People who don't -- forget the strange things as if they ever happened, the Veil protects itself that way. Me, I can swipe car keys or hide a hazelnut under a cup without touching it, and that's pretty much it. Some folks here are -- I know a guy who waltzes in and out of the Veil as he likes, and turns himself into a unicorn when he's in the mood."

Michel nods and falls silent for a while now, waiting on his laundry and thinking quietly about what has been said. He glances to Ravn and Perdita and smiles as he starts unloading the finished laundry. "It was good meeting you both. I hope we can speak again sometime." He smiles shyly and rounds up his clothes before heading out, Jacob floating moodily along behind him.

The overdressed former sugar baby found herself casually scrolling through her phone as the trio waited on their laundry, and while sitting there, her phone makes an unusual but possibly familiar notification sound for Michel, but she doesn't do anything to answer it just yet, standing to take care of her own laundry. "You too, I'd like that. I'm staying at the Sea View Suites if you haven't found a place yet, I definitely recommend them. They got most of the bloodstains out of the lobby!"

"Don't be a stranger, Michel and Angry Ex. There's a run-down bar over on Spruce -- The Poorhouse. You'll find a lot of us go there frequently. Drop in, meet the rest of the madhouse." Ravn waves to the duo as they wander off. He's not forgotten what it was like to be new in town six months ago. Madhouse doesn't begin to cover it. He's just not found any other word to substitute which does.

"Ah, the murder motel," he murmurs to Perdita. "You don't be a stranger either. Poorhouse. Finger food isn't up to Addington standards but you get less high society blondes glaring at you. Owner's blond but she's friendly."

Then he settles back on his chair to wait on the dryer. The book in his coat pocket? A Japanese sci-fi YA thriller. Because why not.

Michel does recognize the noise and he gives Perdita's phone a wistful look. Jacob hisses in his ear. "Don't even think about it..." Then the pair are outside and headed to the car.