2021-03-10 - A Little Elbow Grease

One thing Ravn Abildgaard is quickly realising about taking over an old, run-down butcher's shop is that turning it into somewhere capable of hosting anything is no small feat. The other thing he's realising is that in this town the snowball effect is real: Toss a bit of snow down a mountain side, you'll get one hell of a snowball. In other news, he needs to get the place presentable before Wednesday when the HOPE centre's official spokesman, local author and journalist Ignacio de Santos, will be hosting the first walk-in therapy session.

Sleep is for the weak. More so because last night's sleep got slightly interrupted by a teeny tiny genocide and the termination of one tribe of sewer dwelling gremlins and he's a little tired.

Good thing, then, that one of the first donations made was a coffee machine. Time to take a break, flop down on one of those cheap folding chairs, and ask himself if it's just remotely possible that maybe he bit off more than he can chew here.

Nicolas heard about a new community center opening up. And like the good Priest that he is he has decided to lend a hand. Dressed in a simple if rather snug fitting black t-shirt, jeans, and worn work boots he arrives. A toolbox is carried in one hand. He did not know what would be needed so the man just packed all his tools. The other hand holds a box of donuts for those working on the project. Which...seems to amount to one very tired Ravn. He steps inside blinking at the other man. "Don't tell me you tried to do this all yourself?" He rumbles out in concern. Setting the toolbox down he offers the box of donuts to Ravn. "Eat. Then tell me what you need done."

"Well, not entirely by myself. People have been coming and going and helping out." The tall Dane, ever dressed as if to out-catholic priest an actual catholic priest in black all the way down, lights up in a tired grin. He pounces on the offer of a donut before reaching for one of a highly mismatched number of plastic cups sitting on the folding table that is the main piece of furniture in what was once the shop front room. "Coffee? I have creamer and artificial sweetener -- not going to be keeping actual milk or cream until we get a fridge put in somewhere, though."

Then he glances around and chuckles. "The place is not in as bad shape as it looks. The building is sound enough, there's no major damage -- just a lot of neglect and dirt. Probably going to take a while to get that old meat smell out -- but I'm working on airing out everything. Everything took off a little faster than anyone expected but that's Gray Harbor for you -- nothing ever happens at a sane and rational pace here. How's St Mary working out for you? I imagine that an old building like that is endless maintenance too."

Nicolas nods to Ravn looking relieved that the man has had some help. "Good. I was worried you were alone and over working yourself. A good cause is a wonderful thing but if you over do it you burn out fast. And thats not good for you or the cause." He chuckles softly. "Sorry, I'll try to limit the preaching. And coffee sounds lovely. Just black though. I like my coffee like a sinners soul, black and bitter." He smiles faintly at his jest and shakes his head. "I probably was not supposed to say that..." He smiles and fixes himself some coffee. "I have been settling in alright. St Mary's is different. Its much older than my previous church. More history. Do you need help with getting this place in shape then? I would also like to offer my services once its open. I'm not sure what I can do, but I would be glad to help."

"In Danish we say that we like our coffee like our priests -- black and full of beans. It makes more sense when you know that our word for bean is the same as our word for prayer, of course." Ravn offers a small smile at the priest's joke. "I like your version too."

He picks out a cup with a dancing Snoopy motif and pours coffee into it; plain, black, no frills, no flavours, no sweeteners. Offering it over he settles back down on one folding chair and nods towards another. Luxury furniture it ain't but it gets the job done. "I suspect this is going to be one of those places that will always need all the help it can get. There are lot of people needing help in this town, and we kind of have to work from the bottom and up -- can't just rely on donations and hire professionals. You have any experience with community work? Because I don't, and I'll take any advice that you have."

Nicolas accepts the cup with a grateful smile. Taking a sip he settles into the offered chair. Considering the place a moment he takes another sip of coffee before answering Ravn. "Well. Back home I did help arrange things for the local soup kitchen. I was also the host for the local AA meetings the church held. Yes. My church hosted AA meetings. But it was the only building in town large enough to do so. It also helped that i was aware of every heavy drinker in town..." He shakes his head. "Anyway. I have some experience. My best advice it to make the place as open and welcoming as you can manage. Make it a place where people can relax and unburnden themselves. That goes for decorating to simply seeing to the needs of all who come in. Its hard work, but it will be worth it. You might consider hosting regular events on certain days, that way everyone knows when to come. Like our soup kitchen back home was open every Saturday and we gave out hot meals as well as boxes of food to those that needed it. Everyone in town knew that was the day to come get food. Schedules help."

"Sounds like we could use your help to be honest." Ravn nods and very obviously takes mental notes. "I have no experience whatsoever with this kind of thing. All I have is -- well, a town full of people who need help, surrounded by an otherworldly realm that wants to prey on them. De Santos has more experience but he can't be everywhere. I've been talking to a number of shop owners around town and there's generally a fair bit of interest, particularly among those who -- are like us."

A glance towards the priest; 'like us' can mean so much in different contexts, and you never know whether someone new in town is aware of the special shine that some people have. We don't talk about that time somebody thought Ravn was trying to sell them on meth.

There's a taptaptap at the door, and suddenly there's a petite brunette with her hair up in Dutch crown braids, wearing that ridiculously fluffy teddybear faux fur coat of hers and a pair of beat up sneakers that are splattered with old paint. She's carrying a cardboard box full of cleaning supplies, complete with a room sized ion air filter and air fresheners, both.

The box is set down and, hands on her hips, Perdita looks around the building to see where things stand, then takes a moment to remove her coat. Beneath it, she wears a loose but slightly cropped t-shirt and a pair of stretch denim jeans, great for cleaning and looking great, already pre-bleached so it's not like they'll get ruined by cleaning supplies.

Ravn looks up from his coffee, smiling. "Looks like somebody's decided to get involved," he says with a look to the box. "Come on over -- we seem to have donuts to go with the coffee today, so you're in luck. Now all we need to do is fight off the temptation to kill everything in here with fire."

He pauses. "Not serious about that. Just for the record. Not actually suggesting we set the building on fire."

If the Dane looks a little tired and a little red-eyed, surely there's nothing to it. Last night was karaoke night at the Poorhouse just across the street -- maybe he spent it singing his little heart out and getting so drunk he had to crawl home.

"You look like I definitely missed out by not being able to make it to the Poorhouse last night." Perdita states, smiling. "Hey, set it on fire, collect the insurance, build it anew. I, also, am joking." She unboxes the air filter, setting it somewhere central-ish, but out of the way. "This should get rid of the... meaty smell... in a day or so, if we're lucky. I mostly just wanted to apologize for not showing up last night. I got back to my room, got a shower... and passed out on the bed still wrapped up in my towel."

"Oh, lord, I hope so. The smell of old stale meat is enough to make me contemplate going vegetarian for a while." Ravn makes a face in the general direction of the area where the meat counters used to be; where the cleaning standards back when must have been questionable considering how much aroma has permeated the floor and still lingers.

He eyes the floor. "Half tempted to check it for bodies. This is Gray Harbor. Anyhow, karaoke night was fantastic -- I am definitely going again, even if people tried to get me on stage. That's not going to happen if I have anything to say about it. Mostly tired because I had one of those dreams last night -- the not so funny ones. Bit of fire, bit of genocide, nothing out of the ordinary, and -- you guessed it -- no shirt. Barefoot in the sewers all night, just the way I like it."

"Honestly... that might not be a bad idea. A butcher's would be a great place to hide... or dispose... of a body. And now I am contemplating going vegetarian full time." Perdita pulls out two of those family size bottles of Febreeze and a big jug of Fabuloso in Fresca Lavanda and sets them out, too, before breaking out one of those fold and store mops.

"No stage time, but no shirt, huh? Sounds like the dream was where the fun was, despite the sewers, then." She smirks at Ravn, one eyebrow raising, as she sets the mop bucket out and begins prepping liquids. "Make sure any donuts and coffee are covered, or that you really like the taste of Fabuloso because this stuff is powerful."

Ravn quickly rescues the coffee and the remaining donuts, picking up the entire folding table and putting it in what was once the back of the butcher shop. "It actually smells worse out there," he laments. "But we'll have to do one room at a time if de Santos is going to be opening this place for therapy sessions in a few days. You should turn up, by the way -- if for nothing else, then to watch the man in action."

Then he arms himself once again with bucket, rag, and soap; floors don't wash themselves and neither do walls -- the smell is in everything. "It wasn't the best dream I've had. Watched an entire tribe of gremlins burn. Would feel worse about it, admittedly, if I had not seen those little jerks kill people here in Gray Harbor, but still -- not my idea of fun time. There was another guy who was worse off though." Ravn looks up and winces at the memory. "I need to find out who he was. He may be new in town and lost -- at least he had no idea how any of this stuff works. He thought it was some kind of acid trip."

"Are you suggesting I need therapy, Mr. Abildgaard?" Perdita tilts her head to one side, a quirk of a smile as she starts pouring the strongly scented liquid into the bucket. It's almost strong enough to counter the odor. Almost. Maybe once it's diluted and put on the floors... and walls, maybe.

At the mention of a new person, though, Perdita's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, "What... did this guy look like? Maybe I can help you keep an eye out for him and make sure he's okay. I don't have any talent for healing, but I can at least help him find someone who can, if he ends up needing it."

"Blond guy, couple of years younger than me? White. Normal." Ravn thinks back; he's not good with faces and names and let's just be honest here, to a guy who's not sexually attracted to men, all blond white guys in their twenties look alike. "He mentioned he was in pipes -- plumber, something along those lines. Possibly an apprentice. I've half a mind to maybe make some phone calls later. Name of Wes, that much he did say. Pretty sure he thought Maggi Gyre and I were either part of the dream or completely batshit insane. Probably didn't help that he saw Maggi set an entire village of gremlins on fire with her mind."

There's a subtle, almost imperceptible relaxation from the young woman, despite the casual slaughter of Gremlins. "Just what this town needs, more white boys." she laughs, shaking her head slightly, "Okay, if I see him I'll do my best to clue him in and send him your way. In the meantime, I'm half tempted to try my hand at a musical cleaning montage just to see if I can get wildlife to chip in here, because... this place seems to get bigger every time I see it."

Ravn grins slightly as he gets on his knees and starts scrubbing at some of the very persistent stains (which are probably the worst source of the smell, and yes, they probably will require little short of sanding the damn floor down, but time is short). "Can't say I've been everywhere in the US or that I know enough to judge, but this area? Very white. My home country? Whiter, at least outside of the ghetto areas we claim not to have. Happiest country on the planet and all that fairytale jazz."

He looks up. "But yeah. Please do. Keep an eye out -- not just for that guy but for... Anyone. There's a lot of new faces around lately, and there's Baba Yaga. Don't tell me a storm isn't coming."

"Which reminds me, we need to make sure we send new people to Deya Dey, she gets irritated if she has to come find us, apparently. To be as old as I assume she is, I wouldn't want to be traipsing all over town in this damn cold, either." She fills the bucket with water and, moving the air filter up somewhere high and securing it to a chair with bungie straps because there are freaking gremlins running around and she's not having one just casually knock it into the water and electrocute her... she begins mopping. Watered down the smell is much more pleasant, slightly chemical, but distinctly lavender. "Like I said, my home town, if you weren't related to me, you were white. I think my graduating class was something like... sixty? Seventy? Needless to say, I don't intend to go to the ten year reunion."

"Me either, though that's not so much a matter of skin colour as me not enjoying large social gatherings, the twenty year reunion will be hosted on the other side of the planet, and most of my classmates were pretentious dicks who are in investment, law or politics today, and I'd honestly rather smear myself in bacon grease and run naked through a badger den. We did have a couple of coloured kids there, though." Ravn has Opinions on some issues, it seems.

He pauses a moment to think back. "Changed schools pretty quick after I set a few things on fire. Not with my mind, though -- I used matches. After that, ordinary school, ordinary college. University in Copenhagen had a pretty reasonable diversity level, though of course you'll find any Scandinavian country to have a large caucasian majority."

"Ooof. Law, politics and investment, the hydra of the patriarchy." Perdita leans into scrubbing at a particularly nasty spot, grimacing, "Did the previous owner OWN a mop? Half the town's population could have died from salmonella from this place if the floors are any indication." she tsks softly, then goes back to it, putting her foot atop the mop head and scrubbing with her much stronger legs. "I just never fit in, because I didn't want to be besties with Heather, Heather, and Heather. Well. That and one of them caught me with their boyfriend sophomore year. That was quite the scandal. In my defense, he did say they were on a break."

"From what the real estate agent said, the reason this place was shut down was, uh, the owner failing to pay rent. Apparently there was not an outbreak of food poisoning. I am concluding based on this empirical evidence that in times past, the population of Gray Harbor consisted of vegetarian hippies and kosher Jews because there is no way this place could have passed inspection if anyone actually bought food here." Ravn glances at the stains. "Mathilde, Emma and Ida in Danish."

This whole nostalgic look back on a memory lane that was honestly not that great seems to amuse him for some reason. "Never paid me much attention. You know the geeky kid who dresses emo just to piss off his parents but otherwise spends most of his time with his nose in a book or refusing to share his weed with you? I was that kid." Pause, and then a smirk. "Got turned back into that kid in a dream here a few times. Rosencrantz did as well in one of them -- he punched me in the face for being an obnoxious asshole."

The little bell overhead dings and up rolls local skatepunk #4 (a.k.a. the one with the purple hair). Board pops up into hand and with one hand pushes the hood off his head. The many layers are still there, but they're now scaled to fit him instead of leaving the little Baxter that Could ™ drowning in his own clothes. Tired, but not winded he signs his greetings that looks like a bit of a salute to them. There's a quizzical look as his feet slow their advance to a stop signing back <<Punch who?>> which is easy enough to decipher from the confusion on his face and the small punching gesture.

"Britneigh," and she spells them as she says them, "Whitneigh, Makeyleigh and, I swear to the goddess, Quartknee." a pause, and Perdita's face gets a little more serious. "If I could avoid dreams where I have to go back to being a teen, I would definitely like that. Things didn't really start looking up for me until I met my ex-" she looks like she was maybe about to go into more detail, but suddenly there's another person sharing the space. She flashes a smile and tilts her head a little, waving. She turns a little, making sure her face is well lit and easily visible, before speaking, "Itzhak, apparently? Though him punching anyone for being an obnoxious asshole is rather, well..." she laughs, shaking her head slightly. "Hi, my name is Perdita." she, slightly unsteadily, but clear enough. Her hand doesn't even bounce as she signs it.

"Talking about that time Rosencrantz suckerpunched me in a dream," Ravn tells the skater boy from his position on the floor. There are some pretty intense stains on these floorboards, and he's doing his best to clean up a few while Perdita applies chemical warfare to the rest of the floor. The smell in here is -- meaty, still. "Hi, Bax. Perdita, this is Bax -- he's one of our local artists. Bax -- Perdita who's new in town."

Introductions made, the Dane smirks at Perdita's last words and nods. "Honestly? I don't miss it either. But then, I was twenty-seven before I got my life into anything resembling order, or at least direction."

Grant puts the board aside by the door and un-shoulders his backpack. He mumbles trying to adjust the sound on his hearing aides for 'indoors, no crowd' on his phone app. Group settings are amazing, folks. The bag clinks with metal in there? Heavy. "Brought snacks and since we're slow Itil sent me over to see something about..." He sighs trying to remember how the New Yoker put it "Thems guys need stuff... something something don't let his little buddy die trying to put up a goddamn studwall." He blinks and smiles to Perdita. "I don't think he knew you were here. Hi. Grant Baxter, but yeah, Bax is what everyone except my immediate family still calls me." Pausing there's an amused grin on his face as he shakes his head, "You know we were dating a month before my boyfriend realized that's not my first name. Hilaaaaarious."

Still he brought Vyv-Scones. The box is notable. "Vyv sends regards and tiny scones and a message to you, Ravn that he doesn't have an outfit for this sort of manual labour, but cheers. Very happy for you. You get me for the afternoon." There's a pause and his nose wrinkles, "Don't let Itzil throw things at you. It hurts." Looking back to Ravn he counts, "Sweet, I got time before I need to hit any sort of expectations. Best news all morning."

"Nice to meet you, Bax." she smiles, then laughs again, "I'll call you whatever you prefer to be called, I'm big on people getting to decide what name works for them... and seriously, are there any straight, single guys in this town except for Ravn? I feel like I'm going to have to be a sugar mama at this rate!" she's laughing, though, dark eyes bright with amusement. She definitely isn't old enough to be a sugar mama in the traditional sense.

"Well, you have an extra set of hands for your story, how do you want to put them to use?" she asks Ravn, leaning against the mop for a moment. "I still think the Disney Princess idea might work."

"'His little buddy'," Ravn echoes with obvious amusement and even managing to hit Itzhak's New York drawl on it as well. "He's never going to get over the fact that he's two inches shorter than me, is he?"

He makes a sweeping gesture at the room that used to be the front end of a butcher shop -- definitely not a kosher one. "Priority one? Get this room clean enough and not smelly enough for de Santos to have somewhere to do his first therapy session Wednesday. It's not going to be pretty -- we won't have time to do a paint job or repair the cracks in the wall, but we can at least get it cleaned up and have it smell less like there's literal bodies buried under the floorboards."

Beat. "And, I guess we should probably check for literal bodies buried under the floorboards." The Dane grins slightly; he's obviously not serious about it. Even in Gray Harbor, sometimes a bad smell is just a bad smell.

"I was going to name a few names but then you had to say single. Let's be honest, the community of people with the shine is kind of small. I'm sure there are plenty single straight guys who aren't -- you know, one of us. Just need to get used to them having their memories edited every other minute -- might even come in handy if you angle it right, said the ex-conman." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "Wes might be? I didn't have time to ask him about his marital status while we were watching goblin town burn."

Grant looks to Perdita and quirks a grin, "I know there's at least a couple unable to be converted to the cause. They're out there." The look goes very amused to Ravn and he snickers using the sign for 'child' or 'short'. "Think he means the other New Yorker." He looks down at the floor and blinks at Ravn's words frowning, "If it's more of my people, dude I'm a be pretty pissed." He's had...a week. Looking to the topic at hand he shrugs, "Don't date my co-workers at the skate park. You might kill em with good reason, and I need them to cover their hours."

"Once a grifter, always a grifter." Perdita murmurs, not really meaning for either man to catch it. She begins back at the hard work of mopping the floor, grimacing slightly as she spots just how dirty the water is. "You... might want to strip these floors and reseal them once you've got the finances." she suggests, wincing a little, "And honestly, it's probably for the best. A couple weeks without trying to please some mediocre straight guy who's convinced he's god's gift to women might do me some good." she doesn't sound convinced, however. As Bax tells her not to kill his coworkers, she laughs, a full throated, happy sound. "I'm not in the habit of murdering my lovers. There's only so many times you can faint artfully at the foot of the stairs in a feather trimmed satin dressing gown as they deliver the news that your lover has been murdered under mysterious circumstances before they start to get suspicious."

"Ignacio de Santos does not get to call me his little buddy unless he stands on a chair for comedic effect." Ravn's blue-grey eyes glitter with amusement. "And thank you for the compliment. Always good to know I'm not mediocre."

He scrubs away on the very stubborn floor stains and nods his agreement with the girl's assessment. "Whole building's going to need new floors. But, one thing at a time. What kind of grifting were you in? Used to do boardwalk scams and cold reads myself for a couple of years."

Grant looks to Perdita, grin widening in amusement a bit, "And yet it's Gray Harbor. Land the feds never actually visit." He sets the backpack down and starts to unpack the tools nearby. Tool belt... hammer, thermos...small hand saw... handheld belt sander? How big is this backpack?! He does NOT mary Poppins a broom out of it, however.

His head stays turned to catch the conversation keeping one ear and occasionally an eye on it. "Drifting? Like moving around a lot or like Fast and the Furious? Not to typecast but you could be a kick ass Leti." Oh, so on the wrong thread of the conversation, but it's an adventure isn't it?

"I really need to learn to watch what I say around you." she mutters to Ravn, before standing her full 5'5 once more, having mopped a good section of floor. "I wasn't half bad at cold reads, but my favorite is either the fiddle game or the Spanish Prisoner." she pauses to clarify for Grant, "Grifting, with a 'g'." and makes the hand sign for the letter as she says it. "And, of course... it never hurts to be a sugar baby. It's alarming how much men will pay for some racy pictures they could have seen if they found my Instagram." she laughs again, shaking her head slightly.

Ravn glances at Grant's array of powertools and then at Perdita's ditto of cleaning utensils. It probably dawns on him, once again, how he really doesn't know what he's doing, not that he has any intention of letting that stop him from doing it. It's just that some people grow up knowing how to do shit. Other people grow up knowing how to tell other people to do shit.

He grins slightly at Perdita. "Remind me to tell you about the guy who convinced the entire Danish jet set that he was the Marquis de Sade, only modern living descendant. Guy made a fortune. He was charismatic enough, good enough that when he did get busted, the jet set kept funding his lifestyle."

Grant looks to Perdita and there's an Ahhhhh "Well if you get into street racing I call shotgun." Yes they just met, but she said she could drift and that stakes skill. Okay he misheard her say that which clearly makes it canonical. This is why Vyv never lets Bax drive his roadster. He pauses and points to Perdita noting "That...is true. Never pulled a swindel on anyone. I thought it looked neat but I always feel like way bad. Breaking into places though? Man I used to make a killin at that for my ex-roomie Greg." Looking to Ravn he frowns "He wasn't related to Goeffery Rush?"

"Darling, you're talking to the Vizcondesa de Vielha." Perdita's accent shifts. Posh, upper crust Continental Spanish, educated in an English boarding school, clearly. Her posture and facial expression do, too. "Here in the United States on a business deal, but... I really shouldn't be telling strangers... Or maybe you'd rather the lost heiress, the Vicomtesse de Vernais?" her accent shifts into a passable French, and her eyes widen, looking ever so innocent and sweet suddenly, and utterly, supremely helpless, just waiting for a big strong man to rescue her. "Please, monsieur, I have lost my purse and they will not let me leave until my meal is covered." she ruins the very good acting by bursting into a giggle, including Bax in the moment by smiling at him, too. No wonder she can afford her usual ridiculous heels.

Back to her regular accent once more, she shakes her head and explains, "Just have to be careful with anyone who knows their European history, their Spanish peerage... Or French, in general. Almost got myself in some crap with that one, but a friend of mine is a wiz with computers and the Vicomtesse did very well for herself for a hot minute."

"I don't think I'll be doing any racing, but if I do, you've got shotgun." she winks at Bax, grinning, "What sort of stuff did you go for?"

Ravn's expression is one of utter amusement. "It's an honour meeting you, Señorita de Vielha, my lady de Vernais. I'd get up and offer a proper handshake but I'm fighting this stain and it's winning. I take it you do your best to avoid actual old world gentry when pulling an act like that, or can you pass convincingly for long enough?"

He winks at Grant in a way that clearly says story time! and then pauses. "And that of course begs the obvious question -- have you? My grandfather got caught up in the de Sade scam, much to the family's embarrassment."

Grant grins to Ravn, "Haaaa your uncle sounds interesting at the very least. That movie was a trip!" Ahhh Bax, living the moment and missing hte greater implications. how nice to have such days care free. There's a pause and he shrugs, "I dunno, I'm small and bendy and great with a lock. He used to send me up into warehouse windows to figure out getting in and getting things opened up from the inside. My boy there was I think the biggest dealer in the Harbor once, though ya know in a small town if your'e a child actor in a soup commercial they'll talk about you like you're Leo DiCaprio." He shrugs continuing on. "Sometimes we had to deal with people whooooo were kinda assholes who tried to stiff him for his shit and he'd send me in to go find his stuff and get it back. Really did not make my dad happy having to bust me out when the cops picked us up that time so, ya know, I quit. Then it was some appliances and stuff just to see if we could. Dumb kid shit."

"I spent a weekend in the home of a particularly odious Baroness in England. I hated every minute of it, but to be fair, she wasn't a hereditary Baroness. She had nice silverware though, along with some rather disturbing photos in her safe." Perdita winks at Ravn, mopping while she listens to Bax chatting away, a small smile on her lips.

"How the hell do you steal appliances in a town like this? Someone's bound to notice a moving van, aren't they?" Perdita continues to scrub with the mop, muttering under her breath in that Slavic language she switches to when Spanish just doesn't cut it.

Ravn can't help a short laugh as he glances at Bax. "Remind me never to invite this lady home, will you?"

He moves to another stain, this one no less persistent than the previous. "Well, you've met the Addingtons. They're the local gentry, figuratively speaking. There's a couple of others like them -- Thorne's the local entrepreneur who owns half of Bayside, Taylor's a British peer who runs Sitka, the upscale restaurant. And there's Vyv Vydal who probably is the best dressed man in town but isn't quite as -- how to put it, he doesn't need to rub his possible peerage in your face, and he doesn't care if you know that he's got money. I rather like him. Bax here likes him a lot, obviously."

Grant snickers "To the tinderbox?" Looking back to Perdita he shrugs, "Just sorta go...do it really. People leave stuff lying around all the time. Sometimes you know people just get disappeared and there's opportunity before good stuff goes to waste I guess." He's not got particular feelings on crime as a whole, just on not fighting unless he's gotta.

Sure bring up the beleaguered Brit. It amuses him, truly in that moon-eyed way. Yes, he's a dope and totally biased. "He told me once something about the difference of old money and new money is that new money is loud about it. Trust me, if he was a classist dick he wouldn't be dating a Baxter that's for damn certain sooo...it is what it be."

"Yes. I have indeed met the Addingtons." Perdita, in a show of good grace, doesn't even insult anyone, this time. Look how quickly she moves on! "Ooh, Bax is dating the handsome well dressed gentleman." she quirks her eyebrows just a bit, playfully, then mock pouts at Ravn, "You don't wanna invite me ho-?" she tries to turn and flutter her lashes at him playfully, but somehow manages to get herself tangled up with the mop and ruins the artful flirtation with a hard 'THUMP' on her denim clad ass.

That... might leave a mark. It takes a few seconds but she untangles herself and gets back to her feet... though she has the good grace to laugh about it, at least... right? "Oh, right on the implants..." she's... probably joking about that. "When you've never had money it's hard not to be loud about it. I generally don't care if people know I'm new money, because frankly, I'm proud of having... busted my ass... to get to where I am now."

"New money advertises, old money does not need to," Ravn nods. "That's the saying. You qualify as nouveau riche as long as you need to tell people you can afford things. When you no longer ask the price, you've achieved an acceptable level of snobbery. Then just stay around for some seven generations and drum up a title somewhere, and you're old money."

He looks up. "Vydal's anything but classist. Higher bred than a hilltop bakery but at the same time, a very down to earth fellow. I mean, he and I get along. And I generally do my best to avoid the hell out of the peerage."

Perdita's little outburst prompts another soft laugh though. "You make money, you decide how to spend it. You want to blow it all on fast cars and status symbols? It's yours, do what you want with it. This whole old and new money deal only ever served one purpose -- to keep the upstarts from mingling with the self-proclaimed good families."

Grant might get flustered or even fanboy out but the smile is just warm and there's a nod. "Yeah we met at a local pride event aaaaaand we just had our one year anniversary and are talking big plans with a yard." His brief revelry is abruptly halted when she falls on her ass signing the curious <<You OK?>> which is mostly him looking amused and concerned and waiting. It's Ravn's outburst of support that has him laughing, "Higher bred than a hilltop bakery?! Oy gevalt I'm saving that one for later. yeah I mean... I never had money so you tell me how that goes. It is weird dating someone with it though."

"Most of mine is tangled up in investments at the moment. I get to retire comfortably, but I need to get on getting a job, as already discussed." she notes to Ravn. She absently dusts off her bum, which looks fine, though the cheeks of her jeans are darkened slightly from landing on the wet floor.

"Be careful dating someone with more money. It... sometimes it goes great. Sometimes, especially with men, it... doesn't go so well." finished with mopping a large section of the floor now, Perdita looks over her handiwork.

"Not... that I think your guy would do anything like that. But I've had it happen, and seen it happen to plenty of pretty young things. The first guy I really got serious, he was this big CEO for a multinational corporation. Fancy cars, diamonds, fillers, whatever I wanted done, a penthouse. Once he got me hooked on the life... things weren't as lovely."

"Can't take all the credit, the hilltop bakery is a Pratchett quote," Ravn murmurs with amusement. "What's weird about it exactly?"

And then Perdita answers the question, sort of. He sits up on his knees and looks at her. "That's not dating somebody. That's being hired as arm candy. Which is all fine and dandy if that's the deal, but makes you a bloody asshole if it's not. Goes both ways though -- there's definitely also such a thing as gold diggers."

Grant nods slowly in agreement with Perdita. Looking to Ravn he tries to think up a way to explain, "It's like... when they want to do all teh things and you said man that ain't in my budget but they do a lot and you jsut can't it feels like it gets one sided pretty fast. Part of the reason why when Vyv and I do gifts it's usually something we make. It's more personal and on an even playing field but like... also I don't like living in someone's pocket. I don't owe people things. I don't like people controlling my shit, but I'm lucky cause Vyv doesn't do that. He gives me his time and that's all I've really asked for and it makes it less weird." There's a pause and he snorts admitting with wry amusement, "And when he said no really I'm not trying to spoil you taking you on holiday to England with me, I need you to keep me from saying things to my family they'll regret." There's a bit of pride there, "Was a good trip tho."

"I thought it was more than that. I loved him. I was convinced I'd found the perfect man for the first... six? months. And then suddenly he wasn't so perfect anymore, because he had me where he wanted me... But then he introduced me to his son who was literally my age, and... things went sideways, fast." her hands tighten around the broom handle, well manicured nails in a simple clear lacquer today.

"He's... why I've been on the move so much. So. If you see a big guy, about six three, solid muscle, brown and gray hair, walks with a well deserved limp? Give me a heads up so I can find something heavier this time. Baba Y'ga says if I don't stop running now, I'll never stop." Perdita sighs, but then her expression softens as she listens to Grant talking about Vyv. "You... sound like a really good pair. I'm very glad you have that."

Ravn nods at the younger man with a sympathetic wince. "I get that. You don't want him or anyone else to feel that he's renting you. Definitely is a concern. I don't think anyone does, though. Vydal is just not -- the kind of man who attracts the kind of affection or admiration you can hire. I won't pretend it wouldn't be a concern for me as well, though."

He chuckles. "From what I heard, the England trip was pretty nice, though? I seem to recall being stuck in a hotel room in Denmark and texting the both of you half the night."

Perdita's story causes the Dane to lose the smile, though. He nods, quite seriously. "Yes. It happens. Rich guy, arm candy, toying with people's feelings. I'm sorry you had to deal with that. I'm not sorry that it sounds like you decked him hard. Money needs to stay out of relationships."

Grant snappoints to Perdita! "Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis, bruh! This shit! Awwww, that sucks. I got your back with this guy." Doing what exactly remains to be seen. the skateboarder is built with the lanky muscle of a skateboarder which means the big guy can tie him in a knot several times without breaking. not...exactly the most helpful. The compliment gsts a small smile that's Hallmark content. "Were working on some shit but...it's getting worked on. and don't discount Vyv like that. technically I was his rent boy for a quarter." This story has him looking very amused. "Long story. Funny as hell, but technically true. And it was most of his family is pretty cool. The others are... never going to be happy with him being him and I was like "Baby, you can only make you happy, or let me do it but you don't need them and some day they'll figure this out and that's on them, not you."

"I pack a punch, despite these perfectly sculpted delicate little arms of mine." She winks, then nods to Ravn about money needing to stay out of relationships. As Grant reveals his own past as a sex worker, Perdita nods, looking absolutely comfortable with the topic, "No shame from me about it, before I met Eddie I ran with a pretty interesting group of street kids who were in similar situations. Mostly Queer, mostly homeless, and it's not like there's a lot of help for folks like us. I had a drag queen mother me for over a year before I got with Eddie, she went by Ma Petite. Crashed on her couch many a night back then."

"Haven't done sex work myself," Ravn says and resumes scrubbing. "Have known a number of people who did. Life's rough sometimes, not my place to judge anyone for doing what they need to do. I've known a number of high end prostitutes who would absolutely scratch your eyes out if you called them anything but companions, but, same deal."

He might not be quite as comfortable with the topic, although from his tone, it's not that the idea is abhorrent. Possibly he just doesn't want anyone to think he's a potential employer.

Itzhak may not officially be a drag queen, but he's sure got the strut, as he swaggers in singing. "What a feeling! Being's believing! I can have it all now I'm dancing for my liiii-iiife!" He's dressed for work and has a toolbox in hand and he fingerguns at the room at large. "Ey yo, Ya Majesty the Kabillionth, reportin' for duty."

Grant looks positively endeared by the story shared, "Awww Ma sounds great and technically," He pulls up the a quarter with the hole in it hanging from a worn but sturdy cotton strong around his neck. "Still got the quarter but technically ain't a sex worker though I have done some crazy shit for a score before...so maybe?" He pauses with a 'huh'. This has never occurred to him before and doesn't seem particularly mortified by this at all. "Well it's rude to diminunize someone's PR campaign too. Sales is serious business. It's important that you're not mis-marketing or you wind up with a The Village situation. GREAT movie but totally marketed wrong and it did a wonderous film a great harm in revenue."

"I wouldn't recommend it, if only because of the stigma society sticks you with, but... if you need food, you need food." Dressed way down from her usual pampered princess look, Perdita actually has a Swiffer style mop and is actually detailing a corner of the room, half turned so that she can talk clearly with Bax and Ravn.

"What fresh gay hell is this." Perdita asks as Itzhak makes his grand entrance, though she mostly just looks amused. "Careful, I have a bucket perched in the rafters full of tar and feathers, Alex." she winks, clearly intending it as a joke.

"Never saw it, I heard it wasn't about the creepy ass monsters and just... lost interest because those things were disturbing." she shivers a little, then... sighs. She's probably just given this town SO much ammo.

Ravn can't help laugh as he's sitting there on the floor, scrubbing away at a very stubborn old stain that's permeated the floorboards and probably is at least a large part of why this place smells like old stale meat. He raises the rag he's using in a threatening fashion, as if he might actually throw it at the New Yorker. "Damnit, Rosencrantz. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not royalty? Props for the theme song, though -- but didn't we agree on Footloose?"

Itzhak laughs and makes a sweeping bow to Perdita. "The freshest gay hell." He sets his toolbox down with a clunk and points at Ravn, two-fingered New York tough guy style. "Don't you show me that rag unless you mean it, Abildgaard. This guy been helpin' you out?" Bax gets a hair ruffle.

Grant gestures with a casual flip of fingers, "This gayest of all hells is my boss Itzil." As he gets ruffles Itzhak gets swat. Yes it's like that. Looking to Perdita his eyes widen, "It was a monster-free love story! And that's my point. This dope lady who is a very capable and blind Bryce Dallas Howard playing 'Ivy Walker' is takin care of her family and half this old timey town when her dude gets stabbed by this other dude. The whole film is the elders weighing do we go back to the towns that we left because violence and bad shit to live peaceably to get medicine? If we do we open ourselves up to that again, but on the other hand this guy is half murdered and needs help soooo.... the blind gal is all I volunteer as tribute. I don't care what scary thing is out there. Love's more important. It's her journey of being brave and getting shit done and it was... beautiful." Oh god Grant is a romantic. Y'all got him started.

Looking back to Itzhak he snickers, "You missed me doing the Gray Harbor Fiddler the other night."

"Careful, Murè, Ravn's threatening you with his meat rag." Perdita warns, barely keeping a straight face as she gets the words out. It's clearly taking a great deal of effort not to giggle like a school girl.

She turns her head down, so no one can see the smile struggling to escape, then looks back up so she can speak with Bax. "It sounds like a good movie when you describe it like that, it's just the whole... twist aspect that failed it, I guess."

"I'm already on my knees in front of Rosencrantz, what more sacrifices can I make in order to get him and his toolbox to help me clean this place up?" Ravn winks. Somebody call the press; the man is capable of a dirty joke. "Get your arse in gear looking at the heaters, Itzhak? They make this weird noise when I turn them on. Or, you know, do the Footloose dance. Either way, this eighties montage is going to turn into at least one room that de Santos can use on Wednesday."

"I heard!" Itzhak says to Bax, making it 'hoid' in his accent. "I slept through the whole damn thing. I was gonna sing Luck Be A Lady." He snickers appreciatively as both Ravn and Perdita make innuendos at him. "Yeah yeah, heaters, but first...lemme show you why ya little rag ain't got what it takes. Bax, synch up with me, tateleh. Let's lift that stain." Beckoning Grant in with a flick of a glance, he lays down a beat, snapping his fingers. Then he sings, rough and rich. "They call you Lady Luck - But there is room for doubt - At times you have a very unladylike way of running out..."

Grant warms a smile to Perdita a little embarrassed about being all sappy over the movie noting, "Still really good. The twist is just people confronting their own demons and old injuries. It's a pretty good one for awareness not shock. I do say if it's on? Give it a chance." And then there's Rozenkrantz saysing come here and do work there's a siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh but he does. "Yeah ywah." He looks at the stain on the ground and frowns. Itzhak is a poet with this shit. Grant is staring at it like it's laying there on purpose. "We supposed to be haggling with the little particles or what?..." next he tries to stare REALLY HARD. Making the face changes the effect. "You haggle, I'll scrub."

It's ridiculous faux-fur coat day today! Though apparently only Perdita and the arriving Aidan got the message. His fluffy teddybear of a coat is lavender and ends just above the knees and almost definitely had someone more like Perdita in mind when it was designed, rather than 6'2" of skinny curly-haired dude. Visible beneath it are a pair of decidedly worn black docs, some well-worn-in pale blue jeans, and a shirt tie-dyed in blues and bleach that looks vaguely reminiscent of sky and sea. "Oh, shit, are we singing today?" he asks as he opens the door and steps in to the sounds of Guys and Dolls, "Awesome." He has a mop and bucket in one hand and a beat-up turquoise tupperware in the other, and the door gets pushed mostly with his shoulder and then allowed to fall closed on its own behind him. "I brought sandwiches? And a mop." One of these facts is probably already known to the assembled.

"Well, I could think of a few, but if I have to explain them to you it takes the fun out of it." Perdita winks at Ravn, leaning on the mop and watching the other two men intently with those dark eyes of hers, as if expecting to learn something she's never seen befo- but then there's a ridiculous coat and she's utterly distracted. "Hello, new best friend. Where did you get it, or who did you pay to make it for you... and does it come in obnoxious pink?"

Ravn laughs. "For some reason people always assume that I wouldn't know a dirty joke if it crawled up and bit me on the arse."

He's still laughing when his phone goes off in his pocket, prompting him to take out the brightest, sparkliest pink Hello Kitty cellphone casing in Gray Harbor. "Abildgaard," he says, and then, "Hvad er klokken hos jer? Tal om at skulle op før Fanden får sko på."

Whatever that's about, he doesn't sound very impressed. A few more sentences are exchanged in the gibberish that must be the man's native language before he hangs up and tucks the phone back in a pocket. "I'm sorry, I need to go make some calls to people in Copenhagen. Apparently one of the guys I'm tutoring decided that the proper solution to struggling with academia was to beat the living daylights out of his neighbour and get arrested. I need to talk to people, find out he's staying with the program, and what the hell I'm going to do about it." He glances about. "Look, you guys have no idea how much I appreciate you all helping out. If we can get just this room to look half-way decent before Wednesday, this place is in business. I'll be back in a jiffy, and I'll get us some pizzas to boot."

Out the door he goes -- just in time to fist bump Aidan's shoulder and murmur something to him about talk to you later, neighbour. It's afternoon here, it's early morning in Denmark, and there's so much work that needs to be done in either town. Trust Ravn to be the guy trying to talk everyone else into making the right choices while generally making most of the wrong ones himself. It's just who he is.

As Itzhak sings (a vast unheard surge of power welling up under the surface of reality), snapping along to the beat, the stain indeed lifts right up out of the concrete. It becomes maroon dust, reeking of iron, and the concrete beneath becomes brightly clean. Not repaired; time is not wound backwards on the wear and tear. Just clean. Very, very clean. The dust settles harmlessly, though it's surely dried blood. "Huh," Itzhak says, dropping out of singing to regard this. "Made a clean spot." He claps Bax on the shoulder. "Solid effort, we'll getcha there." Aidan arrives, Perdita hails him as her new best friend, and Itzhak smirks. Then Ravn's off and Itzhak yells after him, "We're DUETING, remember!"

Bax is not musical in a fashion. There is a shine around him and soon, hopefully, on the floor. There's a frown and he swears a bit cursing the tiny particles until both eyebrows jump up. Itzhak gives him a pat of encouragement and Bax points to his clean...ish...spot. "It did something! Never done a whole floor before. Just Vyv's shirt when a monster yaked goo on it." There's a pause and a look of distant residual concern there. "Man he was so upset." Poor thing. Looking abck to Aidan he grins, "Sup cuz!"

Timing! Aidan looks slightly startled by unexpectedly trading shifts with Ravn, but gives the guy a grin as he goes, and it brightens further for Perdita's greeting. "Hey! The coat?" Nothing else he has on him today seems likely to elicit that kind of inquiry, unless she's really into mops. And it's frankly not a very exciting mop. "It was in a garage sale in Eugene a couple years back, but there's gotta be another one somewhere. I can keep an eye out? And you could prolly dye it obnoxious pink if it doesn't! Also, hi, I'm Aidan, nicetameetcha."

Itzhak and Grant's stain-lifting causes a faint brow-lifting, too. "Niiice. Also, hey," which ends up mostly to Itzhak because Grant's greeting makes the grin and tone both go bright with a return, "'Sup, cuz! I figured maybe I could come make things cleaner in here. Also, sammiches." A glance around shows the table o' coffee and such is not in evidence, and he wanders toward the door to the back to check whether it's wandered off there. "That worked way better for you guys than when we tried it on Ravn's boat."

"Are you... vibrating the dirt away? I... may never need to pay for dry cleaning again." Perdita seems utterly confident she can do it, just... that she never has yet.

"Yes, the coat, it's amazing." Perdita's back on fashion, smiling at Aidan. "Perdita, and likewise. Ravn moved the coffee and donuts to safety to avoid chemical spills, just in case we started slosh-" and now it's Perdita's turn to get a call. After a few seconds, her... own phone is in hand, and she steps away, briefly, with an apologetic look.

"Szia? Igen, Dhvani." she rolls her eyes, "Nem, nem, nem vásárolok neked jachtot, viccelsz velem? Nos, egy dologért feltételezhető, hogy őrült kommunista vagy! Nem, nem megragadja a termelési eszközöket, ha csak adok neked - NEM. Ez NEM gyakorlat! Figyelj rám te kis nem bináris twink... Jobb, ha vicce- Because you're my freaking COUSIN, you douchenozzle." Perdita is apparently hung up on, and she lets out a low growl, pinching the bridge of her nose. "... I... will be back in a little bit. Family drama." she smiles as sweetly as she can manage, casually holding a hand out. Her coat flies to her hands, and she leaves her mop leaning up against a stain on the floor. "It was really nice meeting you, Bax, Aidan. Hope to see you again soon." and then she's rushing out the door, muttering, "Kihúzza ezeket a fürtöket a fejükből és eladja azokat parókagyá-"

"Not exactly, just findin' the right particles," Itzhak says to Perdita, when then she needs to take a call. He falls quiet, but it's less out of courtesy and more out of fascination with whatever that is she's speaking. That, he pays attention to, head tilted a little to aim one ear towards her. "Sure, see ya," when she runs off. He shrugs extravagantly at Grant and Aidan. "Well boys, just us I guess."

Grant looks around and says to Itzhak, "And noooooo supervision." He looks around shaking his head, "This poor poor place." Looking up to Itzhak he grins a bit lopsided, "We got my sister moved back in town." There's a pause and he wrinkles his nose, "Please don't date my sister. I know dating my bro's boss I don't get to ask that... but I'm doin it. I'm little brothering this one in."

Aidan locates the coffee and donuts and leaves both the sandwiches and his coat there, because 'avoiding chemical spills' sounds like a really good idea when you put it like that. He and the mop and bucket pause just outside the door back in the main room afterward, head slightly tilted rather like Itzhak's, though it's a little less subtle on the listening. He looks faintly startled again, and also a bit fascinated. He lifts his free hand to wave her goodbye, head still cocked as the door falls shut. "Huh. I think I understood some of that. But I dunno what she was speaking. Weird."

Extravagant shrugs have his attention again though, and he grins at the pair. "Just us. Do the rules say we gotta cause trouble now? We could paint the walls, if we got paint." Probably not plain white. Probably also joking, without one of the Main Guys here to okay it? Hm. "Or you guys could maybe teach me how to make things cleaner like that?" This idea doesn't stop him from setting the bucket down near another one that actually has water, and contemplating that second one. Is this a good time for mopping? Should he try something else? "What's your sister's name?" More family! Sorta!

Itzhak wrinkles his nose right back at Grant, grinning slyly. "I dunno. Is your sister hot? Dunno if I can promise you this!" Sure, asshole Jedi master is in full flow. He moves in a long graceful swoop to snatch a broom off the wall and start sweeping up the all-new mess he's made. "Paint, not yet, gotta come after I fix the wiring and the heat and the plumbing and the, you get the idea, the everything. Teaching you, ehhh, maybe, you got the moving? That's how I did it. Someone with the shaping, like Roen, he could just make it be clean, but I gotta lift out what makes it dirty. That make sense?"

Grant waves to Perdita as she breezes out on a tear. "I speak that language. I think it's a subdialect of 'don't start none, won't be none." Very astute, Bax. And boy does Itzhak know Bax's buttons. He frowns irately, "I dunno man she's my ferstuken sister! And ya know, she is fuckin brilliant man. Hot has nothing to do with it." He went from not marketing her to putting her at the top of the radar. He's really bad at this, let's be honest. Looking to Aidan he says "We call her Kitty. It's 'Kathrine' professionally but," he scoffs, "the fuck ever. She's staying with dad til she can find herself a place. Seattle didn't pan out." Looking to Itzhak he says "Scones." He points to the Vyv box. Is this a bribe now?? He does dig up his phone and show the most recent selfie with said sister while moving.

Aidan wanders over to get a look at the picture, though she's probably safe from him through the magic of Cousin. Sorta kinda. Legally speaking? It's close enough and he'll take it.

"...huh," he says to Itzhak's mention of just making it be clean, and gives the place a thoughtful look. "Mostly I work like August, but I'm pretty okay at the other stuff, more or less? I'm kinda better at mind than space, I think. I mean. I could fix some stuff, prolly. Like, some of the everything." This seems to have just occurred to him; using those abilities is fairly second-nature, especially Spirit, but some aims are a lot more natural to him than others. Need something set on fire or someone healed and it's automatic. Need the floor cleaned or the plumbing repaired? Bit less. "Lemme see if..."

Glancing down at the floor around his feet, he concentrates, and turns, pushing the mop against the ground and away in what ends up being something of a spiral. In approximately the same pattern, for some distance around him, the floor repairs itself, drawing itself back to how it most likely looked when it was first put in. Which... kind of makes it stand out from most of the rest of the floor, possibly not entirely ideal. But that section looks damn good! ...it's probably not quite the kind of work Ravn has in mind for his montage, granted. It makes the magician grin again though, watching it spread out. "...nice."

"Oooh, she's smart ya say?" Asshole. But is Itzhak going to turn down a Vyv-based bribe? He shimmies on over to the box of goodies, gets out one and sticks it in his mouth while continuing to sweep. When Aidan begins to mop up the agedness of the floor itself, Itzhak halts midsweep, staring at him, but not at him. Through him. Listening. A shiver goes up his long spine and he bites out of the scone to say, "Niiiiiiiiiice," and shoot Aidan an appreciative look. He swallows. "I kinda like it like that, with a big swirl!"

Grant leans back challenging back, "She's a contract layer. Smarter than the three of us put together. Her birthday's coming up and her old friends are in Seattle and it's a ways, but I thought maybe we could do a birthday with her at the Tibs because Vyv only goes to the pourhouse with me when I'm trying to kick smack in the face of existential fucking crisis in lieu of tater tots." Very matter of fact, but also a very specific set of conditions not likely to be met anytime soon or at least on the vein of one's birthda-"

He stops and just LOOKS at Aidan eyes widening,. There's no words, just a lot of signing. The message is clear WHAT WAS THAT!?!? It's rhetorical really. He jsut watches a bit stunned. Pointing to Aidan he says to Itzhak, jaw tightening, "It's this kinda awesome those rich crabby people are pissed they can't control ain't it?" He slaps Aidan on the back with a thunk. "Baxter powered right there."