2021-03-16 - What Is Up With This Weather

You go out for a walk on a summer's day to enjoy the sunshine only to find yourself trying to navigate a peasouper that would make the set director of a classic Sherlock Holmes movie proud. Ravn Abildgaard grumbles to himself as he slips into Gray Harbor's library -- not because he dislikes the library but because he dislikes having a perfectly good walk interrupted. Fog and asthma are not friends. And by not friends he means that he can't bloody well breathe properly when the weather has to be like this, and he's probably going to have to pick up a refill for his inhaler if it keeps up.

These fogs for which Gray Harbor are named are the one thing he absolutely hates about living here.

The Dane heads for the seating area to perhaps pick up a magazine, sulk a little, and, well, wait for the worst to clear. It's a town by the coast; weather changes fast. And if it decides not to -- well, he'll probably get an Uber when he gets tired of sulking.

Itzhak was driving somewhere when suddenly FOG. He can't see past his damn bumper. So slowly he creeps Marigold into the library parking lot. When he comes in, he's scowling. "Frikkin'--" library, Itzil! as the matronly assistant librarian shoots him a look. He sighs. "Frikkin' fog," he rasps in a whisper.

Xavier was out for a jog when the fog rolled in, which is unfortunate because he was getting into that sweet spot where he could stop thinking and focus on how his feet are hitting the ground. Thankfully he was near the library when it rolled in so he is able to slip inside to escape it. His clothing is layered, with a pair of what look like leggings underneath a loose pair of shorts and a short sleeved athletic shirt. "Honestly, if I knew it was going to be that bad outside I would have stayed home."

"I am contemplating using my coat to build a blanket fort right here and not leaving until it clears up," Ravn grouses from the chair he's claimed and the copy of National Geographic he's picked up but isn't actually focusing very hard on. "I wonder if this place has a lost and found department where we might find the abandoned coats and shirts of a generation, and build ourselves an apartment complex."

He raises a hand in a lazy wave to both men; nothing to do but commiserate and do what people everywhere do about bad weather -- whine about it. "How's life treating you two? I was going to be painting today but in this weather, getting paint to stick to a wall will be like trying to build a brick wall with jell-o for mortar."

Itzhak eyes Xavier like he doesn't recognize him, because he doesn't. "I know you?" Polite, isn't he. "I'd swear I know you." He comes over to Ravn on that funny rolling half-swagger that serves him as a gait. He doesn't sit down, though, instead choosing to stand there and loom like a cranky light pole. "How's by ya, pal. You like the work we did on ya floor?"

Xavier nods his head to Ravn and walks over. "I'd ask Turner but I don't think he's here, I could text him." He says thoughtfully as hiding from the fog in a makeshift coat tent sounds fun. When Itzhak looks him over he quirks a brow. "Did we meet in a weird dream? I've been having those lately and I'm having trouble keeping track of who is who." He casually walks over and folds his hands behind his back, and looks back out to the fog. "I was just enjoying a day off with a run, this is normal right?"

The library door opens, admitting another patron: a young woman dressed in smart goth attire, her black and blue-dyed hair in a series of neat braids rolled into a bun at the base of her neck. She's maybe nineteen at most, her skin olive toned, her eyes black brown and her face heart-shaped. She walks with an air of someone enjoying the hell out of themselves, deposits three books into the book return: Practical Magick for Impractical Witches, How to Tame Your Shadow Self, and historical references for the region. "Is my ILL in yet?" she asks the librarian, who shuffles to go check, returns with a small, cloth-bound book in dark blue with elaborate knotwork on the cover. The girl is overjoyed, accepts it with barely-concealed excitement.

Itzhak knows this young woman; twice she's read poetry on open mic night, and both times, she unsettled people. To more recent transplants like Ravn and Xavier, she's 'one of the town goths', which is a fairly small and easily identified group as there aren't many. (Gina Castro is often assumed to be their Cabal leader, which no doubt makes her want to set people on fire.)

The girl's name is Siobhan Qwarnstrom. She's a local, only just into Community College, and at the age where the transition from teen to young adult comes in big leaps. She's a little taller than Itzhak will remember, a little closer to being a young woman than last Itzhak saw her. And there's another big difference: she has the Song. A lot of it.

"'Course I do. If I were renovating that building all by myself Gray Harbor would get a community centre in about -- the year 2100." Ravn laughs softly -- very softly because the last thing he wants to do in this weather is take deep breaths and set off a coughing fit. He looks from one man to another and then quirks an eyebrow. "There's somebody in town you don't know, Rosencrantz? Allow me -- Xavier, Rosencrantz. Itzhak proudly holds the position of grumpiest mechanic in Gray Harbor, in case you ever need work done on something with wheels. Or, apparently, the floor of an old, derelect shop cleaned."

He offers a small, lopsided grin. "The smell of old meat is actually mostly gone. I don't know what you boys did or how you did it, but somehow, you managed to get the place to not smell like there's a body buried under the floorboards."

Then the Dane glances back at Xavier, attention captured by something that the man said. "You never really get used to the kind of dreams Gray Harbor likes to toss around. I had ... a bad one this week as well." He does not pay the girl any particular attention as of yet; people come and go in libraries, and coming in for a book is -- a very normal thing to do in a library at that.

Itzhak goes 'huh', a thoughtful grunt, considering Xavier. "Yeah. I kinda think we did." Ravn introduces them and he offers a broad calloused hand to Xavier. "Don't listen to this guy flatterin' me," he tells him about Ravn, kind of amused. "Good to meetcha."

He's about to say something to Ravn about the status of the ex-butcher shop floor when the girl walks in, and Itzhak's seized by a shudder. Glancing over his shoulder, he looks at her--looks at her, his expression unmistakable. "Christ, she's got as much as me," he murmurs. "Maybe more. Seen her at the open mics. She reads creepy poetry."

"A pleasure to meet you. It's not strange I haven't been here long and I am a bit of a hermit." Xavier smiles as he takes the offer hand and shakes it firmly. "Likewise. At least properly, with pants on." That dream was weird. He turns to Ravn and frowns. "I am sorry to hear that. Mine have calmed down a little thankfully, the last one was very unpleasant." He looks around the library with a frown as if he expects books to start flying off the shelf to attack him.

When the new person arrives, he frowns and looks at her. He isn't sure what it is that Itzhak sees but he nods his head. "I mean, I don't want to stereotype but she appears to be the sort that would be into that. Just what it is that she's reading, that book looks ornate."

Prized ILL request in hand, Siobhan turns to head further into the library, maybe intent on the New Age section. Her eyes fall on Xavier, and she stops dead. Next Itzhak, and then Ravn. All three of them know, in that way people with Glimmer do, that it's the shine she's seeing in them, this difference which is evident in her and them.

She pulls the book tight against herself, arms crossed, raises her chin in defiance. So, she definitely heard Xavier. Or maybe she's just making assumptions. "It's a book of witches' brews," she says, tone daring any of them to deny its veracity. "All kinds. Remedies for colds, memory potions, truth serums," her eyes narrow, "aphrodisiacs. The usual."

"Oh, I had pants on in my last dream," Ravn murmurs. "It's just that I had nothing else. Spending the night barefoot and half naked in a sewer watching a village of gremlins burn was -- not my idea of an evening well spent with the boys and girls. It's funny how quick you learn to not sleep commando in this town."

He nods politely to the girl. To a folklorist, at least, what she is describing is not as bizarre reading material as one might think. "Traditional or New Age, then? Hello there."

Itzhak smirks, one corner of that loud mouth of his curling up. If Siobhan was older, he'd make a flirtatious dirty joke, but she's like twelve years old, so he doesn't. He just stands there, hipshot, one thumb hooked in his pocket. "Sure," he murmurs, low but carrying, the way a singer knows how to do, "that and a buck fifty'll buy you a bagel."

"I did too thankfully. I passed out on the couch so I was fully dressed. It's not comfortable everyday but I'm tempted to sleep that way." Jeans are just not comfortable when you're tossing and turning. "No that sounds horrid, and yeah I don't intend to fall asleep with out clothing ever." He nods his head to the new arrival and furrows his brows. "That sounds intriguing." She does look young to Xavier, but he isn't sure how young. Maybe it's a rebellious phase?

Siobhan's defensiveness eases for a half-second when Ravn asks her an actual, serious question. "Traditional. New Age is just crystal hugging bullshit. Here in town we've got the real deal." She gives each of them a long, even look, stops on Xavier. "Unlike those poor people in Salem, the power hides us. Protects us. It wants us to use it."

She's gearing up to go on, except then Itzhak is muttering about bagels and she shoots him a vicious 'I remember how to hate people to death with my eyes' look worthy of any highschooler. "They work just fine for people who know what they're doing. Or who believe in what they're doing." She smiles, cruel. "But maybe you don't know much about that."

"Salem is not my area of expertise but if you want to talk medieval medicine some day, hit me up," Ravn tells the girl with a small smile. "There's a lot of associated folklore." Teacher will try to teach, can't help it.

He glances to Xavier -- possibly noting the other man's wisdom in sleeping while wearing a shirt or at the very least, socks -- and adds, "This town does seem to want us to do -- things, yes. I'm not sure I agree that the Veil protects us, though. Most people seem to feel quite haunted by it. Fog like this -- I've lived here six months and I am already asking myself if it's entirely natural or we should be running for a bunker somewhere before this turns into a Stephen King movie."

Itzhak smiles at Siobhan, a devastating charmer of a smile, the kind of smile some people dream about being aimed at them by a rough-looking stranger. Ravn will recognize this act, much as Itzhak claims he doesn't have an act. "Maybe I don't know so much. Maybe I wanna learn, yeah?"

"I've been told the opposite actually, but then again I am new in town." Xavier says thoughtfully as he nibbles on his lip. He isn't sure what Itzhak is up to, and he's about to ask when his phone buzzes. "Shit." He says to himself. "My aunt is at the store and she really shouldn't be driving in this. I guess it's back outside for me. Be careful." He isn't sure why he's saying that, it just feels like the thing to do in this town. With a hint of hesitation, he slips out into the fog to go help his aunt.

Siobhan blinks at Itzhak, taken aback. She is, after all, not old or experienced enough to know how to handle a guy like Itzhak. Nowhere near it. So she sniffs, gathers up her dignity, tries not to look confused and uncertain. "You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks." Her voice doesn't make it into the condemnation it should be.

Xavier's comment before exiting is a welcome distraction from her failure to put Itzhak in his place. "Of course it's protecting us." She gestures out at the fog. "This fog is showing us things! We just have to--"

"Siobhan," the librarian murmurs, gentle and firm. Siobhan blushes, clears her throat and lowers her voice. "Open your eyes," she says, giving Ravn and Itzhak each a sincere look. "I did. The one in the forest showed me my power, made it real. Yours already is. Just go out and," she sweeps a hand, hushed voice tightening, "look. Listen." She curls her hand into a fist. "Do. Before it's done to you."

She takes a steadying breath, tucks a fly-away back behind her ear. After studying Ravn a moment, she says, "Maybe," in response to his offer to teach.

"I'm not really possessed of power," the folklorist returns with some amusement; it is a fact obvious to anyone who knows how to look, after all, that by Gray Harbor's standards his blip on the power scale is insignificant -- he has enough of it for the Veil to not wipe his mind whenever it feels like it, but that also just about sums it up where he is concerned.

A little less confusing to Siobhan, maybe, he's also somebody who plays by the rules a lot more than the mechanic; at least he doesn't flirt with teens (or anyone else, probably, ever, but that's Ravn for you). "Who are you speaking of when you say the one in the forest, though?"

It's a legit question. There are a lot of things in these woods that aren't meese.

Itzhak, Ravn's opposite in so many ways, is a vast growling sea of power. However Siobhan interprets it, there's a lot of it packed in him, an ocean in which massive unseen things glide. "The forest," he echoes her, quiet, intensity turned on her like a spotlight. "What is it you saw there, mameleh?" It's Ravn's question, too, all pretense of social fencing dropped. Just, well, Itzhak's intense, okay?

"You could be," Siobhan informs Ravn, possessed of utter and perfect certainty. "I wasn't, but then the one in the forest showed me how. It could show you too. All it needs is raw material to work with."

In comparison to Itzhak, Siobhan's power is new, if bright; a young star still getting a grip on basic concepts like 'stellar ignition' and 'fusing hydrogen' and other such complex nonsense. Eventually, though, she'll move on to higher levels of nucelosynthesis, and then she'll be dangerous. For now, though, she's only just cast aside her eggtooth and wandered from the remains of the shell.

She eyes him, then, wary in the manner of any hatchling. Wary, and distrustful. "Why, so you can hunt it down? Kill it and cook it for a meal, absorb its power?" She points an accusing finger at him. "That's what it said the rest of you do!"

"I have all the power I need and want," Ravn says bluntly. "I don't want anyone to get hurt. Not me, not you, and for that matter, not some creature from the Veil that's done no harm. Not everything in there is malicious. But a fog like this? It does make me wonder what strays across and what its intentions are, not going to pretend otherwise. Tell us what the forest creature said?"

Itzhak, genuinely taken aback, says, "Uhhh," eyebrows popping up his forehead. "It said what?" His voice raises; he gets a dirty look from the librarian on duty, he hushes again. "I never heard of that," 'hoid,' "that ain't how anybody I know got it. I never did anything like that in my life."

The disgust writ all over Siobhan's face couldn't make her disbelief in Itzhak's statement more clear, but on the off chance he or Ravn are confused, she makes sure to add, "Sure you didn't."

But the repeated question about what it said has her rolling her eyes and sighing heavily. "It can't talk, that's not the kind of magic it is. It showed me." She points out at the fog. "If you go out there, it'll show you too, if you want to see it."

The librarian says, casual as if she were commenting on said fog, "If you three don't settle down I'll have to ask you to leave."

Siobhan sniffs, murmurs an apology and resumes her route towards the 'crystal hugging bullshit' New Age books. "Don't avoid it," she says, presumably meaning the fog. Or maybe 'the one in the forest'...or both.

Ravn glances to Itzhak and says -- quietly, as to not upset that poor librarian further -- "There's a storm coming. Or maybe it's already here. Remind me to tell you about the gremlin village burning -- but not here, I need that to be somewhere I can curl up in a ball and scream if I need to. And now we have -- fog and things in it that turns teenage girls into actual witches? I hope she does come to me to talk traditional folk medicine, maybe I can clue her in as to how bloody dangerous it is. Remind her that there is no such thing as a free lunch."

"Whatever it is sure got her convinced, don't it," Itzhak murmurs, finally sitting down. Bent forward, tense, he rests his elbows on his knees and loosely laces his fingers together. "Gonna go see it for myself. Hear what it's got to say." He pulls a face, glancing at Ravn with sympathy in the tilt of those eyebrows. "Ain't had one that bad in a while. Hope she comes to talk to you, too. Traditional folk medicine, it sounds so cozy and harmless, until you remember Bubbe Yaga's all about the traditional folk medicine."

Siobhan pauses between the stacks, maybe intending a parting shot. Nothing's forthcoming, though; she just watches Itzhak and Ravn, glances towards where Xavier left through the door. She gone a second later, presumably trying to find the diamond of useful knowledge amidst the rough of the Celestine Prophecy and its ilk.

Ravn arches an eyebrow at Itzhak. "Do you want company? I am... just as worried. I want to hear what it has to say, too. Though I am not convinced that Baba Yaga means harm -- she signifies change. Her turning up and staying here means we're likely to see a hell of a lot of change. And as always -- the trick will be riding the storm and coming through to the other side, changed but not destroyed. Who knows -- maybe you'll win the czar's daughter and half of Russia as her dowry."

Talk like an old hand at this game, Ravn. Or maybe just like somebody who knows how these stories work, someone who is starting to understand how much the Veil relies on them.