2021-03-17 - The Paperwork is In Order Except That Boat Flyer

It's not much to look at. One might argue that it's very little to look at at all, since the HOPE community centre to be is presently announced only by the coming soon poster in the window, and the store front room contains only a folding table and a couple of ditto chairs. Various cleaning supplies sit in a corner, and it is clear, at least, that a number of people have been hard at work scrubbing the place down. A derelict butcher's shop takes effort to clean up.

Outside, the fog is thicker than pea soup; the kind of fog that you'd expect in an old black and white Sherlock Holmes movie. The occasional car braving Spruce Street moves slowly, its lights trying -- and failing -- to penetrate far. Most people walk in this weather, because walking is a lot safer when you can literally only see a metre or two ahead at best. Today is a good day to be anywhere than outdoors; there are a lot of shadows and shapes in the fog, and in Gray Harbor, shadows and shapes are not always just shadows and shapes.

A good day, then, for Ravn Abildgaard to sit in the front room, emptying out a file cabinet into a big black plastic bag. Clearly visible from the street outside (insofar anything is visible in this fog) the Dane does look at the papers before tossing them -- maybe he's lived here long enough by now to never ever trust that anything is exactly what it looks like; maybe he's just bored enough to see if there's anything interesting hidden in the paperwork of the shop that used to be here. Who knows? Maybe the butcher had a sweet secret correspondence going with a beautiful girl in Olympia.

Maybe that's why the butcher disappeared. Maybe he went to Olympia and lived ever after. It's probably not the case but it makes for a good story.

He lived a happily ever after life with his Olympia-based sweetheart, for sure. Definitely wasn't eaten by a denizen (or denizens!) of the Veil. No way.

Thanks to the fog, Ravn probably doesn't see Diana walking up to the building until she's pressed up against the front door, trying to peer in. She hasn't noticed Ravn yet; honestly, her own viewpoint is cut off by the fog as well. She sighs and steps away-- though a moment or two later, she ends up knocking on that front door, just loud enough to be heard by anyone paying attention.

"Anybody in there?" she adds.

"Just us crickets," Ravn returns, looking up from his very exciting task. When he recognises the person arriving he lifts a gloved hand in a lazy wave and a smile. The Dane sits back on his haunches and and makes a sweeping gesture at the room. "Welcome to paperwork hell where apparently, the previous owner kept every piece of paper ever printed with his name on -- except the insurance papers and any hint of where he went one bright morning. Have you come to give me an excuse to not dig through this for a few minutes? If you have, I appreciate it very much because I think watching paint dry might have more exciting moments."

He gets to his feet with that pained expression of somebody who's been sitting on his knees a little too long. "So what blows you to our door step today? Idle curiosity is a perfectly legit answer."

Smiling, Diana returns that wave, though far more energetically than his own. "He should've made a cutesy scrapbook about it. Then at least it'd look organized." She steps in, so long as the door is unlocked, and goes on, "Besides, I heard juicy rumors about a lobster fighting ring, and thought I'd best investigate. You know. For the sake of propriety." Her smile turns into a grin. "More seriously, I liked the sound of what you and Ignacio are starting here, particularly when I saw you were involved. Suffice to say, your digging times are over. ...at least for as long as it takes to finish my cappuccino." She's carrying a to-go cup, after all. "Although, we could both look through them and bore ourselves to tears together. That's always an option."

"If you want to thumb through that stack over there, be my guest," Ravn exclaims with a grin. "Basically -- if there's anything hand written or anything that looks like it might explain the butcher's disappearance, we keep it to look at later. Anything that just pertains to running this shop -- well, he won't be coming back to do so, so all of that goes. We don't need to be able to document every delivery of pork the guy ever made back to 1973."

He settles Indian style on the floor instead, perhaps to rest his knees. "Honestly? I have no idea whether this will work. Not going to pretend that I do. But I figure that the worst case scenario is that the bad parts of the Veil takes one look and laughs and then carries on like usual. Then at least we might have improved life for a few people a bit, and that can't be a bad thing. So welcome to the eighties movie montage of trying to take over the pain eaters' narrative."

Beat. "And of course I wouldn't know anything about lobster fighting because surely that's illegal gambling and there are absolutely not people gathering on regular weeknights on the marina from May 1 and onwards."

Diana walks over to take a seat nearish him, settling in a similar style as well. She reaches for a stack of papers, glancing at different pages of it idly in between saying, "I don't know a lot about the pain eaters, honestly. I should learn more. But I absolutely love the open spirit in which you're undertaking this. Knowing it may not affect the Veil and what's beyond, but happy if at least you change the lives of some of the people in this city." She nods her approval. "It's admirable, honestly, and a good way to go about things. Consider me signed up to volunteer ad infinitum, okay?" She snorts at his answer about lobster fighting, and admits, "I assumed it was Dream nonsense when I saw it in the paper, but I'll have you know I'm plain scandalized now. Scandalized. Scandalously."

"The lobsters? It is dream nonsense." Ravn grins slightly. "It's part of that whole craziness that the Revisionist came up with. She decided that I run an illegal lobster fighting league -- I resented it at first, but then I realised that it actually keeps me in touch with a very large amount of regular bluecollar people around this town, and that's not a bad thing? I get to keep a finger on the pulse of a lot of the weird stuff that happens because of those lumberjack shirt wearing gruff men who just want to drink a few beer and bet on a lobster, and maybe talk about that weird thing they saw before the Veil makes them forget all about it."

He plonks another handful of old invoices into the plastic bag. "It's all the Revisionist's doing, to be honest. She set Ignacio up to be this -- Mr Rogers. This beacon of light and hope and understanding. We were in a dream where he played it right back at the Veil -- he bloody well care beared it into submission. That's when we realised -- the Revisionist is powerful enough to rewrite reality itself. So we can harness that power, or at least try. She wants him to be the embodiment of all things good and nice and true blue American? Let's make it so. Let's give him a project to spearhead and see if we can literally change the narrative here."

"I actually don't know much about the Revisionist. And I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or peeved that nothing about myself was rewritten— at least so far as I can tell. Relieve-peeved, I think. Yes." Diana smiles. "At any rate, it's interesting that she pegged you as a lobster-better. Doesn't seem your type." Her smile widens into a grin. "That's neat, though. I like how you and Ignacio are handling this. Sounds like a clever 'your move, Veil' kind of thing. I wish you all the luck in the world, and I'd definitely like to take part at the very least to see what happens, but more importantly, to help see it to whatever sort of conclusion it has. It's win-win, like you said."

"I'm not sure what my type is, but no -- I didn't have 'become head of illegal gambling ring' on my bucket list before this." Ravn can't help a lopsided smile with a trace of wryness. "You live and learn. The story there more or less writes itself -- all I do is turn up and somehow, lobster fighting happens. That was actually kind of what inspired this? The way the Revisionist can literally bully reality into submission, that."

He smiles a little as he thumbs through stacks of paper. "We'll be very glad to have you on board -- and I am not going to lie, we're going to need you. This place? It's a declaration of intent to fight back. Certain creatures in the Veil are going to hit us with everything they can. You're into the paranormal, right? You'll get material for the first twenty books, I suspect. It's probably going to be a very bumpy ride. Are you up for that? I'm not going to lie and pretend that it won't be dangerous -- the damned things already killed de Santos." Beat. "He got better, obviously."

"Honestly, I think 'illegal lobster gambling ring' is something more people should have on their bucket list. That's pretty hardcore." Diana smirks. Her expression turns more serious at the rest of what he says. "First of all, I'm sorry for your loss, and congratulations on... his getting better?" A moment passes, and then she says with pauses for thought, "I'm definitely 'into the paranormal.' I'm also aware how lucky I am. I have Dreams, and I've always turned out okay, and so have those I care about. I know that's not a given, not ever, but I choose to face things head-on, because if you live in hiding all your life... are you really even living? I'm up for that bumpy ride. If I end up injured and/or traumatized, well. That's what therapists are for, yes? And good friends." She smiles faintly. "I'm not afraid of death. Not my own, anyway. Bring it on and I'll meet it head-on."

Ravn reaches for another stack of papers -- largely delivery receipts and the occasional customer complaint or request, but nothing that might explain as of itself why the property's previous owner would simply walk out one morning never to return, and leaving no forwarding address. "Nothing here tells us a whole lot about why this place closed down so abruptly. There's no health code violations I've found -- the smell, whatever the hell that is, came after, apparently. There's no evidence of outstanding debts, and the customer complaints are pretty trivial. Delivery was late, I didn't like the glazed ham, that sort of thing. Definitely nothing you'd uproot yourself and pull a disappearing act over."

A wry smile dances across his face as he looks back up. "Obviously that makes me suspect something else happened. I mean, this is Gray Harbor. But I guess we'll find out in time -- stories want to be told."

"That they do," Diana agrees quietly, nodding her head. "But I'm sure the owner just, uh, ran off to follow their dreams... of... being an ice sculptor." She shrugs. "It'll come up, though, I'm sure-- whatever happened. Stories don't just want to be told-- I feel like they need to be told. The truth will out, as they say." She tilts her head. "If you had to guess, how far into going through all these papers are you? And can I help in any way?"

Don't ask a man twice. Before Diana quite gets a chance to dodge a stack is shoved at her. "See, basically, this guy kept everything. And so did his father before him. And by everything I mean literally every piece of correspondence they ever had, whether it's utilities, customer complaints, orders placed with other companies -- you name it, he kept it. And then, one morning, he just left. After a few days his wife had his employees clean out the meat from the shop and then -- well, the building's been boarded up since. When we placed an offer to rent it, the wife was excited. The rent she asks? Well, it's not ridiculously low, but, close. Apparently no one else has wanted to rent the property for a decade -- and no one can tell me why."

Ravn looks up at her with steel grey eyes. "I am promptly suspicious, of course, because, well, Gray Harbor. The timing is too perfect, the circumstances too mysterious. This town has taught me in seven months to be highly skeptic of any narrative that seems to begin with 'wasn't it convenient' or 'here's a free lunch'. I smell some kind of Veil interference -- particularly with the 'no one can tell me why the place did not get rented out' bit."

He gestures at the stacks. "So basically? Looking for anything irregular. I doubt I'll find anything. But at least we can rule out tax evasion or selling horse meat labelled as beef, that sort of thing. So far, everything checks out."

Oh, Diana doesn't even try and dodge. She accepts the papers with a smile, listening to what he has to say. She frowns a little at something said, and speaks up to say, "Odd that after only a few days, the wife had everyone just pack up. That seems... really unusual to me. I mean, this was their livelihood, presumably, and she decides after a few days of the husband being missing, 'fuck it, let's just shut down the whole shop'? I find that... um. Really suspicious." She shrugs, though the frown is still there. "And no one wanting to rent the place out for a decade, despite low rent? Creepier yet. I agree with you wholeheartedly that there's reason to be wary." She looks down at her stack of papers, lifting up the top one. "I can see why you looked so bored-- this one's a receipt for hot dogs. That's it."

"Oh, there's something fishy going on, we just don't know what it was, or is. All of this?" Ravn gestures at the paper trail. "There may not be a clue here. But if there is, and we don't find it because I'm too lazy to read all that old crap -- I don't feel comfortable taking that risk. If this plan works? You know the dolorphages at least will be using any excuse they can make up to hit us right back. I don't want to make it easy for them -- not going to pull an Al Capone and let them get us on wrong zoning or tax fraud, you know?"

He sits back on his haunches a little. "So, tell me -- how do you investigate the paranormal exactly? Place like this, what would you actually do? Provided these papers don't tell us anything and the accountant looking at the numbers doesn't find anything irregular either, what would be your first action? Mine will be getting a couple of folks together to help me take up some floorboards here and there, find out where that bloody smell is coming from and what's causing it -- but I think that's more likely to be a couple of dead rats than something actually supernatural."

"Yeah, I agree with you entirely that it's not worth the risk. Also... dolorphages? I'm afraid I don't know that term, paranormal investigator or no. But certainly don't make it easy for anyone." Diana listens to his talk about what his next move might be, and she nods her head. "Prior to having active abilities, myself, it was mostly things like, checking for reports of hauntings and unusual activities, going to places myself and seeing what's going on there, mapping out places with thinner Veils than others, where supernatural things happen more often-- and research. Lots of research. Now I have a few other tricks up my sleeve-- in addition to research and the rest, I can also examine objects to try and determine what resonances they give off, and sometimes I get pseudo-visions with that. It's really been helping me with some of the things I'm following up on. I agree that pulling up the floorboards sounds like a good idea-- even if it is only a couple of dead rats, it's worth it for the peace of mind-- and the peace of nose." She grins.

"Dolorphages is Alexander Clayton's word for them," Ravn explains. "The entities that inflict pain and suffering -- he calls them pain eaters. I've heard some call them Dark Men but not everybody likes the undertones of that so dolorphages is less offensive, and more precise, too. They want us to feel miserable and they want us to spend power -- those are the ones we're trying to take a stand against. The rest? Your guess is as good as mine but I think parts of the Veil is trying to communicate, and parts is just as confused about us as we are about them. The pain eaters, however, those see us as crops to be farmed and prey to be hunted."

Most of these receipts and notes are just that -- old scraps of paper, with no psychic residue worth of mention. If there was ever any great emotion experienced while they were being handled, the imprint has long since worn off; a few still feel -- bored, perhaps. Drudgery. Humdrum. Ordinary. One piece of paper, however, does not. It almost burns Diana's hands as it comes into contact, that's how fresh the emanations of sea air and salt and danger is.

It must be misplaced. At least it's not ten years old -- more likely, from last week. A small flyer depicting a small fishing boat the kind that you can rent to go out to sea with a fishing rod, some friends, and a couple of crates of beer. It promises a trip along the scenic coastline and the ability to locate shoals of fish with sonar, and if you're lucky, a glimpse of migrating whales. The ship is named Tenna II and she berths on Gray Harbor marina, call this number for information and rates.

That's not unusual. What is unusual is the glimpse of an aquatic creature that flashes through Diana's mind upon coming into touch with the flyer. A blue-skinned, iridescent face, with tendrils of long, green, seaweed-like hair and a mouth full of pointed, razor sharp teeth, eyes flat and lifeless like a shark's. Clawed hands that reach upwards from the waves, towards you, beckoning, grasping --

And then it's just a piece of paper, and Ravn is still droning on about naming conventions for Veil monsters.

"Ah, Them!" Diana says, rapidly nodding her head. "I've heard of Dark Men, but hadn't heard this term. I approve of it, definitely. A marked improvement." She pauses, listening to the talk of crops and farming, and then slowly nods her head. "Believe it or not, I haven't done as much research on the dolorphages as I likely should have. I've more focused on studying Glimmer and the Veil itself-- thin points around the country, that sort of thing-- than I have on the dolorphages themselves. I should really correct that."

She's listening to Ravn talk while she sifts through the papers, finding the distinct lack of residue on one after another. She frowns gently and keeps sifting, slipping those she's already tried to 'feel out' into a side pile. And then-- that flyer. She fixates on it, keeping it near her and grasped in her hands despite the strong emanations, and when those clawed hands reach for her, she gasps aloud, blinking rapidly. It's no doubt then that poor Ravn realizes she's not been listening whatsoever.

She swallows thickly, still looking down at the flyer, and offers it out in Ravn's direction without a word.

"I wouldn't mind hearing your take on Glimmer and the Veil itself," Ravn says because he in turn has been focused on the narrative aspects and the dolorphages' farming. He might have been about to start asking questions -- what academic mind wouldn't? -- when he notices the change of expression on Diana's face and looks at the paper she is handing him.

He cants his head, takes it, and looks at it. "That one must have gone in the wrong stack. It's current. There's a guy here who collects that sort of thing -- he's trying to prove that the harbour and marina are full of carnivorous mermaids. Anywhere else I'd say he's a paranoid schizophrenic but, eh, this is Gray Harbor, you know?"

Diana nods distractedly as far as Glimmer and the Veil go, and gives a second nod when he talks about the flyer. "I didn't get anything at all from all these I set aside-- no psychic residue, other than, I dunno, boredom. But that one-- it's got strong resonance. It really took me by surprise. I could smell the sea air, and there was an incredibly vivid sense of danger. I saw a blue-skinned... well, mermaid, I guess, maybe? Or siren? She had long green hair, like seaweed, and her mouth-- just pointed razor-sharp teeth, and she looked so emotionless, even while-- she was reaching for me, from within the ocean. Beckoning me-- hence why I'm not certain about mermaid versus siren... though I didn't see her lower half at all-- just her teeth and her clawed hands, and those dead eyes." Despite herself, she shivers, swallowing before shaking her head, trying to bring herself back fully to reality. "There's something wrong there-- with the ocean, or maybe specifically that ship."