2021-03-18 - Barbecue for a Dream

Outside on Spruce Street, the fog is thick and wet like left over pea soup the morning after, and about as appetising. The weather report is not boding well; outside, cars drive slowly because visibility is a joke, and there are shapes and shadows in the mist that -- probably are just chimneys and bay windows. Probably -- because sometimes, something seems to move out of the corner of an eye, or was that just your imagination? A great deal of people, at least those with Gray Harbor's special touch, seem anything but excited.

One of these is Ravn Abildgaard who is doing what he seems to be doing a lot lately: Working on renovating the derelict butcher's shop across from the Poorhouse that is supposed to become a community centre. He's not been doing so alone -- a number of locals have come and gone, tossed in a couple of hours here and there, and in one case, carried out an almost ritualistic cleansing of blood off the front room (which helped a lot with the smell, honestly). It's not lack of interest that causes the HOPE centre-to-be to be quiet at this hour; it's probably just that no one wants to venture out in the fog if they don't have to.

There's a lot of old wallpaper to be torn down, though, and a Dane with a knife. Amazingly, he hasn't managed to cut off any fingers yet.

The great thing about a project like the HOPE center was that not only was it a good cause, run by people Leon liked, helping people that needed it, it was also very convenient for him to donate his time to. So today, Leon had shown up to do what he did best: Locksmith. He shows up in his typical simple black tee, the name of his profession spread across his broad shoulders in Impact lettering. It was tucked in to his belted carpenter style jeans, his traditional Red Wing work boots scuffing the floor as he strolls in. He had a hip pouch slung across his him and strapped to his thigh, hand tools jutting from it in a convenient place, and a drill slung in a holster on the opposite side.

As he comes in, he makes the typical head-craning look at the front lock and the way the door swings, but waits to comment, proceeding further in and taking a moment for his eyes to sweep around, then up, inspecting the building. He spots Ravn.

“Mornin’!” He calls.

The building is honestly a mess. It's been several years since the old owner walked out one morning and never came back. After a week or two somebody thought to, well, empty out the perishables, or at least most of them. After that -- it just sat there, occasionally used by somebody homeless as a temporary shelter, occasionally home to stray cats. It's going to take work to get this place back on its feet but it was cheap, it is central, and it is situated in a part of town where the people it is trying to reach out to might actually come through. Not much point to placing an outreach centre in Main Street unless it's fatcat tourists from Seattle you're trying to get in touch with.

Ravn holds out a piece of bright yellow and pink wall paper, patterned in curious arabesques. "I think I have dug my way back to 1982. Any wagers on the next layer?" He lets the wall paper drop and grins at the other man. "Good to see you. There's coffee in the thermos -- I don't bring a lot though because there's this place across the street that's really very convenient and the toilet there isn't broken, either."

“70’s era wood paneling.” Was Leon’s guess, the big man’s grin easygoing, casual friendliness. He strolls to Ravn and offers a hand, “Saw the call for some volunteer work, so I figure,” he shrugs, “I like charity, let’s see what they need over there.” He puts his other hand in his pocket, shifting his weight to one leg.

“So, for first thing, I’ma offer what I do best. Let’s get this place secure as you want it.” He glances back to the first doorway and starts craning his neck for other entrances, but looks back to ask the obvious question, “What keys do you have, and lets see if I can get the rest of this matching up with a coherent system for you.”

Ravn grins and reaches for a small key ring on the folding table at the centre of the front room. "Not going to say we don't appreciate every damn hand we can get, and more so when the hands in question knows how to use tools. It'd be a hell of a lot easier if we could just hire a renovator -- but that'd defeat the whole thing we're trying to do here, inflicting some kind of eighties movie montage style storyline on the bloody Veil. We've got -- a bathroom key and a key that I think goes in the wall safe out back. The front door? Nope. The back door? Nope. They probably did exist at some point but, somebody forgot to hand them in, I figure."

He tosses the keyring over to the locksmith. "I don't think we need high security -- we won't be keeping anything here that's worth a fortune, and half the town will be coming and going as they please, so there will be the occasional disappearing something or other and nothing we can do about it. But, it's probably good to at least be able to lock the door. You know -- in case this fog turns out to be full of zombies or something."

Ah yes, typical locksmith problems. There’s that moment where Leon just sighs in stoic resignation, getting himself square with the fact it was going to be one of those wild blue yonder jobs. Leon nods to this, turning to face the front door. “I’ll have to look through some of my used parts so we can do this on the cheap. We’ll need to get you up to code for Fire and ADA.” He offers a light shrug, “But I’ve got plenty of lightly used stuff stowed at my place. The big corporate centers over in Hoquiam and near Seattle sometimes just want to throw money at things and replace perfectly good hardware.” He looks back to Ravn.

“I’ll work on the exteriors first, let you be able to lock up first.” There’s a grin probably meant in humor to the comment about zombies, “If I get a call, you know I’ll have to head out for that, but you’re close enough to home, I can probably finish it between jobs.”

"We can probably cover parts if there's something that needs to be brought in," Ravn agrees. "I do feel like I'm an extra in Footloose or something. You know how this works? At first there's one or two guys and at the end of the movie, the whole town is working together and actually, the true prize was the friendships you made along the way, and so on. Mind if I go along and watch what you're doing? I could use a break from wall paper, to be honest, it's doing a number on my asthma along with this bloody fog."

Invite yourself, why don't you. Ravn wanders along. "How are you -- you know? How's Maggi? Things got a little intense last time and I still haven't managed to find the third guy in that dream."

“Third guy?” Leon looks a little confused, he starts toward the front door, unholstering his drill and fitting it with a PH2 bit. There’s a head motion toward it while looking at Ravn, a wordless, ’well, come on, then’. He’d open the door and look at the mechanism again, then the space they were just in, “Wasn’t there like six or seven of us?” The questioning drops a few notes, as if there was a difference between friend talk and ’I’m the professional’ speech,

“How many people you think you’ll have in here? Over 25? We’re going to probably have to upgrade it to a fire rated panic bar.” Regardless, He was unscrewing the side plate and loosening the set screw, spinning the mortise cylinder out of the current lock. Once that was removed, he’d find a good place to set the plates and screws aside.

"Might be more -- if we get things like art classes or study groups going, they might overlap." Ravn glances upwards; thank god there's a top floor, because space might end up being an issue. "If this place does take off like we're hoping, some creative scheduling is going to be required."

His voice drops a little as well, possibly in response to Leon's -- which is really a little silly given that the two men are alone on the premises but on some level, this kind of secresy comes natural. There are questions you cannot answer to those who have not had the experiences. There are questions you don't want to answer, too. "The last time I was -- Lost, as Clayton calls it, there were just three of us. Me, Magpie, and some blond guy named Wes who said he was in pipes -- plumber, something. I am trying to find him. It was... pretty rough."

The Dane pauses and then throws an inquisitive look Leon's way. "Didn't she mention it?"

Ravn can see there’s a look Leon gets, his brows twisting a certain way, his forehead creasing. His eyes move aside and up as he tries to put words to a thing. In the end he comes out with a metaphor that is very uniquely tradesman and quaint.

“So there are drawers in my van.” Leon starts in, the small cylinder tucked in the hip holster as he starts to move to the back door, again indicating Ravn should follow. “There’s tools I need that have specific use, but they're sharp, and difficult to use. Also, they’ve bounced around a lot so they aren’t that neatly organized anymore, so even opening or reaching into them, I risk cutting my hand, or something could fall out and hurt something else.” He looks at Ravn, as if seeing if he followed where he was going with the words, not just the locks. Those, he was already moving to open the back door and take apart.

“Maggi helps me a lot, but we avoid talking about things. I’ve used those drawers a lot over years. I’ve got scars all over from them.” He chuckles a little nervously, “Hell, I’ve even Blanked the house a couple times when I...” He trails off, his voice going lower, still with that nervous grin, “I nearly killed Magpie on our first date. I’ve heard she tells people that story.”

"I do understand what you mean, yes." Ravn follows, and from the tone of his voice, he takes the locksmith's metaphor quite seriously. "I'm not -- I don't have the kind of power you do. I don't need to worry about -- losing control. Worst thing that'll happen if I do is a few things fall off shelves, maybe a window slams shut. But I know about having -- old things lying about, piled up. And not wanting to disturb the piles because you don't know what's going to fall out. Sometimes it seems better to just lock the door on the attic and leave it all up there."

He watches what the locksmith is doing; out of polite interest, and possibly mingled with a bit of professional interest too -- Ravn is no locksmith, certainly, but he is someone who knows how to pick one.

Then he shakes his head. "She hasn't told me that story. Maybe she just never got around to it. But considering that she decided to marry you, she obviously feels safe with you."

“I feel safer with her around. So I hope that’s true.” Leon openly admits. He pulls the back door’s cylinder by way of removing a cover, loosening screws on the rim, pulling the face of the lock out of the other side of the door. He tests the swing and closing speed of the door, the operation of the push. He frowns. He rolls the newly freed cylinder idly in his hand as he issues a sigh and thinks. He looks to Ravn, as if he had to make a serious decision whether to ask.

“What happened over there?” It was his wife. He had just as much reason to worry over her as she did over him.

"We found the gremlins," Ravn says quietly. "The ones that -- steal things and get people killed. They had a town in the sewers -- or at least in a sewer, because I'm actually not entirely sure that it was around here. I'm no botanist but we don't have mangrove trees around here, do we?"

He shakes his head. "Either way, they were dying. All of them. It wasn't clear what was killing them -- a machine not working like it should, maybe a faulty air supply or some kind of air pollution. It didn't bother us, or maybe we just weren't there long enough. She -- " The Dane pauses a second, banishing those very graphic memories from his inner movie theatre. "She finished the job. And it was probably best that way. Those things kill."

"Gremlins... Mangrove?" It wasn't a surprise that Leon wouldn't know the word for the trees when it was spoken, but he moves on from it. A man like Leon with gifts like he had sometimes had a hard time turning them off. Sometimes it wasn't even Weird, feel the emotions of a person enough time, you start to associate certain ticks or expressions with things. He cold tell there was a hitch there, that pregnant pause filled with something, a recalculation of words, "Finished the job? Magpie? You said they were dying already..." His brows descend into a more serious line, hearing something that was used far too often back when... in the sands... "A lot of things kill." Even Leon, it goes unsaid.

"A lot of things kill but not at random," Ravn replies. "A predator kills because it wants to eat. These things -- if they had a reaosn to do what they were doing, it is beyond me. They stole things -- and maybe they needed those things, but somehow, somebody ended up dead most times. As if that was the point -- some kind of practical joke."

He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the memories that have cost him a fair bit of sleep the last couple of nights. "She -- used fire. It was surprisingly quick. But awful. I -- can't say I might not have done the same, if I could do something like that. Not after the things I've seen them do. It's -- pretty damn terrifying, though, what some people in this town can do. Horrible responsibility to put on anyone's shoulders."

Ravn can likely see in the way Leon's eyes were searching the Dane's that he was either thinking or seeking some sort of deeper meaning. Unfortunately, his takeaway from it all was a pretty dark assumption, so it bore more clarification.

"You're saying my wife set an entire town of dying, killer gremlins on fire." There it was, plain as day, and Leon did not look happy about it. Luckily, even with all his bulk, Leon was not a Joey Kelly, he always seemed to have a friendly, gentle hand, and never effected a threat physically just from his anger. He was angry at the situation, the town, anything that could have led to this. His hand comes up and wipes downward over his face. It was ill-advised, of course. Being a locksmith, his thumb left a smear of black grease down his jaw. He didn't seem to care. "That's a lot to process."

"I wanted to be angry about it," Ravn says quietly, inadvertently confirming that yes, he just said exactly that. "Honestly, though? She just cut to the chase. I'd have waffled about, trying to find out what to do, and maybe even saved a few -- who would then go on killing people. Leon, sometimes -- sometimes, I am wrong. Sometimes, there's not a right way, there's only the least shitty choice."

He looks down at his hands. "I couldn't have made that choice. I'm glad she could."

A beefy hand comes up and reaches to settle on Ravn's shoulder. It was slow, halting, not in a way that Leon was nervous, but knowing it may spook the man. Atop that, he reaches for the drawer, knowing in certain situations, the right tools were there. Ravn receives friendship, connection from Leon, the type that would forcefully override that neuropathy, but with the skill and finesse it didn't feel heavy handed. It was an inconvenience that Leon just folded up and set aside for Ravn to come back to later.

"Not everyone is made to make those choices. I didn't think either of you were. I'm still thankful you care about both of us." He pauses, "I'm thankful you care about people in general."His eyes make a circuit around the center before coming back to Ravn, an emphasis, supporting facts, for his point. "Care and callousness do not fit well in the same space."

Whether Ravn notices the touch coming or the calming signal that goes with it do their job is hard to say; at least he does not move away and he does not tense up like he'd been struck. Instead he nods slowly, a little awkward but not objecting -- mostly just unaccustomed and perhaps a little pleased on some level; somebody is reaching out to him, and he is in fact not fleeing up a tree -- for him, perhaps that is a victory. It probably helps that there are no trees in the immediate vicinity, either.

"We're all on the same team here, Leon." A small smile. "I do realise how crazy I sound, saying it -- and more so in the light of what happened in that dream. Gray Harbor is home. Maybe it's just that we're all broken here, so it's easier for us to make room for each other? I wanted to check on Magpie, make sure she was all right -- and I have been trying to find that other guy, but with no luck. I know you'd do the same for me if I came through a dream badly broken. You did, in the underwater temple."

The Temple. The screaming. The break. Leon's hand falls, hooking in his belt, his eyes following the downward, "Yeah. That ah... I'm sorry you had to see that, back then, but that's another thanks I owed you, really." His eyes flit up again, he smiles, apparently more worried about how he looked loosing his mind than the concern he'd shown for the Dane. It seemed about time Leon was wanting to change the subject. He hefts the two cylinders in his hand.

"Lemme go rekey these and get them reinstalled, then we'll look at how we want to do the rest of the building." He grins, nods to Ravn, makes like he was heading for the door and his van parked just barely visibly outside through the mist.

Ravn lets the man go; he if anyone understands the need to disassociate from the terror, put a few steps between it and yourself, take a few breaths, say or do something normal. He certainly understands about the bleak kind of terror that fries your brain and turns you into the human equivalent of a rabbit staring at an oncoming car.

Normal is good. "Mind if I tag along and see how you do it? I've never seen a locksmith at work unless you count the guy who taught me how to pick one with a bobby pin. Think you might have liked him except for the bit where he installed locks during the day and had kids like me break past them at night."

"Sure! If you already know how to pick, you understand enough of the process already, I'll just show you why it is like it is." Leon wafts a hand over, leading the way out to his van. Afterall, he was safe so long as Ravn was in tow.

He'd open up the van, his pinning kit, show how the locks were actually disassembled, reassembled, then walk him through the process of reinstalling. But after all was said and done, and they were about to make a plan, Leon holds up a finger. He'd need to go out to his van to grab a notebook. It was always better to get everything down on paper.

He just wouldn't come back. And his van was still parked there.