2021-04-15 - The Firelight Calls

The rain's let up, and the early evening is cool and clear, at least for a little. The last scarlet traces of sunset are visible off to the west, beyond the harbor, peeking beneath the layers of cloud. Someone on the beach has found enough dry wood to build a fire in the firepit....and the someone in question is sitting lazily on a folding camp chair, long legs stretched out before him, and whittling. The firelight flickers off the blade, in little glints.

The man in question is in jeans, dark plaid flannel shirt over a gray t-shirt, and battered workboots. Joe's not shaved in long enough that the scruff is on its way towards being a properly cultivated beard - going for that mountain man aesthetic, it seems.

It's chilled enough that Isi's wearing long yoga pants and a sweater with a light scarf more for looks than for keeping her warm. She wanders with any particular destination in mind, but the fire catches her attention and so she wanders there. There's just something about light that draws one. Coming close she lifts a hand, "Looking to be alone? Or do you mind if I join you?"

There are flat stones and sections of log to be seats, besides the chair he's dragged over. He looks up from his work, and smiles, warmly. "Sit down, by all means. Too much of a fire for just one," Joe's accent's a long ways from local; it's one of those southern accents that lends an almost sighing quality to his speech, lazy and slow. "I'm Joe. Pleasedameetcha. What shall I call ya?"

Isi settles, unwrapping the scarf from her neck to let it flow more freely as she does so. "Joe, huh? Nice, simple, short. Isi's mine." The shortness of it explaining her own preference for three letter names.

The knife he clicks closed with his thumb, and slips it into his pocket. The block of pale wood he was roughing out ends up just settled on his lap. By his feet, there's a six pack of local cider, one bottle already open. "Isi," he says, jerking his chin at the ciders. "Hey there. You wanna drink?"

"I don't typically take drinks from strangers unless there's a seal." Isi replies back, but her words don't seem overly suspicious. More like one of those elementary school PSA's about getting in stranger's vans. "It's nice out here after the rains."

He considers that a moment, nods. "Fair enough," Joe says, calmly. The comment about the rains makes him smile, the crows' feet around his eyes deepening. "Yeah, it sure is. Everything seems cleaner, more pure, doesn't it?" he offers.

"Right? My family would tell a story about the causes, but." Isi shakes her head, as if she's giving herself some separation from her past by not sharing the story. Her gaze cants out over the ocean as she relaxes back.

Joe settles down in his chair, more comfortably. "Mmhmm?" he asks, with an interrogative little lift of his brows. "What kinna story?" Tone light, like he's trying to avoid pressing too hard on that front. "Or is that not somethin' for a stranger's ears?"

Isi doesn't speak right away, pondering his question deeply. "No, but perhaps.... the story of the Chinook wind." She casts a glance sideways at him, an eyebrow arched. "Do you really want the story?"

There's something funny, puckish, in his face at that question...and Joe favors her with a long, level look. Like he suspects there may be a sting in the tail of that question. "It's very hard for me to say no to any chance at a story. Stories are sorta what I do for a livin' these days."

Isi reaches up to smooth back her hair, gathering it over one shoulder. "I don't tell it as well as my mother always did. My dream was to leave the reservation, and I figured that meant leaving most of the culture behind too. But I'll give it a shot?"

Her tone takes on a slightly sing-song tone to it, though she stumbles in the rhythm often, like she's only half remembering it. "There were two groups of five brothers, the Chinook, and the Walla WAlla. They caused the warm and cold winds to blow. They fought constantly until one day the Walla Wall challenged them. Coyote was the judge. He played both sides and the Chinook ended up losing, and Coyote cut off their heads."

The oldest had a baby though, and he grew up knowing he had to take revenge. He grew strong enough to uproot trees and when old enough set out. The Walla Walla had blown fiercely and did all sorts of mischief like taking fish from the grandfather of Chinook. One day they came after the grandfather but Chinook was ready. He pushed his grandfather's boat faster than the Walla Walla."

"Knowing the Chinook was alive then, the Walla Walla challenged the younger Chinook. Coyote was again judge, and again he played both sides. This time though, the Walla Walla took the short side of the stick, and all but one were killed. The last did not want to wrestle and so he was allowed to live. Coyote told him that he could only blow at night, and had to give warning. And so that's why winter isn't so cold."

It's a rather pathetic ending, and Isi wrinkles her nose as she tells it. "I left out a lot, but I don't remember it all."

He listens, intently, blue eyes never wavering from her face. No reaching for his phone, no distraction. Taking it in, solemnly...but at the end, there's that smile again. "That's all right. That's not one I heard before - it's new to me, and novelty has its value. I don't know a whole lot of the stories of the folks of the First Nations 'cept some of the ones from where I grew up."

He finally stoops to retrieve the bottle of cider, takes a long pull from it. "Have you found that it's so - that in leaving the reservation you had to leave the culture behind? Or 'd you take more with you than you thought?"

"More...." Isi begins, but then she has to fall off as she considers his question from another angle. "I think I figured leaving the reservation meant I had to leave everything behind. So I set out to just not?"

This time, it's more of a sip from the bottle, before he sets it down again. "Is that reservation far from here? I'm guessin' from the names in the story that it's from the northwest coast, but that covers a lot of country...." He lays long hands in his lap, scuffs at the sand of the beach with the heel of his boot.

"Yakama Indian Reservation, south Washington, ah, north east of Portland? South east of Olympia, maybe equidistant to each." There's a bit of hand waggling that goes on there as Isi gives very vague directions for where the reservation can be found.

Now he gets up to carefully lay more wood on the fire. There's a little shelter with firewood, not far. "Mmhmm," he murmurs. "Not too far," Joe says. "You been in Gray Harbor long?" There's an odd weight to that question, almost somber.

"Nah," Isi replies, arching an eyebrow at Joseph's back, "You know, people ask that question almost religiously when I say I just moved in. Usually followed by warnings about how weird things get."

For some reason, that response makes him dissolve into laughter. "That so, huh? That's about the same treatment I got when I came here 'bout a year and a half ago. I mean, take them warnin's serious, they are surely no joke at all. It does get real freaky here. But I have a feelin' you've met your share of the weird here. Most of those who kinna blow in do."

"So far, other than the warnings that it's going to be weird, I haven't seen anything off. I think I might have even figured out how that Ravn guy floated the lighter." There's a beat of silence a she thinks about it, "Possibly. I'm not quite ready to test my theory."

Joe shakes his head at that. "Oh, he showed you that? No, all that's real," he says, matter of factly. "Folks c'n do all kinds of weird shit here. You'll find you recognize the ones as can. Different people sense it in different ways - I got one friend hears it like a song. For me, it's visual." He taps his temple.

Isi puts on that nice friendly smile you give people who aren't off their rocker and shakes her head just a little bit. "That's cool." Clearly, she's still a skeptic. Pushing herself to her feet she brushes sand off of her behind before looking out across the beach. "I should probably get going, but this," a gesture at the fire, "Was nice. Thanks for letting me sit for a bit. Joe, right?" Names man. Anyone who really remembers them is a miracle worker.

"Yep," he affirms. "Joe Cavanaugh. You have a good evenin'." There's a sly amusement in the blue eyes at that. He knows precisely what that tone means. "Take care." The cider bottle is lifted in salute. He doesn't seem disposed to go for the whittling again, though.

Like a moth to the proverbial flame, a blonde emerges from the wispy shadows of evening drawn by the sight of a fire glowing on the shores. Bennie's sandals make light crunching sounds in the sand, heralding her approach rather than a call out of greeting. She doesn't know who is by those licking strands of orange and red until she's on the edge of the fire's glow and the glare no longer blinds her. "Joseph!" She greets as merrily as ever, a flash of a brilliant white smile illuminated as she beams them the man's way.

He's resumed his whittling - the fire's flicker is mirrored in the little blade of the knife. He's roughing some animal out of a block of pale wood. Too heavily built to be a wolf; a bear, perhaps. But it pauses again at her greeting. "Well, hey there," he says, mildly. A nod at the six pack of cider not far from his feet. "Cider if you want it," He's got his own bottle open in the holder in the arm of the canvas camp chair he's dragged there. Apparently that hip won't bear sitting on stones, not tonight.

"Spliff, if you want it." Bennie says, reflecting his tone as best she can with a faux dramatic expression. She folds herself and her joint near the fire, pulling one of the ciders from the cardboard holder and into her lap. "Whatcha making?" She asks casually as she tucks the unlit paper roll between her lips and uses the ring on one of her fingers to pop open the bottle, bottle cap flicked into the fire like it's some kind of offering to the bonfire gods. She's wearing a pair of cut off denim shorts but the sleeves of her bohemian white blouse are long to compensate for the April weather.

The offer makes him raise his brows. "Don't mind if I do," he says. "You know, I never tried that stuff until I got here? I was drug tested too often all my life. Never could get away with it." The cider is sweet and smooth, something local. Joe's gaze falls to the little wooden shape, still amorphous. "I think it's gonna be a bear, when it's done," he says. "Feels like a bear, sorta, if that makes any sense."

Bennie's plucks a stick out of the fire, using the blazing end to light the joint before tossing it back to the fire in a practiced move of someone who's used to camping and such in order to do those sort of things without hesitation. She takes a deep drag to make sure it's lit properly before offering it over to Joseph. The hit is held in her lungs for a long moment, drawing out her response to him that eventually comes with the intonation of someone trying not to exhale while still forming speech. "Here's to retirement." She says with pinched voice before she's finally forced to exhale to draw in oxygen. "Makes sense. Sort of letting the wood tell you what it wants to be, like a sculptor."

He leans over to accept it, between first and second fingers. Takes a hit with rather more care - less used to smoking it than eating it. "Amen," Joe's voice has already gone scratchy. "Amen." Once he's passed it back, he turns the little animal over in his hand, running his thumb across the jagged little facets the knife has left. "I haven't done much'a this. Closest thing I've had to any kind of craft hobby is weavin' things outta paracord. Feels good to do things with my hands."

Pulling her legs up into a loose sort of lotus position, Bennie cradles the cider bottle in the nook she's created of her thighs. "I know what you mean. Like, I spend all day with my hands in blood and guts, right? But it feels good to create something instead of just...fixing it. I sew and now you, apparently, whittle! Sorry for crashing your campfire, but the waves sounded lonesome tonight, and Gunner was too sad moping at home about Easton being back East to come for a walk. So! You get me. Or I've got you. One of those. Congratulations!"

"I wouldn't say it's mine," he says. Great. Captain Mellow is going to be that much more mellow. Joe's probably going to achieve boneless puddle levels of relaxation before the evening is done. "Public beach, I didn't gather the wood. I jus' lit it. So you more'n welcome." The other thing that's getting more apparent is that accent. He casts a look at the dark water of the harbor. "I hear ya. I got trouble sleepin', so I come out here often enough. Sometimes I sleep on the boat and that helps."

"I. Sleep in the bathtub." Bennie makes a little hand wobble with the fingers holding the joint as she compares her and Joseph. "Without water, of course. But it must be relaxing, letting the waves buffer you to sleep. Like laying in a giant cradle. Just rocking back and forth....back and forth." She leans with the words, first to the left and then the right, over and over until she shakes her head and snaps out of it. Probably not the first joint she's had tonight, but then again, she's always been sort of free spirit. "You know, most of the Veterans I work with have trouble sleeping. That the same for you?"

"Why the bathtub?" he says, flipping over a hand in mute request for the joint. "I mean, I guess it makes you feel better, but....you tried one'a them weighted blankets? I've hear they're good. Haven't yet got one myself." He takes another swig of the cider. "It is. I mean, sleepin' on a boat small enough to feel the waves. Always liked that better."

The question about the veterans makes him look into the fire for a long moment, before he replies. "Yeah," he says. "Also, I think some injuries I've taken sort of...helped screw that up more. I have trouble gettin' to sleep, trouble with wakin' up. Sometimes I lie around in the bathtub myself, but I do it with the hot water. Feels like the next best thing to sleep."

"Like returning to the womb." Bennie muses of Joseph's bath time over another drag of the paper roll, hand lulling out to hand it back if he'd like another hit. "I'm sure Gray Harbor adds its own sense of PTSD, sort of heaping it all on top like the worst cherry ever." She contemplates her cider bottle for a moment, finally taking a swig instead of tracing the beads of condensation with her gaze. "I grew up in Huckleberry, and what's the one place you're supposed to seek shelter if a tornado's coming and you live in a tin can?" She riddles Joseph, not as if there are a great deal of twisters in the PNW.

"Oh, I see," he says, as he takes the joint, takes a proper hit from it, and passes it back. "Yeah, it's not been any kind of a pleasure cruise, that's for sure. Can't say I regret it, though. It's more interestin', though. Never trained for it, zombie bears, all that kinna thing." Gazing dreamily into the embers, before he reorients on her. "I dunno how I didn't know you were local," he says. "I can't imagine what it's like growin' up here."

"Mmhmm. Mom and dad used to fight, my brother and I used to head straight to our own personal storm shelter." But rather than look back on it bitterly, Bennie has a fond look softening her smile. "Now it's just habit. Feeling blue? Feeling down? Sometimes it's about just the comfort. Plus, I've made many great memories in bathtubs now. Hanging out with Alexander and talking murder. Celebrating with Easton." She makes an errant wave of her hand. "Oh, it's like growing up anywhere else, I imagine. Only the monsters under the bed were actually real. It's you outsiders I find utterly fascinating though, drawn by the siren's call. You glad you got moored on our rocks?"

Not a flicker at the mention of Alexander. Joe does turn a dry look on her, though. "Those monsters make it pretty much not like anywhere else, I'd argue," he says, pointing a long finger at her, the rest of them busy holding his cider bottle. "Yeah," he says. "Ultimately I am. Mos'ly 'cause I found Javier again. That's a lot of what made it worth it." His tone is matter of fact.

"It makes it all worth it, doesn't it? Finding your One True." Bennie takes one last quick hit off the joint and passes it back to Joseph and makes a gesture for him to keep it. "I've had enough, one more puff and I'll be zonked out and miss calling E before his morning run. Phone sex will never be the same now that we've figured out how to FaceTime." She looks at Joseph for a moment, contemplating something. "You really should let me cut your har, I almost didn't recognize you. Unless you're going for that vibe, in which case I can dig it."

"Yeah. 'specially when I thought I'd lost him for good," Joe agrees. He takes the joint and signs a blessing with it, letting an arabesque of smoke hang in the air for a moment before the night breeze snatches it away. "Amazin', isn't it? Livin' in the future where we can just video chat for real." That offer to cut his hair. "Not on your life, ma'am," he retorts, with a grin. "Took me a long damn time to grow it out like this. I might get a trim to get rid of the dead ends, but nothin' real short. Might grow it longer yet." And the beard, too, that wasn't here when he arrived.

"Yeah. I could see you rocking a man bun." Bennie gives a thoughtful nod, "Another blessing of retirement, right?" Her grin splits wide as she stands and dusts off the seat of her jeans lackadaisically, like it's just one of those things you're supposed to do when getting up from a sandy shore, instead of with any vehemence for the mar in her appearance or comfort. "Come on back by the Twofer. I miss my barfly. If Easton has any issue with it when he gets back, I figure you two can just duke it out the manly way. Just. You know. Let me watch."

There's that huff of laughter from him. "I don't know that we'll get that far," Joe chuckles. "A'right. Since I been invited. You know if you end up watchin', it won't be a fistfight you watch," he notes, good-naturedly. "But you have a good night. Sleep well, in your bathtub or out of it."

"What do you think I'm hoping for?" Bennie's eyes catch the firelight, making them twinkle with delight. "Oh, I'm going to sleep amazingly. Little toke, little drink," She lofts the remainder of her cider in silent thanks. "And something worth waking up for. Can't wait to see what your wood wants to be!" She bends over Joseph, and if allowed, gives him an affectionate kiss on the top of the head before wandering back down the beach, skirting the water.