2021-05-12 - Blame the Carousel Animals

A nice afternoon in Addington Park; the sun of very early summer peeks out between the clouds, sending down the occasional tentative shaft of light, and the natives are out for walks and strolls around. One of these natives is Ravn Abildgaard who's seated quite comfortably on the wooden bench across the path from the old carousel. If he's staring ominously at the black carousel horse, this is surely a coincidence. After all, who could possibly have a grievance with an antiquated carousel?

It's not quite picnic weather yet, but that's all right; Vyv hasn't brought quite a picnic. You'd know if he did. It involves a dedicated wicker hamper with its own set of china and crystal and cutlery and all. It also involves a picnic blanket, and it may well be nearly two weeks past The Incident at HOPE but the chef is not inclined to start pushing himself up and down from the ground just yet, thank you.

The niceness of the weather has him dressed for the Spring/Summer cusp it sartorially qualifies as, in a cream linen suit with a lavender gingham check shirt and a yellow knit tie, the same colours creating a pleasing plaid in his pocket square. Brown leather is the theme for the accessories, which include not only the usual shoes/belt/watch combo but also a vintage-looking satchel hung over his shoulder. Weathered but well-cared for, the sort of thing that may actually have genuinely belonged to a generation or two of his family before him, or might have come from a craftsman aiming for that look last week. The one truly unusual aspect is not that he's carrying a full-sized umbrella, as he doesn't prescribe to the common PNW opinion that unless it's in danger of washing you away, putting up the hood on your hoodie should do you, but that he's using it as a walking-stick as he goes. With panache, of course. But that's not how he generally wields the thing.

Ravn catches his eye, and then the way the carousel is being eyeballed does as well, as he heads over toward that table. "Has it threatened to bite you again?" he inquires casually by way of greeting.

"It's looking at me like it might," Ravn returns -- which might prompt the idea that there is some kind of history there between the two men and the carousel (the animals of which look decidedly not about to jump off their poles to bite anyone). He rests one leg across the other and sinks back into his jacket a little, scarf up around his ears. "Mostly, though, I just figured this is a quiet kind of place. One where no one'd really go and look for me. I'm a little... Got a few things I need to sort out in my head."

"Mn. Have you eaten?" Vyv inquires, leaning the umbrella up against the edge of the bench and setting the satchel down on the seat. It still leaves plenty of room to set himself down there as well, though only after eyeing the thing and drawing out a handkerchief from his pocket for a quick brush-down of the wood before he does in fact deign to sit there.

Opening the satchel, he gives the carousel a sidelong look -- the owl in particular, it would seem -- before returning his attention to the contents of the bag. A few smallish tupperware emerge, the largest of the set placed between them and opened. Sandwiches. Did he intend to meet someone? Will they go hungry if all the sandwiches are devoured? This doesn't seem to be a worry to him, so perhaps he just figured Bax would eat the leftovers later. It's usually a safe bet, after all.

"What requires sorting? And alphabetically or by colour?"

Ravn looks at the sandwiches and then at Vyv, much in the fashion of a tactician who debates whether this battle is worth engaging in. Not that there is anything wrong with chef sandwiches -- it's just that he already ate today. That marshmallow at Sweet Retreats counts, right? "I'm not dying from hunger," he murmurs, knowing full well that this hill was lost before he even got up on it.

Then he looks back at the horse. "Bumped into some people earlier -- among them, the DA. Which prompted several other people to assume that we are in fact a couple, mostly to rile me up. One woman who seemed to in fact be very interested in making said DA's acquaintance acted quite huffy about it. And I -- don't really need that complication in my life? I'm pretty sure that Bennett's already moved on, I mean, she was just screwing with me because why not."

There's another person approaching, from the opposite side, however, and walking along the path in apparent defiance of the carousel's malevolent nature. She pauses when she sees the two men already parked on a bench, then offers a wave and retraces her steps back to the bench parked about five feet away from them. Dropping down onto the bench, Kass arranges her messenger bag, withdrawing a big sketchpad, along with pencil and sharpener. She stares at he carousel for long moments, almost as if having a silent conversation with it before she gets to work. Sketching out the rough outline of the thing in quick but sure lines that start out incomprehensible but begin to gain clarity quickly.

Without looking up from the pad, she seems to realize she forgot something and calls over, "Hi again, Mister!" Greetings. She's not great with social graces, but she's trying!

Vyv has not eaten, and claims one of the sandwiches for himself. So that one, at least, is certainly not poisoned. "If you eat, you're likely to continue not dying from hunger. I can't promise regarding any other causes, but given the choice of one fewer or one more, I would broadly vote fewer." He knows this hill's already lost too -- or from his point of view, won.

The notes about running into the DA gets a breath of a laugh, just audible, and a sideways glance to Ravn. "Heartbreaker," he accuses in the closest thing to a drawl his accent properly allows. "So you maintain you're not, then, mn?" A tiny lift of the brows, a hint of innocence that's ironically the best evidence he's probably teasing. That and the switch to a notably matter-of-fact, "Then don't let it into your life."

Kass catches his eye -- whether it's the near-approach and wave, the big sketchpad, or simply the hair, she's a bit hard to miss -- but unlike most things that have caught his eye so far, he watches her for an extra moment, brow very faintly furrowed. Though reasonably subtle, it looks an awful lot like the 'haven't I seen her before?' look. In fairness, GH is small; everyone's seen everyone at some point, more or less. But there's a different level of that niggling feeling sometimes with glimmerers.

Ravn lifts a gloved hand -- and hence, a sandwich -- in a small wave to Kass. "Speaking of -- Bennett's friend with the same name, or close?" With a glance to Vyv he adds, slightly flustered, "And of course I promptly assumed that the lady was in new in town and might need The Speech. Turns out she's lived here most of her life."

"She's Cassidy. I'm Kass. Kassandra if you have to say the whole thing. Um, Hughes. Kassandra Hughes. But really, just Kass is fine." after that meandering introduction, she finally looks up from the pad, flushing a bit over her own awkwardness. Looking to Vyv, she nods, getting that same deja vu feeling about him, staring for possibly rude amounts of time with brows furrowed before her expression clears. "Candy Kart Racing!" Its said apropos of nothing and immediately has her blinking and looking around as if she can't quite believe she spoke that out loud. Clearing her throat, she offers a sheepish grin, "I've seen you before. Hi." Looking to Ravn, she lifts a brow, "The Speech? Do you mean the one where you tell people to be careful because things aren't what they seem in Gray Harbor and that sometimes a gazebo is actually a malevolent and hungry monster and not just a piece of architecture?"

She points the tip of her pencil, jabs it almost, towards the carousel, "OR sometimes its a carousel that's best known feature is the disappearances that have occurred around it because the fucking thing is Always. Hungry." She flicks a glare towards it briefly then looks back to the men. "I've given that speech a time or two.. and people usually try to dissuade me from it. Something about not shattering illusions and letting people live their lives like somehow ignorance of the truth is going to protect them." Shaking her head, she turns back to the sketchpad and mutters, "And look at how many have disappeared now... I really wasn't trying to become my Greek namesake but here we are. I'm still here and many of them aren't. Maybe if they'd taken me more seriously at the start..." Trailing off, the young woman finally seems to realize she's rambling, on the verge of ranting, and just presses her lips together and goes back to her sketch.

The exclamation out of theoretically nowhere gets a reaction that probably mirrors hers, though being a Vyv-expression, probably does it more like a puddle at dusk than a well-lit mirror. Which is to say, the lift of brows and brightening of eyes that suggest Placement of Person is subtle, but there. "Yes, I believe you have," he agrees, and thereby vice versa. "Vyvyan Vydal. Vyv, generally." A vague gesture with the hand not containing a sandwich, in the direction of downtown proper, "I run the patisserie." A pause, and a very tiny upward quirk at one corner of his lips, "And the occasional strange race. Apparently."

He's moving fairly slowly at the moment, one might notice with that gesture and the general sandwich-handling -- gingerly, almost. It's one of the many things he prefers to keep less than blatant, but it's not invisible. "That would be approximately the Speech," he says, with a slight nod. "But at least that suggests you're in agreement on its importance." So the misstep could have been worse, right?

"Pretty much that Speech, yes. The 'this stuff is real and not believing that it is will likely get you killed' speech." Ravn nods. "Someone gave it to me when I came to town, and I generally try to -- pay it forward. We can't let people like us live their lives in ignorance -- because the Veil sure as hell will not. Mind you, I'm not going to ask about... candy races."

He glances at his sandwich, as of yet untasted, occupying his hand much in the fashion of a small, bready muppet. "I am pretty certain that the ADA is not -- one of us. But I could be wrong -- it's not as if I have a whole lot of the shine myself."

He doesn't, admittedly. Just enough of a very faint sparkle that perhaps his memories might not be subject to the kind of reality editing for which the local powers that be are somewhat infamous in these circles. Definitely not enough of one to blow things up or read minds or send cars flying, and whatever else people around here do with their gift (or curse, depending on whom you ask).

"Nice to meet you, um, officially. Or, you know, not on the Other Side. I would offer to stop by sometime for a sandwich, but I'm pretty sure my physical presence would actually cost you business. So instead I will do you the favor of staying away from your shop," Kass offers to Vyv with a wry smile before reaching into her bag and fishing around. She comes up with a bottle of water, opening it and taking a drink before recapping and setting it aside. More sketching, more lines appearing, the actual drawing starting to take shape.

Ravn gets a chuckle and nod, "You don't have to tell me. When I said I was at the asylum for the last ten years? I mean the Other Side Asylum. I went in at thirteen and got sent back at twenty-three. I still don't really have many memories of that time. Flashes, mostly. Brief images, sounds. Sometimes just a strong feeling." She shrugs and continues working on her sketch. "She doesn't, no. I've met her a few times before, she's one of the completely normal people that's managed to get caught here." Many people that 'glimmer' or 'shine' are a candle, a torch. Kass is a bonfire. There's a lot of Glimmer in this young woman, and for those that can tell, its hard not to notice.

"Be prepared for a lot of scoffing and a lot of people telling you 'its not your place'. I've been yelled at for everything from warning people to healing people. Super fun, let me tell you what. Which is why you haven't seen me before, probably. Get yelled at so much and I finally just stopped trying to help, since it was apparently unwanted." Kass shakes her head. "Just wasn't worth the hassle."

"How do you do," Vyv replies, which the tone says is clearly not a question despite phrasing. It comes with a little head inclination, before he takes another bite of his sandwich, listening to the rest. Kass gets an appraising-to-the-point-of-arguably-rude look for her declaration that her presence would likely cost him business, head to toe and back. There's nothing prurient about it, for what good that does; it's shamelessly judgemental, but in a detached sort of way. "Mn. Unless we're likely to become ill if the wind shifts our way or you intend to throw some sort of entertaining fit at the counter, I doubt your mere presence is likely to run people off. We do not require a tie or heels." A small pause. "We also don't specialise in sandwiches, but we do do a good line in miniature quiches, savoury tarts, and other pleasant lunches." He doesn't add 'if I do say so myself'; he just says so. Himself. "Sometimes pasties, as well, though those are more autumn and winter."

The mention of the asylum gets a quietly interested look, though not one followed by any particular questions; the same for the mention of healing people, though that one's a bit more speculative. "Who's been doing the yelling?" is what he actually does ask.

"That's an odd reaction," Ravn murmurs, a bit surprised. "I've had a few people tell me to stop bothering them, thanks. But I've never had anyone actually get upset with me -- most just seem to think I'm the local town nut. Then they find themselves caught in some otherworldly dream experience and the week after they're sidling into HOPE, saying that they should have listened the first time, and can I please tell them what the hell is going on, and why did their begonias try to eat them."

He looks at his sandwich. "I've met other people who have been to that Asylum. I know a bloke who wishes he could go back. Don't worry about the Pātisserie, though -- Vyv tolerates my dishevelled self in there." That last comment comes with an amused glance at the exceedingly well dressed chef -- next to whom Ravn's all-black hobo hipster look does in fact look decidedly, uh, inexpensive.

Kass is dressed in an oversized gray cutoff tee that has the full lineup of Care Bears and proclaims 'Care Bears... STARE!' across the chest, with a ragged pair of cutoff shorts (does she OWN anything else?) and a pair of Chuck Taylor high-tops covered in rainbow sequins that glitter and sparkle. Chuckling, she shakes her head, "Its not a matter of how I dress. Its a matter of who I am. My being sent to the asylum wasn't a quiet thing. Everyone knew. I sent my parents to the hospital, and I got committed a few days later. The old priest over at St. Mary's likes to say I'm possessed by demons. My parents don't speak to me, and I am largely 'persona non grata' to the older set of townfolk." She lifts a shrug, "I've learned to live with it, but it does have an affect on people and places I hang around."

She reaches for the bottle of water again, then halts, letting out a breath and drawing another in before she picks it up. Lifting the bottle for a sip, she shakes her head, "More people than I would care to list off. Like I said, it was easier to just... disappear from public view. So I go to work, I get my groceries, I go home. Rinse, repeat. Sometimes I sit out in empty areas and sketch."

Vyv looks expensive. He always looks expensive. It's a thing he does. He even managed in the hospital, as far as all but a few staff have any evidence of. And he does not particularly approve of Kass's current sartorial statement (although there might be a flicker of amusement for the shoes, perhaps). But it does contain both Shirt and Shoes, as well as the bits that are considered to go without saying, and thus she would most likely receive Service. 'course, some of his counter staff probably went to elementary and middle school around the same time as her, so perhaps she'd rather not.

Her explanation gets another 'mn,' and a small pause in which he politely chews and swallows a bite of sandwich before properly speaking again. "I believe Alexander Clayton's been in a time or two and our bottom line doesn't appear to have suffered unduly." The sandwich is lifted as though for another bite, though it stops somewhat short as he notes, "Can't be much of a priest, really, if he's letting demons just run about possessing his theoretical flock. One would think he'd want to keep that sort of thing quiet."

Ravn nods lightly, sympathetic to the younger woman's plight. "Disappearing from public view is certainly the most rational choice at times. I'd be a hypocrite if I were to tell you otherwise, miss -- considering that's exactly what I did, when I left home. Gray Harbor is a good place to disappear. As far as the rest of the world and my family concerned I'm -- probably doing something or other in the US, eh, can't quite remember where he said he was going, no big deal, he'll probably call sometime."

"He's an asshole, and like most normal people, had to come up with something to explain the things I could do. SO.. demons." Kass lifts a shrug and pauses in her sketching to check her phone. Clucking her tongue, she puts it away, then moves to cover and put the pad away as well. "We'll see. I try not to be around people that are going to look at me like the devil incarnate once they realize who I am." She slings the bag crossbody and stands, picking up the water bottle and offering a grin towards the men. "Its been nice chatting, but I need to get home so I can get ready for work. If either of you ever get the jones, swing by the Platinum Cabaret, I'll treat you to a drink. And no, I don't dance, I'm a waitress. Too clumsy for dancing. Seriously, its.. its a medical condition at this point. No Rhythm White Girl Syndrome." Flashing a grin, she offers a wave and starts off, "It was nice seeing you!"

Vyv is chewing a bite of sandwich, so while there's a flicker of a sidelong glance to Ravn during the moment of phone checking, there's no comment, and in fact nothing to be said until she's fully taking her leave. "Well, try not to let it spread to your heart and lungs," he advises, entirely deadpan, and inclines his head to her slightly in farewell.

A reasonable pause, then, long enough for another polite bite of his lunch, before he observes, "I believe you were mid-head-sorting, yes? With a small side of wary carousel eyeing."

Ravn looks after the younger woman as she departs, raising a hand in a polite wave -- and then glancing at Vyv. "What -- does 'getting the jones' mean, and am I going to regret asking?" With a small laugh he adds, "I am ... really not Platinum Cabaret's ideal customer. Been there once about a murder, one of the strippers threatened to stab me."

He shakes his head, dismissing the thought and returning to the original topic. "I was really just going to moan about Holt and her partner and Rųn ribbing me about the DA. Again, because said DA happened to be in Sweet Retreats this morning when I sought shelter from the rain. It's all in fun, I figure."

"Ye-es. Last I checked I wasn't either, and I've never even gone there snooping around about murders, Junior Detective Abildgaard." Definitely a touch of dry amusement in that one. "A 'jones' is a craving in this case. From old heroin slang. I can't speak as to whether you regret asking that, you'll have to let me know. And yes, I expect it is all in fun, but what is this about you cheating on me with that cheap boardwalk floozy? Attire is one thing, but I really might have to ban you for that." Vyv probably isn't wholly serious, even if the expression could make one think so, but he probably isn't more than half-joking, either.

"...well, Holt and Roen are likely all in fun. Isn't her partner the overgrown refugee from a '60s bikesploitation film who runs that place? I suppose his might be too, though I wouldn't make any bets I couldn't afford on whether it was the same sort of fun or not."

"If I ever get that strong a craving for cheap booze I'll pick some up at Safeway," Ravn murmurs. "Seems like less effort."

He can't really be that oblivious, can he? Yes, he bloody well can, it's a life skill.

The boardwalk floozy comment earns a quirked eyebrow, though. "Wait, who are we talking about? You'll need to tell me who I'm cheating with before making an accusation like that. Oh, and maybe also include the bit where you and I are in a relationship in the first place, because I think I missed that memo too." Ravn smirks lightly. "Although, it's probably for the best. Imagine that if I some day did decide to bring somebody home -- they'd go to bed in Kitty Pryde's bunk and find themselves folded up four times to fit into a dumpster on Main Street."

The confusion, genuine or feigned, gets a breath of a laugh out of Vyv slightly more audible than the earlier one, and a visibly amused glance, albeit still not what would qualify as expressive for most people. "Sweet Retreat, the low-rent pretender to the icing-sugar crown," he clarifies, "Do keep up, darling." Not that he can truly consider the place a competitor, surely? Aside from falling under the rubric of 'broadly dessert-focused shops' and both offering at least some of what most people would identify as 'cake' and 'confectionery', even the overlap in type is partial, let alone in style and (at least if one asks Vyv) quality.

"...also, if it's Kitty Pryde's bunk you're imagining your visitor going to bed in, I don't see why you'd bother deciding to bring them home to begin with. That said? Perhaps choose the latter when they ask 'your place or mine?' For the sake of the dustmen, if nothing else."

"... This is a logistical challenge I will address if it ever should become relevant. At which time Kitty Pryde is probably Kitty Pryde the twenty-first, and the issue arises because I only get one bed for both of us at the old folks' home." Ravn smirks again. "But yes, of course. I should have realised that you and Everett -- what is his last name anyway? -- would be little short of shooting at each other across the street. I do seem to recall him trying to disarm you by means of baby."

Beat. "Which would definitely send me running too. I have zero experience with babies."