2021-05-20 - Light(er)ing Up the Prospects

It is generally polite to call, text, send up a smoke signal, whatever, before one goes knocking on the proverbial door of another person. Isi does none of these things. Instead she shows up, and shouts "RAVN!" at the boat. She's got a layer of just-apearing bruises along one of her arms that looks quite like something fell on her without her explicit permission for it to do so.

"I brought beer!"

Isi's drinking a WHoLE lot more these days. It's really not good for her pocketbook.

Sometimes, people tell Ravn that an asthmatic shouldn't smoke. If those people knew how much whiskey the man tends to consume as well, they'd probably comment on that too. And both of these seemingly unrelated facts actually correspond a great deal to how the man does not look very surprised as he emerges from the Vagabond's below deck. He rests one elbow on the cabin roof and cants his head a little. "Bad dream?"

Maybe it's the only question you really need to ask in these parts. Because really, it's no wonder people drink too much and sleep too little, is it?

"Come on out, take a seat. Tell me about it," he offers. "The queen permits visitors today."

The queen being, unsurprisingly, the small black cat curled up in the prow, tail over her ears as if to say, people are noisy and people can bugger right off because she's sleeping here, and if you want to get past her, bloody well step over her.

In a far corner of her brain Isi's betting that if one tried to step over the cat they'd end up with a series of scratches because fuck-them anyway.

"Yeah - one of those too." Isi climbs up, skirting about the cat because she ain't stupid, and sets her brown bag containing beer gets set down on a table. She slumps down and rubs at the crease between her eyes as if trying to banish a headache.

"I was in the library the other day." They're just going to dive in. The hello-how-are-you can come later. "Ran into this guy named August Roen. He said it was possible I could do that... thing, like you did. Said I should meditate, think about it, try it. So. I did."

And now she's going to need to grab a drink. This might come out slowly.

"Røn is pretty much the guy the rest of us think of as the Glimmer Guru," Ravn confirms. "You can be pretty sure that in this town, anyone you ask for advice will tell you to go out to Branch & Bole and talk to him. He's a good guy, even if he spells his decidedly Scandinavian name in the anglophonic way. He's pretty damn gifted himself, and he knows what he's talking about. Me, I do parlour tricks so if you have any moving talent at all -- yeah, you can do what I did with the lighter. I'm what polite people call 'less than talented' and not so polite people call 'a joke' where the shine is concerned."

He glances at Isi's arms and the bruises forming on them. "So I'm guessing you managed to, ah, move a few things. But not quite as intended. Need a glass for that beer, or are we killing them straight out of the bottle?"

"He seemed fairly confident that I could keep plants alive too, so I was a little doubtful." Isi replies dryly, and shakes her head at the offer of a glass. The bottle is JUST FINE thanks.

"Kind of. Or there was a mini-earthquake just strong enough to shake shit off of my bookcase. In a non-straight-down way. And only twice." It's all getting twisted up so Isi stop, drinks, then goes back to the start.

"I learned how to medidate as a kid, right? It was a big part of the culture, a type of self-care and whatnot, as well as connecting to oneself. So I figured - why not? What would it hurt? Meditation's good for you, right? So I fixed dinner, put on some music, and settled down on my floor. Just vegged for a bit, but then decided to focus. I've never been one for the eyes-shut, count breaths, whatever. Just let stuff in, let it out, you know?" She has to stop here and take a deep breath, "So I found my mind wandering and refocused on this old textbook of mine, on the top shelf. Auditing and Assurance Services," because Ravn needs to know the name for some reason, "And fuck it if that fucker didn't move. Just wiggled right off the shelf and fell. Itried to grab it but," well, she'll just point at one of the nice rectangular-looking bruises on her arm.

"When I was a kid I lived in an old house in the countryside," Ravn says -- and though it seems wildly off topic, his expression is focused enough. "Sometimes I'd talk to people in funny clothes. And sometimes, invisible people would bring me things. If I wanted something on a tall shelf -- an invisible hand would pick it up and give it to me. I never realised that it was strange. And until I came to Gray Harbor, I also didn't realise that it was me doing it. I had this ability to pick up things without touching them all my life, and I was thirty years old before I realised it was me, and not a friendly poltergeist."

He tastes his own bottle, not quite so eager to drown his thoughts out as Isi. "Most people I talk to come into their powers as adults, though, or at least as teens. Very commonly, because of some kind of trauma. A collapsing building but the debris seems to fall around them instead of on them. Somebody who gets injured but somehow, they're able to keep the injured person from bleeding out. Or being assaulted, but suddenly their attacker catches fire. I'm inclined to think that people like you and me who don't have to go through something deeply unsettling are the lucky ones."

Isi runs a hand though her hair in a gesture which seems to be one of attempted, if unconscious, self-calming. It doesn't do much, but hey.

"That August guy seemed to imply as much? I sure as shit would prefer to not sit in my own pee after watching a building drop around me." She shivers at the very thought of it.

"Spirit shit isn't suppose to be real." That is a serious complaint with the air of 'life isn't fair!' to it. "I half convinced myself that the book just feel, right? Tried again, nothing. Then a third time, but this time a trinket bowl overturned and rained down." Turning over her hand she shows some smaller, fainter bruises, as well a thin scratches. "Then that was it. Nothing else. What the fuck is wrong with this place?" It is very possible that last question is mostly rethorical, she has had it answered before.

"The Veil is too thin here," Ravn says, answering that question and ignoring the fact that he's already done so in the past. "Realities overlap, they become more or less fluid. It's not that the laws of nature don't apply -- it's that it's up for debate which set of laws of nature we're using at any given moment."

He watches Isi a moment, calm as somebody who's been here long enough to pretty much get used to the level of weird that is Gray Harbor -- but not yet learned to be properly afraid. "I'm a folklorist," he adds after a moment. "I told you that, I think? Stories and legends -- is what I do. They're not supposed to be real. But here, sometimes they are, and it's just how it is. The only way to escape it is to leave. That's why we keep telling new people to get out -- but no one ever does. I mean, I'm here -- I even went home to Denmark to see if my perspective would change, and all I was thinking while I was there was that I wanted to get back here where I belong."

"I signed a year contract with the city - I would lose the relocation bonus and not get a severance if I just fucked out. It's not like I could just go." Isi objects with why she's not already packing her bags.

She slumps back in her chair and sighs, fixing her eyes on the conveniently placed cat as a good place as any to look. "You make it sound like a drug. Even if I could to, I'd just want to comeback and get my fix."

"To some of us it probably is? To me, this place is the only place I've stayed where I've felt like I belonged," Ravn says and shrugs lightly. "Is feeling like you actually are a valued part of something a bit like a drug? I guess it can be. It's different for all of us. Some people do vanish -- and some of them probably did pull a cut all ties, tell no one where I am going, start over in Tijuana routine. You could leave when your year is up -- I mean, Gray Harbor is not going to stop you. You may stop you -- because you find something here that's worth staying for. Like I did, like most people do."

"Is that what you find so addictive ? Belonging?" It isn't that Isi is exactly dismissing that as a reason to exist but also... not sure it is something SHE would choose.

Ravn sips his beer and then nods with a small, wry smile. "That's my drug. Never really felt like it made any difference whether I was somewhere or not before. Here? I'm sure Gray Harbor would go on just fine without me, but there are people here who'd notice if I was gone. It's a pretty big deal to me."

Isi wrinkles her nose, but whatever thought is going on in her head behind that gesture stays unspoken.

Instead, "I didn't really sleep last night, because August said that do that kind of shit might bring those pain eaters out to play. Fell asleep and dreamt something about a lake and that woman who told me my fortune."

Ravn pauses in mid-drink and then looks out at the open sea beyond the marina. "Curious," he murmurs after a moment. "So did I. Falling stars. Fire in the water of the bay. And Baba Yaga saying that the tide is coming in. And at the same time, there's the local doomsayer meteorologist insisting that a typhoon is about to strike Gray Harbor. No one believes him of course -- except that that old fortune teller has been saying so for a month. There's a storm coming."

He hitches a shoulder lightly. "Now might be a good time to brace for impact. I'd do something to prepare -- but I don't know what. It's hard to prepare when you don't know what the threat is."

Harrrrrddddd stop. Isi's drink freezes about an inch from her lips and she stares at Ravn.

It takes a moment for Ravn to realise that he's being stared at. He winces slightly at the direct stare and looks away a moment. "It's not that I don't care," he says. "It's that I don't know what to do until the bloody storm actually hits. It's not going to be a literal storm -- no matter what that guy in Weather says, I mean, they'd pick that up. I think he thinks it's real -- and that he's like us, he's picking up on something to come with his shine. It's a metaphor, but the only thing we actually know about it is that an old Russian trickster deity keeps telling us that it's like the tide, it comes in whether we want it to or not."

"No, no, go back." Isi is confounded on a MUCH more simple topic than a storm that may or may not be another wtf topic.

"You had the same fucking dream as me?!"

Ravn honestly doesn't look much surprised at all. "Seems like it. Want to bet that half a dozen other people did too? Not much point to prophetic visions if you don't share them around. Baba Yaga doesn't turn up here in Hicksville unless there's going to be a show to watch."

The best description of the sound that comes from Isi's mouth is a whimper.

"You know," there is a distinct pain in her voice, "I start thinking I have my brain wrapped around stuff and then... no. I don't. Nope."

Just give her a moment Ravn. She just moved stuff with her mind but sharing a dream is a whole different mind shift.

Ravn dips into a blazer pocket for a cigarette and that old, monogrammed zippo of his. He lights the cigarette without touching the lighter; just letting it float up there and strike the flame on his own. Maybe he wants to show off; more likely, his mind is just somewhere else entirely and fighting to return to the present by exercising what little power the man does in fact have. "Yeah. It's like that here. Sorry. That's... not going to change. Every time you think you've got it all sorted out, something knocks you off course."

Isi aggressively rubs her forehead then drops her hand into her lap. "I am a numbers person. 2+2 us going to be four, right? None of this fits. Alright. So prophetic dreams. Spirit powers." Her eyes are staring at the trick of his. " Stuff that wants to eat me. I do not make enough money for the amount of booze this is going to take."

Ravn notices at last and reaches up with a hand to catch his floating lighter. With a small smile he tosses it to Isi -- because why understand the situation when you can misunderstand it? It's a silver zippo, rather old and tarnished, engraved with some medieval-ish coat-of-arms design. "No strings," he says with a small, lopsided smile.

Then he nods. "Not going to lie, I've been drinking a hell of a lot more since I decided to stick around. Probably more than I should. Worrying about my liver twenty years from now starts to feel a little silly when there are literal things trying to turn you into steak tartare every other month. But, it's not all bad. Some of those other realities are beautiful. Most of the things in there aren't particularly hostile or evil -- they just are. And to some of them, I'm sure, we are the monsters."

It isn't the most graceful catch out there, but Isi DOES catch the lighter. "I'm starting to realize," she says dryly as she rubs her finger around the lighter lightly.

"Tell me more about the not shitty stuff? Please?" There is no way to not around like a five year old saying that.

The motto on the lighter is engraved in capital letters: Omnis Arbor Foecunda. It's old, probably decades, if not more.

"Røn showed me a world once," Ravn says softly. "A savannah, on which there were large herd animals. None of them ever existed in our worlds, and the trees -- the trees had eyes. It was all very peaceful. There was a person of some kind -- definitely not human, but, two arms, two legs -- riding on some giant, lumbering beasts, herding these strange creatures along as they grazed. And instead of birds, there were winged spiders -- hummingspiders. It was the strangest thing I've ever seen, but it was by no means bad or aggressive or awful. Just very strange, and kind of beautiful in its own way."

He looks back at her. "Here, though, on our side? There are people who have the power to go into your mind and influence what's there. I have anxieties -- and they can snap that right off, just like that. Make me feel peaceful, put me back in control. Help me. Or they can create illusions -- once, someone wove a dream for me on the beach, of a pod of humpback whales singing out there. Nothing strange about that except that it was a memory that she used her power to not just describe to me, but show me."

The revolted look which flashes on Isi's face at the idea that someone can get into her mind reveals that she has never really had to deal with dehabilitating mental health issues. (This place will probably fix that predicts the player.) She just can't empathize with that upside Ravn expresses.

She softens just a bit at the better memories, "How can the horrible and beautiful coexist?"

"Doesn't it already? Here? Humans are like that too." Ravn smiles a little and then steals his lighter back, floating it to his own hand. "Capable of being good. Or bad. Kind or cruel. All depends on the situation. Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug. It's not much fun to be the bug."

"But that is people...." Isi starts off, the argument as weak as over boiled pasta. She sighs and shakes her head slowly, answering herself, "It isn't different. I just generally trust id someone is going to kill me they won't also eat me."

"No, they might shoot you because you're in the way of their bank robbery, or run you over by accident because they were talking on their phone and ran a red light, or lightning might strike you down tomorrow." Ravn nods. "It's not -- it's about the threats we're used to, and the ones we're not. People get killed in traffic all the time -- no one thinks we should abolish cars. We're used to that threat, it's just an inevitable force in our lives. I think of this in much the same way. I'm not going to run around on the freeway dodging cars for fun, and I'm not going to take the Veil lightly, either. But if there is a car or a dolorphage with ny name on? It'll happen. Does that make any sense to you at all?"

"Yeah...." Isi says slowly, not able to argue the points he is making. "A bit fatalistic, but I guess realistic too?" She chews the jnside of her lip slowly. "Okay, I know how to generally avoid human incompetence. How do you avoid the veil stuff - or not avoid, that isn't right, ah..." she flounders for the right word but can't seem to find it.

"Deal with it? Come through it?" Ravn finishes his cigarette and tucks the butt into a pocket; apparently he's not the kind of guy who'd just toss it over the railing. "There's a couple of things people keep telling me. The only way is through -- if you're in some kind of dream, there's going to be a narrative of some kind, and the way out is on the other side of it. The story needs to play out, somehow. Don't leave anyone behind -- the guy whose arse you pull out of the fire today may be the guy who pulls yours out tomorrow. Make friends. Be a team player. But don't think everyone here are happy peaceloving hippies who hold hands and sing kumbaya -- we're people, some of us can't stand each other. Just, when the shit hits the fan, we need to play for the same team, and most people realise that."

One side of Isi's lips pull together like she isn't quite happy with that answer. "I'm not a super people person. This," a gesture between the two of them, "is fine in small bouts. Hooking up with someone else when I can learn from their experience, but beyond....?" Isi shakes her head. Only half jokingly, "Got a numbered how-to list of team making that doesn't involve stuff like trust falls?"

"Heh, no." Ravn laughs softly again. "I'm not a people person either, you realise? I quit teaching because I couldn't stand students looking at me. I avoid the hell out of crowds. But when you're in there, together? Somehow, it's easier to get over it because you've got some far bigger and more pressing problems. If they ever figure out how to do that dream where you're naked on a speaker's podium, though, consider me done for and leave me behind."

Isi just BARELY manages to not laugh in Ravn's face at the mental image of his naked oration. She does vivibly relax and smile though.

"Alright. I'll try to just... let it happen. "

"Hey." The Dane gives Isi's face a searching look. "It's not all misery and suffering around here. Most of the time? Life is pretty good. What do you do for fun? What's your idea of a good time? Unless you're into something very exotic, I'll bet you five bucks you can find people who share that hobby around here. Most people in town are perfectly normal, ordinary, down to Earth Americans. You know what I like best about living here? I found a guy who also plays the violin. We practise together, and a fair amount of whiskey gets drunk. Nothing supernatural or scary about it at all."

This is a good topic. Hobbies are fun and NOT DANGEROUS. GENERALLY. "Hiking, Kayaking, Photography - basically, if it gets me outside I am all for it. Sorry, music isn't my thing." Don't ask why she feels like she has to apologize for that.

"Always wanted to get into photography," Ravn says earnestly. "Never got around to it. Maybe I should ask you for a few tips."

The idea that somebody might not be enthusiastic about music doesn't seem to bother him. "My father used to drag me on all kinds of trips," he says and leans back against the railing -- relaxing a little because actually, yes, it's bloody nice to not only talk about life and death levels of threat. "It wasn't entirely a success -- I was this scrawny, asthmatic kid who asked all the questions, and what my father wanted was a manly, stoic young man who could keep up with him. But, he did teach me to sail, so I owe him that much."

At the mention of 'asthmatic' Isi's eyes VERY OBVIOUSLY flick at the cigarette. Like.... disconnect is happening here!

But. She won't SAY as much. "The reservation isn't on any large waterways, so sailing wasn't a thing really. How about this - take me out sometime near sunset or sunrise and I'll give some photography tips."

Ravn catches the look anyway, and laughs. "You're the third person to tell me that this week, you realise? I don't smoke much. Actually stopped for a number of years. Living here, though? You need coping mechanisms. I decided that the calm it gives me at times is worth it. Might not be the best decision I've ever made, but then, making bad decisions is another hobby of mine."

He looks out at the bay a moment and then smiles. "I can definitely do that -- though if you want to go out at sunrise in summer, you may have to fight Her Feline Majesty there for the bunk space. It's pretty damn early in the morning and you might find it easiest to turn up in the evening and then spend the night. Bring lots of bribes -- she likes tuna."

"You mean I'll have to fight for queen bitch?" Isi jokes, then corrects herself, "Sorry, Queen Pussy. Tuna, got it. I should warn that I'm an amateur, you won't get anything in a gallery using what I know."

"I don't even play with an audience," Ravn says with another little laugh. "Believe me, if I could take pictures worthy of putting them in a gallery -- I'd hide them under my bunk instead. I really don't like attention. Last fall -- I told you about the crazy life stories the Veil made up, right? The one where I was a celebrity chef first, and now I train lobsters? For a while I had actual paparazzi trailing me -- taking pictures of me here on the Vagabond and anyone coming on board for whatever reason. Pulling a few headlines -- Swedish Gordon Ramsay dating whoever on sailboat, that sort of thing. That was probably the worst damn thing the Veil ever did to me -- and I say that in spite of still recovering from a broken arm and several broken ribs last week."

He must heal fast. Or lie through his teeth, either works.

"Daaammnnn." Isi replies, shaking her head in sympathy. Attention like that, no thanks.

But his reference to the injury has her asking- "So, do I want to ask what happened with the arm and leg, or should we set a date for me to try to woo your cat into accepting me for a sail?"

"Let's check the weather report first," Ravn replies with the common sense of someone who does in fact know how to sail. "If there really is a typhoon coming like that guy is suggesting? I don't want to be out there when it hits. The Vagabond is capable of riding out an Atlantic storm -- but there's a hell of a step up from storm to tropical typhoon."

He glances at the cat, and then, inexplicably laughs a little. "As for my arm? Remember how there was this odd smell at the HOPE centre? Turns out the basement was full of very dead, very angry people. Beat the crap out of myself and several other folks. Holt, Vydal, Hyacinth Addington -- the four of us all had to go spend a few nights in hospital. Hawthorne got lucky -- for some reason they didn't seem to register him."

"Do spirit typhoons show up on Doppler radar?" Real question here!

But then.... "...did the missing butcher kill them?" The dead people.

"Hell if I know," Ravn admits. "But that's why I think it's spiritual -- that guy is the laughing stock of the rest of the media because he's the only guy who's talking about storms and typhoons. It's just that when he's saying the same thing Baba Yaga is saying -- I start paying attention."

Then he shakes his head, a little wryly. "No, I think they killed him? Not entirely sure -- I was a little busy having my head slammed into a wall repeatedly but I think the boss ghost, if you can say that -- was his wife. There's a lot to unpack there -- maybe we'll find out sometime. The Gazette reported it all as a gas leak explosion of course. That's how it works. Everyone around town who doesn't shine is firmly convinced that it was just an accident in a derelict building. Even the paramedics who took us in."

Mental note made, watch the weather reports more regularly. Especially from crazy weathermen.

But back to the dead people in the basement. "That sounds like a cautionary tale against... marriage. In general." One's dead wife's ghost killing you. Just. eeewwwww. "So... did you guys... take care of it? What the fuck has my life come to that asking if one has taken care of a ghost problem seems normal?"

The second sentence is mumbled to herself.

"Yeah. If by taken care of you mean that we're still around and the ghosts aren't." Ravn shakes his head. It's not that he can't relate to how Isi is feeling. It's just that he was there six months ago, and by now, all of this is just... the new normal. He can tell how crazy it all sounds when he has to explain it to somebody not accustomed to it all. Bloody batshit insane, that's what he sounds like.

Maybe a bit of humour? "Wasn't planning to get married one of these days anyhow. Already had my own dead fiancee turn up once -- not sure I want to see more dead, angry women, you know?"

Maybe not.

Man, the day this starts sounding Normal Isi isn't going to be able to look herself in the mirror any more.

"To the lack to marriage," Isi proposes, holding up her beer because that's something to toast.

"I'm going to have to mentally just put ghosts.... over there. For now. Sailing, folklore, music no one else is allowed to hear. What else are you in to?"

Ravn raises his bottle in turn because as far as he's concerned? Yes, that's a working toast. Then he cants his head a little and thinks. "I read a lot? I spend a substantial amount of my time talking to people about all of this, and trying to turn HOPE into more than an idea. I don't really have a whole lot going on, on a more personal level. I pick a pocket every once in a while to stay sharp but, only on people who know I might -- more challenge that way. Sometimes I go to Seattle for a day, play the boardwalk grift game for a bit, just to make sure I can still do it."

".. those are some friends then." Isi replies with her eyebrow arched upwards. Then a thought occurs and she might ask well ask, "Do you physically do the grab-thing, or like," finger wiggles because that's how she's decided to show the spirit stuff that comes with the shine. Coping mechanisms being built.

"I do it the old-fashioned way," Ravn says with another little laugh. "Some years back I flirted with a criminal life. I gave it up when I realised I pretty much just wanted to piss my parents off -- but it didn't really get their attention at all. It's still fun, though, and I did make my way across Europe and the US doing boardwalk scams. You know the kind -- three cups, a nut, that sort of thing. Nothing strictly illegal as such. But I can pick a lock or a pocket if I need to. It's come in handy in the dreams a few times."

"I mean, it would make life super easy. Just do the," finger wiggle, " and make the nut stick to the bottom of the cup or whatever." Isi clearly isn't totally familiar without these tricks work. Ignorance is bliss, okay?

"Oh, I've done that a few times," Ravn admits, laughing. "But on the whole? I prefer the normal way. The shine is not reliable enough for me. I'm really not very good at it -- whereas with my hands, I know exactly what I'm doing." He looks at them -- long, slender fingers in black kidskin -- and wriggles his fingers a little. "So that's my terrible not-really-a-secret: I used to be a thief and a grifter, if not a very successful one."

"You're a living contradiction." Isi proclaims to herself, still shaking her head. She isn't patting herself to check for her wallet, so there's some measure of trust there.

"Has your, .. spirit art," because that's the mental pigeonhole that Isi's going to make for the shine/glimmer/art stuff, "ever attracted something nasty?"

"Am I? And here I thought I was just some wandering grifter who got stuck in the net here with the other fish that have a bit of sparkly." Ravn smirks a little. "Lots of people like me turn up here. People like you -- fair bit of power, high functioning. And people like me -- not much juice, and most of us are pretty low functioning. I'm decent -- have anxiety issues, sure, but I can hold a conversation and a job. Some of the guys who live in cardboard boxes under the boardwalk? Not quite so good at that. Maybe it's why I relate to them the way I do -- I know I'm honestly just two steps of privilege removed from being them. I had well-to-do parents -- guy like Denny didn't. The difference between mumbling weirdo homeless guy and mumbling weirdo cat lady boils down to me being able to go through university while he got sent to Afghanistan."

Isi pulls a leg up against her chest and settles her head upon her knee. "Has anyone tried to take the ones more..." Isi's trying not to say 'crazy' here, "sensitive out? Like, away from this place? Would that help them be more stable?"

Ravn pauses a moment, as if to consider his wording before he replies to that. "The thing is -- the more sensitive, as you say -- the nutcases, the crazies, the people who go around talking to themselves about murder mermaids and invisible ghosts. They're the easy prey -- they're literally the best crop for the dolorphages. They don't fight back, they don't organise, they don't talk to each other the way we do. You and me? We could get up and leave if we really wanted to. I don't think it's as easy for them, because they're the ones that Cthulhu really wants to have around."

He pauses and then shrugs lightly. "I could be wrong. All of this is theorising, piecing things together, trying to see patterns. All we know for an actual fact is that Gray Harbor attracts an unusually high amount of supposedly low resource people -- homeless guys, crazies, whatever words we use -- and has an unusually high amount of murders and disappearances, primarily among those people. There's statistics for this -- a guy named Alexander Clayton collected them from decades back. Everything else is us trying to figure it all out, and everybody's got their own theory."

Isi makes a mental note of the name to look up the information later. Interesting.

A tiny nod for 'everyone has their own theory'. That makes sense. "Do people like you or me ever lose it? Because of the things that happen?"

"What are people like you or me?" Ravn hitches a shoulder a little. "Of course people lose it sometimes. People do that. People don't need to have the shine to do that. A number of us have done time in therapy or hospitals, of course -- just like you'd expect if somebody tells you they see dead people or hear voices, or think that their toys are trying to eat them, or that they regularly get lost in another world only to wander back in with burns and cuts. If there's one thing this town teaches you? I guess it's that what's normal for the rest of the world doesn't really apply to us. Me, I talk to people other people can't see. Am I crazy? My parents certainly thought so. I think I'm pretty harmless, though."

That is food for thought and has Isi sitting back, drinking and falling silent. There is quite a bit of silent contemplation that will need to occur at that point.

"Is there any rhyme or reason to what people experience?"

"I think -- it's very individual," Ravn replies after a moment. "Everything I experience -- seems to be leading somewhere. To some, it all seems -- random, like they're just being toyed with, or used. Some are terrified, thinking of themselves as victims. A friend of mine sees it all as -- something to be understood and explored, something to learn the rules of so you can take control of it. To me -- it's a journey. I came into town pretty broken. Everything that's happened to me? Some of it has been awful, outright terrible. And yet I feel I've become more me from it all. Like somehow, this place forces me to look inwards and take charge of myself before I can try to take charge of anything else."

He shakes his head. "Or maybe I just am crazy. Everything is in the eye of the beholder, after all. I have friends here. A sense of purpose. In some strange way? I'm happy here."

"I have very little experience with mental illness," Isi admits, her voice putting words to what was already obvious from her actions. "I can't say I'm totally comfortable with the idea either. I'm sorry." Apologizing for weakness right up front.

But she will throw in some tiny bit of levity. "Do you keep a go- bag or something for when sit hits the fan? "

"That's a bit of a running joke, you know?" Ravn doesn't seem bothered by Isi's admission. "Never go to sleep without a first aid kit, a firearm, and a sandwich. Also, don't sleep naked. But the thing is -- if a dream wants you in there naked, or for that matter, in a Disney princess costume, then that's what you get. I stopped sleeping naked after a few, er, embarrassing experiences myself, not going to lie. Friend of mine? Found himself playing midwife to a giant faerie frog while wearing only the barbecue apron he quickly borrowed from the local gym coach. I wish I could have seen that, I really do. He's this big, burly Irishman -- I mean, it's gotta have been Instagram worthy."

"Always carry your towel." Isi quotes the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy with a shake of her head. "I think I met him, but I'll be honest, names aren't something that stick for me. Faces, usually, but names?" Isi shrugs and then looks down with consternation at her now empty bottle.

Not cool universe.

"I can replace that for you if you like," Ravn offers, amused. "Also, yeah, you did meet him -- Seth Monaghan, the big guy with Vic Grey who showed you the door into the Other Side. Also known to rock a kilt at times, and very well at that -- or so my gay friends tell me."

"Ah, yeah. She made it pretty clear he was taken." Isi has just the smallest of smirks on her face, admiration probably. "I won't say no to another - I think the ones I brought might be warm by now."

"Then let's toss yours in the fridge and take mine out." Ravn gets up to do so. He moves easily around in spite of being a tall man on a relatively small boat; apparently, walking with a hunch when diving under deck is simply a habit that one acquires (or a permanent headache if one does not). The beers with which he emerges are Heineken. Can take the European out of Europe, but apparently, not Europe out of the European.

He settles again, offering one over to Isi and opening the other for himself. "Well, that's Grey. For a while she had the whole no labels, no commitment thing going -- then another woman eyed Seth up and that was the end of no labels and no commitment. Seems to be working all right for them, though, they're pretty inseparable -- and they seem to be doing all right. Haven't moved in together yet, but I'm thinking that's just a matter of time."

Town gossip much? Well, somebody's gotta be.

The exchange of drinks has 5hr customary yes please and thank yous involved before they can go back to the background activity of drinking as they talk.

"Never met anyone I'd want to put labels on. Maybe I'll find a nice merman or something." That last is said with a wry joking tone.

"In this town, you just might. Just don't tell Denny." Ravn half-smiles; the volunteer slash homeless guy's fear of merpeople is kind of amusing as a joke, but, he's seen merpeople. He's been merpeople. He hasn't told Denny about that experience, either.

"Dating scene here isn't huge if you want someone who'll understand why you turn up with strange bruises or cuts, or claiming that you just spent the night in a live re-enactment of Candy Crush," he adds, chuckling. "But, there are options, I think? It's not really something I keep close tabs on but I do know most folks at least superficially so -- somebody catches your eye, I should be able to tell you if they're already engaged elsewhere at least. It's a small town, word about that sort of thing gets around fast."

"So... not exactly the town matchmaker. More like the Gray Harbor equivalent to Facebook stalking?" Isi teases at his offer but shakes her head. "It is more fun to think, and gossip about, then do, you know?"

Ravn's grey eyes glitter with amusement. "Honestly, I'm usually the last person to know these things. I randomly got photographed standing next to the Assistant District Attorney last week, and five different people assumed that we were dating. I think it was as much news to the ADA as it was to me. At least she made very certain to point out that she's not interested the next time we bumped into each other."

"Well, was she cute?" Isi has an eyebrow arched upwards, testing the tease to see how it falls.

Ravn cants his head. "I guess? Short, blond, pretty. Big mouth, lots of attitude. Depends on whether that's your type. I can introduce you if we run into her downtown. Got to warn you that she hasn't got the shine, though, so nothing of all this registers to her. There are no monsters in her world, not like there is in ours. It takes some creative wriggling, sometimes, explaining strange things in a way that goes over and clicks with the people who don't have our experiences."

"I can't help but be of two minds about that. I could see it being a steadying force, to have someone who doesn't know. See all sorts of shit but then have someone normal to complain about work and stuff. Or make you feel guilty having to lie all the time."

Isi still has Ravn's lighter and she picks it up and stares at it intently. It rises just a little. Not much.

Ravn looks up at the sky. "I thought that -- but to be honest, I don't think I could deal with it. Having to make up explanations why I disappear in the middle of the night, why I come home with burn marks or bite marks or stab wounds... Why I seem to hang around with the local thugs and the local law enforcement... It's just.. more complications. But I'm happy to make introductions if bossy blondes are your thing." That last line is accompanied by a grin -- because why not. It's always fun to watch people try to break the ice.

"I am not opposed to taking anything for a ride," Isi grins back, because let's be honest, who WOULDN'T want a bossy blond?

The lighter drops back into her palm and she holds it out to Ravn to take back.

Into its customary blazer pocket the lighter goes -- though in the mundane fashion of being picked up and pocketed. "Not the worst attitude to have," the Dane laughs. "I got that advice myself off a guy when I first came into town -- drink a lot, hook up a lot, it helps. I got the drinking down pat, at least. People cope in whatever way works for them -- that's one thing Gray Harbor is good about, we generally don't pass a whole lot of judgement. The kind of things we get dragged into here, the last thing you need is people getting judgemental on top of everything else."