2021-05-29 - Giddy-Up, Back on the Horsie

Green versus Tan, that seemed to be the battle happening currently. Abitha sat at one of the tables in the middle of the room across from Lonnie, the game shop owner holding a spread of brown-backed cards with one hand, her fingers splayed through hair that had been green once, but now showed a few months worth of brown colored root. The color had persisted, likely from whatever she’d been able to order to wash through it, but there was no doubt It’d been time since she’d gone to her hair stylist for a touch-up.

In juxtaposition to Abitha’s frustrated and contemplative pose, Lonnie sits with her arms crossed, the spread of her cards resting over one elbow as she eyes her boss with a look that said she was waiting and felt any resistance futile anyhow. Abitha slowly reaches forward and twists a few cards on the table, shows one from her hand and sends it to the graveyard, then digs through her deck to put another forest on the field. With a look that says she’s not quite sure if she should, she gently knocks on the table, announcing the end of her turn.

Card games. On a list of things Ravn Abildgaard is familiar with, card games probably rank right above woolly rhinoceroses (rhinocerii? cereal? certainly?) and other large land mammals extinct since the dawn of man. He is vaguely aware that there are in fact other kinds of decks than the classic Bridge deck. He's seen Baba Yaga use various Tarot decks, for one. He recalls that back in school, some of the kids would play Magic the Gathering but he never figured out what it was all about.

What this guy wants in a game store is anyone's guess.

He leans in a little to peek at Mac's hand and then says, "So, red goes on black?" Because when you're this clueless you might as well go all the way where clueless is concerned. Right?

Ravn might at least recognize the back of the cards, then, as the two women were absolutely playing the All-Father(Mother?), the Progenitor, the Alpha and the Omega, the OG: Magic the Gathering. Abitha was attempting to play a green deck, as the vast spread of forests and the verdant color of the cards in her hands would convey. She just seemed to lack anything on the board besides the forest. Maybe she was just trying to build a nature preserve or something, who could tell?

Lonnie’s side of the field was a weird mishmash of multicolored cards, and it was harder to tell what was going on, but it was clear there was some sort of advantage as she untaps cards, draws and considers her options.

“What?” Abitha looks up and back at Ravn with a quirked brow, “No, red is just a...” she considers, “Are you fucking with me?”

Lonnie’s consideration comes to an end, as she seems to run some sort of twisting and searching shell game with her cards which Abitha observes dubiously, but still seems to follow. The part-time clerk then slaps a creature down center-field, declaring loudly, “Emrakul, the Aeon’s Torn!” Then throws up her hands, as if victory was already achieved. Abitha sighs and puts her face in her hand, setting her hand down.

"Well, maybe a little." Ravn does not look very guilty as he watches Lonnie shuffle her cards around -- with the keen attention of someone who has in fact used the shell game as a source of income on many an occasion. Is she cheating? He has no idea; he'd need to know the rules of the game in order to tell. Lonnie's declaration prompts a clueless look and a, "Bless you?"

Nerdboy is obviously missing at least some nerd credentials in his upbringing.

The choice of colour in Mac's cards does give him pause though; that strategy seems almost too easy to be plausible. No game aimed at an adult audience ever kept it that simple -- after all, if the winning strategy is just 'collect all the green cards' then there is no real challenge, nothing to figure out, nothing to put an individual touch to.

"I know this game," the Dane declares after a moment. "Or rather, I know of it. I remember somebody back in school making a small fortune off creating near-perfect forgeries of a specific card and selling them. Black Lotus, something? Very valuable, apparently."

“Thanks, Dad.” Lonnie intones with a flat stare that looked so bored, it could make paint dry, also resulting in a snort from Abitha’s direction before the shop owner scoops up her cards and starts flipping them into her deck. Apparently, they were in agreement that Lonnie had won simply from playing the card.

“You went too dig heavy.” was all Lonnie said to Abitha, whose eyes lift to the ceiling briefly, asking some unknown source for help or saving. The clerk scoops up her own cards and sets them aside, then stands and ambles over to the back counter where she can be heard opening Abitha’s mini fridge. She shows off one the the Whitewood ciders Abitha favored and the gamer looks stricken, then hands her head. Lonnie uncaps and drinks from it, making a gasping noise of enjoyment.

“Yeah, apparently forgeries are a real problem to look out for, even more so nowadays.” It was Abitha’s turn to talk now, her eyes looking to Ravn as she twists in her seat to look uuuup at him, with the briefest glance of confirmation to Lonnie who nods, but starts clicking something on the shop computer, looking at something while Abitha was otherwise engaged.

Ravn looks after Lonnie, amused. "The only part of that I understood was 'this guy is going to be boring as hell and I am going to be over here, boss.'"

He doesn't look all that bothered. Strolling around the table to claim the chair that Lonnie vacated he turns it around and plops himself down on it, arms on the backrest. "Came by to check on you. Place looked like it's not crammed full of customers at the moment so I figure I'm not interrupting any serious work that you need to get done right now. Haven't seen you out and about since -- well, since that day at the police station. You can tell me to bugger off if you want, of course."

Lonnie hears the snark and doesn’t even have to look over. She just raises a hand with a forefinger and thumb curled into a ring with her fingers splayed. This was usual snark for the girl, and she wasn’t a horribly inhospitable clerk, but she knew friends of Abitha took a beating verbally often, so it was probably fine.

“Was it when she called you dad, or just left to go drink my hard-won booze.” The last part is raised and nets a smirk from Lonnie, but Abitha digresses. More she tries to look distracted, organizing her cards and shuffling them, then going through the deck, her fingers deft in the process, likely something practiced many times over the course of months of being a shut-in, the cards almost seeming to twirl themselves back into place. Even if they did, there is very clearly no use of her gift.

“So?” She tries first, but almost immediately tries changing tacks, and very poorly lying to Ravn, “I mean, sure I have, I gotta get groceries and stuff.” Something she usually mentions about having delivered anyways.

"I've met people who would argue that if a girl calls you daddy, you should keep right on doing whatever you're doing to her at the moment." Ravn keeps a straight face regardless of Lonnie's smirking; one might venture a guess that he doesn't particularly mind the ribbing.

He steals a card -- from whatever pile is nearest -- to look at; the fantasy artwork on Magic cards is usually quite good on average. The creature upon it is clearly not familiar to the man -- who, for all his background in folklore, is not a fantasy gamer, and not familiar with that genre's by now quite extensive folklore. Maybe the next generation of researchers in his field will expand to including D&D and related fauna.

"So, nothing," the Dane replies to Mac's challenge and puts the card back down where he swiped it. "Just thinking, I've had time to heal that gunshot through the chest I got a few days later. And the broken ribs and arm I got after that. Which means that even in my recently concussed state, I can verify that a fair bit of time has in fact passed, but you're not back in fighting shape yet. How do I help?"

As Ravn stole a look at her Healer of the Glade, something she hadn't had in her hand when she was playing, Abitha considers him. There's a moment where she looks at him, the sort of look he may recognize that looks through people, the sort of look she always got when reaching with her mind... But her eyes widen, and she flicks her gaze off. Her powers had again not been in evidence. But it looked like she was going to just use them, maybe check him for wounds in that feeble touch of the Shapers that she had.

She looks like, when her brows lower in anger, she was frustrated, maybe at the fact that after all this time, she was just going to use her powers frivolously again, without thought.

"I'm always in fighting shape, Ravn." There was weirdness in that statement. She'd pronounced his name with an inflection that was distinctly familiar, like a native speaker might, something a girl that spoke two Eastern Asian languages along with English probably shouldn't know how to do. She goes on, though, as if it was nothing, "That's sort of the problem."

"The fact that we need to be in fighting shape at any given moment is definitely a problem," Ravn agrees readily, and rests his chin on one hand, the elbow of which still rests on the backrest of the turned-around chair that he's sitting on. "But it's not a new problem. It did not seem to bother you like this in the past. Something changed that day at the station. I know what happened. I'm still processing what happened to the receptionist. I'm still processing the fact that I tried to stab somebody in the face with a pair of scissors -- that I am capable of trying something like that. Kind of planning to have a quiet little breakdown about it sometime, only every time I seem to catch my breath long enough, something else tries to kill me. But I don't get the impression that you're hiding from something out there. It's not something out there that is troubling you."

He pauses and watches the green-haired (with roots) woman for a moment and then adds, a bit more quietly: "And if you tell me to mind my own damn business, I will."

"I mean, you do you. Liu kinda deserved it, to be fair. Total sociopathic killer." Abitha's lips draw into a sidelong pull, eyes considering Ravn's for a long moment, then dropping to her cards again, she was shuffling her deck again. She had continued to shuffle it, to the point Lonnie actually looked over again, squinting, dubious of card abuse. She looks back again without comment. Not her cards.

"Nah I'm... not hiding from what's out there." Abitha concludes finally, with the clear absence of a followup to clarify or explain. He hadn't actually pushed the subject about her being shut-in, so she was safe in the between space where no one was going to bring up her commitment to hermitage. "Heck, I haven't even crossed or Dreamed for a few months." Besides those two nightmares... Her eyes flit off in guilt.

"If I'm ready to stab a bloke in the eye, am I also a sociopathic killer?" Ravn shakes his head a little, and lowers his voice slightly -- he's not so worried that Lonnie might overhear, but maybe any random walk-ins don't need to pick up a random comment in passing, about stabbing people. Picking up the card again and handling it quite carefully with gloved fingers he murmurs, "Are you happy about that? Because I have to admit, I'm not sure I'd miss not doing that. For a while, I had pretty intense dream activity. Most of which has been trying to do me in, along with whoever else was around. I expected it -- with the HOPE centre and all."

He flips the card around absentmindedly, letting it bounce off a knuckle before it flits back to its place on the table. "You're not hiding from what's out there. Are you protecting us from what's in here?"

"He had just killed someone, Ravn, no." Abitha's eyebrows knit in concern that he keeps trying to compare them, then she shakes her head. "And yeah, its kinda nice to not be dragged out of bed to have to fry and murder my way through a horrorscape." Her voice was lower too, but not so much Lonnie couldn't probably hear. Lonnie had that shine to her, if weak, she probably knew exactly what they were talking about and said nothing.

The last part was a more difficult answer, and Abitha couldn't really meet Ravn's eyes. "Pff. Don't flatter yourself..." Weakest defense ever.

"If I don't flatter myself, no one else is going to do it for me." A lopsided smile accompanies Ravn's cheeky answer. "I hear you loud and clear on not feeling that you're missing out on the alt-world action. I could certainly do with less of it myself. I signed on to stand on the front line when I got involved with HOPE, and I knew what happens when you poke a beehive with a stick. Keeping your head down and not attracting the attention of the other side is not a bad thing."

Ravn toys with the card again. Doing so gives him something to do with his fingers, to distract his mind a little from the fact that he is just about the least confrontational person in the county (and probably the state too), and this -- while civil enough -- is a confrontation of a sorts. He probably does not even think about how he uses that very weak shine of his to make it fall and flip back up just the way he wants; next to Ravn even Lonnie is a beacon of light but the Dane has had that little power he has for all his life, and he's never really considered the idea that he might in fact be able to do his various little sleight of hand tricks in spite of the gloves because he has that little bit of shine.

"Something happened at the precinct," Ravn reiterates, still keeping his voice down enough that not every random person rummaging through the bargain bin needs to hear everything. "Something happened inside of you -- a fear, an anxiety response, something. Or something literally happened that only you saw and the rest of us who were there missed out on. Anywhere else? I'd suggest that you have some kind of PTSD response to not only seeing people get violently killed in front of you, but having been a part of the fight yourself. I know I have it -- I still wake up at night, drenched in sweat, dreaming about fight or flight responses. But this is Gray Harbor, so step on my foot under the table if there's an invisible demon on your shoulder holding you hostage."

A joke (unless he genuinely believes that invisible shoulder demons are also deaf and do not know how to lip read) except not just a joke. It's Gray Harbor, a supernatural hostage situation of some kind is as valid an option as any other.

Perhaps a signal of just what kind of power-phobia she was dealing with, Abitha ignores both of their touch aversions to reach and try to slap his hand down when she notices his soft manipulation of the card. Her eyes even do a quick flick to a few corners of the room after she does it. Then she remembers and snatches her hand back again.

“Sorry, um...” Abitha tries to find words in the tangle the confluence of difficult conversation and anxieties causes. Inward, a breath is heard through her nose, body straightening with inhalation, breath exhaled through her mouth. Were Ravn not to know better, it might even look like meditation calming technique. Maybe she was seeing a therapist... By video call...

“Yeah, something happened. We know that. There’s...” Brow furrow, lip pull aside and purse, thought assigned to analysis, eyes reading an inner monologue, “There’s nothing around me that’s... stopping me. I’m just... I’m better in here. In here, I have control of my space. No one comes in I don’t want. No one can surprise me. Scare me.” An honest admittance of weakness or fear seems strange, though it was what went unsaid, things she’d referred to before.

Ravn does look surprised; but as he also clearly sees Mac's hand coming he manages to just let his fingers be slapped and the card be returned to its proper place without flinching or complaining. For him, after all, it's not a phobia -- it's a damaged nerve system.

"I get that," he says after a moment. "And I'm not even sure I should try to push you on it. You are safer in here. You are not dreaming. You are not getting thrown into life and death situations. It's hard to insist that the world outside is safer because it isn't."

The Dane looks up. "It's better, though. The outside world -- it has things worth going out there for. And I say that as someone who until fairly recently honestly would have been quite happy to just disappear too. People are worth it. Also when they're not."

“No... It’s... not that I’m safe in here, Ravn.” Abitha was talking as the words are found, letting them flow as she thinks. She was frustrated, clearly, maybe from having to explain, maybe from not liking the sound of it, even if she had to say it.

“It’s that it’s safe with me in here.” She finally gets out, a breath made sideways, blowing a bang out of her face. She decides it was a perfectly fine thing to distract herself and lift her hands, busying at gathering her wavy hair into some sort of control and beginning to deftly braid it.

“All those wonderful things outside a better without me being out there. I’m not one of those things.”

"You looked into the Abyss too long." Ravn curls his fingers around each other, weaving them into a small steeple of black kidskin. "I'm not sure what to tell you. You are dangerous. All of you people who have these fantastic and terrifying powers -- you're pretty scary to the rest of us mortals. But, so is anyone who has a gun. Or a sharp knife. Or the power to have you arrested, or your work permit revoked. And the big guy around the corner who's looking to mug somebody. Ordinary people go through life terrified that somebody's going to stab them or shoot them or otherwise screw up their lives. And we cope, because what else can we do? There are monsters in the woods. As far as monsters go, at least you and the other gifted people here in Gray Harbor are on our side."

Abitha reaches for her phone in frustration, unlocking it with a dizzying pattern drawn with deft fingers. She opens up a browser and searches the exact right words, because the first result is a news story. Over two years back at this point. Mystery accident, outside Seattle, assumed the man was trying to access a street light's wiring for no discernable reason. Massive electrical burns, bludgeoning injuries from where he'd been thrown back. The man survived barely, and had to wear a pacemaker for the rest of his life. Of course there was no mention of her proximity to the scene, likely Veil massaging.

"The abyss had always been there. It's me. The first time I found out I had powers was from nearly killing someone. During the investigation, I blew out the lights in Eleanor's shop just because Esme scared me. The precinct is just another example. All of the things you describe are people deciding to use a power to hurt someone..." She trails off, maybe unwilling to put to words she wasn't sure she has control over it anymore.

"So what you're saying is that you need to learn to control it, so that you get to make that decision. So that if you do decide to fry someone, it's a choice, not an accident." Ravn continues to watch Mac over steepled fingers. "I wish we lived in a place where I could say that needing to fry somebody is not a thing, but -- we don't. If I didn't know people who can in fact do that, I'd not be here to have this conversation. Having friends who can in fact fry a monster is a basic survival necessity in this town -- and I cannot do something like that. But I do understand why you need to be able to control a power like that. So tell me what it is you do exactly -- and maybe we can find out between us who else around here has something like that, and get you talking? You need someone else who -- well, someone else who's been in an accident like that, maybe, or at least close enough to understand where you're coming from."

“It’s been two years,” Abitha states the obvious, given the timeline she herself presented. Her brows were still furrowed unhappily, staring at Ravn, “What kind of control you think I haven’t learned by now? It’s because I know how to use them that it’s too dangerous. I use them before I even think.” Her lips flatten into a line and she puts her elbows on the table, folding her hands around them.

“My powers are weird, like... I’ve heard some others talk about stuff. I’ve got electricity and telepathy, memory reading. I can tell when people are lying. I can move things. I know when there are Doors nearby. Actually, hilariously, I can shove up to my weight into a purse. Ask me how I figured that shit out.”

"That kind of control. Not how to use your power -- but when. That's what you're afraid of, using them at the wrong time." Ravn's grey eyes do not falter. The master of social anxiety seems to have some steel after all, when the issue is somebody else's problems rather than his own.

He relents a little, and looks at his hands instead. "I know a bloke who set his family's house on fire; people died. A woman who electrocuted her abusive partner. Men and women who can fry people like crisps, people who can walk in and out of the bloody Veil like tourists. People like the Magpie who can do things to your mind. Even I can move little things like coins and lighters, or sacks of flour off a shelf. Even I have killed people, or at least things. I was eleven when I used the power to impale a guy's balls on a fork. It's not the power that you're afraid of, sounds like -- but using it at the wrong time. Think it might help to talk to others who have been where you are. People who have had -- the kind of experiences that required body bags. Find out from them how they deal, how they cope."

“Oh sure, it’s just that easy to learn. I’ll get right on that.” Sarcasm was always a little too easy for the gamer to reach for, “So you’ll be cool if I just stay in and away from people until then, right?” Abitha lifts a challenging brow, but it descends almost immediately as she takes on that quiet frustration with deafeningly obvious body language.

“What good is talking to other people going to do?” She wonders, and a light can be seen as she realizes and speaks, “Like, from what I’ve just told you. Telepathy. Empathy, really. I can feel what other people are feeling. So yeah, lemme go talk to them about the pain and suffering they’ve caused others and themselves. Seems like a great idea for making me feel better.”

"But we're not talking about me," Ravn points out gently. "Since when do you need my approval to do anything? If you want to stay in your shop for the rest of your life, I can tell you I think it's a bad idea -- but beyond that? It's your life, and your choice."

He shakes his head slightly, toying with the card -- though this time only with gloved fingertips, and no application of his small gift. "You could go add all their pain to your own, I suppose. I don't think that'd make you feel better -- I think it'd spiral you into a pit of despair you might not be able to claw your way out of, if I have to be honest. What you should talk to people about is how they cope with this fear. How do they handle it? How do they make certain that they won't use their power at the wrong time? I can't help you much there because if I were to use mine instinctively, to hurt someone else -- well, what am I going to do, shove a coin up their backside?"

“Sounds boring.” The gamer states flatly, not unlike a petulant child. Look, she even crosses her arms exactly the same way, and her stature just about matches a high schooler. She goes one step further to tack on, “...and annoying.” Abitha parts one hand from the self-embrace to wave it upward and aside, an indication of her shop and likely her apartment above it.

“I got everything I need here. I can keep myself entertained.No one else in this town seems to game seriously.” She was still trying to explain why she was just fine here, no need for emotional support, totally sidestepping his meaningful argument, “I can get all my groceries delivered, and even booze.” Though that meant she hadn’t seen Maggi unless the bar owner had come over. Abitha probably didn’t even know the Pourhouse had new floors.

"Well, that's the beautiful thing about unsolicited advice: You don't have to take it." Ravn picks up the card and finally takes a closer look at it, reading the stats on it (and not understanding much of what he reads). "If you're perfectly happy playing recluse, then everything's as it should be. I get the temptation, not going to lie. I suck at people, and sometimes, the idea of just going somewhere that no one else ever goes to has a lot of pull. I figure that some day I'm going to follow the pull -- just walk into the Veil and, well, get lost."

“Ok, for one, you’re not bad with people. Jesus, you’ve got some sort of dependent orbit with most people I know....” Abitha comments, a sidelong look given Ravn, brows lowered as if she were annoyed by the sentiment. “And two, how many of us in this town are able and willing to rip a hole open and drag your gangly ass back over here if you tried some shit like that.”

Her eyes eventually wander away from the man, out the front window of her shop. She wasn’t quite enjoying the view, but it was more a thoughtful kind of look anyways. “I just... It feels like... It feels like nothing I do will matter anyways, so I might as well stop hurting other people. I guess... I don’t fucking know.” A hand lifts to stroke along the braid she’d made, starting look look more annoyed, maybe reminded by the massive amount of root. Not a good look.

"I was in that hole for most of my life," Ravn says, watching Mac's hand do what Mac's hand does to Mac's unfortunate braid. "Did stupid things to get my parents' attention. Didn't get it. At some point I just went 'fuck it all' and did whatever I wanted -- which boiled down to trying to impress whoever'd tell me I was useful. Later, I just stopped caring altogether and hitch-hiked from one place to another, pretty much invisible to the world. Gray Harbor changed the game for me. It's the first damn place I've felt like anyone would notice whether I lived or died. Maybe that's what I'm trying to do right now -- rip a hole open and drag your gangly ass back over here. Just, it's not the Veil that's holding you hostage, it's a very real depression after the bloody mess you had to deal with at the precinct."

He pauses. "Funny though, how it's always so much easier to sort other people's problems out in your mind than your own. Looks positively easy to me -- just get up and take your life back. I know it's not that simple. It never is. I can tell you to just get up and go, and you can tell me to stuff my social anxieties up where the sun doesn't shine, and neither of us are ever going to really understand what the other is dealing with."

Abitha catches the look and sighs, forcefully putting her hands down and away from the braid. Maybe her self-image issues would force her out faster than Ravn's pep-talk would, but either way would likely be a win in his book.

“Look, I’m uh... I’m trying talking to someone. It’s hard cause they don’t shine, but it’s something.” This was likely a reference to his assumption of her depression, “And I guess thanks for caring. In your own coddling then spiky way.” She snorts a little. “And yeah, we talk a good game I guess.”

Another long sigh, another long look, another useless statement. “So that picture with the ADA, huh? You looked like you wanted to crawl out of your skin.”

"See social anxieties, mine," Ravn murmurs, in his own way accepting that there's not a lot more to say as far as pep talks go -- at least not at this time. "I honestly have no idea why she dragged me into that. As far as I can make out, she alternates between being mad at me and trying to get me to flirt with her. She doesn't shine either -- and it is hard. Pretty sure she thinks I run a charity in order to meet women."

He shakes his head. So tempting to just talk about something else but fair's fair -- Mac just sat through his uncomfortable inquiries so the least he can do is be graceful when the table's turned. "I'm not thrilled about the attention. See also, invisible, turning, me."

“Ugh, I’ve seen enough of those bitches in high school and college.” Abitha makes with the finally putting decks in boxes, looking like she was cleaning up. “High GPA or a cheerleader, daddy thinks they’re amazing or doesn’t think about them at all. They think they’re god’s gift to any male that glances in their direction, even if its just to cross the street.”

As she absently tries to shove just a few too many cards into the box she was attempting, there was a moment where Ravn might notice her gift, a tiny flicker. Another box on the table pops open and spills cards everywhere. Abitha was mid-grudging offer.

“We both don’t date, so, if you need a bea-Fuck! I did it again.”

"You dropped some cards. Sure, you did it with your mind and not your hands, but, same thing. You dropped some cards. We pick the cards up, it's no worse than turning around quick and knocking something off a shelf with your elbow." Ravn reaches over to help pick the cards back up and return them to their respective boxes of origin. Hopefully he doesn't mess up anyone's carefully sorted decks.

Then he shakes his head. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer. More that -- it's no one's bloody business, you know? Either of us might change their mind if the right person turns up and shows interest but nether of us owe it to anyone to explain why we feel the way we do right now. Having to pretend feels a little like I guess queer people feel when somebody suggests that they're okay with homos but could they like, pride it down a notch or three."

“I’m not like... panicking... This... This one is weird, ‘cause its about intent. I’m just trying to put things into a box. My brain goes ’Oh, I got you, fam. Even though I can only do one at a time.” She demonstrates by just dropping a bunch of cards in the box, then sets it aside. It would need sorting later, and she looks resigned to it.

“Lonnie said I can speak Spanish now, too. Which is bullshit, because I tried watching Telemundo.” She sends a resentful look toward her clerk, probably for getting her hopes up.

“And I’m not saying do it as like a thing. Some bitches just only understand territory. Maybe it sends her sniffing after some other ass.”

"Oh, Bennett's not interested in me." Ravn chuckles. "She's after somebody to fight with. Since I'm notoriously dull in that regard, she's probably lost interest already. Something about me seems to make assertive women enjoy pranking me."

Direct look. Yes, you too. The horse picture is not forgotten. The horse picture will not be forgotten.

He shakes his head. "Honestly? I'm a little envious of some of it. Learning languages by picking them right out of somebody's head sounds awesome. Probably couldn't do it with the TV because it's not a person -- might need an actual Spanish speaker nearby. You can try your hand at Danish if you like, I'm right here."

“Hey, I prank you because you make yourself an easy target. It’s totally different.” There’s emphasis on the word, as if Abitha was vocally confirming it was an act and it was probably actually the exact same thing. It’s just some pranks are masterpieces and should live on in legends. A picture in the paper was pale by comparison.

She does fix him with another look that speaks volumes though, brows lowered as green eyes peer at him from under them. Skepticism, doubt, just as clear she could be saying, ’You sound crazy right now.’

"Der er ikke ret meget forskel fra min side af bordet," Ravn returns with a small grin. "Seriously? Half this town ties their tongue in a knot over my name the first time we meet, then greet me in flawless Danish the next time. They pick it right out of my head -- might be you can do the same. But if that's the case, you probably can't do it with Spanish TV because the TV set is not a person. When Hyacinth Addington went to Denmark with me, she walked around town conversing with people -- in Danish. Because for some strange reason, Denmark is in fact full of Danish speakers."

There’s another snort of amusement to from Abitha as she understands his phrase in Danish, but wasn’t outwardly acknowledging his jibe, just like she’d heard a joke, thought it was funny, but just moved on. But when he talks about it more, she just looks confused.

“You’re fucking with me.” Abitha states, as she’d have to assume, rolling her eyes as Ravn states the obvious about people speaking a language from a country they were actually from.,“I mean, I know Hyacinth is like crazy powerful, I’ve met her a couple times, but you sure she just didn’t know Danish and was just messing with you?”

"Well, do you know Danish?" Ravn returns Mac's look evenly. "Because you just failed to notice that I was in fact speaking Danish to you."

He smiles a little lopsidedly. "Not going to argue on the crazy powerful thing, mind. Hyacinth, like a lot of other people in this town, makes me feel like the amateur I am. She might have been messing with me though the odds of her randomly knowing a language with just six million speakers -- but she's person number five or six in this town to suddenly do so, and now you're on the list too."

Another snort, Abitha’s lips pulling aside in a skeptical smirk, shaking her head, then rolling her eyes. She wasn’t going to take the bait... And then her eyes sort of stop in one direction. Ravn can see the gears turning in her head, then she looks back at him seriously, eye contact always a rarer thing for Abitha, but intense in this instance.

“Do it again, then.”

"Okay -- men jeg tror ikke at du selv kan høre forskellen. Du hører mig som om jeg taler engelsk." Ravn returns that look evenly. He's not usually one to be fond of prolonged eye contact and hard stares -- but for him, the deal breaker is clearly whether the issue is him. He's not so shy of staring right back when it's someone else's backside that needs pulled out of the fire.

He glances at Lonnie. "Hey, tell me, what language was I speaking there? Or do you do the language thing as well?"

Abitha may be hearing what he was saying, and her mind automatically translating it, but with her eyes locked on his mouth, there was no mistaking the fact the motions of his lips absolutely didn’t match the words. Her eyes gradually open, getting rounder and rounder as she watches the strange language dubbing effect.

“Sounded like you were coughing and having a stroke.” Was Lonnie’s flat assessment. She did not seem like either of those actions sent her into any kind of worry, however. Woe be the Ravn if he ever were in medical danger. Abitha, meanwhile seemed stunned.

“Holy shit. That’s awesome and terrifying.”

Ravn can't help a grin, at Lonnie and Mac alike. "Yeah. It is, a little. But more awesome than terrifying. Sure as hell caught me off guard the first couple of times. Since then, I learned to use my inside voice when I want to curse people out, since half this bloody town understands everything I say."

Abitha leans on the table with her elbows, fingers lifted to her temples where she begins to massage them, eyes still round with shock, staring into the middle distance as she tries to wrap her mind around the concept. Her words come out as groaning breath, “Oh-my-god-why-am-I-so-weeeeird...” It takes her a minute before she finally looks to Ravn, again.

“Cool. So I’ve been trying to stay away from everything because I’m afraid of what I can do, and in the meantime, I’ve learned two new powers. Great.” It did not, in fact, seem like she thought it was great, but maybe just saying the thing out loud would help her come to terms with it.

"I don't know what your other new power is, but this one is useful and it doesn't do harm to anyone." Ravn glances to Lonnie, she of the sharp tongue. "The power of making me look like an idiot, well, you've had that all along."

He steeples his fingers again because why not. "When I learned to do the things I can do -- not that that's a lot, but still -- the thing that frightened me the most was the realisation that I was a freak. No one else around me saw ghosts or had invisible friends reaching up to tall shelves for them, or opening doors and windows, or knocking things off tables. My parents would walk in and catch me talking to people no one else could see. It wasn't cool or neat; it was something awful that I learned to keep really quiet about, because what kid wants to upset their parents? I know it's not the same you're going through now but I can't help feel you're handling it better than my parents did. You are talking to somebody professional about how you feel. You are taking responsibility. I don't agree with your decision to isolate -- but it is a decision, not just ignoring everything. Now I just need you to tell me what I can do to help -- even if it's stay the hell out of your hair. Kind of hoping for 'drop in every once in a while', though."

Leaning back from the neurotic pose, Abitha’s hands go up into her hair, then get tangled as she remembers she braided it. She was just so all over the place. After carefully extricating her fingers, she deflates back inward, sighing and folding her arms across her body. Her form is seen shifting as she crosses her legs beneath the table.

“Ravn, half the time, I don’t know what to do that I can help. I can’t just give you a checklist, I’ve got no idea...” There’s a searching look, her eyes looking at the table, but not, more through it as her brain works through what she was trying to say. Finally greens jump back to Ravn’s eyes, “But yeah. Stop by. Don’t stop inviting me places. I’ll go... eventually. Probably. I don’t know.”

"Hey, that's all anyone can do. Try. Fall off the spiteful git of a horse, get back up, climb back on. Allow somebody to pull your shirt off and take embarrassing pictures. Recommend skipping the last part." Ravn smiles a little, and pretends that the horse picture is not possibly the most embarrassing thing Mac knows about him (probably spurred on by the knowledge she could do a lot worse if she wanted to, he's seen her make the internet her bitch). "Everything in its time. We won't talk about how how I can't walk into a room with five people in and not break into a cold sweat. Got any kind of coffee you prefer next time I drop in? Lonnie?"

Ravn’s choice of words gets taken at face value, as Abitha had little way to know how he meant it, but there’s a faint flush of her cheeks at the remark about letting someone pull her shirt off. She looks angry at herself as she processes that he was talking about how the horse picture happened, and doesn’t cover it well, but Abitha focuses on the thing she’d rather answer.

“Espresso Yourself has a recipe, just ask for Gamer Fuel.” She admits sheepishly. Lonnie on the other hand makes a face at Abitha’s words, then simply says, “I like their coffee.” Lonnie, ever helpful. Abitha takes a moment, then finally says.

“Thanks, Ravn... for...” She had met his eyes, but she just trails off. There was probably a lot of things, but there was some sort of page loading fault as she either can’t decide which ones to put first, which ones weren’t worth saying, or which ones were.

"Yeah, yeah." Ravn raises a hand a bit, waving off words that don't need to be said. "Look, Seth wants to do Star Trek night. I need you there to whisper to me who's who and why I'm supposed to be impressed. Pure self defense."

It's not as if he's ever been on the other side of this table. It's not as if he doesn't know how language is useless for expressing some things.