2021-06-08 - Take Shelter

The name Cimaron has been used to name four tropical cyclones in the northwestern Pacific Ocean. The name was submitted by the Philippines and refers to a type of wild ox.

Wikipedia, ever helpful. Cliffton Bass seems to in fact have named the storm for other, similar storms. Which is very clever, no doubt, but offers no hints to its true nature.

A storm is coming. Baba Yaga said as much, and the old fortune teller was not talking about the Storm Cimaron that is now rolling in from the Pacific Ocean. She spoke of a supernatural tide. A somebody who will open all our eyes -- somebody who has yet to arrive, somebody of which Ravn only knows that he is indeed a 'he'.

Ravn Abildgaard has not had a lot of sleep since the weather reports started to come in. He listened from day one because this is Gray Harbor. Eleven months in this town taught him to pay very careful attention to the people others call crazy. Cliff Bass may be crazy but when a prominent trickster of Slavic legend agrees with him -- who's the crazy?

Change.

Change, and a fairytale tradition in which Baba Yaga never bloody well tells you what she wants or thinks. No, like any wise old hag in any fairytale ever, she drops hints and then waits until the last page to say 'I told you so'. Ravn wants to figure out what change the witch is portending. He might as well try figuring out the reasoning behind the Twilight phenomenon. He has a student back home in Copenhagen who is a big fan. The guy keeps asking about Gray Harbor because to his European mind, one small Washington town is as good as another. Forks, Gray Harbor, it's all grey and foggy.

Change.

He returns a book to his tote bag. Any other day the Dane would be doing his research from his boat, but the Vagabond has been dry docked. The sail boat is not sturdy enough to survive the onslaught of Storm Cimaron; it would end up as a pile of very expensive toothpicks. Research today happens at the Espresso Yourself. And most of it is pointless anyhow because storm's gonna do what storm's gonna do, and all anyone can do now is brace for impact. Baba Yaga rides in a magical mortar and pestle, and lives in a hut with chicken feet that wanders wherever she wants. She topples kingdoms and turns peasant boys into czars but she never, ever explains herself.

The harbourfront is going to get hit hard. A lot of those old warehouses and piers are going to be piles of rubble. On the boardwalk, the shops may lose their awnings, perhaps a window -- but the people who live under it? The HOPE centre has tried to reach them, spread the word -- go to the high school gym, we'll at least get you a blanket and a place to lie down. It's not much but it's better than drowning.

Maybe town hall will consider a permanent change, some way to improve the lives of the human flotsam and jetsam drawn here by the Veil.

Change.

A lot of things could do with change. Here in Gray Harbor, and in Ravn himself. This is the time. A supernatural tide, a tropical and metaphysical storm. A time to let old fears and grime wash away. Entropy and destruction are parts of the cycle. Every death is a rebirth. Every ending is a new beginning. Change, like Baba Yaga herself, is not evil. It is simply inevitable.

He should get that motorcycle. Because why ever the hell not.

Isolde hated storms. Last time a bad storm happened, her powers manifested. This time? She'd been getting strange, disconcerting dreams. Dreams that she hadn't tried to talk to anyone about even though she is positive she's not the only one. She could feel it in her bones that she wasn't going to like whatever this storm was going to bring along with it.

She's been helping some of the older residents of Broadleaf secure their belongings and pack only the absolute necessities while they either evacuate or hunker down in the high school gymnasium. Now though, she has to focus on her own apartment. Her own belongings. Meager as they were. Isolde inhaled softly, fingers fiddling with her bracelet while she stared out the window, fixated on the gathering storm clouds.

Maybe she should just leave. For good. Maybe she should go back to Oklahoma and face whatever was waiting for her there.

Isolde exhaled and shook her head. Turning away from the window. No. She had to stay here and face what was coming. She had to be here to help. She headed into her room to grab a duffel bag and pack a couple extra sets of clothes and to collect the giant stuffed frog that Itzhak won her practically a lifetime ago. Then it was time to get down to the nitty gritty of securing windows and placing things to minimize any possible damage.

Better to be safe than sorry.

The plywood sheets are already bought and stored in the basement of the Two if by Sea. Easton drags the first couple up by hand, the old fashioned way until he can feel that he's overdoing it on his leg and then he switches to using glimmer to at least get them up the stairs and stacked neatly. The bar is closed for the night but Easton has plenty of energy and would rather get it done now than try and drag his fuzzy ass out of bed early in the morning to get it done before open tomorrow. There is a pint of beer on the counter that he's been working on, managing to take it slow, almost as if he's got that under control.

And soon he's well into getting the place boarded up. It's hardly the first storm that he's had to batten down for here at the bar and at least this one is just a storm.. no ghost bullets or gremlins or lightning breaking through veil.... right? It's a storm. No big deal.

He comes inside from getting yet another sheet up and stops at the bar. He picks up the beer and looks at it. And a slow smile crosses his lips at the fact that he's not drowning himself in this or any of his other wares tonight. That ache, that drive to numb it out and separate himself from everything has quieted back into something smaller, more manageable.

And with that very thought still in his mind, the beer glass still in his hand, the lights in the bar flicker once and then come back on a touch dimmer than before. And there's a figure seated at the bar. Easton's first thought is Gohl. But the figure is too tall and all it takes is a small uptick of a nod from the blond headed man for Easton to know exactly who it is. Or rather who it was.

The beer glass falls from his hand and shatters on the floor. He stands in shock, completely unable to move or speak but even still his own abilities reach out to pull a bottle of Knob Creek whiskey from below the bar and two old fashioned glasses. The bottle is uncorked and two full glasses are poured.

As if drawn by some force he can't fight Easton walks over to the bar to pick up his glass, the ghostly hand of his companion 'lifts' the other with the help of Easton's telekinesis.

"Cheers Banks."

Cassidy stares with hard blue eyes to the horizon. It's her only worthy adversary - the forces of nature. That's as it should be. Humankind exists to best nature.

Smoke rides skyward from her cigarette - Kools, green pack. The butt of her smoke comes to her lips. Perfect red lips. She inhales. She holds it. Then she releases.

Smoke billows from her mouth as she mutters, "I hate this fucking town."

Crazed weathermen aside, it isn't until sane or credible sources confirm the warning that Mr. Bass sheiks to any and all that listen that Everett has to relent and take this warning seriously. By then supplies are limited, thought that doesn't seem to hinder the Sweet Retreat's supply too much.
Distribution. That's Sweet Retreat's secret.

Amid the falling rain, four men, seven arms set about applying hammer to nails, closing the windows off. Everett awkwardly signs with his wrong hand, the only one still working for another load of sand bags and the clear plastic tarps to put between them and her, uh. His restaurant. Handing the clipboard and pen over and nodding to Ian, Lee and the unexpected Aidan, Everett takes a moment to look up. A silent thought going to to the woman whose fault this is.
She just had to want to come here. They could have been anywhere instead.
Not a thought given to his children. To the women he wouldn't have met, or loved, if that didn't happen. It was the plan and even if She wasn't around to execute it, a plan was still a plan.

Rain splattered on his face while he stood in silent contemplation. Right until he heard his managers bickering amongst each other. Wet, long hair flicked over his shoulder with his head snapping back before he sent his gaze in that direction, then pointed at Aidan while addressing his staff, "Look at 'im. He's working harder then you two and he's half your size." This brought about good-natured male ribbing as the managers started to compare other things of Aidan's that were half the size, but Aidan gave as good as he got. Everett smirked softly, as work resumed, he himself unloading the sandbags one at a time.

Ian was going to take his boys and girlfriend and flee for the hills, seeking higher ground was a smart idea. Lee had his cats and his fiancée, but they were going to ride it out, living past the flood line. Since he helped, Everett surrendered the spray-paint can, florescent orange, to Aidan to write the temporarily closed sign on the hung plywood, when they're hung. Kailey may be mad she didn't get a chance to flower it up, but the artist can always come by later, if she likes, and add her personal flavor. For now, once the building is secured, the outlets have to be unplugged, the fridge emptied and the unopened food donated before it turns.
No better place for most of that then the high-school. HOPE is hanging out there.
Nothing better then a bunch of kids, trapped in a gymnasium, hopped up on sugary treats then if those kids weren't his own.

It brings a small, sadistic smile to Everett's lips while a wet strand of his long, black hair clings to his cheek as he passes sandbags and daydreams about the chaos.

CW: Implications of violence & drug use
(OOC note: I know the song is about a cheating spouse, but some of the lyrics were just too perfect, and I changed the ones that weren’t)

The GHFD had done all they can to prepare for the storm, now all that was left was to wait for it to roll in. Bennie was one of the lucky ones who were sent home to rest before the main event, but something has been gnawing on her mind since her tarot reading with the mysterious fortune teller:

Her father.

So she scrawled a note to Easton, grabbed the keys for the Jeep and headed out on the cusp of the storm for Seattle.

Three thirty in the morning
Not a soul in sight
The city's looking like a ghost town on a moonless summer night,
Raindrops on the windshield
There's a storm moving in
She’s heading off to somewhere, that he never should have been.

The drowsiness hits her as soon as there is a steady patter of rain on glass and the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers. Turning up the radio, singing at the top of her lungs, yet nothing helps to keep her aching body conscious and she jerked herself awake more than once. Her determination for her destination makes her reach for something she hasn’t touched in ages:

An empty chapstick container filled with the rattle of little white miracle pills.

And the thunder rolls.
The thunder rolls
And the lightning strikes
Another love grows cold
On a sleepless night
As the storm blows on
Out of control
Deep in her heart
The thunder rolls.

Checking the address on her phone, she matches it to a lazy looking colonial house that Alexander found was the man’s last known address. Chickening out at this point isn’t an option, and when the flood lights come on when she walks up the drive, and the dog within starts barking and the man emerges on the front step, her heart clenches in her chest.

…She rushes out to hold him
Thankful he's alive
But on the wind and rain
A strange new memory grows
And the lightnin' flashes in her eyes
And he knows that she knows
And the thunder rolls
And the thunder rolls.

Blood is smeared on the steering wheel when she climbs back in the jeep and across her cheek when she brushes away the tears she no longer can pretend are rain. The adrenaline alone should be enough to keep her awake all the way back to Gray Harbor, but her shaking hands grind up a few more pills.

Just in case.

And the thunder rolls.
The thunder rolls
And the lightning strikes
Another love grows cold
On a sleepless night
As the storm blows on
Out of control
Deep in her heart
The thunder rolls.

"Biscuits, slow DOWN!"

Chelsea's pleading tone did little to convince the golden retriever to stop pulling on his leash. Like his owner, the normally 'goodest of boys' could sense something was different about the incoming storm. He wasn't the only animal on edge. All of the cool cats and kittens at the Gray Harbor Animal Shelter were acting out.

"He must sense it, too. Poor thing. Let's just get your business done so we can go home, alright?" The blonde thought to herself as Biscuits tugged her along the sidewalk, barely pausing long enough to sniff at a fire hydrant before dashing off again. Chelsea was tired and there was still a lot of work to do. She told Davis she would help him secure The Pourhouse before the storm got here, she needed to stock up on food and water, and Biscuits still needed to do his business before she could get started.

"Finally!" Chelsea sighed in relief as the stressed golden retriever finally stopped to lift his leg next to a bush. "Come on, buddy, let's get back to work..."

Kailey came by Sweet Retreat as Everett, Aidan, and the cooks Ian and Lee were finishing up with the boarding. There was a longing look given to the plywood. But she only glanced at the milk crate of colored paints back in her van and back with a heavy sigh. "Well, I brought the van. I can load up the food for the HOPE center," She said to Everett and the rest, crossing the distance to go on tiptoe and peck the giant's lips. "I got the huge coolers in the back and all the cold bags I could get from Safeway for the rest."

Turning to the boarded up Sweet Retreat had her pause. A glance at the sea and a silent prayer, 'May the sea and storm be kind to the boardwalk and our home,'. She knows it may be a useless gesture, but later she'll drop back here and offer up some ice cream to the sea. But for now there are bulk frozen goods to pack up into the van and drop at the high school. It was a tedious task made less so by the music she put on in the kitchen. Something they could all bob their heads too, or likely knew the lyrics to at least a little.

Right right, turn off the lights,
We gonna lose our minds tonight,
What's the dealio?

Kailey sang along as she tossed frozen fries and onion rings into a cold-bag. Her shoulders weaving back and forth. With the bag filled she grabbed another and continued to fill it till she had two bags. Then she began to dance with a bag in each hand on her way out to her van. Hip bumping Everett as she passes the man. Dancing briefly to the music in a teasing way. Playfully ducking out the back door before the big man could do more than one grind.

I love when it's all too much,
Five a.m. turn the radio up
Where's the rock and roll?

The purple haired young woman knew these lyrics well. And kept singing even when the music faded while she was outside. Then another voice joined hers. Kailey looked up from loading the back of the van to find a young person standing nearby. Their hair was brightly red and wavy, falling to their shoulders. Wearing a green hat and brown leather duster they smile and stopped singing. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," They said in a voice that was both masculine and feminine. "Need a hand loading things up?"

Kailey felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck and she tilted her head as she studied them. Glancing back over her shoulder she spotted Lee setting more bags by the door. He glanced up and saw the two of them, nodded to the red haired person, and headed back inside. That reassured Kailey they weren't a ghost. "Uhm, sure, I guess. We all have to help each other out right now," She said, pushing down the weird feeling. A sort of deja vu. They were so familiar and yet foreign at the same time.

"I'm Petra," She introduced herself as, holding out a hand. Which Kailey took after only the faintest hesitation. That physical touch came with a little shock, making Kailey yelp. The shake released quickly and they locked eyes. And then it was Kailey realized their eyes were violet. And it didn't look like contacts either.

"Are you real?" This was the question Kailey had been asking a lot lately. She withdrew her hand and began to walk backwards to the door to grab the next set of bags. It seemed to both amuse and disappoint Petra. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

"I like to think so," Petra replied as they began to walk towards the building, keeping a polite distance from Kailey. "That shake felt pretty real to me." Kailey grunted and smirked.

"True, true. Well, if you're willing to help carry this stuff to the van, that would be...nice," Kailey is cautiously friendly. But no longer singing as she takes the bags the others are filling out to the van. "Would you like some ice cream after for the help? It's the last stuff we're loading up."

"Sure, I LOVE ice cream!" Petra says with a broad and toothy grin. For a second Kailey could have sworn there were too many teeth in that smile. But she shook it off. And sure enough, with the help, the van is quickly loaded of perishables headed to the high school. And Petra chooses to have a banana split with all the trimmings. "It was nice seeing you again, and thanks for the ice cream. Stay safe," She said as she took her dessert and began to walk away. Taking a bite and waving with her spoon before turning the corner out of sight.

"Wait...What?!?" Kailey blinked and quickly when to follow Petra around the corner. Only in true Gray Harbor manner she wasn't there. And no place for her to have ducked away out of sight. "This fucking town," Kailey muttered as he went back inside, shaking her head. Now -she- needed ice cream. It wasn't like they didn't need to get rid of it.

When she climbed into the van to drive to the high school she had a waffle cone with chocolate and rocky road piled atop one another. And she was still dragging her memories to try and recall Petra from her past. It was puzzling. But she had ice cream and goods to deliver. So Petra was forgotten about. For now.

Nothing like an on coming major storm to guarantee more over time than one would want . Devlin showed up hours early at the station house confident that he had his apartment secured and boarded up. His Jeep, a few miles inland at a place where Hera and her gallery art were weathering the storm. Devlin knowing it was going to be crazy hours worked with another veteran Firefighter to make enough chili to feed a block party twice over as others got sodas, energy drinks, and a host of other drinks in coolers. A few of the cops came by to contribute to the effort as even they realized in the up coming insanity, this may be the only place with hot food and rack space for the next few days.

At first for Devlin and the others at the station it was just a matter of waiting. for the calls they knew would be coming. The veterans of times like these and Devlin rested or slept as the younger crowd fidgeted, played games online, or nervously rechecked their gear repeatedly. Then it started, the calls to the station house. When the first call for Devlin's truck came, he calmly got up as he slipped on the last of his gear. As Devlin walked to the truck, his driver, Williams, was trying to run or fake a hop run as he struggled to put on his gear. Once Williams got into the truck, they rolled out. From there, things fell into a routine of sorts for Devlin and Williams. Eat, get some rest, get a run, may be transport to the hospital.. rinse and repeat. This lasted for Devlin, as Williams had ran out of steam hours ago, till one of the self appointed volunteers from the VFW pulled rank on Devlin (never argue with a retired General, stars still have weight even after retirement), forcing the exhausted paramedic to get some real sleep. After getting about five hours of sleep, Devlin was at it again. This went on till the storm wound down.

Once he was released from duty, Devlin got a ride from a cop home. Exhausted, it was all Devlin could do to get a shower and then collapse into bed. The joy of sleep though was not to be his. Seems once again he is claimed in a long dream, Coira needed his help to implement some of the ideas and values he talked to her about the last couple of times for how soldiers should be and the healers that take care of them. Who knows what impact this will have on the young Coira, her forces, and their world over time. However, that is a story for another time.... once Devlin awakens again in Gray Harbor.