2021-06-09 - But What About the Boardwalk? (Sixteen Tons)

Teddy S. Addington High's gymnasium sees more basketball games than soup kitchen volunteers, a fact that corresponds with the minute trivia that it is in fact a basketball court and not a soup kitchen. With a weather forecast like the current, though, it's no surprise that local volunteers are looking for places to shelter people in need; not just the 'regular' homeless folks but also yachters finding themselves trapped in Gray Harbor by the weather, and families from houses in danger of erosion or flooding. Arrangements have been made for the town to try to take care of displaced or drowned-out people, whether tourists or locals; arriving early or after the weather has done its inevitable damage. Helping hands are appreciated. Notes went up on the (recently donated) corkboard of the HOPE centre, as well as at the Safeway, the library, and other public spaces; the more volunteers help feed and shelter victims of the storm, the more emergency responders and trained medical personnel are freed up to deal with actual emergencies.

The boardwalk, the marina, and the Grand Olympic Casino; Gray Harbor's three main tourist attractions are also the three locations under most threat.

The Grand Olympic Casino is not about to up and float away -- but its glittery, swanky exterior will probably require considerable repairs when the winds die down at last. Its millions of twinkling lights may not shine through these clouds; its one hundred hotel rooms are likely to be empty because the people who need a place rarely has that kind of money, and a man-made island in the middle of the storm isn't going to feel like a very safe place even to those who do.

The boardwalk is going to be seeing a lot of property damage, and odds are that so will most of the shops on it. Insurance premiums are going to go up some because when the proverbial storm fans a literal hit, it's never the insurance companies that end up hurting. More volunteering is going to be needed for repairs and cleanup when the storm's over but right now? Windows and shop fronts can be replaced but the people who live under the boardwalk? They cannot, and they're about to get washed out.

On the marina, the yachting tribe is dry docking even those house boats that usually stay in the water all year round; it's a bit like watching rats flee a sinking ship. It's a fair guess that when this storm has indeed blown over, there is not going to be enough left of many of those boats that did stay in the water for even a rat to find safe footing on.

Ravn Abildgaard's Vagabond has been hauled out of the water and to higher ground; it's not much but it's home and he'd like to keep it. And this, of course, places him here in the gymnasium both in the capacity of a volunteer and as one of those people needing a place to toss down a sleeping bag for a day or two. The irony isn't lost on him as he joins the effort to get blankets and improvised soup kitchen ready. And there are indeed so many questions and issues, and for some reason everyone keeps looking at him to know what's what, and it's all because of that bloody newspaper picture -- 'president of the HOPE foundation' his scrawny backside.

"Where do we want all the blankets?"
"Is clear soup going to be okay?"
"So, can we ask people to shower because some of those guys smell like they live in cardboard boxes?"
"Dude, some of them live in cardboard boxes."
"Okay, but is the soup vegan?"
"What about Mrs Neely's cats?"

It's just going to be one of those days. Or weeks. As familiar faces begin to arrive, Ravn is honestly relieved. Because soup and blankets and cats? That's normal. Storms? Not so normal. But Baba Yaga said there was a storm coming and not the one the weather guy is talking about.

It's going to get a lot worse than just rain and wind, and when it does, he'll be glad to be not the only person here who can see the monsters.

Itzhak's presence can be followed around by ear. The bastard won't stop singing. Singing while he sets up folding tables. Singing while he hauls flats of water. Improvising lyrics to answer questions he's been asked. Nobody has yet told him to shut up, at least. Maybe nobody dares.

> I was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine
> I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine
> I loaded sixteen tons of number nine coal
> And the straw boss said "Well, a-bless my soul"
> You load sixteen tons, what do you get?...

He catches sight of Ravn and interrupts himself, jogging over, making the toolbelt he's wearing jounce. "We ain't lookin' half bad, boss." Apparently the toolbags have snacks in them, as Itzhak pulls out a protein bar and offers it over.

Conner is in the kitchen tending to the soup. Having heard all the complaints about vegan soup, he had cast about and started a vegetarian broth. The main thing, in the big cast-iron pot, is chicken noodle.

He's not half-bad in the kitchen, and it smells pretty good. This isn't Campbells out of a can. This is bright, rich, homemade stuff made out of real produce. Cheaper all around, feeds more people, does more for their bodies and minds. He sticks his head out, does a quick head-count...nods thoughtfully...and goes to start peeling and chopping more carrots, deciding they might well need a little more of each variety.

Where Itz sings, Conner is quiet. He hardly envies Ravn his status as the Face of the Helpers, because he knows he'd go a little mad, himself, if he had to field all those questions.

In through the side door, Everett awkwardly stumbles in. Holding the door open with his keister, the gorilla bends back down to pick up two three-gallon white plastic buckets in his left hand before completing his practiced entry. The right sleeve of his leather jacket flaps empty, but before it's thought Everett's lost his arm in The War, a large lump under the jacket can be deduced to be the thug's missing appendage. It's just not, in use.

Once he's armed, sort-to-speak, with the two buckets he makes his way back to the kitchen, letting his irate exterior fend off interceptions. Spying a familiar face, Everett lifts and then drops the pails on a clean surface with a loud thud as a means of announcing his presence, then up nods to Conner before nodding his head to the side to indicate what he's leaving behind. "Whaz up? I gotta do something with these, figured donations were better than destruction." Tax write off too, albeit not much of one.

Shoulders slouch with an exhale, Everett using his large paw to settle his hair back, combing his fingers through to get it to stay over his shoulders, which the silken hair absolutely refuses to do. The large man waits for some sort of commentary by the two, common flavors of ice cream while attempting to tame his hair with just the one hand.

It's tornadoes that trailer parks are supposed to be magnets for, right? They're not taking any chances on 'extra tropical cyclone, either, though, even if Aidan does kind of think 'extra tropical' sounds awesome. He's been busy helping people board things up and arrange sandbags near the closer-to-water sides of the place, and now he's got some of them to set around the entrances here... just in case. His van's been coming in handy for this stuff!

Stepping actually inside, he shrugs off the leather jacket he's wearing and ties it around his waist, greeting people with a bright grin and a "Hey!" He heads for the kitchen area, to unload from his plasticated chicken-bag some various (very various) tins of food and a couple jars of peanut butter onto the counter there. "Oh hey, ice cream too? Nice. You need a hand cutting things or anything? I cook kinda okay."

So this isn't usually Lyrics kind of gig but here she is, walking in just in time to hear Itzhak singing. It's him she's drawn to without even a howdy-do to him or anyone else, she starts singing along with him. Music is life guys. LIFE! "Another day older and deeper in debt." It's about all she gets out before she notices Everett lugging things and others doing.. stuff. Her hands are empty. Her mind is sort of blank. All those crazy questions being asked need answers, so she looks directly to the guy in charge cause she wants to hear the answers too of course. "Whatcha want me to do, Bossman?" Still, she listens to Itzhak's singing though, I mean.. music.

Nicole must have snuck in behind Aidan, as she heaves the case of bottled water she was carrying onto a nearby table and says, "I cook kinda okay too, or I can help elsewhere. Whatever is needed really." She told Ravn long ago she would help support HOPE and now more than ever, help is definitely in need. Dressed in a pair of jeans and boots topped with a tank top beneath a purple and cream plaid flannel, she is prepared to work. Of course, her long hair is pulled back in a ponytail to make any type of work she has to do easier. She recognizes many people here; volunteers and those who are here to shelter from the storm both. She sends various waves and smiles to Everett, Conner, and Lyric; though Itzhak gets a shout out, "Itzy!" and Ravn gets a wide smile. "Put me to work," she says to him.

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain
Fightin' and trouble are my middle name
I was raised in the canebrake by an ol' mama lion
Can't no-a high-toned woman make me walk the line

The voice that joins Itzhak's is not one that you'd hear on karaoke night at the Pourhouse; it's rough and hoarse and entirely convincing, sounding exactly like you'd imagine someone to sound who's spent their entire life hauling heavy crates from one end of the docks to the other while getting paid too little and living too rough. An older man with a face that weather turned into leather and a white crew cut, this is Denny, regular volunteer in a janitorial capacity at the HOPE centre (and known to some as the crazy old guy on the boardwalk who warns tourists against flesh-eating mermaids). He sings surprisingly well and grins back at Itzhak as he comes through with a stack of blankets and cannisters.

"Did you just sixteen tons me," Ravn murmurs in amazement at the New Yorker, and then can't help laugh; he knows the song, and he knows its history. "Get back to the coal mine, asshole."

Then the Dane is picking up a crate of onions to carry to the kitchen area and the soup making in progress, when Everett appears, carrying gifts. "Going to be a number of kids coming in here, Woods -- from the trailer park, sure, but also a number of yachter's kids trapped here by the weather. If we can stuff their faces full of ice cream it'll buy us some peace and quiet later."

He's not sorry to have someone here with actual children experience, either. Everett is a father of two, surely that counts. Even if neither of his two are quite yet at the age of running around making trouble out of boredom; Ravn's own experience with childcare pretty much boils down to excusing himself real quick whenever somebody tries to plop a drooling toddler into his personal sphere (and having seen Everett's response to Vyvyan Vydal and Hyacinth Addington having similar reactions, he's also vowed to himself that he'd rather die than let Everett find out).

And here's Aidan and his helpful van, greeted with a lopsided smile. "Think you just volunteered to help Conner get the kitchen ready? Once people come in I'm sure you'll both get chased out of there by whatever family mums need something to keep themselves busy. When that happens? Let them -- the more we can keep occupied the better. Last thing I want to see is some Olympian yachter's wife getting her eyes scratched out for complaining about the lack of service. Anyone does in fact start crap of that nature, we tell them the Casino has a hundred empty hotel rooms and they're welcome to go get one, it's right out there in the bay."

The last goes out to Lyric and Nicole as well; Ravn tries to wave around his crate of onions. He glances about and comes to the realisation that right now, at least, he's got the attention of the other people who might see monsters -- and not of the rest. "We need to keep people fed and sheltered but there's more to it than that. We know this is not just going to be a tropical storm -- Storm Cimaron is bad enough, but we've been warned that it's going to be just as bad on the Other Side. A supernatural high tide, opening all of our eyes -- whatever that even means. We need to expect pretty much anything. The most important job for all of us who shine is to spot the manure before it hits the fan. If the creatures in the Veil are half as terrified as some of our people here are going to be, we'll have our hands full."

The Dane glances towards Denny (who does in fact have a little bit of shine of his own, brighter than Ravn's own) and the other volunteers (who don't). "Most of you guys have more experience with the bloody Veil than I do. Every single one of you have more shine than I do, too. I'll be the designated guy for all of them to shout at when things get bad -- somebody's got to be. But I'm going to need to rely on you folks who can see what's really going on to have our backs when things get bad. Betcha five bucks the Dark Men have watched Storm of the Century, too."

Meanwhile, people are starting to trickle in.

Here's Mrs Neely from the trailer park, worried that her five cats will not be able to find shelter but not thinking to crate them and take them along to the high school gym; and here's Mrs Jankowski snarling that she'd rather be out there in the storm than in here with cats.

Here's Mr Oleander, a well-off banker from Olympia just coming through on his high-end yacht with his family, complaining that the weather is most unfortunate; and here's Mrs Oleander, gently reminding her husband that the weather is in fact not Cliffton Bass' doing, and even if it was, the town of Gray Harbor is not liable for damage done by one Hoquiam weatherman. The couple's two teenagers look entirely too well dressed and entirely too bored.

Here's seventeen-year-old Vicky Barrett, complaining that the food brought in isn't certified Vegan; and here's Mrs Price from Elm Street, telling her to go outside and eat the damn grass if she must. The mundane problems of normal, red-blooded Americans filing in; some of them whiny and plaintive, some of them ready to lend a hand and weather the storm. If there's anything unusual about them -- if there is something out there, looking to get in -- it has yet to show its face.

"I was going to say you could peel some potatoes," Conner tells Aidan, after thanking Itzhak for bringing the ice cream and moving to put it in the freezer, "But it sounds like we might want to leave them for the mums." He nods when Ravn briefs them on their real purpose here, nodding firmly and wiping his hands on his jeans. He listens to the crowd of people coming in, and adds:

"I never watched Storm of the Century."

This is not exactly vital information of course. It's just sort of offered out there in off-hand fashion. Perhaps in the hopes that the Dark Men's superior knowledge of pop culture won't prove to be too big of an advantage for them.

With a nod of his head, Everett's mouth starts to open, possibly to object to Conner about Itzhak getting the credit for bringing ice cream. Sure, they look everything alike: it's all in the nose. When Aidan's voice interrupts the gorilla's thought and smiles upon seeing the street magician.
"Hey, thanks again for the help," Everett says down to Aidan. He nods to his right, meaning the useless lump inside his leather jacket, "I'm a little gimped out so I appriciate all the help. Lee and Ian do as well. I don't doubt Sweet Retreat'll lose power, but with your help, maybe we'll stay dry."

Everett lightly, for him at least, back-hands Aidan by the chest resulting in a dull thump. It's how bros interact. "Help me get the rest of this out of my car? There's a few more buckets of ice cream, mostly vanillia, a rocky road, and a grape. Nobody likes grape," he explains to Conner, adding, "prolly has some freezer burn on top." He takes a step and then stops. Sweet Retreat just doesn't serve creamed ice. Vicky Barrett will be pleased to know, "I also have some hamburger stuff and fries too. Like I said, if I don't use it, we'll probably lose power and it'll be unfit for human con--"

With a pause, Everett casts a curious look out of the kitchen, canting his head softly to look at the people out there, a handful in particular. "--sumption. Consumption." From the back, he thrusts his chin up at Nicole, acknowledging her precense, before resuming his chill gawking.
Standing erect, he looks around the kitchen, blinking, "What was I saying? Oh yeah," he up nods at Aidan again and then to the exit, "It's all this way."

There's a step, two. Then Ravn's addressing the Thug, so Everett stops, his head wiggles while a curiously amused expression crosses the giant's face when Ravn calls him by his last name. A smile that only widens when Ravn explains his plans to sedate children. With sugar.
It's almost entertaining enough to want to stay put and watch, "Oh yeah?" is all Everett adds to that conversation before looking sideways at Lyric, so she can share in the joke too.

When Conner adds that he's never seen Storm of the Century, Everett's amusement fades as slowly as his thinking process ebbs. Then he offers, "Me either. ... would it be bad manners," he phrases like a question, before looking out at the sea of people, asking if it would be in poor taste to watch it considering their company.

Aidan sets the last of his tins and jars (this one marshmallow fluff, for the record) on the counter, adds most of a loaf of bread to it, and appears to be done with pulling things out of his bag for the time being. "I never saw it either," he chimes in, "...I saw Sharknado, though?" This is probably not going to be relevant. Then again, it is Gray Harbor...

Still, he nods to the quiet what-you're-really-needed-for, briefly catching his bottom lip with his teeth, and takes a glance around, which is interrupted by something of a startled grunt and a backward step to catch his balance as he's unexpectedly thumped in the chest. "'kay," he agrees, absently rubbing the spot a moment, "...and no problem, it's kinda important, right?" Presumably the storm prep, not the ice cream carrying, but eh, either way!

"I'll come back and help set up more kitchen stuff?" he offers Connerward, with a quick grin of greeting to Nicole and Lyric, but hesitates before following Everett, glancing at the Mrs. Neely/Mrs. Jankowski (is she going to recognize them? She gets a tiny and faintly sheepish smile when he accidentally catchers her eye) issue. "...d'you think it'd be better if we could get a classroom for the animal crates to be in? Though. They might be scared being just alone with other animals they don't know in there, I guess. But some people have allergies and stuff. Maybe we should have one corner be where pets can go? Or like, one for cats and one for dogs or something?" Inevitably, it's Ravn who's mostly getting asked this.

"...anyway, yeah! Ice cream and stuff. So it doesn't melt." A nod, and he aims to follow the massive restaurateur out. It is possible a few more arms might be useful here.

"Ehhhh I didn't sixteen-tons you," Itzhak says to Ravn, grinning. He thwaps Denny on the shoulder as the older guy goes by. Solidarity against the European slave-drivers! "I'm just sixteen-tonning. ...you know givin' a bunch of kids ice cream ain't likely to buy us peace, right?" There speaks the guy who, though you'd never know it to look at him, has some experience with young kids. "Maybe for five minutes while they get it down. Nicole!" Nicole gets a quick hug; everybody's busy but Itzhak has got to hug him some Nicole.

He's turning back to Ravn, about to say something to him, when another older guy comes up, pretty clearly one of the stranded yachters, approaching Itzhak on an I-want-to-speak-to-your-manager vector. "Young man! Young man, are you in charge here? I think we need..." and he goes on about God knows what, Itzhak isn't even listening.

Interrupting the guy, Itzhak sets a work-gloved hand on his shoulder. "Buddy. It's a hurricane shelter, it ain't the Ritz. Here, make yaself useful, pass out those coloring books with them crayons over there, keep the kids busy."

Ravn is only starting to realise the extent of his nightmare: Not only has he somehow been turned into the person who's supposed to know where everything is -- people actually expect him to take charge or at least pretend to have some kind of plan. This is worse than teaching -- for one, he can't give Mr Oleander detention, nor can he order Mrs Neely to write a ten page essay on the domestication of felix felix and the usefulness of feral cats in the granaries of early man. He'd write that essay himself if it meant not having to argue with Vicky Barrett about whether it is irresponsible to feed non-vegan ice cream to children. By the end of this week, Vicky Barrett is going to be haunting the nightmares of Conner and other volunteer cooks.

Mr Oleander finds himself helping Mr Shaughnessy (whose name definitely should be Karen, and he never quite does stop glaring at Itzhak's back, either) distributing colouring books and crayons. Mrs Neely decides to run with Aidan's idea about a classroom dedicated to pets and takes off, roping in several of her neighbours to help her catch cats (hers and anyone else's) -- leaving Mrs Jankowski to swear she's not going near that classroom, and several other people mumbling something about how maybe it might be an idea to at least keep cats and dogs in separate classrooms. A couple of tweens promptly volunteer to walk the dogs. Somebody's got to, right? They're willing to get wet for a buck. (Their parents look less excited).

"Glad I crated Kitty Pryde and sent her to stay with the girl who looked after her when I flew home too," Ravn murmurs -- and stays out of that fight. He and Aidan know why Mrs Jankowski hates cats. And he knows where the cats Mrs Jankowski hates in particular are -- which is fortunately not here.

A couple of kids roll in a TV set -- and heaven only knows what class room they found it in, or how they got in there -- and announce that Mr Hawthorne and Mr Kinney are quite right, everyone should definitely watch Storm of the Century or Sharknado. An argument ensues; Sharknado wins. Their parents turn out to be spoilsports, though -- insisting that nothing of that nature will get shown until later when the little ones are asleep. For now, sorry, it's The Little Mermaid, and then, Frozen.

People keep turning up, suitcases or tote bags in hand. Most are familiar in passing. Local folks whose homes lie too close to the coastline -- not the fancy Bayside mansions but further out; shacks and small houses the kind that has a pickup truck out in front, and an older one rusting on the lawn. Stranded tourists and yachters. Homeless people -- a surprising amount of them. Gray Harbor's boardwalk is the first place to spring to mind when one thinks of homeless guys but there's also the alleys behind the strip mall, the bus stop, the abandoned warehouses on the harbour, even a couple of bivouacs in the woods.

Five tall women in pale grey homespun dresses, long hair flowing unbound and proud bearings, seem to make up the local until-now-unnoticed hippie commune from the woods; they hold the hands of a child each as they settle in one corner of the basketball court. They have no belongings save what they wear, and attract a number of odd looks. As well they should; the shine is strong in the tall women, gleaming from their heads like halos of pale light as they glide past. The children, conversely, are small and hunched, hiding their faces; and they too have a feeling about them as if the air is full of static electricity.

If you see me comin', better step aside
A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died
One fist of iron, the other of steel
If the right one don't a-get you, then the left one will

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Denny belts out the last verse of the song and then abruptly falls silent. He glares at the circle of women and then walks right back out -- through the door, out into the storm, without a word of explanation to anyone. Leaving the little band of gifted people to wonder what exactly they're dealing with, and whether they form a threat.

"This is exactly the kind of thing I was worried about," Ravn tells his fellow shiny people in a hushed tone, trying to keep the rest of the high school gym from listening in. The five women's otherworldly nature is easily visible to Nicole, Conner, and Lyric, none of whom have dedicated large amounts of time and effort to understanding the nature or denizens of the other side -- and more so to Everett, Aidan, and Itzhak who have.

And that's when the lights go out, shrouding the basketball court turned hurricane shelter in the grey semi-darkness of the storm and the rain outside.

Itzhak sings that part backwards, or rather because he's a southpaw: if the left one don't a-get you then the right one will! You load sixteen tons and whaddaya get--

he quits singing abruptly as a shudder rockets up his spine. He and Denny both quiet at the same second, just as those women make their appearance. But Denny votes with his feet, leaving Itzhak looking after him, eyebrows startled. "Buddy, hey, don't go out there!" Too late, Denny's gone.

Itzhak clearly debates going after him, pulling a face, but he seems to figure staying here in the same room as five shining witches might be the greater good. He takes a sideways step closer to Ravn, turning his back to him--an instinctive closing of ranks from a guy who's had far more than his share of brawls. "Keep an eye on the girls," he mutters to him. "If Nicole gets a single hair out of place, she'll throw hands."

With that, he swaggers on over to the brilliantly shiny spooky ladies. They're so shiny they make even him look half-power. No worries, he has a coping mechanism for this and it's called being an asshole.

"Ladies!" He rolls up on 'em like he should have a leather jacket whose collar he could pop. No jacket, alas, just a t-shirt (it has a horse on it labeled 'other mechanics' and a unicorn, dancing on a pole, labeled 'me'). "We got a strict curfew on spooky appearances, so if ya could tone down the spookiness just a few octaves. Sorry, I don't make the rules."

...which is when the lights go out. Under the ensuing gasps and scattered cheers from kids, Itzhak sighs. "What did I just say."

Nicole kept herself busy as she listened and watched the others, her smile broadening when she enjoys Itzhak's and Denny's singing. Music is a great way to bring people together, to help the work go easier, to lift spirits and reduce stress... all things that will affect people here in one way or another, likely. She goes about her business helping organize things being brought in when she catches Everett's chin-greeting, though his seeming gawking makes her look confused for a split second before she gets back to work.

Picking up the loaf of bread Aidan places down, and the jar of fluff, she looks about with a sly grin and pretends to tuck the fluff into her pocket, though it does seem to make it's way to a spot set up for not meltable sweets. "Who is to say it won't buy us peace?" she asks to Itzhak. "It will... eventually.... after they come down from the chaos of OHMYGODSUGAR!!! Peace will come with the crash after they expend energy. So now... we just need to arrange some constructive use for all their energy..." She gives Itzhak a fond squeeze as he pauses briefly to hug her, then looks around, trying to consider options for that energy.

Nicole is one of those giving the surprise hippie commune who arrives some strange looks. They get some serious wary side eye from her, not only because of the shine they give off, but... she may have a few too many stories from shows, movies, and books going through her thoughts right now that their presence makes her recall. "Ummm..." she murmurs out loud but under her breath before turning wide-eyed to watch Denny just nope the fuck out after seeing them. His departure offers her no reassurance.

Neither does the darkening of the gym as the lights go out.

"Fuck!" She looks up in the absolute darkness towards where the lights should be illuminated, then covers her mouth trying to recall if any children were within her earshot. Did she hear Itzhak's comment about her throwing hands beforehand? Who knows, but with the power going out and the oh-so-shiny people present, she does mentally prepare to throw hands.

Conner looks up at both the new arrivals and the power outage. Well, the latter was almost an inevitability given the storm. Then again, the former was too, given everything Ravn had to say. Itzhak has already rolled up to start talking to them, which suits him fine: for once Conner wasn't feeling super eager to do so. He steps fully out of the kitchen, frowns thoughtfully, taking mental stock of the families closest to the ladies. He'd love to get them a bit farther from them, but sees no great options for making it happen.

So instead he just comes to stand by Itzhak, silently backing him up on this point. Strict curfew on spooky appearances. Tone it down, move along, something.

"Yeah, but not many people just offer like that. With that and the other thing you do," Everett replies to Adian, then wiggles the fingers of his left hand as though that may mean something. "So thanks, you can have all the grape you want," he adds with a growing smile and a look over his shoulder to Nicole and Lyric, adding another long gawk in that direction before his attention, and smile, return.

He pauses while Adian lingers to converse with Conner about helping out further. Once again, glancing towards the women out of the corner of his eye because he's subtle. Subtle like a brick. His attention doesn't snap back until Adian's exclamation, the gorilla looking around like he was lost in thought, and confused by his conscripts sudden energy. Long enough to stay and listen to the back and forth between Nicole and Itzzy about children and his frozen delayed energy bombs. The best part, he doesn't plan on being here to witness (or clean-up) the events that follow. Just lay the foundation of hyperactive children in a forced enclosed space and run.
Who needs Veil creatures? Everett's just the worst.

With his children being too young to enjoy anything that isn't a bright blob of colour, he's yet to have seen a Disney princess movie six-teen million times, but his day will come. The background hubbub holds no further interest, Everett looks down to see if his magician is ready to follow again or if he's done as most magicians have, and wandered away. Finding Adian ready to go, Everett takes a few more steps, offering, "Just a few more piles, and the hamburgers and hot dogs are in boxes," he makes a quick vague gesture with his hand as though he's trying to give a measurement that would work better with two hands. "Should only take a couple of trip--"

Thought process interrupted, once more, Everett nods to one of the homeless individuals; someone given refuge during Gray Harbor's harsh winter, which draws his attention to the door and the filling-in of the Glim-tastic women and their company. If Adian's not careful, he might get another smack to the chest before Everett points without taking his eyes off of them. Or watching Itzzy and then Conner approach. Like the janitor, Everett acknowledges his discomfort with a murmured, "Aww, this isn't good."

There's a stolen glance at Ravn to acknowledge his warning before the giant's green eyes turn back. To look darkness right in its face as the lights turn off. Nicole's expletive. Everett's calmer but teen-age annoyed, "Great. Just great."
There's a soft pause and then he adds, with a curious tone, "That better be your hand, Adian."
A soft feminine giggle replies like two love birds puffed and snuggled together on a juvenile oak tree before noon on a cool day before the dew has evaporated.

Most people camped down in their nests of blankets and diaper bags and coats on the floor of the basketball court do not seem to be paying attention. Some look about in confusion. A few of the practically inclined look about for a cause of the black-out.

"The storm must have taken out a powerline somewhere," Mr Oleander says, reasonably (though not very helpfully).

"Gotta kick the generator up," says Jimmy Nelson from the tack shop on the marina. "I'ma go poke it."

"I'm sure we'll have power again in a minute," Mrs Neely reassures Mrs Jankowski who looks at her like she considers the cat loving Mrs Neely a greater threat than any blackout or storm.

Five pale, regal faces turn to look at Itzhak and Conner. They do so from considerable height -- each of these ladies at least seven feet tall. For all of their simple homespun clothing, so much more suited for the pioneer days, or maybe something medieval and European, they have the haughty air of nobility. Arrogance and grace, mixing with the pain of having to eat humble pie.

"Is this not a shelter from the storm?" says one of the tall women, flaxen hair trailing behind her to below her knees.

"Are we not cold and weary?" asks another, a braid of gold trailing the floor behind her.

"Do our children not freeze in the rain?" says a third, russet locks cascading down her shoulders and back.

"Hungry," says one hunched child into his mother's hip.

"I bet they are vegan," says Vicky Barrett, triumphantly.

"Why don't you grow your hair out and join them, then," mumbles Mrs Price, proud bacon eater.

"Give us light," the fourth tall woman says, hair the colour of silver spiderweb like a shroud around her.

"We are asking nicely," the fifth states in a tone that bears little argument; jet black cascades down her back like a cape.

"Well, let's get some soup put on, then," says Mrs Neely who has no shine and clearly is hearing another conversation. "Get these poor souls warmed up a bit. Find some of that ice cream for the little ones, shall we?"

"Am so hungry," murmurs another little hunched child and looks out from behind the russet-haired lady with eyes that gleam a strange shade of yellow. His gaze wavers between Itzhak and Conner for a moment -- and then settles on the former, ravenously.

And there's Aidan, Nicole, Lyric, Everett, and surprisingly, Vicky Barrett -- all appraised by hungry little eyes as if to establish who's the prize turkey. Only Ravn seems not much worthy of their attention; his shine is a meager dish in comparison.

Itzhak suddenly feels small. Itzhak the notorious beanpole, a guy made of legs and elbows, a man who bears around on the front of his face a schnozz the size of a ship's prow feels small.

Not to mention, outnumbered. He side glances at Conner. Doesn't know the guy well, hopes he's got sense. Then, he holds a hand up to stay the questions and hopefully the hungry little tykes. "...Allow me to consult with my," okay, exactly what is he going to call Ravn? Guy who can tell me how to cope with you seems impolitic. "Violin buddy," he settles on, and wheels in place to land his gray and alarmed gaze on Ravn. "Abildgaard what the fuck do they want," he hisses at him sotto voce from across the room.

"Um... I'm pretty sure not?" Aidan replies to Everett, and there's the definite impression that he may in fact have done a hand-inventory in the dark just to make sure he knew what they were actually up to. That giggle is also not him.

He reaches out with his mind, curiously, feeling the ebb and flow of electricity in the wider area surrounding the gym. "It's just us," he says quietly, meant just for those around him, "and I think-- I think it might be that we're kinda on the Other Side, some, now? And the wiring isn't. Can you guys do the light thing?" It's Itzhak he looks at there, though in the dark, this might not be particularly evident. Well, at least he looks where Itzhak was last he saw.

He worries his bottom lip with his teeth as Itzhak and Conner approach the women, and as the conversation ensues. Hard not to feel the way the children(?) are eyeing him up; to anything that finds 'shine' appetizing, he might as well be a high-end brunch buffet. But there's another flicker of his power as he considers the group. Is this not a shelter from the storm? the first woman asked, and Aidan takes a breath, squaring his shoulders, and looks up at the women. And up. Yeah, he's not very used to having to do that anymore either, really.

"It is a shelter from the storm," he says, with a nod and rather more determination than his usual, "and the hospitality of this place is extended to those of good will who require it." There's a sense of this latter portion being something that's been said before, perhaps not generally by him, given the phrasing; there's also a little subtle emphasis on certain words. 'Hospitality'. 'Good will'. Important rules and caveats in the unspoken implications.... some of which he promptly speaks, still in words that sound not quite his own. "The hosts share out their own food, their drink, their roof. All share what is freely offered fairly among themselves, and none brings harm to another. Those who hold to these rules in both word and spirit are welcome tonight in this place." A small exhalation, as he gets through it. There.

Unusually lacking in discussion, for a man who tends to look for consensus. But this is a shelter from the storm. And they are hungry, wet, and scared. That's the whole point, right? He watches them for agreement. Or... or potentially for not.

Feed people? That's something Lyric can do. Sometimes literally! After the minute greeting to those, she meanders over to help a single mother trying to balance a toddler and a baby on each hip. She looks somewhat frazzled and frantic so the musician sets about to feeding the toddler bites of chicken noodle soup the mother had brought with her. So she misses some of everything that is said and done. She does glance over once just in time to see gawking from a big lug and she gives him a quick flash of a grin before glancing over towards Nicole, not sure who the look was directed at exactly. It was a toss up, but she'll claim it. Take one for the team. Throwing a wink towards Everett, the spoon is knocked a little by the impatient toddler so she gets back to feeding the kid while trying to listen to what is going on around her.

At the question of light, Everett stirs around next to Adian and a moment later light blossoms from his cell phone, shined to under illuminating all three of them. Everett, Aidan, and between them a tall blonde grapples Everett's non-functional arm under the armpit.
She's clad in brown leathers, not like a biker, but like an extra from a barbarian set, it's designed to show skin not protect; this armor couldn't protect her from a sneeze. Her high cheekbones rest on Everett's shoulder while she smiles contented, a pointed ear-tip peeking from her perfectly combed blonde, sparkling mid-back hair. Armed with weaponry, a bow, because of course, an elf would have a bow, has been slung over her shoulder with an impractically small quiver, and a set of daggers sheathed at the small of her back.

But the only combat she appears ready for is for Evertt's affection as she emits a sigh as soft as a pile of multi-colored kittens, still with milk droplets on their lips. Her own part after being lid, and like a bird-song, she emits one word, spoken with chirps, "Beast."

"Aw, great," mutters Everett facetiously. Best ignore that arm grabber for right now, Everett shines his light around, and then up to provide greater, but weaker illumination around him. After a studious look to the hags, in particular, the hooded 'child' that eyes him with carnivorous intent, and then Everett looks over blonde hair, down to Aidan's curly locks. "I think the ice cream's going to melt," he offers after Aidan's attempts to be diplomatic.

Then his head swings hag's way. He nods towards Adian, because of the least amount of movement he has to do with a clutching Legolas, the better. "What he said. If you come in peace, you may stay in piece. We don't have meat for yourrrr--" he lingers on the word. "Wards. But we have ice cream?" he adds with a hopeful uprise of his voice and a slight smile. He might still get to see children hyper on sugar.

Conner at least has sense enough to more or less keep his mouth shut when he doesn't know what to do. And to observe the ways the ones who do know what to do speak. He hears the emphasis on hospitality and good will, and he studies the women and their child. He blinks placidly at the one eyeing him like he's lunch. "Chocolate," he adds, helpfully. Because really, chocolate is better than everything else. Everything. Else. Including him!

Probably not offering them the grape, after all. Truly, nobody wants grape ice cream. Why do they even make grape ice cream?

He starts at the appearance of the elf, then gives another owlish blink.

"Ummmmm..." comes Nicole's voice in the dimness when she overhears the women talking. Sure, the things they say sound appropriate enough, given the circumstances... Appropriate enough for people who aren't fucking glowing with the Shine. But these people... are. When the child with the hungry eyes looks her way, her own go wide and she looks around herself. Tucking her chin towards her chest a little, she looks aside to whoever is standing near her and murmurs, "I feel like a piece of meat in the... not hanging out at a club way, but the main entree way."

She's still close enough to Aidan to hear him, and lets out a sigh when he says they are maybe on the Other Side now. "It fucking figures," she mumbles. "As if this tropical storm alone isn't bad enough. " She's mostly trying not to draw attention to herself, observing as much as she can with eyes and ears, letting out her own 'feelers' but they are not as powerful as Aidan's. She glances at Lyric who flashes a smile towards Everett. She grins herself, cuz of course it was Lyric he was gawking at. That makes more sense. . .

What does not make immediate sense to her is the... entity (?) beside Everett. She would swear it wasn't there before. She doesn't stare, that is rude, but she does look on curiously, possibly wondering about whether or not someone was in the middle of some cosplay when they came for shelter. But really, not even that keeps her focus off the Hippies from the Forest for long. Best to keep potential predators in your line of sight, after all.

Little heads swivel to stare at Everett (and not so much at the elf like apparition next to him). For a second or three, light cuts through the darkened gymnasium. The yellow eyes of the eerie children fix on the light -- and just like that, it bleeds from the room, as if the phone battery was drained in a matter of seconds.

Jimmy Nelson disappears in the direction of the high school's boiler room and its generator. He is accompanied by Mr Oleander who by now is bored enough sitting around complaining that even getting his hands dirty and risking oil stains on his shirt sounds like a preferred alternative. Or maybe the Olympia banker is enough of a predator himself to possess a predator's instincts -- bigger fish than himself have arrived, and now is a good time to find another river.

It's possible the Dane might have had more input to offer, but his attention is diverted by the appearance of the Dungeons & Dragons escapee. He stares at her leather clad, skin revealing, useless little bow holding self like a man whose life depends on fitting every peg into every hole; a man who has just realised that one of the holes is in fact just a circular ink stain on the wood. Some things were never meant to exist in a folklorist's universe; elves taken right out of a fantasy movie are right up there in the top ten. He definitely shares Nicole's feeling that these women look at certain people like a hungry man looks at a restaurant's a la carte menu.

"Is there not the milk of cow in this frozen food?" asks Flaxen.

"The milk of cow, and the light of human souls?" asks Gold.

"I don't like grape," says Russet. There's always one.

"What price is asked for such a gift?" asks Silver.

"A bargain met is a bargain done," says Black, decisively. She nods to Aidan, settling the bargain on behalf of her sisters and their offspring. The latter continue to stare at Itzhak and Conner in particular. Maybe they do in fact think that Conner might be better than chocolate. Alternatively, they've never heard of chocolate.

"The ice cream isn't vegan, you shouldn't subject children to it," inserts Vicky Barrett and looks after Mrs Neely who's already heading towards the high school cafeteria kitchen.

"I don't think it's the children who want ice cream," Mrs Price mumbles. While she, the proud defender of bacon and all things porcine, seems to have no shine either, she does seem more aware than Mrs Neely. One can only guess at what words she hears, but it's clear that she too is uncomfortable with the tall, unblinking women and their strange demands. She glances at Nicole as if agreeing with her on the subject of sylvan predators.

A few blanket nests over, somebody lights a battery torch. Little heads swivel, and that light too dies a premature death. "Fuck it," says Mr O'Connell, postal worker, who has no idea what treat he just offered to otherworldly kids who have no interest whatsoever in Lyric's chicken noodle soup and all the interest in that -- the light, the shine, the power.

Itzhak wrinkles his nose at Ravn. Welp, Abildgaard is no help, he's busy. "Christ, we gotta get you laid." His attention swivels back to the terrifyingly tall creepy ladies and their even creepier offspring (if, in fact, that's offspring and not, like, the equivalent of a lamprey).

His expressive eyebrows go up. They're talking about ice cream. And...light. Itzhak points at the buckets of ice cream Everett may just have saved the day by bringing. "We'll sell you that ice cream. Can you make this building safe from the storm? Might be a fair price for that." Someone is in haggling mode. "And for your, uh...your kids," Itzhak nods to the small ones, clearly not sure 'kids' is the right term for them, "they need light? I can make light. I'll feed 'em. For a few minutes. I'm just a regular guy, maybe I can't give 'em all they need, but I can give a little."

Conner certainly appreciates the fact that they have gone straight to talking here, and is glad others are handling it because in this case...he definitely didn't know what to say. Or at least, what might have been said that might have worked. He's watching, listening, and learning here, and makes no move for the ice cream just yet. He'll go scoop it up, but not until the bargaining is done. He does note: "If you eat all the power in the kitchen, though, the ice cream will be spoiled. The fridge and freezer need to run. To say nothing of actually being able to see well enough to provide you with anything at all."

Just a mild, practical point more than an actual bargaining point, a sort of FYI tacked onto the end of what the others are already doing.

While Conner might, for the time being, be keeping his opinions to himself, Everett's a little more vocal when the terrible kids glance his way and his cell phone goes dim than dark. "Hey," he argues, his attention falling back down to his phone. "I better not've lost all my dick pix," is his more softly added argument while trying to trace his thumb on the smartphone's front, side buttons.
His attempts to revive his phone don't go on for long before he lifts his head and tucks his phone back from whence it came while looking around to see what he's missed, and down at the Midevil Defector dubiously while she, still grappling Everett's right arm, emits a coo that's pink and fluffy and flutters in a small orbit on cupid wings if coos could do such things. Her right leg lifts up a little as, following the coo, she strokes her left cheek on Everett's immobile shoulder and from her lips emits bird calls that sound like two birds fighting romantically.

With Aidan's assertion, Everett glances from Aidan down to the grappling fae. "Yyyeah," he offers with a sarcastic note. There's another look at those freaky children, sizing one up while he replies to something Nicole said, "There's a storm on both sides. That's what they," he nods towards the women and their wards, "want shelter from."
He looks as though he's suddenly remembered something, then uses his left hand to start patting his right side down, noting the bravery of Jimmy Nelson and Mr Oleander with a hint of jealousy. Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find and turns his attention down to the Shelf on his arm. "Hey. Uh. Mildew. Do me a favor and reach into my jacket and take out the lighter?" he asks, using his hand to open the left side.

Well, he couldn't have asked her for something she would have wanted to do more. Judging by the shy chin tuck and abashed fluttering of her eyelashes. One of her hands is freed and thin fingers stroke over Everett's pec before slipping into the inside jacket pocket. She could have gone slower, but then she would have been witness to the heat-death of the universe. Rummaging around inside the inside jacket pocket Cosplay Carrie pulls free a metallic zippo and looks at it for a second before handing it to Everett with the comment, "Pretty angel," her voice pre and post punctuated with bird tweets.

"Thanks," Everett murmurs while accepting the lighter and flicking it on. Some kind of light, any kind. "It's not mine though," he adds with another gawk at Lyric. Just in time to look down at Aidan then over at Black, noting a bargain met and done part. And while he doesn't know Itzzy, he knows of Itzzy. Who hasn't heard of the mechanic with a nose you could pose bills on? There's less than vague uncertainty while The Nose offers to pay with light.
Light of Human Souls.

"Eeeh. Maybe we start with the totally, absolutely vegan ice cream," Everett suggests, adding, "There's vanilla too for those that don't like grape. Or a vanilla-grape cascade for the adventurous souls that have looked into the very eyes of Death and laughed." He makes a laugh. Another. A weaker one that slowly tapers of, "Haaaa... oh boy." It wouldn't be the first time Everett's saved the day by doing something totally mundane. Or stupid. It's kinda his thing.

With that, Everett heads to the kitchen like Mrs. Neely, at once dragging Mildrew at his side before she realizes we're moving now, and switches her hold on the gorilla by holding his right, lifeless hand in both of hers and watching him with adoration, a swish of her leather, her golden hair twirling before landing almost more perfectly then at rest, twinkles and glitter follow. There's a nod to Conner, "We better get bowls and spoons before this stuff becomes ice cream soup."

This doesn't seem to be a situation Nicole is super useful in. She doesn't want to be food for anyone, she knows that much, and right now she feels a bit like a slice of cheesecake with strawberry drizzle on a plate set before a very hungry person who happens to love cheesecake with strawberry drizzle. Looking from person to person with wide eyes, she tries to keep track of them all. Something Itzhak says catches her attention away from the Strange Ones and the elven tweety bird cosplayer, and she looks to him. "Wait like... give them light... like..." She lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers. It was meant to just mimic doing something twinkly, you know, MAGIC, but a small spark of electricity does briefly blink its light at the very tip of one finger. "You don't think it would... like.. deplete us?" Clearly, she has no idea how this works, or if that was even what he meant. But, she also looks around the gym at all the other people packing the space with their bodies, their entirely not shining bodies.

...where did that elf-looking girl come from? Aidan's brow furrows slightly but-- well, if they are on the other side, that's not even close to the weirdest thing he's seen.

In any case, there are more important things, or at least he's pretty sure they're more important. He watches the way the... children? focus on the light, the way the light bleeds out of existence. "All share what is freely offered fairly among themselves," he repeats quietly toward the younger-looking ones, "The rest of us need light and electricity too, even if I think we need it differently than you do. If you eat it all we have none. ...and all the ice cream melts." A small nod toward Conner for that point. Definitely not wrong!

Looking back to the women, "And yeah, the ice cream does contain the milk of cow and," he's not quite sure about the' light of souls' thing, "the cleverness and care and joy of humanity." That's arguably accurate, right? Figurative, okay, but the light of souls has to be too, yeah? "Also sugar and vanilla or chocolate or grape and some other good stuff, I think." Sorry, Vicky the Vegan. This is likely a doomed crusade. A glance to Itzhak, somewhat apologetic, and he confirms to the women, "We will share it with you, part of the bargain met. If you have ways to help us protect this place and these people from the storm, and are willing to share that with us, we would appreciate your assistance." It's weird, talking 'formally' like this, but something about them just makes him feel like he... should. Possibly too much time around actors.

Another flicker of a glance toward the mechanic, then Nicole of the briefly-sparking fingers, then his own hand. Hm. Well, he won't get in the way of any side-deals that don't counter the hospitality declared, and there's one way he can think of to check... Digging into one of his pockets, he comes up with a crumpled paper napkin, twists it into something vaguely resembling a flower with a stem, and lets his mind lightly touch the 'petals' while he holds the base of the 'stem'. It blooms into flame, carefully set to maximize the time he can easily hold it; one'd think he might've done that sort of thing a lot. "If you guys wanna eat this paper's fire as a snack, go ahead," he offers. Freely, if kind of carefully.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Ravn murmurs sotto voce to Itzhak; he's staring at Mildew the Unlikely Elf not because she's attractive but because anything like that existing anywhere ever is a personal offence to someone with a background in academic history. Okay, maybe a bit because she's stupid attractive, in the fashion of somebody's ridiculous, twisted D&D fantasy.

The attention of the tall women and their yellow-eyed offspring is on the people offering them bargains, though. Mrs Neely's back, disappearing into the kitchen. Everett's promises of multiple flavours -- vegan or not. Nicole and Itzhak, talking about light and power. Aidan, offering fire made with the shine. And Conner, warning them to not take too much, lest there be nothing left at all.

"We shall take nothing not freely shared," says Flaxen, mercifully.

"No weather shall claim a life in this house while we are here," says Gold.

"Do you have rum and raisins flavour?" asks Russet. Still that one.

"When dawn breaks we shall part ways," says Silver.

"And take only those who come willingly," declares Black, sounding as if this last bit is exceedingly generous on her behalf. As if to stress her point she raises a pale, slender hand and points at the flame -- which fades away, like the cellphone lights before it.

The tall, eerie women look up in unison, fixing their golden eyes at the ceiling. Something up there creaks. And then rattles, and thunks. A number of quite mortal and ordinary people look up in turn; the obvious questions are asked. What is that noise? Did something fall down? Wait, is the storm throwing around trees now? Or cars? Oh God, Harvey, you have to go out and look, sit the hell down, Harvey, you're not going out there, what are you, insane?

And here's little Vicky Barrett, for once forgetting all about her vegan crusade in order to say, "... I think there was something on the roof." No one normal seems to hear her.

To the eyes, and more so, the ears of the shiny people watching the tall women and their children watch the ceiling, though, there is a definite change. There was something big up there, stressing the rafters. There isn't now. But the roof is probably going to need some repairs, and once the weather settles a bit, it might be tempting to go look for very big butt and claw prints.

Conner nods and goes to scoop up the ice cream. He sure as heck looks up, and then blows out his cheeks. "Gotta remember the danger isn't always from where I think it is," he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. He gets right on scooping. One of them wanted raisins. He digs out raisins to put on her vanilla. No rum, but. Probably close enough for government work. And then he'll get on helping to hand out the goodies to their esteemed guests and their children. One crisis down.

The only thing that attracts attention that you're being stared at more are shushed (and not so hushed) voices attempting to not bring attention to the individual their staring at. With Ravn's reply to Itzzy, Mildew flicks her head over her shoulder, her hair falling like a golden wave lapping on the bank of her barely armored shoulder so she can affix an apprising gaze on the Dane.
"He's tall too," she observes, her accent hard to place as it sounds like a pair of swallows playing on the twigs of a youthful elm, one leaping from perch to new perch with the other following the leader amid excited bird calls.
"Yeah," replies Everett with disinterest. And for a span of a half-second that's the end of it. Until the right corner of his mouth pulls ever so gently, gaining the same sadistic taint his deep voice does. "And he's dating my partner, but I'm sure he's got room for you. You know. 'The more, the merrier.'"
Her attention returns back to Everett and then to Ravn once more, sizing him up with a critical eye, but still not letting go of Everett's flappy noodle of a right arm. She appears to be considering her options. Everett notices this and also looks at Ravn, that slight smile widens, "You're welcome, buddy," and steals a second to smirk at Itzhak.

All of this is an aside, a distraction to the way Aidan's diplomatically handling the situation, and why Everett's retreated to the kitchen, plus one, to make sure, should it work. When Aidan's fire flower lights, Everett's lips purse, fuckin' finger-wiggler, and he closes the zippo. It did what he wanted it to do.
When the guests look up, so too does Everett followed shortly thereafter by Mildew. Their eyes look around, as if also following the scraping while Mildew releases a hand from around Everett's bicep to put it around the hilt of the weapon at the small of her back.

When the sound fades, her dandy, long fingers remove themselves from the hilt only to return to Everett's arm and smiles vapidly as she giggles then lays her head on his shoulder. She has no further words other than to hang on Everett's arm while the gorilla attempts to help Conner in the kitchen.
Can two three gallons of ice cream last them all night?
It managed to work for Moses and seven days of bread and candle light in that bible book thing.
Same principle here too, right.

Aidan barely finds a moment to blink and headtilt at Everett and then Ravn with that claim regarding dating, what with the rest of what's going on. Barely, but not not at all. Still, most of his focus stays on the... Visitors.

It's Flaxen's declaration that sends a faint relaxation through Aidan's mien, one that both disappears again and then reappears once more at Black's final addition. That there was another option there may not have been something he'd quite realised, even if perhaps he should have. But he also seems to think he can take them at their word. Whether he has any good reason for this beyond being a trusting sort... hard to say. But the acceptance of that fire without a feeling of anything more being tugged on goes some way to reassurance.

So does the creak and rattle and thunk and resulting lack of previously unnoticed stress on the roof when the women stare upward about the time he says quite sincerely, "Thank you." Aidan stares the same way and looks briefly paler, though most of the assembled still have him beat on that front regardless. "Um." A pause, still eyeing the rafters, and then more quietly, "Thank you," he repeats, "I think... we should have ice cream now. What, um... What was that?"

What's on a roof?

It speaks of Ravn's failure to focus that he's staring daggers at Everett (no doubt to the latter's delight). Anyone, possessed of the situational awareness to prioritise disturbing creaks and groans from the ceiling above the possible murder of one ice cream parlour owner, can tell that something changed. A lightening of the mood; a sensation of impending doom bleeding away to become just a general meh feeling about those tall women and their creepy-eyed little children. An absence of something very heavy, in more ways than one.

When dawn does break, the high school roof is fine, except for some structural damage. The winds, no doubt. A bit of weakness in the supporting beams, some tile work that will need to be repaired. Nothing unusual in a hurricane, is it? And perhaps a few people in the shelter glancing awkwardly at what looks like a very large iguana foot print on the roof that no one else can see.

This is Gray Harbor though, and one thing is almost constitutionally guaranteed: No evil ever slinks away not to return. Maybe now is a good idea to re-open that World of Warcraft account, do a couple of Blackwing Lair instances, get your dragon slaying on.