2021-06-13 - Before the Storm

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Where are you?

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I looked into your boat and it currently is not, well, boating correctly. Good given all the circumstances. So where are you?

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Ravn I know you are there because this is specifically wherever you are.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Stop sleeping. I have concerns.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Call me back.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : HOPE centre. Somebody donated a sofa. I had to dry dock the Vagabond lest the storm smash her to a pile of very expensive toothpicks. What's up?

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : OMG your'e sleeping in the place that literally tried to kill you and had to negotiate a sofa?

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : ... It wasn't the place that tried to kill me, it was the previous owner.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : The place hasn't sunk into a hellpit and been reclaimed by woe has it?

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I'm coming to get you. I can guarantee no one's steamed that sofa and you don't need to sleep atop the broken memories of bad hobo sex. Your things are there then?

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Well, no, but Denny does keep dropping hand written recipes for fish dinners on the table. I think he's trying to tell me something.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Is Denny the cat?

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I thought Kitty Pryde was the cat.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Denny is the old guy from the Boardwalk who goes around warning tourists about flesh eating mermaids.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I'm torn between telling him to work it out and Doordash.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Also, if hobos had sex on this thing it must have been pretty mellow because it doesn't have that awful oh god something died here haunty feel. Just smells a bit like pot.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Let me assure you that couch is used in more ways than one.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I'll be there in like 20ish minutes.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Maybe they had good sex? Do I put coffee on, or will you be bringing some?

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : OMG don't leave Denny coffeeless. The man has enough problems being him. He shouldn't have to be decafeinated him.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Why am I going to beat Doordash to your place? That doesn't feel like they're very dashy.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : You didn't tell me what's up, though.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Consider this a very formal invite to a very prestigious kidnapping where you, luv, get to be the guest of honour.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : ... Well, the dreams usually don't give me five minutes' warning so there's that.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Also don't fight me on this. I've been pushing zoning changes all morning. My rebuttals are primed and ready.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : You haven't told me what I'm fighting you on, dear.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : And I'm concerned. These can get excessively nasty and my home has the good sense to be self-sufficient and not haunted.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : The zoning changes or the dreams? -duck-

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I'm moving you into my spare room until this blows over.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : You respect people's work and your company doesn't make me want to murder you in your sleep and wake you up to do so.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Yes, ma'am. No, I'm not going to fight you on this. We need every surface we can get if this storm gets as bad as they say. I need to help set up a shelter at the high school tomorrow but I am in fact homeless tonight.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : If you're going to murder me in my sleep, at least show me the decency of not waking me up first.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : But I have a generator so if we gt flooded and the power goes out we'll be okay. I will still be able to have alexa order whatever we need from Prime and have the ability to online order if we need food.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : You need help with the setup?

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I'm qualified in interior design and space management. I can help.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Got half a dozen people coming over at various times and yes, we can sure as hell use everyone we get, I suspect. Once this storm hits, you're going to be running in circles. If some of those circles take you past the high school a few times, I'm not going to complain.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I don't run.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Running indicates a tragic lack of planning or terrible choices in pastimes.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : -laugh- Of course you don't. Speaking of, your sister Erin talked about coming over to help sometime. Surprised me, didn't think she was the charity type.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : My sister is Holly.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : ... Cousin?

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Maserati girl.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Erin's a cousin and sometimes she holds blanket drives and something with soup.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : Oh, nice. 🙂

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Don't remind me of the car incident. She was crumpled up like a damn piece of paper. Reckless and careless.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : I don't know much about it. She told me about it briefly the first time we met, back in August last year. Then I met her again last week and she talked about coming down to give a hand, which I'm not going to turn down. Also, packed my tote bag, ready for pick-up, ma'am.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I lost touch with her after she ran off with that cop then that grubby mechanic I did not care for and whoever else it is now.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : I should call her and make sure she's okay and let Atli know she's in town.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Ravn : I have no idea. 😆 I didn't ask about her love life.

(TXT to Ravn) Hyacinth : Don't without popcorn. Okay I'm like 3 blocks from you barring any feral raccoon street gangs or Moose trying to solicit their Jesus at me.

Ravn shuts the door to the HOPE centre behind himself. He does not lock it -- because the message the centre wants to send right now is that anyone who needs to, should walk right on in. So somebody might steal the coffee machine -- not that big a loss. At some point there'll be things in there that will require locking up -- computers, copiers, whatever. There aren't yet. If someone wants to steal a few tins of paint, let them.

He travels light; a tote bag for books and a duffel bag for what's presumably a bit of clothes and personal belongings. A man who used to live like that all the time knows how to pack. When Hyacinth does pull up, the man is waiting, leaning against the old brick wall, looking as much as home as he does anywhere that's decidedly not upper class.

Hyacinth walks in with a small plunger-like suction cup on the bottom of her prosthetic today giving her telltale gait a Tic-pok!-tik-pok! sound as it sticks a little bit to the tile as she walks with purpose and judgement. He pauses, assesses in an updown scan not for the view (presently) but for damage assessment. "Oh look nothing tried to eat you. Even withthe storm this is an improvement." Which is Hya for approval.

Tik-pok!-tik-pok!-tik-pok!-tik-pok!

The stride carries on with dignity and an arm full of towels, and a few tightly rolled plastic sheeting. These are moved in to set on the table and from off her arm like a bracelet a new roll of duct tape. "Dennis? I brought these to help hold down the fort. Plastic drop cloths work well enough for paint and sawdust I figure they'll help suffice for water too. Food is on its way. Also," She pulls from her pocket a phone in plastic still. Yes, it's a burner phone by all definition. Her manicure swirls in a circle, "In case there's an emergency and all things go to shit you can call for aid. If the city gives you shit my number is ion the back and I'm happy to put someone's job in forever future peril until they get with the program of being helpful." She smiles. It's all teeth. Would she get someone fired and blacklisted from any future employment she can? Quite possibly. She might absolutely try. hail the fury of a shrike with a purpose.

Looking to Ravn she flits a hand in teh 'go that-a-way car-ward-ly with your belongings gesture. "You ready? We good here?"

For once in his life, Denny has nothing to say. Not a single word on mermaids, even. Or anything else. He clearly knows who Hyacinth Addington is. The boardwalk hobo also very clearly did not expect to be visible to the eye of people like her. People from that layer of society generally don't see people like Denny. He manages to mumble something at last. Then takes the sheeting and the phone and -- runs.

The slam of a door out back signifies that perhaps Denny needs some alone time in which to collect himself.

Ravn manages to bite back a laugh and hide a grin behind a gloved hand. He shakes his head. "Sorry. Denny is a little -- he really doesn't talk a lot, and when he does, it's on one subject too. But he's a dedicated janitor who gets more repair and maintenance done here than most. Also, his mermaids are real -- I've seen them, they're vicious."

He lets himself be herded to the car by an imperious wave. And why not? It's not as if Spruce Street is that fascinating to stand around on at this hour. He's a little old to hang on street corners, looking for trouble. He tosses the duffel into the back seat and slips into the passenger seat. "Ready as I get. Abduct away."

Hyacinth smiles at the snatch and grab so pleased. To Ravn she shares, "I love a man that gets to what needs doing without blathering on with wasted words. Good expediency there." He didn't make her say just do the thing. Looking to Ravn she blinks and with the explanation there's a slow nod. "Never trust a woman with sharp teeth and fishy intentions." She stops and looks slightly aghast after processing that and looks at Denny's barricade door. "Oh god he tries to explain common sense to the common masses? How is he not mad?"

No time to waste on wondering today. Tik-pok!-tik-pok!-tik-pok!-tik-pok! she shuttles along behind Ravn to the white Tesla that (thankfully) does all her driving for her. Her fabricated leg gets a bit of a wiggle to shake the excess water off the end and a tap and she seats herself in the car and starts making demands directives with it on where to go which is to refuge Bay St.

"I swear I feel like a tiny pirate with this thing." The car starts to move on its own. "but after the accident my balance has been questionable and with the rain coming in it helps." There's a pause and she reasons to him plainly, "Also if there are ghost pirates I might be able to let them believe I'm on their side, hand over the bounty, and GTFO." She stills and an impish smile warms, "I love doing that." filthy habit it is.

"I think he officially is mad? Does a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia count?" Ravn smiles lightly and glances back at the centre. "It's just that I've seen Denny's mermaids as well. And so has a couple of other people, so if he's crazy? A number of us are crazy."

If he's got opinions on the Tesla he keeps them to himself. It's probably not the first time he's had a ride in one. Rich Europeans like their Muskmobiles too.

"I don't think I've seen a ghost pirate yet," Ravn muses as the Tesla pulls out into the street. "I've seen a lot of strange in Gray Harbor in my eleven months here, but no pirates. Probably just a matter of time. I should pre-emptively learn to sword fight. How have you been? It's been a while since we happened to occupy Vydal's at the same time."

Hyacinth points out, "The front seats also cool if your nerves are on fire. The storm front is doing no favours for my nephropathy so I can't imagine you're having a fun day." Her eyes stay semi on the road even though she's not the one driving. Emergencies can happen in the Harbor. "I think you'd look quite fashionable sword fighting. You have good reach for it, and the gloves." Sensible compliments, but honest ones.

"I..." Her jaw sets and there's some thoughts about how to answer that and she picks at the truth with a fork, "I've been working from home. My recovery's been going on longer than I'd prefer, but progress is still happening. It's just difficult to stare at a screen for too long still." Focus set she takes a deep breath to dig around words, "I haven't been putting off going out for crabs with you I'v just been putting off going out. The concussion and keeping security up at the house has been exhausting. I would have been terrible company. Maybe they'll land on the deck and save us time. Vyv's been looking forward to travel. He mentioned something about taking his action figure to the great playground of Pasedena. I have to see if he's back. My mom's been... difficult."

Ravn glances at Hyacinth and then nods. "I understand. You took a very severe beating there, Hyacinth. In this town we take it lightly that we get hurt -- maybe a bit more lightly than we should."

He looks back to the road ahead. "I haven't had time to schedule a nervous breakdown about it yet, either. There's always something else I need to do. For a guy who used to have no obligations besides occasionally checking in with a couple of folks back home, I've certainly managed to fill my schedule out. Half a dozen things I should be asking you about too -- but I'm honestly not quite up for more work related things right now. Going to be spending most of this week telling people what to do as volunteers, and I hate being the centre of attention. Bad enough to have the Gazette style me 'president of the HOPE foundation' -- we're a handful of volunteers in a run-down old butcher's shop, damnit."

Breathe, Ravn. He contemplates asking whether Vydal does in fact collect action figures -- people have had stranger hobbies, let's be honest -- and there's a convention on in Pasadena. It's the tone of that last word, though, that causes the Dane look over again, concern in blue-grey eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't imagine that she's any less worried about this Storm Cimaron than the rest of us."

Hyacinth mutters "They didn't even buy me dinner first. Garish." There's a pause when he mentions the storm. There's a deep breath and there's some trouble creasing her brow and a small nod, "Since... things happened with dad...and my brother? She's not really bounced back. Holly's been staying with her mostly keeping an eye on her. Appearances, you know, but... I don't think she's going to go back being the same." There's a small scoff of bewilderment, "She keeps going on about her damn...plans." Which isn't about the plants. She does ask him, "Sometimes I wonder how we think what we do is making anything better with this damn town. But...it could be gone already. OH GOD did you hear what they did to the carousel? Don't look."

"Yes," Ravn says quietly. "I do know. And I know who, and I know why. And in time, it'll get repaired too. It's Gray Harbor doing what Gray Harbor does, and people trying to protect themselves and save lives. I don't know if we actually make anything better -- but I know that if we stop trying, we certainly won't be."

The Dane glances over his shoulder, back towards the run-down buildings of Spruce Street. "I am sorry about the carousel. It will be repaired, I promise. If these people fall through, I'll bloody well have it repaired myself."

In any given day Hya would be simply irked about people acting like tiny savages. Vandalism fuels the fury in her blood but defacing something that is a downtown icon? Oddly there's no fury, it's just a still sadness. Did she care for those animals biting at them? Oh hell no. She's made exception in life for Justin's dog Caleb to which they have an understanding: that is your couch and this is mine. This is different. It doesn't matter that the gesture isn't for her, that it's for the city is what is important here and that he would.

Her lips press together and instead of something imperious and snotty there is a quiet, "Thank you. That means a lot. Maybe we can fix it though if this storm hits as hard as they're saying? Well... the carousel might not be the only thing needing fixing." Her hand rests on the center console, flexes and then relaxes. "Maybe it'll only knock down the little ugly mid-century buildings and the places where people don't take care of things so we can make it less janky. This could be a blessing; the storm."

"If Storm Cimaron hits as hard as they are telling us it will, we will be repairing a lot of things. The boardwalk alone... " Ravn shakes his head. "The manticore tried to kill somebody. When this supernatural tide that Baba Yaga kept talking about is over, the people who took the eyes will be returning them. Just need to make sure that the carousel animals aren't animated by the storm and used to hurt anyone. The eyes are in a safe place, I promise. Even if they're just plastic."

He looks back at Hyacinth. "The carousel is not just an antique. I appreciate it as a historian -- but it's more than that. It's a part of Gray Harbor's soul. You probably know more about it than I do, but I am piecing bits and pieces together. I found some information on who Muriel is -- or was, and I plan to go find out what happened to her. Her birth mother sometimes in the 1940s was a C.A. -- so the story that she might be a Baxter-Addington checks out so far. You remember how she's guarding the broken Baxter souls under the carousel? The carousel is really not just some neat old thing in the park, it's literally the key to this mystery at this time."

The Dane reaches over with a gloved hand and brushes his fingertips across Hyacinth's ditto in a feather light touch of reassurance. "If this entire town is flattened by the storm, we'll rebuild it. In the physical world and in the metaphysical. Just need to weather the storm and the tide. Find out what the hell Baba Yaga was on about, opening all our eyes. Get on with life."

There's a breath held, and let go. There's solace in knowing you're not the only one that cares about something and appreciates its meaning. Her fingers lift slightly in greeting d response to the not-idle gesture. That Ravn doesn't touch anything if he can help it at personal penalty gives weight to the emphasis of solidarity and comfort. Daunting as the enormity of incoming damages may be there's a smile. "Thank you. For...seeing it as more than a old and decorative amusement or something to be feared." Yeah she has a lot in common with that carousel; right down to the monsters.

"Muriel...said she wanted our help. While I'm not fond of those people what Margaret did was absolutely beyond acceptable so...this...child person-" There's a squint and one finger tapping thoughtfully on the wheel. "I'll have to take a look at the family tree. What's changed. See if there are other clues to be had there that can help...amend this."

Ravn nods slightly. "I went through the court records. She was adopted out to a family named Vernon but died at age ten or so. I'll keep digging -- but no one at the time seems to have noticed anything unusual. If you can spot a "C.A." who might be of child bearing age from 1930-1940 it'd tell us who the mother was. Although on some level I'm not sure it matters at all -- since Muriel is clearly around and if she felt we need to know, why not just tell us?"

He shakes his head slightly as Bay Side comes into view. "One thing at a time. Every clue counts but first we need to survive this storm. I wonder if there is any correlation between the carousel animal eyes and the dream -- the 'all your eyes shall open' prophecy. I guess we'll find out."

Blue-grey eyes sparkle. "Nothing's so bad it's got no silver lining. A lot of people are going to show us their true colours over the next week or so. A lot of people are going to find strengths they never knew they had. New friendships are going to forged. And when the storm clears, maybe we'll have gotten rid of a lot of the debris. Then we can get down to finding out what the deal is with the carousel and the broken Baxter dolls, and the Exorcist noping out."

There is a pause and she looks to her hand and then to Ravn and considers wobbling her head, "Well you still owe me a crab dinner date. but given the storm if we just want to leave a net on the porch for them to be deposited into if you want to do a lore dive in the family albums I have and order Chinese food."

There's a pause with some amusement, "So you are aware you do not have to either, but I do feel terrible it got put off." There's a pause and her finger lifts, "I feel terrible from being beaned in the head. Also terrible that it was put off as a result." There's a pauses and very informativly she states for the record. "I'm mad. officially." as a footnote.

"So you're... really in it? To help us untangle the Baxter-Mess?" Eyebrow arches with a slow nod. "I think it's a great time to let the storm hit and let us know where the weaknesses are, clean the old debris away and, yes, rebuild in a lot of ways." There's a faint grin and she slides a look, "When did you get so damn smart anyways? Was it while everyone else wasn't letting you talk? Goddamn, Ravn."

Ravn returns the grin -- and laughs softly at the mental image of Hyacinth just plopping a wicker basket on the porch and waiting for the storm to deposit the fruits of the sea into it. That's how the French cook boullaibaisse anyhow, isn't it? Empty the nets into a pot, add water, ???, stuff face.

"Being beaned in the head is no small thing, though. I can testify to this, given that the same thing happened to me and I was seeing stars for a week," the Dane agrees. Then he schools his features into a somewhat more serious expression. "The Baxter-Addington mess affects everyone here -- and this is what I do. Oh, I know, historians don't expect history to happen right in their faces like this -- but sometimes it does, and here we are. I'm not the only man in Gray Harbor who can untangle this mess. But I am qualified to at least provide useful input to the group effort. Researching historic events is what I have a PhD in. Chinese is good, if the storm doesn't break too soon -- don't want a drowned delivery kid on my conscience."

He looks back at her even as the old Victorian house that is Hyacinth's true love comes into view. "This town, though -- it's the kind of place that keeps you busy. It sure as hell keeps me busy, and I only have myself to look after -- you've got literally half the town depending on you. I do expect to get caught up on the gossip over spring rolls. The whole deal with your not-marriage and what you did about it, anything else that's going on. Colour me gossip girl."

Boullaibaisse ? Hya doesn't keep up on French team sports. That might be cooking. Lure into trap > do combat > consume.

The smile stretches into an easy grin of amusement, "Fiiiiiine I'll make them send an adult with a raft." The eyebrow arches to see if it suffices. "Just because something affects everyone doesn't mean they at all give a shit. Aand you know I already adore you, Ravn. You don't have to pander to my sensibilities by pleading for good 'dish'." Oh. Yeah. Gossip she can do all day.

They pull up and her car is parked in the garage though there is at least a covered walk from carriage house to the house proper. Her car gets a wee bit of space. The rest is all her workshop. No touchie. "Well Justin and I are on a -accurate- business merger. That's going really well. People are leaving Dahlia aloooone and no one gives me shit about a marriage that didn't happen or give me a look of pity I have to slap out of them. So everything seems fixed and the Revisionist was rather amicable about it."

walking up tothe door she puts in the pass code and smiles to him, "Did you know magnetic locks can't just be told to open. Pretty great." And she does the deadbolt. "I figures unless one is very adept at lightening and larceny it's better off. I've started to try to to a list and...really found out most relatives are pretty dreadful. It's not even just mine. Mine, Baxters, yours, Vyv's...god. Ugh." She calls out, "I'm home." Who is she talking to? No one immediately responds. She pauses, considers something, and moves in undeterred by a total lack of response.

"The Revisionist isn't hostile to us," Ravn agrees, following in Hyacinth's wake. "I question whether she understands us, but she's not trying to harm us. When asked to correct her mistakes she pretty much gives people what they ask for. Vyv got to have his story simply undone. Mine got changed -- into something even crazier, sure, but it's not doing harm to anyone, and that's what I asked for. And you seem to have managed to get out of yours too. I think that in her own insane way she was just trying to, well, spice up our lives."

The lock gets a grin. "I know," the ex-cat burglar confirms. "Believe me, I know. Make sure you have no window latches or key cards or other things that can be told, though."

Then he once again wipes the grin off his face, agreeing vividly on the subject of relatives being awful. "My relatives were not so much awful as just -- traditional. Conservative, old-fashioned, keeping up appearances. People who had no reason to live in the same house and most of the time didn't. I do have a number of uncles and aunts who are quite upset by the idea that I'm bumming around in the US instead of doing something they consider useful -- but they don't bother me a lot about it, given that if something should happen to me, the name and everything that goes with it just passes on to my father's brother."

She takes the advice on the locks and warms a cheerful smile with a pleased reception. "Oh I assure the locks are there to protect them from dealing with me. " Actually true in 99% of all cases. The inside is set for storms as she steps over towels. at the lower door jamb. Walking in the little plunger on the end of her appendage makes the tiny pok pok pok pok sound as she walks. like a tiny jogging octopod.

She wades through the kitchen coffee provisioning area and sets her keys on the counter after coat finds the hook by the door. The amount of care the woman's taken into refurbishing a room she has no idea how to use is astounding. Such little care in the details for someone that refers to a microwave as a coffee warmer.

"Can't you just abdicate your arm chair if you hate it or does that give your uncle the boat attached as well?" The eyebrow arches turning to consider him. She points to the fridge. "Food. beverage. coffee." This is a DIY thing here. There's a long pause and she takes a deep breath considering all the small details of this. "I think I should like to meet them. Your uncles that is. I'd loooooooove to have me a chat there." One can only imagine to what direction that will go.

"You know, I actually don't know? There probably is a procedure for giving up a title, but with my luck it's three hundred years out of date and goes something along the lines of 'get stabbed on battlefield, a lot'." Ravn winks and heads pretty bee-line for the coffee supply and the kettle. At least he has the decency to put on water for more than one cup.

Then he turns and rests a hip against the counter after shrugging out of his leather jacket and draping it across the back of a kitchen chair. "I'm sure you'd get along perfectly. You do speak the language, and I don't mean Danish. They're not that terrible -- just, well, traditional. Conservative. Set in their ways. I should be making a career back home, find some nice girl of a good family, start spawning. It's what You Do."

Hyacinth turns and tilts her head, jet ponytail swinging behind her considering his assessment. "Well," she concludes, "it's a damn good thing you have me. I'm not nice and certainly not from a good family but you found a woman with a powerful and productive one and isn't about to let people just give you shit. As for spawn? I dunno" Her nose wrinkles and she suggests, "Write a book. Make copies. That' what you do...and you're pretty excellent at it."

There's a deep breath and she looks around with her voice growing distant, "My brother Enzo was a writer. Mom...always told him he needs to go into business." There's a small quirk of a smile that has a surprising amount of warmth to it when she turns back to Ravn, filled with a melancholy fondness. "He was kinda a shit writer, buuuuut...he loved it. Sometimes parents just want us to be okay and they only know how to be them, sort of. Sometimes they have to let go so we can figure out how to be the best us. If they can't handle that, Ravn? You are always welcome here so...they can take it up with me on fancy stationery and we will have strongly worded letters until they agree you are right or leave you alone."

Wait, what? Something in Hyacinth's speech trips Ravn's brain up; it'll probably need a few moments to look down and figure out what exactly happened to its figurative footing. He latches on to more familiar territory while it does, distributing instant coffee and water to the appropriate mugs (i.e. the nearest clean mugs).

"I'm not a great writer," he says, sympathising with the Enzo Addington he's never met (and if his understanding of Hyacinth's family tragedy is accurate, never will meet, either -- at least not in the flesh). "And that's exactly what my parents were like. They both wanted me to turn into a better version of themselves. I drifted away from them as an adult -- and they're gone now, so unless either of them decides to come haunt me next time I go home, their opinion doesn't matter much. I don't feel a whole lot of obligation to settle and raise the next generation -- at least not at this time in my life. Besides, Gray Harbor is... not exactly the kind of place I'd want to raise kids in, and Gray Harbor is where I live presently."

He keeps watching the lady of the house as he speaks. His brain is figuratively tapping him on the shoulder to make a few observations about things he isn't certain how to address; but they definitely involve the words you found a woman.

And perhaps also some mild amazement that he's still having this conversation. Six months ago he'd have been out of the house already, storm or no storm.

Yes, something happened. Hya didn't even stop to stand on ceremony and just paved right through to the point that she was making: Ravn's family can just get on with leaving him along, and in indirect words she's still not really moved past the loss of her brother.

But she turns to stare down Ravn as he speaks, listening, and Ravn's brain tap tap tap onhis mind's chamber door and waits. "Well you could be a great writer. You don't know. You're making other people better writers and that's tremendously important. And maybe you are a better version of them. Maybe they should have left, wanted to, and couldn't. We ever think of that? My father spent his entire life trying to make his parents and great auntie Margaret happy instead of doing anything he really wanted for himself. You think he died satisfied? No or he wouldn't have had a thing with that marauding hobo woman"

Again with the hobos.

Marauding ...

There's a lot of Addington history to unravel even without the supernatural parts. Ravn shakes his head lightly and decides to not ask -- not now. Besides, it's not like he hasn't got eight hundred years of equally convoluted family history of his own, and really, what are closets for if not hiding the family skeletons in.

... Because the vault under the castle is full. Geddit?

"I decided against trying to live up to expectations," he says and wonders why he's telling Hyacinth this; it's hardly something she hasn't heard before.

Procrastinating. Right.

"I think," the copper blond says, very carefully lest his mind gleefully escape out whatever window is open nearby, "that it is very important to discover what we want, and then to keep our focus upon how to make that desire come true. To not sit around and wait for the approval of others. I'm a stray cat, Hyacinth. I come, I go, I get lost in dreams and libraries, I get distracted for days. I live in the fashion of a tramp, and I won't think twice about offering a friend in need a bunk on the Vagabond for a week or two -- whether they're boy or girl. I have more baggage than I have trunk space. Pile on a mountain of anxieties and obsessions. It's not too late to just have coffee and talk about the mysterious "C.A." if you prefer."

Hyacinth gets her own coffee and leans against the counter watching and listening and then sipping some warmth not found outside in the wind that's battering the outside. She watches Ravn work at trying to unfold without falling apart over the rim of the cup; nail tapping the ceramic finish.

"I think it is important. And I also think it's important to get to the actually trying to figure that out without leaving it forever on the to-do list until we're shriveled prunes wondering what all the waiting was for." She takes another sip and nods slowly. "I know. You know I don't need you, Ravn." It's a odd and brutally blunt declaration in conversational tone. "This is preference. I'm a big girl who can take care of herself. I have been quite literally raised to need no one. I don't care if you have baggage. You're a human who is at all interesting. I expect as much."

There's a pause and she's almost talking herself out of this entire process though there's a veil of confusion, eyes squinting as she brings herself to a pause recognizing her sharp barriers for what they are. Quite honestly she says, "I really just enjoy your company and you are not... arbitrary to me. I don't want to waste my life playing chess against ghosts using people as pawns like Margaret did. I need to figure out being...me... and... I like myself when I'm around you. So...no I don't prefer just coffee and I don't care that everything is difficult. You're still worth the difficult, Ravn. Right now? I just want to make sure you're not giving away so much of yourself you're going to be taken with the tide."

Ravn looks down into his mug; if he expects to find a quick answer there he's in for disappointment (unless the question is 'how to get an ulcer').

"I'm afraid to lose a friendship over stupid things," he says after a moment. "I figured you'd reached a similar conclusion, and we'd just... carry on, leave things as they were. And I was all right with not risking a valuable friendship, because not risking it is the safer choice. You've got enough men in your life making things complicated, or wishing they were the complications. But maybe not so many friends that you can let down your defences around."

No open windows to jump through. No disasters unfolding that require immediate intervention. Might have to put on your big boy pants and not just ignore everything until it stops being complicated, Ravn.

He looks back up. "But if you want to take that risk -- I'm not great with expressing these things, but I'll eat every crab in the Pacific with you. And I'll get distracted by some stupid storm requiring me to help build a hurricane shelter, by sneaking five prostitutes out of town unnoticed, and by helping cover up vandalising a city landmark, and then I'll come back to you. And I'll be not moping about how in the meantime you got busy looking after your mess of a family situation and your company that puts food on the table for half this town, and whatever else came up. And perhaps somehow while we run from one disaster to the next, we can make this work?"

The mug replies: Outlook hazy, try again later. Not helpful, mug! Still Hya listens and watches as he tiptoes out onto the ice with such great care to not punch holes in it. "Ravn," There's a patient care in her voice that still remains relatively unconcerned. The hand flapping in a circle helps, "I appreciate you don't want to ruin what we have. I don't just throw people away if the configuration is wrong. I throw them away for advocating that Crocs are somehow fashion. I mean look at me and Justin. We break up a LOT. we're superlative at it. We're so good at breaking up that people thought we got married." She lets that sink in and a faint wry grin creeps into her features.

"Which, if things get worrisome here on the coast we may have to go to his place and hunker down. It's not far and is like a tiny bunker and I just finished the remodel on it last month. I still have my apartment there because the company's good and I don't...hate Caleb." which is to say she likes the dog...if she lets herself.

The offer is there to assist in creating a wildlife endangerment plan by the forkful and that lands in a weirdly endearing way. "I don't think it's a risk, but then we'll know what we know and not have had time robbed from us. This town takes too much as it is." She looks around at the kitchen and back to him with a resolute nod, "I think with our skillset and families we're prepared to tackle most things. I think we can win it. I mean the prize for doing so is pretty cool."

Ravn shakes his head, laughing silently -- in relief that the ice has in fact not broken under his feet, but also at the mental imagery -- Hyacinth does strike him as the kind of woman who'd brave the apocalypse but nope out flat on at the idea of a pair of brightly coloured crocs. He tries to keep up -- while adept at English it is a foreign language and a foreign culture, and sometimes, he trips over ideas and expressions that make perfect sense to a native speaker.

"You and Justin are -- an off and on thing, do I have that right?" It's not a completely silly question; Gray Harbor has a large percentage of non-traditional lifestyles and having lived here for nine months-ish, Ravn has certainly expanded his horizons. He has been firmly educated on some of those lifestyles choices too because gossip runs as fast in this town as anywhere else, and some of those, ah, constellations of people are his friends.

Another glance at his magic eightball-cup; perhaps it's more helpful now? So many mine fields.

Hyacinth quirks a smile and says easily with a shake of her head, "He's my oldest friend. We haven't been 'on' or involved in a few years. I think he's currently dating Dahlia and possibly her other person but I'm not involved in any of that and it's not weird. Not between Justin and I in any case. I mean we've known one another half our lives and we've always been supportive of one another and while I do love his face and his stupid habits we're not in love. " She sips her coffee undaunted by personal questions and happy to kick a minefield to get out of her way. "I've been single almost three years because I'm told I'm terrifying, but sadly not enough so that it simply inspires people to just get their shit together."

"I still don't get it," Ravn admits. "You don't terrify me in the slightest. I'm pretty certain I know several men in this town who'd love to have your attention that way, but I suppose that's not very useful if none of them get around to actually letting you know. I include myself somewhat in that demographic but my fear is -- not you."

He offers a small, lopsided smile. "I've only been in one relationship. It did not end very well, and I do not want to repeat its mistakes. One of those was lack of trust. I don't want to be in a relationship again where either part worries whether the other is getting too friendly with their friends. I'm not -- particularly jealous by nature."

Hyacinth holds her palms up. "I have no idea. It's a small town Ravn and people are... I don't know, afraid of a person with a plan. But you know that goes back to I don't need a person to handle my shit for me. I need someone who can handle me handling my shit who wants to. I just don't run into people very often excited about the things that have have meaning for me too. Generally people are not save for a scant scant few and my expectations are managed thus." For her it is really that simple.

"Well, she did try to kill you after she died and frankly given the chance my ex might do the same. I did tell her breaking up and moving to Phoenix was very inconvenient to me and to move back and she hung up on me so 50/50. She might have been kidnapped but if she's not willing to put in an effort to be here we can't very well do much about that." Or Hya's is pushy and demanding and she ran fast and ran far.

There's an eyebrow that lifts as Ravn goes on about trust issues and there's a faint wry grin, "Jealousy is born of insecurity which I cannot abide. Besides I'm used to Justin's little Hollywood tabloids. There's a lot of fun to be had fucking with the general public, but you're fine. Besides I've met you and I have to pull your teeth to have lunch with me and who wouldn't want to do that?" There's a quirk of a grin as she works on finding something as a snack which might just be an avocado.

"I have no doubt that you are a lady who knows exactly what she wants, and how to get it." Ravn can't help a smile. "It's part of what I like about you -- not leaving me guessing. You'll tell me, and then I can decide whether to agree or not. I can work with that, far better than I handle subtle hints, meaningful looks, and exclamations of 'if you don't know what you did, then I'm not going to tell you'."

The folklorist turns to the kitchen counter and finds a bread knife -- because avocado toast does not consist of avocado alone, and there's got to be bread here, somewhere. "And who indeed am I to tell you to not fuck with the general public," he notes, still smiling. "I've spent most of my life pretending to be someone I'm not -- because I wanted to stay out of sight, sure, but also because I can."

That last statement makes him look up again, though, and quirk an eyebrow. "Although if you can't abide insecurity -- then pardon my French, but what the fuck do you want with someone like me, who's spent half his life crippled by social anxieties? Or are you speaking about a different kind of insecurity?"

There's a lot of agreement here and emphasizes point one, "Mother always taught us if you can't use your words to talk about it and state clearly what you want then you get what you get and don't deserve it. But no," She moves on to point two with a swish of a sparkly nail, "I'm talking about these absurd bitches runnign around going 'wah, I need others to approve of me' and likewise using the damn phrase 'they're going to take my person." Buckle in, "First of that's kidnapping a a felony charge and an easy fix. Two? If they can be persuaded to leave, girl then yes it's your fault for choosing a companion poorly and one should go work on their judgement. I cannot abide personal insecurities that fall into relying on subterfuge to keep a mate. It's stupid and that lack of trust was your woman's inability to trust herself. Sorry. That shit is on her and is not your fault." Oh, way to find a thing she's worked up about. Clearly she's had this conversation before about jealous types. It is primed and ready. "Jealousy is dumb. Goals are good."

"Ah, yes. Jolene can't take your man if your man's happy where he is. I tried to tell Benedikte this. She did not believe me." Ravn finds the toast bread at last. Helpful Dane is pretty useless in a kitchen but slice bread -- he can do this much, at least. "I'm not very secure in this regard, I'm not going to lie. But I am of the firm conviction that if someone turns up and 'steals' my person -- then they were already leaving, and all they needed was that last little nudge. It's not theft. It's just speeding up what was already inevitable. And thus, I refuse to lie awake at night, worrying about it. What will be, will be. What will not -- will not."

A small chuckle and he adds, "And that's easy for me to say, given I have indeed never been 'left'. I was the one who wanted to leave Benedikte. But perhaps the fact that I am quite accustomed to being by myself makes me less desperate to mould myself into somebody else's dream. I know that being single is not a big deal."

There's a smile that commiserates. She is an expert with breakups as is self-professed. "Trust me, if I'm unhappy the whole world will know about it. There may be post-its." At least she is extremely trustworthy in this regard. There's a lean of one hip into her counter as they discuss the renegotiation of their social contract.

There is a pause though ans she squints considering the hanging question for once consulting instead of informing another party, "Do... you want... to take a bash at this? With ...you know being team Ravycinth or whatever stupid name erupts among the bored and unentertained?"

"Abildcinth. Apple flower. It's almost poetic." Ravn can't help laugh softly -- because the first term that popped into his mind was 'hyavn' and there is no way even a Danish native speaker can combine those letters and make actual sounds out of them. A very, very British h-yawn, maybe. "I feel like I should warn you that if we take this somewhat seriously, there will at some point be European aristocrats looking down at their nose at you," he says and looks a little sheepish. "I have complete faith they'll regret doing so, and I'm sure as hell not going to stop you from eviscerating any inbred blue-blood egos."

He puts the coffee cup down on the kitchen counter. Enough deflections -- and don't think his mind isn't already trying to suggest that actually, finding the perfect combination of names is very important, and we can absolutely not proceed from here until we have. "I do want to. I feel like I should tell you all the reasons not to -- but we'll just have to tackle things one thing at a time. And I have absolutely no idea how to proceed from here because in case you somehow miraculously failed to notice, being smooth is not quite my thing."

Hyacinth almost corrects him but what's the point? The name's cute and -synth might mean plant. She honestly never thought about it. The warning gets her eyes widening like he just told her there's a prize for matching wits with the aristocrats and winning. "I'm an Addington. I was born for this. I got practice with Vyv's grandmother. I prepared."

Still there's the Damocles of questions hanging and that's what is concerning her. There's something about getting your way which really really suits her, however that also that is a hostile takeover, not a merger. He agrees though bringing her head to shift sideways on tilt considering what it will all mean. "Well... I'm not very fond of people that think themselves too terribly clever at the expense of good sense. We proceed to figure out a food plan, and then figure out how to hold down the fort here. You ever build a sandbag? I can teach you. Living on the coast is fun like that. Which reminds me I need to text Vyv to do a tour of the properties he liked after this to see how they hold up. If you want to know something is worth investment see how it survives a shit ton of water all at once."

That's not what I meant, Ravn's brain supplies helpfully. He was not requesting instructions on how to lay out sand bags or ration food, or for that matter, check on the generator or board up any vulnerable windows. Yes, all that needs to be done too. But they're not what he was concerned about right then.

He puts the bread knife down (and as an afterthought, the bread loaf too). Then he walks over to where Hyacinth is standing and very carefully touches her cheek. "I get that. I meant, with you and me. I was born in an archipelago, I know what an Atlantic storm is. What I don't know is whether you want me to sweep you off your feet and carry you off to the nearest bedroom, or make you tea and avocado toast, or help you put out those sand bags. I figure we need to do all three, so tell me what order you'd prefer?"

Hya is about to explain well the sandbags need to go there, and preferably them on the inside of said barricade. And then? Oh! Well... those are options. Hyacinth contemplates as this is dealer's choice and starts with the most immediate things. There's a smile. "Avocado toast. Please." New vocab word. "That sounds splendid followed by not drowning*. Though if it gets real bad we'll have to head up the coast a wee bit. Vyv's a bit set right now. The water comes at his apartment he can shield that thing like a motherfucker let me tell you. His Do-Not Fu is strong." Having 2 physicalists in one apartment is handy like that.

"Though it seems he's also holed up with the problem that caused this. I spoke with the old priest at the carousel. he had some words to say on that. Speaking of which we're going to need to get the eyes back from the carousel. The problem's fixed but after this the restoration process will take a bit. I was told yooooou could help and I would be grateful if you did." She turns and takes one finger and almost lands it on his nose but does not by a half inch. "I just want the world to stand still. I want... things to stay nice for a while and when that happens I'd like you to be there to enjoy them with. That's what Hya wants."

"What Hya wants, Hya shall get." Ravn grins slightly and reaches for the knife again, clearly much happier when he knows what's wanted -- because then he can decide to comply or not comply. Some might consider such behaviour submissive or weak. Ravn considers it practical and time saving. Also, spreading avocado on bread is fairly easy; even he can do so without a recipe. Don't remind him he's supposed to toast the bread first -- this may end up being more, hot avocado sammiches. Either way, it's food.

He looks up sharply at the mention of the carousel though, and nods. "I told you I knew who, and why. And yes, I also know where the eyes are -- or rather, I don't, and that's the point. But I'll have the guy who's sitting on them return them to me, and I'll pass them on to you. The intention was never to keep them -- just to keep them out of the way of whatever was animating carousel figures to attack people. Tell me about this old priest, and tell me what he said -- the implication that Vyv is in possession of whatever is causing the problem makes me want to text him right now to leave his place and shelter somewhere else, away from whatever it is."

Then the Dane's expression softens somewhat as he looks myopically at Hyacinth's finger in front of his nose. "I don't think we'll ever get a lot of ... quiet moments, not in Gray Harbor. But the ones we get? I'm up for this plan. That's what Ravn wants."

"You did." She agrees and then just as easily, "And I forgot and Fran or whatever reminded me and now I and talking to you. Turns out one gem animated the manticore because Muriel wanted it to play and the priest said he'd do a better job leashing that kid so. Fine."

Still the What Hya wants Hya gets makes her smile. Really to her submission is also the definition of doing what you don't want to do and opting in regardless. In a work capacity, great, but reason here prevails, communication is had, and she is happy...until her yard gets flooded and she can yell at the sky a bit.

"Remember when you got out of the hospital, lung thing, and Vyvvy and I kidnapped you for lunch after the little grandma read our cards and I read ...the cards and told you I saw this smokin hot tree dude who like gave me a warning. He said that 'Courage alone would not be enough for what is coming'. The Priest said the same thing citing 'Him' and I had to ask, is this a damn convention I missed? What gives?!" There's a sigh and she sums up flatly, "The hot tree dude is the storm and he said sorry, lady, the kid made a wish andonce more again a Baxter runs face first into changing shit without reading the goddamn manual. So? Storm."

As for his wants? There's a small smile, her hand lands next to his on the counter with a grin, "Good. I love it when people want what I want. It shows exceptional taste." Yeah, she can have some fun at her own hubris, though she's also likely serious. "I'm glad."

Ravn pauses. "Are you saying that Grant Baxter's wish is the cause?"

He looks almost dizzy a moment. And with good reason -- yes, the folklore world has numerous examples of people moving entire countries with wishes, of people becoming kings and popes with wishes, of people trying to become God with wishes. But there's just two little issues with this: One being that these stories inevitably end badly because a fundamental tenet of the western-Christian folklore tradition is that you're supposed to earn your wealth. The other being that things granting wishes belong in fucking fairytales and Grant Baxter is real.

And so are dead old priests and little girls named Muriel. And that time he himself made a wish and Itzhak Rosencrantz couldn't use his hands for two weeks because of it.

"Do we know what exactly Grant wished for? I can't help expect some kind of monkey paw effect because wishes are -- generally not good news," the folklorist murmurs as he puts the slices of avocado-slathered bread on a plate and puts them in the microwave (to the tune of crying avocado afficionados everywhere). "Baba Yaga -- the grandma doing readings -- is very serious news. She portends change. She seems to have spoken about the storm to a few people -- though most of us were told more personal things. I was told, for instance, to stop hiding from myself and to stop pretending to be what I'm not. And to find the people I need as my allies for HOPE."

Hyacinth smiles tightly. SO MANY WORDS but the expression says it all: I swore not to lob any Baxters into wood chippers so they stop touching all the things like my ancestors, and now here we are. "Yup. Seeeeems so. And Vyv, by his expression seems quite aware so... his problem, my porch."

As for what he wished for she sighs and pulls out her phone slapping it on the counter poking at Discord convos with 'Vyvvy' which end most recently with Vyv's scathing provocation that Hya should 'just talk to the man already or so help me woman I'll do it for you and you'll thank me later. XOXO' but scrolling back through all the back and forth gossip about town until Hya says distractedly, "He doesn't specifically say. I'll ask him."

She picks up her phone and says "Let's find...out." She looks up and blinks and states offhandedly, "Well I'm terribly fond of you and if people want to give you grief they can go through me. They wont' get far. Also you've emancipated yourself from Euro-things and are onto Harbor Ravn things. Be this you, but be the you you want to be. Trust me as a professional system rebel, it can be done with both grace and aplomb."

(TXT to Vyv) Hyacinth : The fuck kind of wish your action figure many anyways, Vyvvy? The priest said he did a thing. What thing did he actually do?

(TXT to Vyv) Hyacinth : Also Ravn and I are here at the house. Hoping all is well. XOXO

(TXT to Hyacinth) Vyv : His name is Bax, Hya. Or Grant. And hello, Ravn. Things going well there?

(TXT to Hyacinth) Vyv : And apparently, he wished to repair the broken Baxter souls, that he wanted fixed what the sawmill had broken.

"Finding out does sound productive," Ravn agrees and watches the microwave. He has a vague idea that this is in fact not how avocado toast is made but cooking lessons are one life skill he has yet to find time for. He's too polite to glance at somebody else's chat logs. Regrettably, because the expression on his face next time he met Vyv might have been worth it.

"No one really gives me grief besides Cassidy Bennett," he says instead. "And in her case, it's nothing personal -- it's life itself she seems to have some kind of attitude problem with. Most people have far too many other things on their mind to worry about some guy on a boat."

(TXT to Vyv) Hyacinth : Delightful. There's a supernatural powered storm headed right at us. We got outfits all picked out.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Vyv : Yes, I've noticed. The storm, not the outfits.

(TXT to Vyv) Hyacinth : What did Grant Baxter do to make this storm happen is what Ravn's asking and now what I feel we should all know here. Are you okay? Are you worried it's going to be aiming for you as a result?

(TXT to Vyv) Hyacinth : I'll send pics of the outfits.

Hyacinth nods slowly and taps her screen with a nail. "Vyv's had lots of lovely things to say about you. He threatened me twice. It's how I know he cares. Here. We have an answer." tap tap tap tap tap the reply goes. Looking up to Ravn she wonders, "Well she does work with that angry little man that worked on my father's case so that could explain some of it. I want to meet her. There' is a pause though as she looks genuinely worried, "I hope Vyv's not targeted for this. He and his little disaster magnet.
If the reprisal comes return to sender he's sitting right on ground zero."

(TXT to Hyacinth) Vyv : And yes, I did express dismay at the whole making a wish thing. I have read stories.

(TXT to Vyv) Hyacinth : Okay but we're dying to know without the actual dying part, luv, what was the wish?

(TXT to Hyacinth) Vyv : But at least it was a wish for others. Not a selfish one. If Ravn's right about the narrative influences that should help.

"If we're discussing with Vyv via text, add me to the conversation?" Ravn can't help chuckle as he reaches for his own pink Hello Kitty cell in a pocket. "I'm sure Vyv has a lot to say to me, most of it revolving around how I treat his coffee cake."

(TXT to Vyv Ravn) Hyacinth : I'm adding Ravn into the chat so he can ask you while I eat my sandwich.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : I'm not sending you a picture of that sandwich. Because I made it, and yes, it's that bad. Anyhow, what did Bax actually wish for? Do you know the specifics? The wording? It might be a pretty big deal, bigger than I realised.

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : I answered that already, Hya. Oh, let's see. Quoting as best as I can... I asked him what exactly he'd said, and he said, "Um," which yes, filled me with confidence, and then, "Can I use my wish to repair the souls of the Baxters that got broken by the abandoned sawmill? I want fixed what the sawmill broke, 'cause that wasn't fair." That's the best I can do. I wasn't there at the time, after all. Hello, Ravn.

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : And why are you making terrible sandwiches? The only thing easier to make than a sandwich is uncut produce.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : I heard avocado toast is the way to go, but I don't have any pre-toasted bread. Anyway. Do we actually know what the sawmill did? We know the Baxter souls were stored there until Bax did his thing. That they were dismembered there. But do we know why?

(TXT to Vyv Ravn) Hyacinth : Oh that should have been so much more specific.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : It may actually save our tails that it wasn't. Something specific can be twisted. 'Make it fair' is harder to twist because rules lawyers the kind that usually go around corrupting wishes know damn well what fair means, that's the whole point of them being rules lawyers. Let's hope the Veil -- or the storm, or whatever -- know what fair is, and now feel obliged to play by his wish.

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : As best I understand it, though I think Hya is a better source, the idea was to destroy the souls and prevent them properly passing on, because a Baxter soul can -- it's sounded like a choice, not a definite thing -- somehow thicken or close off bits of the Veil so the Arts would be gone, etc.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : Yes, Baxter souls close the tear, and Addington souls open it.

Hyacinth stops texting and pauses and takes that very pregnant pause to steel herself, "We know exactly what the sawmill did because in one dream I was Msrgaret and I did it." And even she's still not alright with that. "They, um, imagine throwing wood into a chipper? It does effectively that with the soul as that sawmill has direct ties to the veil in says I still don't exactly understand but it might have been because the Addington family's been feeding it that long it's sort of a Veil Cairn of sorts. If a soul is fragmented into splinters it is not coherent enough to cause decisive change in the Veil to...well effectively extinguish the shine."

"That's 'what' but not 'why'," Ravn points out -- gently because that must have been an excruciating experience. He knows how a wood chipper works. He's seen enough horror movies to picture what tossing a human being into one would look like. He's definitely not sorry to have missed this dream experience, and he feels rather sorry for anyone who were not so lucky. More so when that someone knows she's next in line to become that person in the waking world, too. Stay gold, flowergirl. "That last part is important -- Margaret clearly wants the tear to stay open. I am guessing that Baxters going off to die natural deaths somewhere else still affects the Veil -- otherwise there'd be no reason to keep this whole feud going, she could just pay them all to sod off, problem solved."

Hyacinth circles her hand in the air, "Who knows why! I can't explain human greed beyond 'ooh that's neat, I want it'. Although... I can't fault the reasoning, but the execution on this wish is terrible." There's a pause and she squints her eyes shut and takes a bite of the sandwich with much pause and frustration. "...decent sammich." Says she mumbling around the concoction.

"My family, probably the Baxters, and those before them? My family discovered the shine and then weaponized it into a a pathway of possibility. They used it to build this town and I have to think that's why the Harbor is so entrenched with it. There's a ritual of it being seeped into every brick and business deal. I don't know they can be separated. So when Mr. Baxter over there says I want this stuff torn down or reversed it might quite literally tear the entire town apart. We don't know, AND WE JUST FINISHED THE DOWNTOWN RESTORATION!" And there's the crux of it. There's nothing like your newly finish sandcastle being kicked over.

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : ...hold on, we need to step back briefly to something very important. Did you just say you failed at making passable avocado toast because you didn't have any pre-toasted bread?

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : ... Yes?

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : ...

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : ... She's eating it, and she's not dead. Mission accomplished.

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : Recipe for toast: Take a slice of bread. Put it in a toaster. Press lever. Wait for it to pop up. Even Bax can fairly reliably operate a toaster.

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : Any bread one could buy pre-toasted is almost certainly not worth eating.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : Look, it's the first time I visit Hyacinth's kitchen, I have no idea where anything is, there's a supernatural storm making everything difficult, and we were talking about some pretty important stuff. Next time? I ask where the toaster is. I suppose what I should have done would be scrape avocado into serving bowl, stick bowl out window, wait for storm to deposit shrimp, add mayonnaise, serve.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : Better yet. Make you come cook.

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : Well, no one could claim it wasn't fresh.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : If it's trying to flee from the plate it's fresh.

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : Downright cheeky.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : Rude enough to deserve its fate.

"Once, my family owned most of the region of the city of Vejle," Ravn murmurs, in between defending his questionable avocado decisions to the chef in cyberspace. "And long before that, one of my ancestors was steward to the King of Denmark, effectively making him the second most powerful man in the country. Almost nothing they built and took pride in still stands. Bax' wish bringing about this storm is unfortunate -- but nothing lasts forever. It may be better to think of this as an opportunity to take out the trash? If the boardwalk washes out to sea, for instance -- it's a disaster, but it's also an opportunity to design a new and better boardwalk."

He looks up and back at Hyacinth. "Tropical storms happen, also without supernatural interference. The timing is miserable, but as far as I am concerned -- if we can just get through Storm Cimaron without significant loss of life, then we can deal with damaged property, and maybe look at at least some of it as an opportunity."

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : So, these important things. All storms and wishes or have the pair of you finally managed to find a place with passable crab delivery?

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : We debated sticking a wicker basket out the window. Jokes aside, the weather is a bit severe for going out for a dinner date. And we got distracted talking about the carousel because in this town, is there ever a quiet moment to not talk about impending disaster?

Almost nothing they built and took pride in still stands. To which Hya mumbles around bites, "Including this sandwich." Well she is eating it and she's not dead. The perspective does hit on her love for building and restoration. It's the careless wreckage she is no fan of though, and one with a deliberate agenda makes her more than wary. "Well, you're not wrong. And maybe it will go differently without Marge's hand pushing things as such. I don't want to make the same bad choices she did ya know?"

(TXT to Vyv Ravn) Hyacinth : Ravn's not wrong. Maybe there's easier passage through the veil to get around this storm but I suspect not. Also there may be a side bet that you're going to tell the storm 'Do not' and just go about do not-ing water from getting in your apartment. I still worried. You're eye level with this thing.

(TXT to Vyv Ravn) Hyacinth : Also, just think of it as paleo toast.

"You won't be making the same mistakes because you've already gone down a different path." Ravn cleans the knife and returns it to its drawer; anyone who's visited his boat -- or the trailer he wintered in -- might have noticed that the man is fastidious about cleaning things and keeping order. The way you get when you are used to living in small spaces, and to sharing those things with others who also live in small spaces (the alternative, of course, is to become the student dorm's nightmare roomie). "It's my understanding -- from what you've said, but also from watching your cousins -- that Margaret's take has been to keep it in the family, to do whatever she has to do, to rule this town from behind the throne. You've already gone somewhere else -- involving people you have no blood ties with, talking to Baxters about solutions, made up your mind to not be the next queen of the wood chipper. Things will be different for the next generation. Now it's up to us to make sure that different also means better."

And with a small, wry smile he adds, "Got to make it so. After all, how are we to get some of those quiet moments to deal with more personal issues, if we don't? Knowing this town, it'll probably be a year or three before we ever find the time to go on an actual date. I am trying to not hate whoever the first Baxters and Addingtons were for it."

(TXT to Hyacinth Ravn) Vyv : If I'm eye-level with it I suppose I can stare it down. But I do figure 8th floor plus Bayside storm reinforcing plus the two of us here ought to be about the best defense the place can have short of having it deconstructed and shipped wholesale to LA. If things get dicey down there, you know you're both welcome to come to higher ground, yes?

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : I'll be at the high school shelter from sometime tonight or tomorrow morning. I have to, I'm apparently the guy running it. Appreciate the offer, though.

(TXT to Hyacinth) Vyv : At least if you answer the question. Have you two finally gotten your proverbial and well-sculpted rears in gear?

(TXT to Vyv Ravn) Hyacinth : Yes. Happy now. We talked and reached an amiable accord, forged both an alliance and a battle plan, Vyv. Also what's this about the school?

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : I'm running the high school shelter. For the storm. Pretty sure I mentioned this.

Hyacinth pauses in texting and looks up, blinks, and wonders out loud, "Whyyyy am I texting you, Ravn? What's this about the school? Dellegation. It's important. The man with bad lungs who is not what we call 'hired muscle' need not be the person at risk here. What's all involved with the school thing?"

"Being yelled at a lot by scared, confused people, I expect." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "Somebody needs to be the guy who looks like he knows what he's doing. Since I'm the one who came up with the idea, I'm apparently that person."

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Vyv : Good, it's about time. Congratulations. ...on finally getting around to it, not the school thing. Though I suppose someone ought to do it.

(TXT to Hyacinth Vyv) Ravn : I think I missed part of this conversation. Anyhow, yes. Somebody needs to. Lots of stranded people.

Hyacinth wobbles her head and comes clean o it, "Vyv's told me in not so many words that if I don't ask you out he'll take matters into his own hands. That really could mean any level of sabotage or even sending one of those planes around with a little banner on it, though probably after the storm. Maybe." She's not guaranteeing Vyv wouldn't send someone up in the sky right now.

"Did you remind him that we live in Gray Harbor, and that you run a rather busy firm besides your day job at town hall, and then there's that whole mess with the carousel and the Baxter ghosts on the side?" Ravn looks up, eyebrows raised. "It's no wonder this town has to keep drawing people in from the rest of the world. What is a miracle is that procreation here happens naturally at all -- how the hell people find the time. Creative note writing in the margins of the family planner, maybe."

He shakes his head and leans against the kitchen counter with one hip. "I'll make sure you have those eyes tomorrow if the storm doesn't drown the bloke who's holding them. But really, taking Vydal's invitation might not be a bad idea. This storm is going to be a rough week coming. It's not great to be here all by yourself."