2021-06-14 - Bad Moon On the Rise

Wi-fi; a useful thing -- and one that Ravn Abildgaard needs for his attempts to try to second guess the intentions of a storm. Because this is a perfectly normal thing for a folklorist to find himself doing, and he definitely doesn't feel like he should be buying himself a tinfoil hat as he looks out the windows of the coffee shop at the darkening skies. That's an evil storm. A malicious storm. It's weather, and it's personal.

The tall copper blond looks his usual; sharp features, black jeans and shirt under a ditto blazer, laptop open in front of him on the table, blue-grey gaze a million miles away. He taps the keyboard every once in a while, but from the look on his face, research or writing isn't really happening. He hasn't managed to convince Della the day manager to serve him a proper cup of black coffee this time, either. In fact, the level of distraction which the Dane is prone to at the moment is visible in his cup -- he's having some kind of milky, frothy, creamy liquid dessert and he hasn't even noticed.

Desi walks into the shop shivering a little and she rubs her arms. Her overalls were covered in oil stains in contrast to her clean blue shirt underneath. Something was said in Hebrew but it didn't seem very nice. She walked up to the counter and just orders a black coffee. After waiting for her order she walks up to the man on the laptop. "You mind if I sit with ya?" Her middle eastern accent was prominent.

Mr Laptop looks up and then shakes his head with a small, lopsided smile. "Not at all, miss. Not managing to get a lot done here as it is, might appreciate the distraction." His accent, in turn, is the kind of British that isn't actually British but really wishes it was. European, no doubt.

Ravn steals a second glance as Desi settles, and then cants his head a little. "New in town? Gray Harbor's the kind of town where everyone seems to know each other at least superficially. Anyone tell you to get right back on the bus and on back out of town yet? It's a tradition."

"I mean... You are the first person to tell me to get on a bus and leave." She gives a small grin and says something cursey to him in Hebrew playfully. "That's what I have to say for that!" Sipping her coffee she studies him. "So what's your name Mister Hair?"

"Ravn Abildgaard," the foreigner returns, still smiling, and extends a hand covered by a black kidskin glove. "Pleased to meet you -- and, I am surprised, to be honest. It's usually the first thing everyone tells a newcomer to town. Took me a month before people stopped telling me to just get right back on that Greyhound. Don't think it ever occurred to me to actually do so. So what brings you to town just in time for superstorm Cimaron and all the fun of living on the coast, then?"

She takes his hand and shakes it. She looks at her hand and curses again. "I am sorry, I must have missed a spot in clean up. You might want to get a napkin and wipe that off." She gives an embarrassed smile. wiping her oily hand on her overalls. "Shit I really am sorry I thought I got all of it. Now I'm gunna have to clean my bike." Grumble grumble

Looking back up to him slightly red. "Dee. How do you even pronounce your name?"

Rose suddenly appears at the cafe's door, hand peeking out from leather jacket to give the handle a tug, pulling herself inside despite the strengthening wind's protestations otherwise. "Ugh." She mutters to nobody but herself as she rearranges herself, pulling her backpack off of her shoulders as she trudges up to the bar. A chai tea is ordered, a chai tea is delivered, and a chai tea is retrieved.

Beverage cup in one hand, backpack in the other, the woman finds herself a seat near Ravn and Desi. Not, say, strangely close, as if they were people that she was familiar with, but within the same general area of seating. Her attention is seemingly fixed on digging through her backpack at the moment, rather than the drink she had just ordered and immediately set down on the table. Whatever she's after, it's either at the bottom of the bag, or tucked away somewhere especially inconvenient to get to. Or not in there at all.

Fortunately, napkins do exist, and Ravn doesn't seem all that bothered by having to use one; it's not like black stains show much on black gloves anyhow. "Being Danish probably helps," he returns with a chuckle. "It's a pretty normal name where I'm from. Bike, you say? Kind of thinking about getting one of those myself. Have my midlife crisis a little early and all that." It would be a tad early; from the looks of the man, he's somewhere around thirty. Maybe he doesn't plan to grow old.

He nods at Rose as she settles; something about her seems familiar but not quite -- one of those 'met you once last year in Philadephia' situations, maybe. Never hurts to be friendly.

"Mmmhm. I've had it for a while. It's my baby." She sounded like a mother. "So you're from the land that created the Danish? That's delicious." She teased him.

She threw a nod to the newcomer. "Howdy."

Dig dig dig. One might think that Rose might be a cat of some sort burying her leavings in there, but eventually, she apparently finds what she was looking for, pulling a small computer chip of some kind (a high-end storage card usually used with professional grade camera equipment, should anyone be knowledgeable with such things, as well as her own head out of the backpack.

"Oh, hello. Apologies, I wasn't sure if I'd left something important at home or not." Her own accent's pretty much bog standard Pacific Northwest American as compared to the other two, but her diction tends to lead a little more formal in most cases. "If I recall correctly, the Danish isn't actually from Denmark. I suppose they just got.. quite good at that sort of pastry?" Rose pulls her camera out of the backpack as well, but extracting that is considerably less of a production.

"The land that created the Danish is called New York," Ravn replies with a small grin; oh yes, he's heard this before, and explained it before too, and he doesn't mind, either. Rose's observation nets an approving look. "What you call a Danish? We do have a pastry that's not very different -- which we call Viennese. In Vienna, however, they've never heard about it. What we've got along that nature is -- well, it's got some things in common but it's far more of a sweet pastry with lots of sugary stuff on. And only the one vanilla glaze flavour."

Ravn sips his coffee and glances towards the counter with its assorted cakes and pastries. "The glaze is thick and yellow, and this is why you might walk into a Danish pastry shop and hear someone ask for the baker's bad eye. It's gross when you think about it, but what do you expect from the country that also invented those little cardboard cookies that come in the round tins everyone saves for sewing supplies?"

"Pffft. Way to ruin a joke" She grins at Rose. Her eyes dance over the camera and then back to Ravn. "For a price I wouldn't mind helping you find a junker and fixing it up. I'm a fan of building your own bike though so I am biased." She yawns and slurps her coffee. "You some big shot model shooter?" Pointing to the camera.

"I've always preferred apple cake myself to most pastries, but it's not exactly something you find in stores here. Or an eclair.." Rose's attention drifts over to the cafe's pastry case for a moment or two, as if she's considering.. or maybe she seems to decide against it, returning her gaze back to the camera. The slang term for the pastry's not exactly appetizing. "Cardboard? Seems like quite a bit of sugar for cardboard, but fair enough."

Rose fiddles with her camera, sticking the newly obtained card into a slot, then stabbing at the power button with her thumb. "Nature photography, mostly. I spend a lot of time in the woods." She glances up, out the window, peering in the direction of the oncoming storm, then back at the camera, fiddling with it further. "Another mechanic, hmm.. I don't suppose you've met the other one in town? I believe he mentioned being quite into motorcycles."

"Haven't really gotten much beyond 'I am sick and tired of my rented car and I think I want a motorbike instead'," Ravn says with a chuckle. "I do have a drivers' license for one but I honestly have no real idea what I want. I used to have an old Nimbus but I doubt that brand even exists in the US. It was sort of the European equivalent to the Harley Davidson, but in the 1940s and 50s. I was looking at an ad for an old Triton earlier, seemed like it might feel familiar. Probably would need some fixing up, though it did look very well maintained."

He nods at Rose. "Rosencrantz is into bikes, yeah. I was hoping to solicit his opinion. Along with a speech of 'Abildgaard, you ponce, what you need is a sensible Toyota sedan', which I then will promptly proceed to ignore. If I wanted sensible I wouldn't live on a boat, either."

She stops her self from spitting out coffee in a half cough and a half laugh. "Oh my god." More coughing. "I mean I buy old junkers to fix up only to tear them down and repair them again. Bit of a habit from my childhood." She sets her coffee down and tries calming down. "I've only just got into town a month or so ago. I've been playing hermit getting used to this place." She finally takes a deep breath. "I would totally slap that guy for telling you to get sensible rather than get what you want."

Turning back to Rose. "Nature huh? You a hippy?"

The door opens, and a cop lets himself in. Badge and gun and GRAY HARBOR POLICE scrawled across the back of his jacket, and all. He's dressed in civilian clothes underneath it -- faded grey tee shirt, snug black jeans tucked into scuffed looking boots -- but that isn't really fooling anyone. Because everyone and their dog knows the police Chief when they see him. Ruiz ambles up to the counter, orders a "Drip coffee, black," and digs his wallet out to pay for it while taking a gander at who's here today. Ravn gets a little nod, as does Rose. Desi, he thinks he recognises, but not well enough to greet.

Rose 's gaze shifts back to the window once more. "I'm hardly an expert, but I don't think we quite get the weather here for motorcycles. I've always kind of wondered what people who drive those when it's pouring rain out. Or, well, about to storm." Ruiz's entrance catches her attention briefly, returning the nod after moment of placing the face to the place, then back to the window. Rose can't help but smirk at the mention of 'ponce'. Doesn't quite seem like Itzhak's sort of word, but you never know.

And then back to the camera. "A hippy? Not exactly. A pragmatist is probably more like it. I found my niche, though ever since moving here I seem to have fallen right out of it again.." She shrugs, turns the device off, then sets it down on the table, exchanging it for her tea.

Ravn glances at the syrupy concoction in his coffee cup and then at the police chief. "I should get a jacket like yours," he murmurs. "Maybe then I'd be able to order a black coffee and actually get a black coffee, too. How's life, chief?"

He closes the laptop because at this point, pretending to be researching is just plain silly. Tossing it into his tote bag frees up space around the table, too. A tentative sip of the sugary dessert in a cup he's been served and then a smile at Rose. "Weather here in Washington State is surprisingly like the weather back home in Denmark. Same biome, same temperatures. Your water here is a bit colder since we don't have the altitudes for glacial melt but apart from that? Could fool me on a Thursday morning when I stick my head out a window. We have a saying -- there's no such thing as bad weather, just insufficient clothing."

Looking at the new man with an odd look. Her eyes studied him given his position as a Lawman before looking to the pair. "I ride in blizzard or rain. I hate cars. Too sensible." She simply nods to confirm her statement.

Her eyes continue to watch the lawman. Maybe she had a past or just didn't like the way he looked. Who knew?

"You get a jacket like mine, I'd have to arrest you for possession of stolen property," quips Javier without missing a beat. His wallet's shoved back into his pocket, and he ambles a little closer to where the trio are seated. If he's bothered by the way Desi's looking at him, it doesn't seem to show. Then again, he probably gets his fair share of dirty looks from people. Mexican cop in a podunk town, build a wall already, amirite?

To Rose, he observes mildly, "You might be surprised. There's some pretty rabid bikers up here, and down in Seattle and Portland. Thinking of picking one up?"

Rose gestures outside. "Does it rain as much there as it does here? Whatever we're about to be hit with is a bit exceptional, but people always seem to say that the Seattle area is the rain capital of the world and all.." Her shoulders raise briefly in a shrug. "They don't usually show up in dreams, either."

The chief's zinger about the jacket earns a brief smirk from Rose, as does the question. "Not me, I like my car well enough. Though if not for the rain, I'd probably look into one of those.." The smirk fades for a moment, the woman looking lost for words. "Um. It's sort of like a motorcycle, but there's a second wheel at the front? I'm not sure what the proper name for them is, honestly." A finger extends from the hand that clutches her cup of chai, pointing at Ravn. "This ponce, on the other hand.." She can't quite get that word past without a slight hint of her Irish roots falling out of her mouth.

"Nah, I'm the one babbling getting a bike, I think. Bit tired of being all Mr Sensible and Responsible Citizen, so I decided to have my midlife crisis a bit early. Once the storm is done with and we've cleaned up the rubble? I'm thinking of joining the local motorcycle gang and taking Spanish lessons." The last is said with a grin in the police chief's direction. "Maybe some day this ponce will be able to order two beers in Bilbao without causing anyone to fall off their chair laughing."

He leans back on his chair a bit. "Denmark doesn't have rainy days. We have days without rain. We count them. We remember them, and let them pass into legend. It's the coastal climate, same as here. Inland weather meets ocean, everything comes down."

Dee finished her coffee and gets up. As she walks to the door she looks at all three. "Y'all have fun. Was nice meeting Mister Bird." She nods to Ravn. "Missus Nature." A nod to Rose. "Officer." A nod to Ruiz. "Maybe we can all catch pancakes together soon yea?" She walks through the door.

Javier steps away briefly to collect his coffee and snap on a lid; and take that first, magnificent sip. "Mm, nos vemos más tarde," he murmurs to Desi's departing back, watching her a moment with furrowed brows. Then to Ravn, "The fuck do you want to learn Spanish for?"

Rose 's smirking again at the mention of the irresponsibility of a bike. "Some might call owning a boat a midlife crisis to begin with. Though a nice jacket can't hurt any if you're trying to earn yourself a reputation on the streets and all." She lifts her leather jacket-clad arm, as if to demonstrate, not that she has.. any sort of reputation along those lines.

The dark haired woman offers a polite wave back to Desi as she departs, and then looks towards Ravn for the answer to Ruiz's question. That IS a good question to something seemingly offered out of nowhere.

"For one I know this guy who has a habit of mumbling to himself in Spanish and I'm curious as to what he mumbles about." Ravn keeps a straight face as he replies to de la Vega's inquiry. Then he glances at the door as Desi disappears out through it. "New face in town? Haven't seen her around before. Another mechanic who likes bikes? Now to decide whether to bet five bucks on her and Rosencrantz becoming best buddies or ripping each other's faces off."

He hitches a shoulder lightly. "Seriously, though? Seth Monaghan pointed out to me that everyone in this country speaks Spanish to some extent and he's kind of right -- I do in fact miss out on a great deal because I don't. It's like German back home -- who the fuck doesn't speak German? German loan-words everywhere."

Beat. "Owning a boat in Denmark is like owning a car in the US. Normal. We're an archipelago, everyone sails or has sailed or plans to sail some day."

This is where the cop proceeds to look at Ravn like he just grew an extra head. "I think I can confirm that Seth fucking Monaghan is, in fact, full of shit. Everyone in this country does not speak Spanish." He sips his coffee, a flicker of irritation in the set of his jaw. "Though if you decide you do actually want to learn it. Spanish, like the Spanish I grew up speaking, not whatever they speak in Spain. Maybe you'll come find me, yeah?"

Rose 's seemingly not familiar with this Mr. Monaghan, or if she is, she doesn't seem to pick up on the mentions of his name. She tends to stick to herself as of late anyways. "Monaghan doesn't quite sound like the surname of someone that I'd expect to be an expert of how many people in America speak Spanish. Unless it was meant as a pejorative, anyways." Sip.

"So a short little sail down to the grocery store wouldn't be out of the question, then?"

"Of course Seth's full of shit. That's why it'd be funny to actually call him out on it." Ravn grins -- and then grins a bit wider as he adds, "Pretty sure that the Spanish in Spain actually think they speak Spanish? If I do get down to it though, you may regret making that offer. Or consider it free laughs for years ahead while I butcher your language, all depending. Most of all, though, I just want to do something that isn't lecturing."

He glances at Rose. "A lot of the smaller islands are accessible only by ferry a few times a day. People there definitely have boats. I didn't grow up on an island myself, but our house is by a lake with a marina, and the ocean and an even larger marina is just ten minutes' drive away. I get you on the turn forty, go nuts, buy a boat thing -- it happens back home too, but then the guy will be getting some oversized mobile home kind of yacht and take his family for a six month trip to Greece or something. 'Roughing it', 'island hopping', whatever they call it."

"Butchering my language is what I'm trying to avoid, gringo," retorts the cop with a little wink. He doesn't bother weighing in on the talk of fancy people or their fancy boats, because frankly, how fancy does he look? Joe Cavanaugh's stupid pretentious boat is bad enough, but this conversation's enough to make him push off his lean against the counter and mumble something about how he's got to get back to the station. "Nice to see you again," he tells Rose, with a smile he usually reserves for people he likes. Or people he likes.

"Te veo luego," he pitches toward Ravn, clucking his tongue to the Dane as he prowls for the door with his coffee.

"Hasta la vista," Ravn replies, still grinning, and sporting a distinctive Schwarzenegger accent that reveals exactly where he picked up those few words. Butchering might be only the beginning.

He upends his own coffee, sugar and cream and all -- and makes a face as he does so. "I should get going as well. Need to get back to the high school, look like I know what I'm doing since apparently, I'm the only person who does, or so other people think. If we make it through this storm more or less in one piece it'll be in spite of my attempts at organising things."

As the Dane too heads doorwards he throws a last glance to Rose. "Ravn Abildgaard. See me around, don't hesitate to drop over for a chat. I'm no professional but I did do a bit of photography as a hobby back in the day."

The cop's smile catches Rose's eye. And like so many other things, it's returned with a smirk and another little wave. "Same to you."

Ravn's downing of the, hopefully, dregs of coffee gets him - not quite a smirk, though some sort of bemused expression. "With your surely stalwart leadership, we might just live to see tomorrow. See you next time."

With those she'd been chatting with, Rose digs out her phone, popping open the forecast. The dreams about the storm are seemingly on the mark, which is.. strange, really. She's got plans for this storm, though. Once it really sets in on the shoreline, she'll set out to, ideally, really make a name for herself, or die trying.