2021-06-15 - Sandbag Everything

The winds are picking up and they have teeth; the cheeks of the people coming and going at Teddy S. Addington High today are ruddier than normal for the time of year (it is in fact supposed to be summer, but it sure as hell feels like November). A couple of truckloads of sand bags have been dropped off on the steps to the high school, and helpful folks (very few of them students) are trying to distribute them to where they might be the most use if the weather does indeed get as bad as one Cliffton Bass insists that it will. Others are boarding up the windows -- of the high school, and of its gym in particular, in process of being turned into a temporary shelter for anyone caught out in the storm. An entire truckload of woolen blankets are being carried inside, as are a pair of generators -- kerosene fuelled, not electrical.

In the middle of this chaos, people are coming and going. Some are here to offer a hand for half an hour; others have decided to spend the day. A number are first responders, coming in quick to check the place out before they may have to pick somebody up here -- or deliver them -- when Storm Cimaron hits. A couple of reporters flit about, looking for good stories and photo opportunities. A number of teenagers hang about because this is certainly more interesting than what usually goes down at Addington High.

Somewhere in the middle of this chaos is Ravn Abildgaard quietly sneaking a cigarette in a side door. If there's one thing the Dane hates, it's being the centre of attention. If there's one thing this narrative keeps trying to make him, it's that. Contrary to what somebody told the Gazette for shit and giggles, HOPE is not an international foundation and he is not its president; it's a handful of volunteers, and he's just one of them.

Are you not posing? 😮

Dee comes out of the same side door looking sweaty and tired. She is wearing loos baggy jeans and a over-sized teeshirt for the five foot two inch woman. "Adnai, this shit is heavy and hard. Why can't a girl just find a boiler to fix. Yeesh."

She misses the bird man as she has her eyes closed when she sits down and leaning against the wall. "Why am I bothering to be helpful. I hate Mama taught me right." All of this said the herself.

Ravn has no particular desire to intrude on someone else's conversation with themselves; he certainly understands the need to sometimes go swear very quietly to yourself in a dark corner, too. It's just that, well, he was already here and there's no way he can slink off unnoticed. Better, perhaps, to announce his presence? He coughs lightly and dips into a pocket for a packet of cigarettes and a battered old, silver zippo -- sounds and movements that might serve to fend off any accusations of lurking in shadows, but which are not intrusive as such.

He lights a cigarette -- outdoors, damnit, no one can complain at him for smoking here -- and offers a small smile. "Oh, hey there. You're the mechanic from the coffee shop, aren't you? Someone roped you into volunteering as well, looks like."

"Yea, I figured since this is a Hope thing or maybe some people from Hope will be here maybe I could get an in on looking for work in town." She opens an eye alt looks at him. "Ah, Bird Man. What are you doing? Looking for good karma to see if your boat survives Cinnamon?"

"Blowing my good karma on surviving a bad habit," Ravn grins and looks his cigarette before tucking his lighter back into a pocket in his leather jacket. The Vagabond will be fine -- I dry docked her and got her the hell away from the harbour. Unless this entire town washes into the sea, she's the least of my worries."

Then he cants his head and arches an eyebrow. "Somebody told you to go talk to us at HOPE, did they? That was fast. Centre's not even officially open yet, but there you go - storms don't book appointments. Town hall asked us to do what we can here so that the real emergency responders don't get bogged down holding hands and making soup while real problems need taken care of. What kind of work are you looking for, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Just looking to move from a shop out of town to here. I've wandered too much the last decade that I kinda want that small town advantage of only using my bike to drive and feel the air... Not to go to work thirty mins outta town yano?" She simply shrugs and runs a hand through her hair. "Hopefully you don't mind me calling you Bird man or some variation. I have a thing for nicknames. Hat em on me though."

Ravn hitches a shoulder lightly; he'd have blown a smoke ring if they weren't outdoors with a fair bit of wind. "I don't mind. People can call me whatever they like. Heaven knows I've heard some interesting takes on my actual name over here. De la Vega will never manage, that's for sure -- that's the police chief, you met him at the coffee shop. He's a Spanish speaker."

He glances out towards the high school's lawn where the strong winds cause the grass to ripple almost like a green river. "Grew up in a small town -- far smaller than Gray Harbor. Hated it. Moved to Copenhagen. And now I'm glad to live in a small town again. You start to miss the way everyone knows everyone and everyone's somebody's cousin." The Dane arches an eyebrow. "You're from somewhere else in Washington then, or elsewhere? I can't tell American accents apart, not going to lie."

"I'm a born 'merican to Israeli immigrants. I grew up having to speak mainly Hebrew and them not speaking english well kinda made me pick the accent pretty heavy." She watches him for a few moments. "Never lived in a town long enough to know who the cousins are,"

"It's got its ups and downs," Ravn murmurs with a glance down Memory Lane. "Mind, I'm not much in touch with my family these days so maybe more downs than ups. I get to choose my people here in Gray Harbor, maybe that's the difference."

He glances at the mechanic and arches one eyebrow. "Planning to stay around for a while, then, or off like a rolling stone again in short time? I thought the latter when I got here -- I'd only be here for a couple of weeks at best. That was eleven months ago -- Gray Harbor has a way of holding on to people like us." Whatever he means by that.

"I stay as long as I can until the Pull comes. I feel like this place is the source of the Pull though. If it is I've got to think about starting a family." She mused mostly to herself out loud.

She blinks and looks at him. "The people who the Friends visit." Despite the word friends... theres was a less than pleasant connotation.

A small lopsided smile flits across Ravn's lips. "You're one of us all right. The Pull is not a bad name for it. And the Friends? I get you - and you're right. Gray Harbor is not the source of the odd, though. It's a place where the veil between our world and other places is very thin - - torn, even. Things bleed in from elsewhere. And it draws us here, and keeps us here. That's why every other person you meet will tell you to keep right on moving while you can't -- but you won't. I kept telling myself I was going to be moving on but after two weeks I'd gotten a job and rented a boat to live on, and well, here I am. Quit the job later on but still living on the boat."

"I'm going to assume you know the more you use 'it' the Bad Friends visit ya and make you all around uncomfortable? You got a spare cig I can bum?"

The Dane offers the packet and the lighter over. It's a battered old zippo with some kind of old coat-of-arms design engraved in the silver metal; old, but fully functional as old zippos tend to be. "Sure can. And yeah -- that does seem to be the case. Bit like moths to a light. There's several kinds of them though. A lot of the time, the dreams just want you to go through some kind of story or experience. When that happens, you have to roll with it because the only way is through -- but it may not be terrible."

He looks out at the wind-beaten high school lawn; a few people make their way across, coats up around their ears and holding on to their beanies. "And some of them are -- there are creatures out there. Everyone's got a name for them -- Dark Men, pain eaters, dolorphages, whatever you prefer. Those want you to suffer. They seem to feed on misery and fear, and they farm us. You don't need to use your power to attract those -- just be in their way. That's what HOPE is about -- us getting together and fighting back. They choke on altruism."

She simply takes a cig and flicks it alight with a practiced motion. Handing the well used lighter back to him and taking a drag. "Really? You advocate the not using of our stuff?" A long stream of smoke leaves her mouth. "You know you can shove those dark dude onto some other poor sod? I've had this shit since birth, or at least since I was 3 or 4. You can bait em onto someone else just by causing the target just that bit of harm..." Another drag. "I learned that at 4... "

"Nah. They're here, they'll make us use our power if we don't do it ourselves. I advocate fighting back wherever possible." Ravn shakes his head. "But that's also easy for me to say, since I personally don't have a lot of power. Working at the centre tends to get their attention, though -- as we literally are trying to poison their food supply."

Then he fixes his grey gaze on Desi's face. "In this town, most of our kind know each other. Most of us try to have each other's backs. Kind of an us against them kind of deal. You do what you got to do, but keep in mind that the guy you're throwing under the bus may be the guy who has to decide whose ass he's pulling out of the fire next week."

Shaking her head as she quickly finishes the death stick. "Nah, was just asking if you knew it or not. I'm not gunna go setting people on fire when I plan to stay here. Shit maybe its those bad friends that are the pull to this town. Like some sort of alien HQ or something."

"Everyone's got their theories and we do know some things," Ravn agrees. "What they are though? I don't think they're aliens. But I can't prove to you that they're not. Your guess is as valid as mine. All we know for a fact is that they farm human emotion, and that they're intelligent beings who can and will reach into this world to harm people who oppose them. Guy who's the spokesman of HOPE? They killed him. He got better, obviously, but, that's the kind of reach they have."

He pauses. "And the kind of crazy you get used to hearing in this town, too."

She just looks confused. "What do you mean they killed him then got better? That the kinda crazy you mean? I mean I can make plants and shit move around among other things."

"Yeah. The kind of crazy where someone says 'they killed him, but obviously he got better' and the someone is in fact not full of shit." Ravn nods. "Man's died twice. They really don't like him. Name's Ignacio de Santos -- he's a writer and journalist."

He looks back at the lawn and the storm. "Right now, though? We just clench our teeth and get through this storm. We know it's not a natural storm. Things are going to get bad. Stay in touch with as many people as you can, because it's going to be one hell of a ride. Once it's over? I can probably help you meet some people who might be able to help you get set up as a mechanic -- if you haven't met them already by then. One of my friends runs a garage, might be he needs more hands."

Nodding silently. "I feel ya there. I found a girl to move in with. Her name is Park or Mee. I can never figure out which is the first name. I met her at that karaoke night thing ." Cracking her neck and hands she stands up and stretches.

"She's a hyper little thing, but it's a decent place and hella better than a motel by the week."

"Park? I think I met her once or twice. Called her three sugar fuelled squirrels in a trench coat." Ravn grins slightly. "Not surprised she'd be one for karaoke -- most of the people here who shine tend to be. I'm the odd one out there -- not good with crowds or noise. Also, pretty much anything is better than the bloody Murder Motel, the place is so haunted that the ghosts there have their own cable subscription."

"I'm not one for crowds either. I prefer an engine to a human. I can fix an engine and I understand how they work. I can't fix a person." She stomps her cig on the ground with her foot. "Actually, that is a lie. I can to some extent. Not a doctor though."

"Got a spot of healing touch, do you? That'll make you friends fast enough." Ravn crosses his arms across his chest and leans back against the wall; he's clearly in no particular hurry to get back inside where everyone and their cousin seems to think he's the guy who knows where everything is and who should be doing what (he doesn't). "My talent, such as it is, is in moving small things. Useful for picking a lock or stealing someone's wallet but it's actually easier and safer to do both with your hands."

She giggles at the though of the kind of trouble with that. "I might have to develop that side of the thing. Lifting heavy shit is part of my day to day job." Her eyes close in thought. "So why don't you develop a skill that is handy even with the draw backs?"

"Don't have the talent," Ravn replies amicably. "I've been practising all my life, and this is as good as I get. Not everyone gets to have super powers -- at least I've got enough juice that the Veil doesn't rewrite my memories and I can see the crazy around here. If you ever do need your wallet stolen though? Come see me about it, I actually was a thief for a while -- before coming here."

"I get that life. How do you think I supplemented my income working in mechanic shops on my way here. I ain't ever picked pockets, but sneaking a small, but valuable part of an engine that has negligible impact on the function was how I made side money. The thing helps me coax stuff back to life."

"We do what we have to, to get by. Most people like us?" Ravn shakes his head. "Some of us come from nothing, some of us have everything we need -- but one thing we all have in common, from what I see? We're more or less screwed up. Broken in some way, not quite fitting in. Lots of people who have some kind of PTSD or suffered some kind of abuse. From the millionaire who owns half of Bayside to kids born in the trailer park -- every one of us, some kind of damaged goods."

"You certainly have an interesting way of flirting Birdy." She giggles and looks at him. ""Calling a girl damaged goods is a good way to her heart." She takes her cell out and hands it to him. "I don't remember if you gave me your number or not so punch it in. Maybe after this fucking storm you can show me round town and all that." Whether or not she is trying to pick him up or just make a friend is anyone's guess

The Dane chuckles even as he reaches for the phone and keys his number in with gloved fingers. "I don't do that. Dating's not my kind of game. Doesn't mean we can't grab a couple of beers at the Pourhouse or the marina sometime. In a town like this, you need all the friends you can get. Won't have a hard time meeting guys either if that's your thing -- that was actually the advice I got from one of the first guys I met here: Drink a lot, get laid a lot. I live by the first half."

"I mean, I'm not much of a drinker. Kidneys yell at me too much for that activity. As for the sex... Yes, Please." She grins at him. "I'm sure dating will come with the territory. If you just wanna fool around I'm not opposed. Our accents would probably be enough reason to hit the sack... outsiders and all. No strings."

Is the man actually a tad shy? He looks away a second, as if he needs a second to think about how to answer that one. Monsters and nightmares? Easy peasy. Personal stuff? Eeeh.

"I've got a neuropathic condition," Ravn says after a moment. "Touch can be -- extremely painful for me. Hence, the gloves -- not wearing them makes touching things feel like I'm sticking my hands in an electrical socket a lot. Tends to put a bit of a dampener on the whole fooling around thing and I usually just don't bother. Doesn't mean I'm not flattered by the offer, though," he adds with a small, lopsided smile.

Taking her phone back and taking a picture of Ravn. "Just keep it in the back of your mind. I'm sure we will be waffle diner buddies at the least. Someone also mentioned that there was another Jew in town at karaoke... I'm sure I'll run into him eventually. We should get back to it though." She winked at him. "We don't want baseless rumors of us running off to have a quickie spreading around." She laughs and walks back into the school

"That'll be Rosencrantz, my friend who has the garage." Ravn nods and follows Desi inside, because much as he'd like to, he doesn't get away with hiding out here indefinitely. Pity, though -- the storm asks fewer confused questions than some of the people seeking shelter. The yachters from Olympia in particular, somebody ought to remind those rich sailboat guys that they should just be glad they're not out there, on their bloody sailboats in this weather.