2021-09-24 - It's Complicated, Man -- Also, I'm Prom Queen

There's one thing to be said for Gray Harbor, Ravn Abildgaard reflects: It'll never leave you without excuses to need a drink. If there's one thing this town does exceedingly well, it's come up with strange, bizarre, and often quite gruesome ways to inspire a man to need some serious coping. He was advised upon arrival, about a year ago (plus-minus twelve weeks, hello headache) that the best way to cope with Gray Harbor's weirdness was to get laid a lot and drink a lot. He's all on board with the second half of that nugget of survival wisdom.

As always at the Pourhouse after work hours there's groups of mill workers and other bluecollar folks sitting about; the baseball leagues are up for debate, and is the season's upcoming last lobster battles (this, apparently, also continued in Ravn's absence, and by now he's just assuming that he's got a very high functioning understudy somewhere). Ravn doesn't know the first thing about baseball (and not really about lobsters either) but he finds himself dragged into the lobster debate quick enough -- and to no one's surprise, given that he's the guy who runs the illegal lobster fighting ring.

In theory. Because there is one, and it's certainly running, and all he ever does is turn up a couple of times a week and stand there. The Veil kind of narrates the rest around him. All he's got to do is, well, be there. Or as it turns out, not even that.

When he does manage to clear his adoring fans (read: Grizzled guys looking to make an easy buck on an insider tip) he claims a tall chair at the counter and signals Davis for his usual; twelve-year Glenfiddich, the bottle that Leon Gyre keeps because he's got one (1) customer who's secretly a fancy-ass whiskey snob.

Gray Harbor certainly is a place that gives you plenty of excuses to drink, and one of them is waking up with 12 weeks of your life just 'missing' from your memory. For someone like Seth, whose primary job is something less than legal, missing 12 weeks is a bit of a worry so he makes his way into the Pourhouse to drown some of that worry in some form of alcohol.

He makes his way into the Pourhouse, neglecting his usual routine of pausing for a moment to check his perimeter and instead just makes a straight line for the bar, "Whiskey." He mutters, "Just leave the bottle and put it on my tab." As the bottle arrives, Seth doesn't even bother with the glass that is set before him and instead just takes a hit from the bottle, sighing as he lowers it after that first gulp.

Ravn glances at his friend. Then he glances at his friend's bottle. And at his own bottle. At some point in there he asks himself why he bothered with a glass, then blames the conditioning of a high society upbringing. "Rough day?" he murmurs and pours himself another shot -- in the tumbler dedicated to the purpose. If Davis minds him leaning over the counter for more ice he doesn't say anything. "With you on that one. Busy doing option two of the coping rule. Also trying to mentally rewrite the lyrics to 'I kissed a Girl and I Liked it' to be about a boy and really not liking it."

Taking another swig from the bottle, Seth glances over at Ravn and smirks, "Rough day? Not in particular really. Not this specific day, anyway. Rough few weeks? I really can't fucking say...and that is the problem."

The enforcer shrugs a shoulder, letting out a sigh before tossing back another swallow of the burning amber liquid, arching his brow at Ravn's later comment, "This sounds like there is a story attached. Do I want to know?"

A beat.

"Scratch that, I know I want to know. Are you going to tell me? That is the real question."

Ravn can't help laugh. "Story's going to hit the street anyhow I figure. Had another dream experience, and you have the dubious honour of addressing the prom queen. Yes, that came with getting solidly snogged by the prom king in front of a high school's worth of audience that probably never existed -- and some fireman who does exist, and Hyacinth Addington. My life in a nutshell, you know? At least de la Vega is an excellent dancer. Ten, ten, would get dragged around a dance floor by again if I absolutely have to -- which I hope to God I never will."

"Wait," Seth says trying to stifle his laughter much like Ravn did at the poker game, "You made out with de la Vega? Tell me, did all that scruff scratch?"

Seth lets out a bottled in laugh before taking another swig of liquid. "So, queen huh? Did the dress come off as easily as they tend to on a prom night? Where is your tiara? What song did you and the King dance to, and more importantly how are Joe and/or Itz taking it? So many questions..."

Ravn downs another solid swig. "I was in a pink silk suit jacket. With no bloody shirt under. Looked like a complete moron, I'm sure. And yes, the scruff scratched. And no, thank bloody God the dream ended right after the kissing bit. Which is good because Hyacinth was about ready to deck the man. And me."

He shakes his head, chuckling. "I haven't spoken to Rosencrantz or Cavanaugh. I'm willing to bet you Rosencrantz will be shitting bricks laughing for a week, and then ask for pictures, though. He knows I'm not into men. And so does Cavanaugh I presume. Just, this place never gives you a chance, does it? At least now I can say I've lived here long enough to kiss somebody."

"Wait...you kissed de la Vega before you kissed Hyacinth? No wonder she was going to slap a bitch!" laughs Seth in a burst of guttural laughter. "At least you had a jacket one, right? It could have been like all those high school dreams where you show up to your prom in just your underwear, or worse. Somehow I don't get the feeling you are as carefree as I am when it comes to something like that." The enforcer holds up his bottle and grins, "Here is to the queen, long may she reign."

Ravn makes a face. "I'll get around to it. It's complicated. If she's not off running the corporation that provides work for half this city, I'm off being chased by Veil creatures or trying to help somebody who is. It's just not a very good time in my life for romance, I guess -- and not a very good place, either. Definitely don't disagree on the carefree thing though -- not that I think my dick is so special that seeing it would scar somebody for life. More the fact that if you're naked, odds are you'll bump into things or someone'll touch your shoulder, or whatever, and there's me, quietly screaming under a table."

Seth laughs again, "My dick isn't anything special, I just don't give a shit who sees it." Seth tips back the bottle and takes another swig before setting it down on the countertop. "It's not like I /want/ to show it off, you know? I just don't care one way or the other. It is what it is, just a penis. 49% of people have one, or something like that, and I am sure a majority of people have seen one at least once, but I get it. That not being touched thing would make that more difficult."

"As for Hya, dude, just find the time. I know life around here is hectic as anything, but unless you make the time you will never find the time. Trust me on this."

Ravn sips his scotch. "That's Gray Harbor for you. Can't just 'make the time' unless Gray Harbor thinks you can. Have tried. I get in a room alone with Hyacinth Addington, it takes about eight minutes tops before either of us get called away by someone frantically screaming into a phone." He puts the glass down and chuckles. "Hell, I have a meeting with her lawyer cousin at that, to double check HOPE's finances and legal status since the Addington corporation is a donor. If it was just a matter of scheduling time, I'd have that meeting with Hyacinth herself."

He pauses and glances at Seth, and adds in a somewhat quieter tone, "That's not a warning. Those donors who have requested anonymity stay anonymous until somebody holds our Seattle legal counsel at gun point."

Seth waves it off, "I'm not concerned. If it ever comes down to that, I am sure I can figure out a way to balance the books on my end should I ever need. Just because I don't live like I have cash, doesn't mean I don't have it...and that is why Rhys is for." Seth says with a grin.

"I call bullshit, though, about not being able to make time. That is a personal choice, and if you and Hya aren't managing to make the time you are not trying hard enough. You know what you do, you turn OFF the damn phone for 15 minutes. It can be done, I promise."

Ravn falls quiet a moment, toying with his glass. Then he hitches a shoulder lightly. "Might be you're right. Maybe I'm just -- I'm not really the dating type in the first place, and not doing anything about it does keep the boat from rocking. I do keep telling myself I'll get around to it. Might be she feels much the same way for all I know. I do think there's a spark there, but it is a lot easier to just -- focus on all the things that somebody needs to be doing, and unless I'm somebody they don't get done."

Seth drunkenly eyerolls at the Dane. "Like it is easy for me and Vic. For fucks sake, Darth, you know who we are... It is always easier to run and not face the hard choice, always. It's facing that choice and running into it with abandon that separates the weak from the strong my man. And before you even fucking say it, you're wrong. You are one of the strongest guys I know, you just chose not to believe it. Hell, you face shit that would make most people cower all the damn time. Don't sell yourself short."

Might be the whiskey that causes the Dane to colour a tad; might be the unexpected drunken pep talk. "I'm really not. Not when it comes to personal matters, not when it's about me. Standing up for someone else is easy, it's bloody well bred into me. Noblesse oblige, the whole damned bullcrap. I get monsters. You pick up whatever's handy and you bash the monster in the face until it lies still, or you find a way to run away from it, or you distract it somehow. That's simple -- there's us and there's them, and there's a stealth war going on here. People? Personal relationships? That's complicated."

Seth chuckles, "Maybe, but in the end so much more rewarding than bashing in a monster's head. Not that there isn't some joy in that mind you."

"Speaking of monsters...I have no idea if I ever gave you those eyes in the last 12 weeks. Did I? I haven't checked, I've been afraid too."

"Pretty sure you didn't," Ravn murmurs. "At least they weren't in the safe at HOPE, and as far as I can tell they haven't been replaced at the park either. We should fix that -- Fern's pretty certain it's safe to bring them back. And Hyacinth was pretty damn upset about them -- that carousel means a lot to her. The whole town does -- it's part of why she's so damned busy, she's trying to pretty much run everything on her own. And, well, since she's the de facto head of the big money family in town, the town not only lets her, it seems to expect her to. Could drop past your place tomorrow, maybe, pick them up?"

Because driving now might not be smart. Or at least it won't be when he's done with this bottle.

"Yeah, I was afraid of that," Seth says with a sigh as he eyes his bottle. Fighting the urge to grab another swig, he looks over to Ravn and nods. "Yeah, I'll bring them by tomorrow, or you can come by. Whichever works. As far as I know, Vic and I will still be around. We will get those puppies back where they belong."

"I still think you have it in you to walk up to Hya and just plant one on her, you know."

The Dane makes another face. Or rather, it's the same face, but he makes it again. "Not letting me off the hook that easy, are you." He shakes his head. "I mean, I want to. But, if I surprise her and she -- you know, flails at me, something. Then I'm seeing stars and canaries, might pass out. Neuropathy really isn't very romantic when it comes to sexy little surprises like that. Probably part of why I hesitate, not going to lie -- it's a hell of a frustating thing to deal with sometimes, and there's a hell of a lot of guys out there who won't saddle somebody with something like that."

"It's just pain, Darth." says Seth with a shrug. "Pain heals, chicks dig scars, glory lasts forever."

"Told you," Ravn says and pours himself another shot (definitely not driving home, in fact, Mark over there by the jukebox is going to end up giving him a ride). "I'm chickenshit when it's about me. Give me a fucking T-Rex to throw the kitchen sink at. I get that. Hurricane shelter got invaded by otherworldly ghost weasels? Stole a fucking Beretta off a lady waving it around, then went for target practise. With de la Vega, at that. Thank you for the shooting lessons, by the way -- I actually hit some of the damn things."

Seth shakes his head. "You know what my next course of action will be don't you? Do I have to spell it out for you? And you are welcome. Whenever you want to go again, just let me know."

"Oh God." Yeah, Ravn has a pretty strong suspicion. And a pretty strong urge to just consider himself doomed either way. But the great thing about whiskey in entirely too large amounts in entirely too little time is that everything kind of becomes tomorrow's problem. And focusing on more than one thing at a time starts to feel like entirely too much effort, so he picks the one that seems least intimidating at the time. "Hell yes. Let's blow away some trees. Got twelve weeks' worth of apparently being an extremely good and boring boy to make up for, lemme at some fireworks."