2021-11-08 - Beer O'Clock

Ravn Abildgaard once took a meat cleaver to the arm and that cost him a leather jacket that he was rather fond of. He eventually got around to replacing it (the bullet holes were the final straw that broke that camel's back). Now the new jacket bears obvious signs of rough treatment and he's just... not going to care (at least not until somebody riddles this one with bullet holes too). Halloween in Gray Harbor is apparently never just a matter of kids and candy and face masks. Last year it had Vic Grey fall into his bed naked. This year, murderous goblins.

He's hard pressed to decide which one is worse. Maybe this is why beers are required -- at least the Dane turns up at the Pourhouse and orders a draft beer rather than his usual scotch. He exchanges a few words with Davis the bartender and then settles into one of the darker boots; maybe he's hungover, maybe he's just not in the mood to balance on a bar stool. A copy of the Gazette is yoinked off the bar; probably because it sports a headline about Halloween at the Hope Foundation and a picture of Perdita Leontes, smiling brightly.

Is she stalking him, or is she equally in need of a stiff drink in a dive bar? Probably both. It's usually a good idea to keep tabs on fellow grifters, after all. The usual clean click of her heels is absent, replaced with sneakers, a beat up old t-shirt that's been shredded and had strips braided to make a fashion statement of some sort, and a denim jacket.

She looks like she's in a bit of a mood, her long hair in a braid... didn't she have a fringe yesterday? Her nails still blood red from the Elvira costume, and her make up... isn't there. It's not that Dita looks bad without make up, by any means. She's a pretty girl, but usually not even her gentlemen callers see her without make up.

To Davis, "I need something caffeinated and alcoholic at the same time, and like... do you have any cherries? I want cherries." Once her drink is in hand, she makes her way to Ravn's booth, draping in it across from him, holding the cool glass to her forehead.

Ravn looks up from the newspaper, surprised. He takes in Perdita's appearance and quickly raises his glass -- possibly to salute her, possibly to hide the small twitch of an amused lip behind it. With his other, gloved hand he quickly closes the paper. It's surely coincidental that he does so in a fashion that leaves Perdita-Elvira beaming brightly up from the front page, gone on record talking about the HOPE centre's bright future. Alice Hampton, intrepid reporter, managed to squeeze a lot of wordage out of a fairly brief encounter.

"You look like whatever you got up to last night was worthy of several pages in your diary," he murmurs -- not too loudly, because someone's trying to osmosis a cold drink with her forehead is probably not in need of unnecessary noise. Possibly in need of a bucket.

"I... got rejected, Ravn. I have never had a straight man turn me down in my life," a brief pause of reflection. Dita's voice is heavy on the vocal fry, not something she normally allows, "for that matter I've never had a gay man turn me down, but that's more because of impeccable gaydar than anything else." She glances down at the page and grunts. "At least my fake tits were immortalized." she mutters, glancing side long at the man across from her.

"He was totally down to ride below the crupper until I told him, and then he told me that he wanted to just be..." she groans, "friends. Am I losing my touch?"

The twitch of a lip grows a little, becomes a small smile. "You poor, fragile ego."

Ravn sips his beer and puts the glass down, before deciding to answer the question in what he thinks is the spirit that it was asked. "I guess it's a deal breaker for some. I'm also tempted to suggest that if it is a deal breaker for somebody, then maybe it's better to be let down and leave it at that, than find out in the bedroom when neither of you are wearing anything but socks."

He hitches a shoulder slightly. "I don't think it'd make much difference for me, personally. Probably have to ask a few very personal, technical questions but I bet you've heard all of them before anyhow. Is being friends with this bloke too disappointing? I figure he must have had friend qualities since you considered him in the first place, or is that just me being an ignorant demisexual again?"

"I... didn't not want to be friends with hunky fireman... That said? I also wanted someone to give me an orgasm so good I forgot how to speak in three different languages." she finally brings the drink down and takes a sip. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to make new friends, and he seems like a genuinely good guy, might go hiking with him sometime, it's just... Rejection sucks and I'm not used to it. It's never been a deal breaker, before, in like... six years."

She sits up and shakes her head a bit, "So, I went home, finished a bottle of wine by myself, listened to some Lana Del Rey on repeat and took a bubble bath in a tub that was installed in 1926 and still somehow pristine." she pauses, "Also I'm not entirely clear on the details but either I'm renting or I bought the penthouse of the old Becker building or... I bought the entire building, during the gap. Which... how and also why. The place is falling apart and there's... people."

Yes, Perdita is pouting, just a bit. It's easy to forget how young she is, because she usually seems pretty put together.

"That doesn't sound like the worst way to drown your sorrows. Maybe next time, add a tub of ice cream, I hear Rocky Road is traditional." Ravn may just be little short of a decade older, but apparently it's a decade that makes a significant difference in these matters. He keeps smiling, but there's warmth in that smile -- regardless of circumstances, disappointment blows (and not in the fun way). "Rejection does suck. I got a lot of it as a teenager. Ended up giving up on dating because of it, as it happens. Neuropathy is a deal breaker too for most people. And so is being an entitled little asshole."

He chuckles. "Also, you need to show me that place sometime, it sounds pretty damn neat."

"... I don't wanna talk about the empty ice cream pint I found beside the tub when I woke up. It was new." Dita sinks a little lower into the booth, groaning softly again, "It would normally last me a MONTH."

She lets herself wallow in self pity for a few more seconds, then forces herself to sit up. She finishes her drink, then sets her purse on the table. Out comes a compact, and the faint dark circles under her eyes, as well as the freckles, quickly disappear. No more wallowing in self pity, it seems... or the hangover she definitely has.

"And yet you managed to land the most gorgeous woman in Gray Harbor that isn't me, despite all that. I'd say you're doing pretty well for yourself now." Perdita moves from foundation to eyeliner, expertly applying it with something that looks more like an inking pen than anything to do with make up.

"Sometime soon, when I've finished redecorating... and I'm certain I'm not just crashing in some stranger's apartment and I'm going to, like... wake up to three bears standing over me." somehow, one doubts it's the first time that's happened.

"Nah." Ravn sips his beer. "I didn't manage jack all. She landed me. Not complaining in the slightest but if our getting together had hinged on me making a move -- well, we'd not be getting anywhere soon. You get used to being single. Fortunately, Hyacinth's a busy woman with her own life. The last thing she wants or needs is somebody who insists on clinging to her twenty four seven, or side eye any other man she spends time with -- and the same for me. That'd be a deal breaker for me, see? If I couldn't have a beer with a friend of the female disposition without having to answer questions."

He watches the make-up session in progress with the mild fascination of someone who's never worn more than a bit of inexpertly applied eyeliner during his emo phase as a teenager. "With you on the ... apartment deal, though. I nearly freaked when I woke up in a strange room on Oak Street. And then there was someone walking around outside my door. Turned out to be Kinney. Could have wrung half a litre of sweat out of my sheets."

She clearly knows what she's doing. Eyeliner on, mascara follows, which looks like it could go horribly wrong at any second. "I've been single for a while. I have terrible taste in men as far as long term commitment goes, but they make for great flings or sugar daddies." she points out cheerfully enough, finishing the lower lashes with a slight flourish. She already looks more alert. Whether it's the caffeine, the alcohol, the make up, or just deciding to stop moping, who knows.

And now she's applying more foundation to her face, this a bit darker, and only in certain places. It's... witchcraft, because by the time it's done, she looks... different. "Could be worse. You could have woken up in bed with Aidan, married to each other, with children playing in the next room." She's smiling, just a little, until she spritzes her face with some sort of spray. Then her face goes utterly blank for several seconds as she waits for it to dry. "If you end up in that Dream I call dibs on being Auntie Dita. I'll teach them to pick locks."

"I suspect Aidan's girlfriend might not have been thrilled with that idea." Ravn laughs softly. Then he sips his beer and toys with the glass, trailing a gloved fingertip around its edge -- and given it's not crystal, it absolutely fails to produce a note. "Never really did flings or -- well, was anyone's sugar daddy. Got attempted picked up now and then when I was hitch-hiking my way down Europe, and across the States. But again, the whole -- I can touch you but you can't touch me, it's a deal breaker."

He ponders, glancing down memory lane. "I did fork a guy in the fork when I was thirteen or fourteen. With an actual fork, I mean. Apart from that, never really did the whole casual relationships thing -- for obvious reasons."

"Wait... fork... do you mean sex, or you stabbed a guy?" neither seems particularly objectionable to Perdita. "I mean... you already know I was a sex worker for a while before I got with Eddie... and I guess technically while I was with him... but after him..." She undoes her braid, fluffing her hair slightly, and pulling a clip in fringe from her bag, fussing with straightening it for a moment. "I'm sorry things have been difficult for you in that regard, and I'm sorry for the times I've accidentally hurt you without realizing it. It's got to be frustrating."

"I mean that I stabbed him in a very private place, with a fork." Ravn grins slightly. "He got handsy, also after I firmly informed him that I was under age and not a sex worker."

Then he shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. It is frustrating. But I can't and don't expect people to remember every waking moment, and even when they do, accidents happen. I appreciate that you try. Most people are pretty decent about it, once they realise that I don't wear these gloves because I have some weirdass BDSM kink going for me. A few are disappointed that I don't."

A lopsided grin. "Rosencrantz kept advising me for a while to just tell girls I was into tying them up and doing things to them. But then, he would."

"Good for you. He deserved it, and then some. I hope it healed with some weird ligament issues and it's all messed up and weird looking now." Once the fringe is fully settled and smoothed out, she goes for lip gloss, and she... finally feels like herself again.

"Tying girls up and doing things to them WOULD work, but... only if you want the 50 Shades aficionados to specifically seek you out. Then you have to deal with the ones who don't understand how bondage and submission actually work, and... it just sounds like a headache." she gestures to the paper. "So, how bad is the coverage?"

"I'm really, really not interested in being the exotic European millionaire in someone's bondage fantasy, thanks. And you're all but formally the new figurehead of the international HOPE Foundation -- thank you, Cassidy Bennett for that one." Ravn makes an exasperated face. "Hampton doesn't outright write that you're fucking me to get there but, you're definitely fucking me to get there. Also, Everett Woods is the dream man of Gray Harbor, and if she could get away with throwing Kailey Holt under a train she would have."

He chuckles. "Don't pay much attention to it. Anyone who matters knows that there is no such thing as an international foundation, nor will anyone who matters believe that you and I are a thing. As for Everett, much as he may come across like a caveman at times, he's pretty damn devoted to, uh, both of his women from what I've seen."

"Well, the fake boobs didn't help with that anyway. I'm pleased to note that those bastards were tougher than I realized, though. I'm pretty sure with a little reinforcing they could be the bulletproof vest of the future." she laughs, shaking her head.

"I don't care if people think we're a thing, as long as Hya knows I respect boundaries fully, and I'm not indulging cheaters anymore... but it'd hardly be the first time I've been someone's beard, either. Freshman year of high school, I 'dated' this girl..." she looks up, trying to remember, "Mary Elizabeth. Her parents were terrified she was secretly involved with her 'best friend' Amy, so clearly the answer was to... date a 'boy' who wore more eyeliner and lip gloss than she did, right?"

There's a laugh from Dita, and she shakes her head, "I really don't blame Hampton for drooling over Everett even though she was pretty tacky with how she was mooning over him... He's tall. Like... climb him like a mountain and plant a flag tall."

Ravn laughs and nods before sipping his beer. "And that's what I meant, earlier. About trust, I mean. I don't worry that Hyacinth will think I'm cheating on her with you or anyone else. She knows how press works, and she knows me. If that trust isn't there, then the relationship isn't there. But that's a pet peeve of mine -- couples who don't actually trust each other to stick to whatever agreements they've made."

He smirks. "I very nearly tried to get a girlfriend a few times for that purpose, as a teenager. My parents were -- worried. That I might be gay -- my mother was quite upset about the idea that I might not spawn grandkids. Adoption was obviously not an option in her world since they wouldn't have the blood -- something which always struck me as particularly idiotic because first off, blood is not some magical carte blanche to greatness, and secondly, by her own standards she had no blood worth boasting about."

"In my experience it never hurts to reinforce it, though. I've been on both sides of the wronged partner and it... sucks. Significantly. More so if you're being cheated on. I understand why people get so upset. I don't ever want to put anyone through that again." she gestures vaguely, a waving hand.

"Blood is important but it doesn't make a family. My own father threw me out because he didn't want me dishonoring him, after all, and family doesn't do that. I think you'd be a good father, though, for what it's worth, whether by blood or adoption."

"Parenthood isn't something I've given a lot of thought to," Ravn admits with a small shrug. "I'm thirty-one, I don't think I need to make those big decisions just yet."

He fiddles with his glass; as far as he is concerned, those non-smoking laws are pure personal chicanery. "I don't disagree with you. It's not so much about who sticks what in who, though, as it's about trust. If you're exclusive, then be exclusive. If you're not, then don't make a big deal out of it. Easy for me to say, obviously, since it's never something I've actually had to deal with, but, it does seem bloody inherently, stupidly logical to me. You have an agreement with someone, you stick to it. It's not something we've actually talked about -- I suppose it didn't occur to me because I honestly wouldn't really care."

"Absolutely. What... I did to Eddie was pretty fucked up. Not enough that he should still be stalking me five fucking years later, but... I... kind of slept with his son. In my defense, I was nineteen, Nico was twenty, and we had a lot more in common than Eddie and I did. It was still one of the things I regret doing the most... even if Eddie was cheating on his wife to be with me." Yikes. Just... Yikes. Dita's lived in a soap opera.

"Boundaries matter. If someone has an open relationship it's a lot different hooking up with them than if they're exclusive."

Ravn studies her face, and tries hard to keep from laughing. "Sorry, I -- I mean, that is funny, now. I bet it wasn't all that much fun to live through."

He shakes his head again. "I never cheated on the one relationship I was in before Hyacinth. Ironically, she spent most of it convinced that I did at any given opportunity. Which is probably one reason I'm so... how to put it... I don't want to deal with that again. I don't sleep around. I don't need to prove it -- and if I do, I'm in the wrong relationship."

"It... really wasn't that great, honestly, but it's amazing how fast a grown man goes down when he's hit with the solid craftsmanship of a Safe & Lock." Dita's expression is as bland as if she were discussing the weather, but there's heat in her eyes, a sense that she wishes she'd done more.

There's a gesture toward the bar, ordering another drink for herself. "Nico freaked out when he saw what I could do, couldn't explain it away, so... he ran off. I'd probably have taken him with me, if he hadn't run. I really loved that boy." she smiles, just a little. "Now he probably barely remembers I exist. The Veil seems to like to erase us, here."

"It sort of does, and doesn't," Ravn agrees. "It seems to erase the things that might draw us away from here. For you -- someone like that who might call you from San Francisco, ask you to get on a plane. Or someone like Eddie, hunting you with a grudge."

He cants his head and sips his beer; there's no foam left now, this is very sad. "It hasn't done me the favour of erasing my name and title back home, for instance. They still remember me -- just, no one's really sure when it was I was coming home again, or what it is I'm doing. Copenhagen University doesn't care as long as I teach my students and grade their essays. So in a way -- I get away with being mostly invisible too. It's pretty obvious to me that it's very selective. Anything that might draw us out or make us move on, that's what gets edited."

"Poor cis white man, you have a title." Dita's tone waivers between teasing and sympathetic, though, as Davis sets her drink on the bar. She rises, walking over to grab it herself, returning a moment later to slip back into her seat more properly. "Here's to being invisible in the good way for the first times in our lives." she raises her drink, which smells sugary and strong, to clink against Ravn's glass should he desire.

"So... the thing the other night, with the rampaging toddlers of doom. Is that every Halloween or were we just lucky to show up and help Isi out?"

"Yes, I'm very oppressed." Ravn smirks. "Give me another ten years and I'll be the most oppressed minority of them all -- a white cishet male of means. I will expect large amounts of sympathy and support when people on the internet are mean to me. I was trying to answer your question, though -- about how this reality editing seems to work."

Glasses are clinked. "To invisibility, the kind we actually want. I'm going to expect the worst from now on, to be honest. This year, murder-toddlers. Last year? I'm not American and I don't like crowds much so I spent last year's Halloween in my trailer with a book. Went to bed early, figured I'd gone unnoticed by the Veil. And at three am Vic Grey -- whom I rented the trailer from -- strolls in, drunk as a skunk, drops her nurse outfit and crawls into my bed stark naked. So -- I'm just going to assume that shit will go down from now on."

"Don't forget old." she teases. "I'll make sure I leverage my Multiple Minority Card in your favor. Being a trans woman of color online gives me so much clout." she lets out a snort of laughter.

"Wait, like... naked, naked? Just..." she vaguely circles one hand from bust to hips, "White girl wasted in Cancun naked? That... is inspiring me to make some security upgrades to my apartment. I'm thinking a reinforced steel door and a lovely security bar." she laughs, again, her earlier funk already forgotten. "Some laser security upgrades. I don't need any sexy nurses in my bed."

"White girl wasted, as Rosencrantz would say." Ravn grins; now that he thinks back about it a year later, it strikes him as pretty hilarious.

Truthfully, it also struck him as hilarious a year ago.

"She'd forgotten she moved out to her new place on Elm Street and just... thought she was strolling in, strip clothes on floor, clean up the mess in the morning. Bounce onto bed, cuddle body pillow. Just, when said body pillow is me, you can probably imagine my discomfort and complete lack of enthusiasm to make anything of it besides screaming and putting some clothes on." Ravn continues to chuckle. "I mean, I still feel a little bad about the blow to the poor woman's ego."

He nods. "She had a key, though. She was my land lady, of course she had a key."

"Security bar." Perdita says, seriously. "Can't get into a room very easily if there's a solid door and a steel bar across it. Only really works if you're home, of course. I mean... I could probably get in, but most people aren't me. The world wouldn't be able to handle that much perfection." She examines her manicure, buffing her nails against her jacket, then starts laughing.

"Poor things. Both of you. That can't have felt good."

Another lopsided smile dances across Ravn's face as he glances down memory lane. Then he shakes his head. "It was pretty funny. And, Vic never intended to come on to me. She was just honestly god-bloody drunk. She knows about my disability, pretty sure that if she'd actually realised it was me, she'd have been a lot more careful. Then, a couple of weeks later, she ran into Seth Monaghan, and that seems to be working out really well for them both."

He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, shooting Perdita a daring little look. "Tell me when you get one. And I'll meet you in your living room some day when you come home. Because that's a dare if I ever heard one."

Also leaning forward, Dita tilts her head at Ravn. To anyone on the outside, it might look like flirting. Which... okay it's almost flirting, but like... the kind where neither party is going to make anything serious of it. "They only work if you're already home, though, unless you rig some sort of system or use your powers to lower it into place when you leave, then Lift it when you come home." She raises an eyebrow, "But... who am I to turn down a challenge? You leave the Polar Star diamond alone, though."

"Stealing anything wouldn't be the point." Ravn smirks. "I don't use my... shine... a whole lot. It's too unreliable. Not powerful enough, either. Though it does come in handy for things like pressing the button on a magnetic lock on the other side of a glass pane, or lifting a latch, I'll admit."

He straightens up again, and leans back with his glass, trying to catch Davis' eye for another. Yes, same. No, not scotch today, strangely. "The challenge would be the point. That's the backdraw of living somewhere for a longer time. You can't really keep in practise. Neighbours tend to object."

Sometimes. His neighbour in the trailer park was Aidan Kinney and given the two now live at the same address, it can't have been all arguments and chasing off property.

"I... think I'm getting stronger. Which is only mildly terrifying. I try not to use mine, either... but sometimes you need to smack the shit out of goblin toddlers with a Dumpster, right?"

"I'm sorely tempted to find my way into the mansion of some rich racist and rob the bastard blind, just to stay in practice, but..." she shrugs a little, "Been trying to lay low."

The Pourhouse is the GHPD's standard haunt for Friday night beers, and this one's no exception. A small contingent's already set up at the back being characteristically raucous; and when the Chief shows up (late, as usual), a couple of them break out in hoots and hollers.

He, of course, has his priorities straight, and rounds toward the bar first to grab a drink. And spots both Ravn and Perdita on his way over. "Evening," he greets the pair with a twitch of his mouth like he's trying not to bare his teeth at them. Baseball cap, battered leather jacket and snug black jeans. He smells like he just got done smoking a clove cigarette, and has grime under his nails as he raps his fingers on the bartop. "Tequila," of course.

A second beer materialises, no small thanks to Davis the trusty bartender. Ravn cradles it in gloved hands, listening and sympathising more than he wants to admit with that urge to do something he really shouldn't be doing, just to make sure he hasn't forgotten how to do it. "People keep telling me that the longer we stay around here, the more powerful we get. It seems to apply to everyone -- everyone who isn't me, anyhow."

He raises the glass in a salute. "Evening, chief. Feel free to join us if you like -- we're absolutely not planning anything criminal. Breaking into each other's houses isn't criminal." Somebody ought to wipe that cheeky grin off the man's face.

"I've never done anything illegal in my entire life." Perdita responds to Ravn, raising an eyebrow at him in a 'I have no idea what you're talking about' sort of way. Her smile is sweet, angelic even, as she sets about putting away make up from her quick make over at the booth. Between them sits a newspaper with a picture of a smiling, and very busty, Elvira impersonator that bears at least a passing resemblance to Perdita. In the face, anyway. Elsewhere, not so much.

While he's waiting for his drink to arrive, de la Vega turns to give Perdita a little once-over with his eyes. Tonguetip sitting at his lower lip, he pulls away from the bar after a moment, and draws closer. Then reaches for the paper and its picture of.. Elvira? "I'm not on the clock right now," he murmurs, turning the thing over. "So I'll take you at your word for that." That they aren't planning anything criminal, presumably. "What's all this about?" He gestures between the pair with the newspaper, before tossing it down on the tabletop.

"Reporter for the Gazette turned up at HOPE on Halloween. Managed to misunderstand just about everything, largely because her mind was in Everett Woods' pants." Ravn smirks. "It's kind of funny. Also, Perdita did a pretty convincing Elvira. And then we all got assaulted by killer toddler goblins because Gray Harbor, you know?"

He decides against mentioning the patrol officer who drove past and -- kept driving. Can't really blame the guy, after all. He's probably going to live long enough to actually get his pension. "How was Halloween for you folks? Nice and quiet?"

"She was so proud that we're the sort of town where a Latino could become police chief." Perdita tells Ruiz with a 'can you believe this shit?' sort of smile. There's a faint shudder at the mention of the killer toddlers, and she takes a sip of her drink. "Little bastards. I'd hope the rumors about razor blades in candy were true, in their case, but they'd just use them to cut me again."

"Quiet's relative, I suppose," remarks de la Vega. Meaning, presumably, that he's not going to bother bringing up the grisly murder he had to attend to, or the usual run of assaults, thefts and random weird fucking shit that Gray Harbour, well, harbours on any given night.

His drink arrives then, and since the server takes the liberty of setting it on Ravn and Perdita's table, he grudgingly sits down after a moment. "Go fucking figure," he grumbles after taking a sip. "I guess someone made it official at some point, though fuck if I remember it happening." Him being Chief, he means. It doesn't seem to be a joke anymore.

"You've been doing the job for a year anyway, might as well get the name plate on the desk you work from anyhow." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "I ended up buying a house. So did Perdita, it seems. The Roens got pregnant. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop but on the whole, a lot of things seem to have worked themselves out once we stopped staring at them."

He sips his beer. "Congratulations, anyhow. Or my sympathies, depending. Wouldn't take your job if I got paid. I fucking well hope they pay you a small fortune."

"Felicidades." Perdita offers, raising her drink then taking a sip, herself. There wasn't a lot of enthusiasm in that, though there was sympathy, at least. "Somehow I doubt the town can manage the pay required for the bullshit it requires him to deal with." Perdita offers to Ravn with a slight head tilt. Neither of them cause trouble in the town, after all. Don't shit where you eat.

The congratulations being offered has Ruiz giving them both an arch look over his glass, then downing a healthy swallow of the alcohol. "I came here." To Gray Harbour, he probably means. "Intending to retire. This--" He raps on the table with a couple of tattooed fingers. "Is not retiring." A snort, and a glance toward the table of cops, who mostly seem to have forgotten about him for the time being.

"Pay me a fortune? The fuck do you think?" His dark eyes rove back to Ravn. "Town like this is hardly bankrolling six figure paychecks, yeah?"

"I think that there isn't a pay scale that covers the kind of clusterfuck that Gray Harbor tends to be even on a good week." Ravn sips his beer. "Town like this ought to be the occasional domestic, traffic violations, somebody egging Addington House on New Years. Occasionally breaking up some scuffle here at the town's one dive bar, or having to pick up some card shark at the Casino. Town like this ought to be retirement."

He toys with his lighter -- the old zippo with the coat-of-arms on, in the absence of actually getting to light a cigarette. "That's one thing I never understood about Gray Harbor, actually. New bloke in town -- Chris Baxter, the firefighter -- asked me about it the other day and I realised I never worked it out either. Why the hell does anyone build a fancy casino here? There's two wealthy families in town -- the Addingtons and Thorne. One's not interested and the other -- might be, but he can hardly draw that kind of crowd. Why here?"

"It's a beach town. During the summer months, the tourists come for the water. The rest of the year they come, in smaller numbers, for the gambling... plus it's something to do in town that isn't getting wasted at a bar or illegal cage fighting rings or something, I guess." this seems like the kind of town for that, Perdita would guess. "There's not a lot of high rollers, here, but there are a lot of folks who want to go somewhere with a bit of big city glamor and feel like they're in a movie for a night. Something like the casino offers them that, I'd imagine... Plus, hey, instant fortress in the event of a zombie apocalypse." a slight shrug.

Even de la Vega agrees about the, "Tourists," grunted into his tequila. He tacks a wolfish smile on for good measure, and like shit he's going to say anything more on the subject of the casino. Because wasn't there some controversy a few months back, with a police shooting in the underground parking garage there, and.. surely he knows nothing about that. "What makes you think Thorne's not interested, and doesn't know how to play those numbers?"

"I don't know squat about Thorne," Ravn admits readily. "Met the man -- twice, I think? Or I should say, saw him twice, since met implies we had an actual conversation. Served him a drink a few times at the Twofer, too -- same applies. I'm just surprised that this town draws in enough high end tourists for the place to be profitable. But I suppose that a lot of those tourists it draws in do not actually go into town in the first place."

He chuckles. "I have this idea that if we actually had millionaires cruising by every so often to any great extent, the town itself would try harder to draw their attention. But maybe it's the Veil doing its thing again -- after all, some Kennedy clan member gets himself eaten by grues, it'd be difficult to keep quiet."

"I've never met Thorne, but I think a single millionaire would have difficulty sustaining an entire casino." Perdita points out, "You'd have to lose more than you win, and... it's hard to stay a millionaire if you're always losing more than you win." She stretches languidly before finishing off her drink. "I should probably get going, for some reason I don't relish the idea of being out on the streets after dark, tonight."

Ruiz looks up as Perdita says her goodbyes, and lifts his drink slightly in salute. "Nos vemos más tarde," he murmurs, with something approaching an actual smile. Then he collects the glass, winks at Ravn, and pushes to his feet with a grunt. "I should go pay my respects." To the cops, he means. And off he goes.

"I am going to go be an adult and grade thirty-five essays on the early Upper Nile dynasty," Ravn murmurs. "It's very exciting. I know nothing about it." Good thing the man's being paid to help veterans do their research, not to verify what they actually find. An egyptologist might be required.

He gets up as well. "I'll see you both around. And I'll spare either of you my trying to say goodbye in Spanish."