2021-11-16 - Hello Neighbor

There has been a for-sale sign on that neat little mid-70's house for a few weeks now. Long enough for the grass to start to ger overgrown and the bushes to get weedy in their deadish November glory. There's a blanket of crunch leaves everywhere. And today, something new! There's a moving truck and a 2007 gold Toyota camery pulling up to the house and stopping. They all sit in their cars for a moment before two moving men and a white haired woman exit. The men go to the back of the truck and the woman to the front door. New keys - New to Her, are inserted and she disappears inside.

Ravn Abildgaard is not really a very nosy neighbour. In fact, where he grew up -- there are no neighbours, at least not within the kind of distance that necessitates going over to play welcome wagon. This isn't his home in faraway Denmark, though, and he's vaguely aware that it's kind of the polite thing to do in these parts -- Mr and Mr Johnson down the street, for instance, they keep talking about the very nice little welcome to Oak Avenue dinner they had with him and Aidan upon moving in, and really, Ravn wishes he could just remember it.

Anyhow, when in Rome. Or on Oak Avenue.

The Dane equips a thermos bottle of hot coffee and wanders over. And just like always, wearing his usual turtleneck, blazer and jeans combo, all black, always black. Even the small cat that trails curiously after him is black. At least he hasn't dyed his copper blond hair black while he was at it.

He rings the doorbell and exchanges looks with the cat. It is a very silly thing to do. Coffee can be drunk and tuna eaten just as well as home, after all.

Behind Ravn the moving men continue to get out their dollies and prepare for the unloading of the truck. It almost seems like that will take as long as the actual business of unloading. It's like they're paid by the hour or something and if they can go jussstttt over...

Anyway.

To the doorbell ringing there's footsteps inside, the uneven cadence of someone who has a limp, and then Gail shows up in the doorway. The sun is just at that angle where she has to squint up at him. She has wire rimmed glasses on her face that distort her eyes just a bit.

"Well." She's got a voice with just a hint of a rasp in it. Not anything unpleasant, but it shows some wear on the vocal cords. "I thought it would take a bit longer, but no matter, come in, come in." Yes, she is going to turn around and walk in with the expectation that Ravn's just going to do it.

Ravn exchanges a look with his cat. The small, black feline looks up at him with big green eyes that are surprisingly expressive (and what they express is, are you just going to stand there like an idiot, you got us into this, now make good things happen). He doesn't mind getting bossed around. As long as people -- and cats -- are bossing you around, at least they are telling you what they actually want; you don't need to guess -- only to make up your mind whether to comply or not.

He pads after, and as the older woman didn't kick off her shoes, neither does he. (Another cultural dilemma the Dane has never quite managed to get sorted -- when to take your shoes off and when not. It's only simple in Japan).

"I thought I'd come over and see if you need anything," he offers in his pronounced European accent. "Bad time to find out there's no power or the gas is leaking. I brought a thermos of coffee, just in case there's no power or you haven't unpacked anything yet, too."

Only when he does in fact manage to catch up does he stick out a mitt covered in black kidskin -- and a little lumpy, as if there might be bandages or bandaids under the glove. "Hi. Ravn Abildgaard. I'm one of the neighbours. Moved in just a couple of months ago myself, with a friend."

"Oh, no no." Gail replies. They walk through empty rooms - that's what the movers are here to fix - and head towards the kitchen. This is not one of those fancy new open-layout houses. Each room gets its own area, though without furniture they'll ill-defined at the moment. Gail walks with the smallest of limps, but seems spry enough. "You don't wrry about that, but it's kind of you to ask. I have some doughnuts here," this said as she enters the kitchen and the aforementioned donoughts come into new, "and juice. Now."

Gail turns to look Ravn up and down with almost clinical intensity. She clicks her tongue once. "I'd offer a seat - but as you can see, they haven't been brought in yet. No matter, it seems like your feet are working. Just the hands this time?" An eyebrow gets arched upwards. There's something there that just invites him eo keep chatting about himself. She seems to take it in stride that she needs no introduction herself, but not in an arrogant way. Instead it seems as if she just accepts it as fate that he'd knock on her door.

Which is why she's going to get him a nice sugar dusted doughnut no matter if he accepts it or not.

Ravn glances at his hands. "Oh? Oh, yes. I had an accident with a glass table. There may be a little scarring, they tell me, but no permanent damage."

This time. And the woman shines like a lighthouse.

The cat promptly scampers on top of a stack of boxes -- because what cat does not go straight for the highest vantage point. Ravn glances up at her. "I can politely escort my cat back off the premises if you prefer, ma'am. She's a rather bossy little sort. Has friends on the Other Side and doesn't let me forget it."

That's a way to test the waters too, after all.

He doesn't mind standing himself. The thermos bottle goes on the kitchen counter, and powdered sugar goes on the nice black gloves. "Moving in from somewhere else in town, then, or new to Gray Harbor?"

Gail peers upwards through her specticals at the cat, her hands coming her hips. "I raised two girls Madam cat and have lived in this town long before your grandma was your grandma. If you push over my good china your poor friend here will have to find himself a new cat." Once she is sure that the cat understands - not that she thinks the creature will DO IT, does she turn herself around. That kind of answers his question, doesn't it?

"Cats have always had more sense than most. And yes yes, I can see your little shine too. Why else would I have invited you in? " She's just going to cut across all of the nonsense as she goes to putter in the few boxes that must have come before the movers. The very valuable things.

"I'd put you to work, but with those hands of yours you would do more harm than good. I didn't unearth my nice things just to have them broken. What kind of trouble landed you through a glass table? You'll pardon me saying," which is a polite way of being rude, "You don't look much like a man to get into bar fights in places upscale enough to have glass tables."

"And that tells you who's in charge in this house," Ravn says with amusement and looks up at his cat. The feline looks back down with a mix of disbelief and dainty superiority -- and seems to decide to let various pieces of china live (for now). "Her name is Kitty Pryde. She's just an ordinary cat -- but she's got a couple of kittens that have a bit of shine of their own, so don't be too surprised if you see a larger version of her slinking about the neighbourhood. They're all pretty harmless as long as you don't bother them."

Kitty Pryde sniffs. And gets started on investigating everything, as a cat will.

The Dane looks back at Gail, and a lopsided smile finds its way to nest amidst the two-day stubble that passes for his beard. "Are you saying, ma'am, that I look like a man who picks his bar fights in shabbier places?" He shakes his head. "I had a -- not so fortunate experience with a cow. In a restaurant. It was -- really just quite bizarre. Turns out that I probably shouldn't plan on a career as a bull fighter, though. You are a local, then? This place draws people in from all over."

Says the man who certainly doesn't sound like he has a US passport.

"Young man," bet Ravn doesn't get called that much, "I daresay there is little this town can do that would surprise me any more." Gail pulls out a few plates and sets them to one side. They get a critical look and she points a finger at a dusting cloth that was used as protection for the fragile dishware. "You can dust some of this off at least." Said with an imperious manner that just... expects to be obeyed. Why WOULDN'T it be obeyed?

"Yes, born and bred. My dear Rolly, didn't have a lick of the shine, but it made things all the sweeter. Neither of my children either, two girls." Why yes, she is stopping unpacking and is going to unfold some pictures. Congrats Ravn! Meet the Leighs.

One is an older picture, clearly from the 60's or 70's, showing a petite blond woman holding the arm of a smartly dressed army officer. Another, two little girls with bows in their hair, and a third, a cascade of grandchildren. "Poor things couldn't leave Gray Harbor quick enough - not that I blame them now. But staying away just wasn't in my blood. You," turning the conversation about on Ravn in the blink of an eye, "clearly are not between that get-up," yes, the all black clothing, "and that accent. What trouble brought you here?"

The look in her brown eyes is a 'now don't lie to me boy' vibe.

Ravn listens and looks at the pictures not just politely -- he enjoys the normality of it. This is how normal, sane people live, with normal, sane concerns and family that matters. "I think Gray Harbor might be -- a bit of an acquired taste," he allows. "And more so for those who can't quite see what's going on. To them, this place must sometimes be terrifying."

Just like it is to those who can see.

He can't help another smile at the implied 'boy' and at being called 'young man'. It's been a while but he'll cede that Gail is certainly his elder. "I was hitch-hiking from Seattle, headed for Portland. Got into an argument with the driver who tossed me off in Main Street. Figured I'd stay for a week or two, work up some travelling money -- and a month later I'd settled with work, cat, and a boat on the marina. It's been a bit more than a year now and I still haven't gotten around to moving on. Now that I'm living next door with a friend -- Aidan Kinney, you'll like him -- I don't think I'm going anywhere anytime soon. I like it here."

Something about how he says that last part makes Gail smile even wider and she reaches out towards him like she's touch him. A hands-breath away she stops though, and the smile turns into a frown. It hovers there for a moment then she pulls it back. "You've had a bit of a rough go of it, haven't you?" There's a caring sympathy in her expression for whatever her empathy picked up.

She's not one to let that stop things though, and so she turns away again and continues unpacking the china. "I have five years of two talk to catch up on. Tell me - how long have you been here?"

Ravn steels himself for a touch which then does not in fact happen -- much to his relief. "I have a nerve disorder. It is -- inconvenient at times. Makes being close to people a little complicated, yes."

He's happy enough to grab a dish towel to help wipe dust from whatever gets unpacked, though -- carefully, and it seems that in spite of the gloves, he's not the type that keeps dropping things. Might be that little bit of shine does something after all. "I came into town in late August a year ago. It's been a wild ride, not going to lie -- I used to think that doing the things I did was pretty much me and Uri Geller, and they exposed him for a fraud. Come into Gray Harbor, find out that as supernatural abilities go, I'm a hopeless amateur. The things some people here can do are amazing."

He's definitely not reached the point of running away yet. At this rate, probably going to be eaten by gremlins before his 35th birthday, the sod.

"At times my Ronny," That's a phrase she'll probably say a lot, "would laugh and say how it seemed like I had magic the way I could tell how he was feeling." See, that's a old person smirk, it's more like a smile, but still. Because she could and it wasn't... exactly... magic as he thought of it.

"With great power usually comes an early death unfortunately. I learned very quickly I was that my particular skills would help me avoid detection and to use them sparingly," and she fixes him with a serious side glance, "Which you do also, yes? It's not a toy like so many younglings think."

"I don't have much power in the first place," Ravn replies readily enough, and from the tone of his voice he's not filing any complaints; it's just what it is -- some people get gifted / burdened with oodles of firepower, others get off with less juice and less responsibility. "But if you ever need a hazelnut stolen from under a cup, I'm your man."

He chuckles. "My room mate is considerably more gifted. He heals -- and quite well, at that. Can set things on fire if necessary as well. Truth to tell, the things I've seen in this town defy common sense. But then, so does what the Veil throws at us. I'm surprised that someone who actually managed to get away makes a choice to come back, but I don't blame you. I went home to Denmark last Christmas just to see if I could -- and the only thing I could think of there was how to get the hell back here where I belong."

That is where Granny looks purposefully at Ravn's hands and arches an eyebrow up in an unspoken question of, 'why aren't you letting that healer heal you then?' Ravn's common sense in Granny's mind is in FLUX right now.

But that's something to go unsaid to preserve some bit of his personal privacy. Instead, "It gets easier once you have a possy of grandchildren to whom the world is a bright and shining place to be. If you don't have yourself a nice partner, from the way you say it I don't take it this Aiden is that kind of partner, then I suggest children post-haste, even if they are just strays." TAKE SOME LIFE ADVICE RAVN. "You'll never get lost in the dark with innocence about you."

Ravn laughs softly. "No -- we are room mates. Kinney has a girlfriend who lives in England -- she comes over every so often but she doesn't stay long. I am seeing a local girl -- who has her own place. It might be a little early to start talking about children, though; we're still early enough in the whole process that neither of us has met the other's family yet."

"Meow," says Kitty Pryde from atop a kitchen counter. Maybe there are enough things to take care of in this household as far as she is concerned. Maybe she thinks she's got babies enough, thanks.

The Dane looks at his hand and picks up another mug that needs wiped down from the trip. "Hyacinth can do a thing -- a shine thing -- that shuts the mixed nerve signals up for a while. But there doesn't seem to be a permanent fix. It's not a big deal -- I've lived with it for thirty-one years, I figure I can manage another thirty. What made you decide to come back? This place truly is the Hotel California, isn't it? You get to escape for a while but..."

"Never to early. If my Ronny hadn't had to serve in that war," Gail shakes her head slowly. It doesn't take a thin spot in the veil to make atrocities happen.

The meow has her glancing up at the cat. "Madame Pryde, none of that sass from you now. You brought those younglings into the world, you aren't giving them back now, no matter how gray they might turn your fur. You could have picked a nice tomcat and saved yourself a and this young man a spot of trouble."

The last of the dishes are unpacked even as the sounds of the men moving things shifts from the living room to another room. "Excellent, come with me Mr. Abildgaard. Broken hands or not your hips can move furniture as well as mine." Probably better. She's as lively as one could wish but age does bring a certain amount of thinning to one's bones.

As they walk she answers his question, "My daughters had started to forget their independence with a babysitter about all the time. I didn't raise them like that and I won't enable it. I'll be happy to visit or have the children here, but they need to solve their own problems."

"Ravn is fine, ma'am." The Dane gets up to help. "It's just cuts and scrapes -- nothing broken."

"Meow," says the cat and disappears down behind a kitchen counter. If there were ever mice down there -- well, there'll be fewer mice now. Ravn glances after her and chuckles at the little pep talk the feline gets to take with her. "Her kittens are all over town now," he says, smiling. "August Roen has three. Dahlia Evergreen has three. And three went back into the Veil -- those are the shiny ones that we sometimes see, along with... Hell, it's complicated. The Veil essentially created a copy of her, that we call the Uncat. It's larger but it's the same cat except, well, it's obviously not. About the size of a bobcat. Doesn't do anything if you don't bother her, though."

He should know. The damn thing turns up to check on its not-shiny sister slash original often enough, and demands sacrifices of tuna for doing so.

"I take it your daughters aren't planning to move back, then." There's a bit of relief in Ravn's voice at that. Much as he likes the town -- he can't really argue that it's no place for people who can't defend themselves at all. He's seen how little some Veil creatures care about casualties. He's seen the police statistics that ought to have the FBI arriving in droves -- though as far as he's aware, the FBI never ever even looked twice in this direction.

"No, bless them. Alas, California and the excesses of modern living have snared some of their good sense." Who even says that? Gail replies, pointing at one side of the sofa and then the corner where she wants it to be tucked. She sure is a bossy old lady.

"Of course it doesn't - the veil cat. Why would it, when it is getting what it wishes of you as it is? "

"Now there are a few names that I recall." Leaving vagueness which ones and easily enough to pretend was never said at a later date, "Good to see that not all of the children up and left. I always had a soft spot for the ones like you. Throw in hormones and, well. You understand." Does Ravn feel like a teenager yet?

Ravn laughs; he's got a quiet laugh -- a quiet everything, really. Some people just don't make a lot of noise or draw a lot of attention. If he didn't dress the way he does, he'd probably turn invisible. "Not everyone's quite ready to accept the idea of cats with the shine. I think Roen's three act pretty much like you'd expect from cats. Evergreen's are -- how to put it, they try very hard to be cats but they have little accidents where they forget that normal cats can't open tins or chew through doors."

He doesn't feel particularly called out. As troublemakers out for romantic conquest go, he's practically a monk. His girlfriend certainly doesn't need to worry about competition.

"Aidan and I are both musicians," the Dane says thoughtfully while helping get the sofa in place and in order. "He plays the drums and the mandolin -- I play the violin a little. We've done our best to sound proof the garage but if you hear sounds of cats being tortured, I apologise in advance."

Ravn'll find himself pointed at various pieces of floral themed furniture until she's satisfied with the way they sit in the light. She bustles about like a woman half her age, quite happy with the future area of domestic bliss she is setting up for herself. "Stay in Gray Harbor long enough and they'll learn. A cat who can open their own tin seems like a blessing."

Gail seems quite fond of creatures who take care of themselves.

"Well, boys must have their hobbies. I bring you some cookies." The way her wrinkles tilt hint that she's probably doing it to get them to stop making noises. But they also get cookies - so it'll be a win-win in the end.

Ravn may have decided that this is in fact an acceptable trade-off; at least he doesn't argue the point. He is in fact a highly skilled violinist, something which will be difficult to conceal from a neighbour for long -- but no matter how skilled the violinist, the sound of someone practising the same piece for the fourth time that day gets on the nerves, whether it's Twinkle Twinkle Little Star or one of Brahm's concertos. Gail has no way to know, but she's about to join the very small and exclusive club of people in Gray Harbor who know to roll their eyes and scoff when Ravn describes his skill with the instrument as 'I play a little'. The other members are Aidan Kinney, Itzhak Rosencrantz, and the family on the other side of the boys' house, all of whom fortunately seem to be tone deaf.

"You'll definitely win Aidan's heart that way," he says with a small grin. "And you should -- there's nothing that man can't repair. He tells a thing to work, it goes on working until the world comes to an end."

"Good. If my daughters had let me call someone like him when I fell and broke my hip a lot of heartache could have been avoided." That's said in extreme exasperation as she steps back to examine where and how Ravn has finally positioned the furniture. It seems to meet whatever bar she has set because she nods and begins opening boxes. Granny's dangerous with a box cutter, yo.

"Now, I'm sure you have better things to do then watch me unpack. Are you and this Aiden getting a good dinner? It is much harder to cook for one than for many. You tell him he is welcome to come over any time. There will always be something." Ravn's all wrapped up in that invitation also.

"It's pretty amazing what the shiny healers can do," Ravn agrees and stays well out of knife range. "I was at the garden expo when the shootings went down, and I wouldn't be having this conversation if not for a couple of them."

That one made press, also out of town; and why not? For once the Veil was not involved, and there was nothing supernatural to edit out of reality or keep a lid on. Just mobsters from out of town trying to take out local police and local 'businessmen' at a garden expo full of hapless bystanders, several of whom got severely ventilated in the process. Ravn must have been one of them. The bystanders that is -- presumably.

He looks around for the cat; heaven only knows what box she's gotten herself into. "Aidan's a decent cook. Me, I'm a disaster in a kitchen. I can burn water without even trying."

"........" That's some pointed silence from Granny Gail before she sighs and shakes her head. "All we can do is love them, and hope they will find a better way." Granny believes in the goodness of the human condition. BELIEVES.

"Well then perhaps we will get you some lessons. Young men are always hungry, being able to cook is a skill for life, not just for enjoyment." Granny turns and holds up the boxcutter like it's a finger to waggle at him. "Tell me about your other friends. Perhaps I know some of them. Or," repentance here, "their parents."

"I probably should learn eventually," the Dane agrees, amused. Thirty-one years old and still unable to cook more than a pot of pasta with ketchup. Then he cants his head (and pretends he doesn't feel that box cutter is too close to his face) and smiles a little. "Let's see -- I think most of my friends are people from out of town, people who were drawn here much like myself. I know Alexander Clayton -- the investigator. He's definitely a local boy. Kinney's local -- sort of. Grant Baxter you might recognise though he'll have been a child when you moved away. Hyacinth Addington is certainly a local girl. The Evergreens and Conner Hawthorne are locals too, I think."

He counts on his fingers. So many of his usual hang-abouts are in fact not locals -- they've just been here longer than him. And by now, in many cases, not even that. Gray Harbor does seem to go through shiny people at a steady rate.

"... Clayton... Clayton... Clayton..." The first name gets Gail's attention, stokes of the box cutter in line with the words. "<insert appropriate IC names here>,'s son? " She's going to answer her own question as she moves on. "If it is who I remember that poor boy never had an easy time of it. Had his own shine to him but his parents," she tisks softly and shakes her head. "They never could deal with him. I suppose he must be doing better if he is not in jail or an asylum by now."

She turns her gaze onto Ravn and arches an eyebrow. "OR is ti still only a matter of time?"

"I get along just fine with Clayton," Ravn replies quite earnestly. "He does keep telling me that people find him annoying and blunt. It just so happens that I like it when people are up front and get straight to the point. He's certainly extremely knowledgeable about the town's history, and seeing as that I am a historian -- well, it's no wonder we have a lot to talk about. He specialises in criminal history and forensics, and I do myths and folklore -- so we both have a lot to keep us busy around here. His girlfriend, Isabella, is a Baxter too -- but I've only met her once or twice, can't really tell you much about her but that she's some kind of archaeologist."

"He had a troubled boyhood." Gail confirms about Alexander, the pity in her expression as clear as daylight. "But, it is good to know he has had friends - and a girl friend at that. Just shows that there can be good from any situation."

The latest box when opened is full of packing peanuts and Gail sets aside the box cutter to start taking out pictures. Why yes, Ravn gets informed about who is in every single one of them. Less he begin to doubt Gail's Gray Harbor bonifieds, there is her proof in black and white, grainy color, and progressively improved photographic technology. The high school, churches about town - all the memories of a life well spent.

Born of a family that might subject you to a walk through the ancestral gallery, complete with a speech about each pompous looking, wig-wearing, sword-sporting peacock on the wall, Ravn is both accustomed to the idea -- and doesn't mind. For one, these are people are still alive -- or who were at least alive within somebody's living memory. Moreover, they are getting praised for such real things as being friends and family -- rather than having built this house or fought in that war that no one but historians like himself even cares to remember.

"Clayton told me once that as a boy, his toys would come alive at night and try to eat him," he agrees. "If that's not enough to make a kid a slight bit unsettled, I don't know what is. I used to think my childhood was strange but really -- growing up in a haunted house is nothing compared to this town. At least our ghosts never did anything, and I was certainly never scared of them."

"That would make any child have difficulties." The amount of pity coloring Gail's words is clear to any but the most colorblind out there. She sighs and continues puttering about - until she seesmt o catch realization of how LONG she has kept the Dane puttering about her house.

Full shoo mode gets activated. "Now that's enough listening to an old woman ruminate on life. I am sure you have work to be at adn things to do, and I have a house to unpack. Shoo, shoo." She'll herd Ravn bacck to the doorway. "Do tell your friends I am back in town though, it is good to be home." Shoo Ravn, shooo!