2021-12-01 - What the hell

Someone tell Isi it isn't polite to yell when a guest in someone else's house.

"WHAT THE FUCK DE LA VEGA?!"

She is sitting on the sofa, half prepared to go back to her own place with a couple days old newspaper in her hands she was using as stuffing.

The clanking sound from the other end of the coffee table is Kitty Pryde looking up, startled, and deciding to get even by batting Ravn's empty coffee mug off the table before departing the premises in an insulted huff. If there's one thing this little black cat has in spades it's attitude -- and a dedicated manservant with a European accent.

"Did you have to," Ravn murmurs -- at either -- and goes to fetch a paper towel to wipe the few spilled drops off the floor. "Yeah, I heard. I plan to go ask him about it. There are a couple of things I need to talk to him about anyhow. Have been kind of putting it off because the man's always busy and to be honest, he intimidates me a little."

Isi's player doesn't feel like writing out the rant she goes into but it entails:

1) multiple uses of the word 'mother fucking bastard'
2) 'Corrupt mother fucker'
3) Untrustworthy son of a bitch

And more along that vein, ending with, "trusted him and now I know he is one of them. Fuck me."

Her cheeks are nice and red as she ends said rant.

"Not really." Ravn picks his (plastic, fortunately) mug back up and puts it on the table before sitting back down. "You know that it might be mundane politics. Whether something's going on that needs a diversion, like your murderous contractor buddies, or someone has their panties in a twist that they made a Mexican Chief of Police. A lot of people have serious issues with that -- just because the shiny people in Gray Harbor stick together doesn't mean the rest of the town isn't luminescent white and the only reliable POC is the yellow kid who fixes your laptop."

He stretches his legs. "Other reason might be the Veil. Man's deeply inconvenient to the dolorphages. Wouldn't be the first time they've tried to take him out, they're just using a different approach than usual. Either way, this is par for the course in this town. When one man in a key position suddenly gets targeted for reasons no one really can put a finger on or saw coming? Do some fact checking first."

Isi teeters between wanting to continue to turn de la Vega's name into creative swears, and letting Ravn's all too reasonable answer steer her otherwise.

Middle course - do a little of BOTH!

"Can you give me a reason to believe that fucker de la Vega is NOT corrupt as hell in his own right? " Stare down RAvn as a challenge.

God, she's such a terrible house guest.

"Nope. I'm sure he's as dirty as any other cop. I know he's bent rules a few times that I've seen. But what I do know? He's on Team Humanity. And in this town? That's all I care about." Ravn hitches a shoulder lightly, and smiles. "You know I used to be a thief, right? A lot of people here have the kind of history that you'd steer clear of, somewhere else. Here, though? It's us against them. And I will take a bullet for any man who's firmly on the right team. And in de la Vega's case, I have."

"Just in case you forgot," and Isi will wiggle her healing arm to emphasis this, "It's team fucking humanity that tried to kill me." She's not particularly inclined to be nice just because someone doesn't have the Veil pulling the strings behind them.

She exhales hard and moves to step away and go back to one arm-d gather the few things she bought. "Thanks for the couch." It's a rough kind of thanks, tinged about with sparkles of bitterness.

"Yeah, same." Ravn taps his chest; presumably there's a bullet scar under that shirt somewhere. "Gangsters from a Mexican cartel. Sniper, didn't get the memo he was supposed to aim at the short Mexican guy, shot me instead. Look, people suck. Not going to pretend that they don't. But the Veil creatures suck even more, and we're kind of stuck with one another."

He gets to his feet. "You need me to take you back to your place? You know you're allowed to stay here even if you think de la Vega's a dick."

Isi glances up, at him. "At least I can assume the Veil creatures are all evil." Isi says, some of the heat bleeding out of her words. "People don't come with that assumption. I trust the wrong prick, like Emil, and I end up even more fucked up than if I kept quiet."

Ravn's laundry facilities have been used, so Isi's back in the clothing she arrived in. A bit rumpled, but more or less clean. "I'll say one thing - fuck doing the right thing from now on. I'm keeping my fucking mouth shut."

"Well, actually," Ravn murmurs, in a tone that hints he knows exactly how annoying any statement opened with those words is going to be. "No. But you can assume that they very likely want you to be miserable or to use your shine, because they feed on either. Or that they are so far removed from humanity that you'll likely never know what their agenda is, anyway. There are people over there who I am told used to be human -- I've met a few. The Revisionist -- seems to try to make our lives more interesting by trying to rewrite them into daytime TV drama. The Exorcist -- deals with errant ghosts and spirits, and last I saw her, she table flipped and rage quit. And one we don't have a name for yet, but you've met her -- at least I think it's a her. The teenager who tells strange stories and sometimes breaks the fourth walls in our heads while she does. We don't know that those are hostile, but we do know that they sure as hell have their own agenda."

The ~glare~ that Ravn gets is a pure agreement that yes, that was fucking annoying, and that at right now she is so far beyond caring about nuance to even find it somewhere on the map titled "Things Isi Is Willing To Think Rationally About Right Now."

While Ravn may apparently occasionally be the Well Actually guy, at least he's not also the guy who won't let the subject matter drop until someone tells him he's right just to shut him up. He knows he's seeded names and thoughts; they will mature in time. If Isi ever needs or wants to know more, she will ask. And in this, at least, he is less persistently annoying than most Well Actually guys.

"You don't have to pack up and leave right this instant," he says instead. "Let me get you a beer. Then we can swear and be mean about mutual acquaintances until you feel better, and then you can go home. I'm not about to tell you what to do. You see something like that Kovacs guy again and decide to keep quiet, your choice. I used to pick pockets for a living, I'm sure as hell not going to give you a sermon on ethics."

Everything about this has given Isi a headache. Emotions do this, and damn it, her am hurts this morning. OTC meds only do so much.

Her resistance bubbles away in the face of his kindness. She just... deflates. "Sure, why not... it's not like I have groceries anyway."

A couple of beers are fetched from the fridge; Ravn carries one, and the other floats in the air next to it because he doesn't really care whether Isi can tell he's got at least a bit of supernatural juice of his own. Maybe he's trying to make a point. More likely it's just that he's at home and relaxed, and doesn't care about maintaining the facade of normalcy. No one in this household is normal anyhow, down to and including the cat who regularly disappears into the Veil to go adventuring with her lynx-sized, otherwise identical clone, the Uncat.

He passes the can in his hand over and settles back down, crossing one leg over the other. The other pops itself open and floats into his hand; long fingers curl around it. "You're on Elm Street, yeah? I seem to remember something about that. I haven't seen your place, but unless it's dramatically different from the rest of what's for sale there, it could use some love. Which is not easy with a broken arm so -- maybe before I let you pack up and run away, we should talk about what you need. Whether it's someone to bring over food you can just nuke, or help repairing a broken window."

Isi should be getting MORE desensitized to special-ness, not less, but the way she flinches away from that floating beer hints that it simply isn't so. Thankfully he gives her the not-special one. Special is rapidly becoming associated with bad in her mind.

She takes the beer he offers though and sits down on the other side of the sofa. "The landlord will fix the window eventually." It's the tired refrain of a forever-renter. Super clear lines about what is and is not your responsibility get drawn or one is always destined to bitterness. "I can get by - it's not that big of a deal. Honestly - I just want to be alone now." So alone that she's accepting his beer and company.

"Look," Ravn says and leans forward on his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm not a white knight, okay? I don't think I can save the world, or even all of this town, or even most of this town. So I don't try. I focus on the people who are right in front of me. Might not always be the ones who need to be saved the most, and sometimes they'd rather I fuck off. But they're the ones I can relate to, so they're the ones I care about. I'm not trying to take over your life or put you in some fucked-up debt of gratitude, and I'm sure as hell not hitting on you in some kind of round-about way. I'll come over sometime with a bag of tools and we can see what's worth trying to fix, and send your landlord a sternly written note about the rest -- I already pay a paralegal, it's no sacrifice on my behalf to have her write more grumpy letters."

He holds up a hand to stave off objections, at least for a moment longer. "And now you're going to tell me you don't need some well-to-do white guy to come run your life, and you're right. You don't. What you got is me helping you today, and some other day you get to help me. Favours, between friends. Not obligations."

"You vastly over estimate how sexy you think the scholar-in-black trope is if you think I'd wonder if you were hitting on me right now," Isi rejoins, still scowling down at her beer. How drunk does she want to get to make ~everything~ just happily go away right now? A curl of her lip - it would probably take too much and the hangover would be terrible.

"That's not how thing...... work. Not in the real world. Maybe in whatever European castle... bungalow, box, whatever you people live in there that's how it works but not here." She runs an agitated hand through her hair, frustrated.

"Oh, you'd be surprised how often I end up having to make it clear to some woman or teenage girl I'm not creeping on her," Ravn says casually, and sips his beer. "Not entirely without reason, either; a lot of guys think being decent entitles them one of those 'be nice six times and you get laid' punching cards, like a free coffee at Starbucks. And yeah, that is how the world works. You're on your fucking own, no one gives a shit, the only one who's going to watch your back is you. I've lived enough on the streets to know how that works."

He looks up. "I just refuse to accept it. If that makes me an idiot? I'll be an idiot. Who lives in a castle, technically, yes."

"Wear some fucking color, and point me at those assholes." Isi has zero problem taking them down a few notches on what they think their masculinity will get them. She'll lapse into silence, her own stubborn refusal to believe what Ravn's saying written over the way her shoulders hunch inwards and her head stays down.

"How about I don't take orders on my fashion choices from anyone, and we move this conversation on?" Ravn can't help laugh. "Look, I get it. You hate -- my gender, my style, my voice, my dog, and the horse I rode into town on. It's fine. You're not required to like me. Just be prepared to shove some of that attitude up the backside of Veil monsters, and I'm perfectly happy."

"I don't hate men - I just don't fucking want saved." Isi snaps back, but then pulls herself back from the angry retort and closes her eyes. That rhythmic breathing can ~only~ be the sign of someone who's been taught to breathe and count to try to get one's emotions under control. Only once she's done it a half doesn't times does she open them again to fix her gaze on Ravn.

"I don't hate men. In fact, I like them. And women. But I don't want to be a.... a project. I hate leaning on anyone besides myself. You, Perdita, Alexander fucking Clayton - even Javier Ruiz de la Vega. I let myself lean on each of you and I hate it. I can't.... give back. I can't..." But no, time to stop, and breathe some more.

"And if you'll pardon my French -- why the fuck not?" Ravn quirks an eyebrow and then sips his beer. "That, and why the fuck do you think what we do is your problem? Some guy thinks you owe him because he decided to help you out? Gifts don't work like that. Take what's offered or leave it, you don't owe anyone jack all unless you made some kind of agreement to do so."

Eyebrow ARCH. Like ISI of all people is going to mind someone swearing. Shall we count how many times she's dropped an f-bomb in this conversation alone? It's 12, but that's only because the player didn't write out her entire rant earlier.

"You don't get it." And Isi is drained of every bit of her will to fight. There's still quite a bit of beer in that can and she doesn't finish it. Instead she rises to her feet. "Thank you for letting me stay - but I should go. I do appreciate it I just - I need to be on my own."

"No, I don't get it." Ravn gets up as well and puts his also not empty can down for later disposal. "But I don't need to. You don't owe me fuck all, Isi Cameron. Need a couch another time, hit me up. I'll do the same if I need to."

If there are other things he'd like to say, he decides against. He's not Isi's confessor, nor her father. A lot of the time, the Dane reflects, trying to be a decent human being is like putting out milk for stray cats. Some of them purr at you, some of them try to claw you.