2021-12-10 - Welcome to weirdo-ville

Tyler has just been handed his eggnog latte (which they JUST started serving) and he makes his way to a table. He's just gotten off a long shift, so he's still wearing his Gray Harbor Fire Department jacket. Sitting, he rubs his eyes and then takes a moment to just settle and be still.

Finch wanders in, wearing her "Out on a Limb" work coveralls, clearly on a break between calls. Winter is always super busy for the company, as ice tends to fell a lot of weak branches, or finally wake property owners up to how their now leafless trees are leaning a bit too much towards their house for comfort. Folks are more worried about such things since the summer storm of the century.

The brunette has her hair in a ponytail, and goggles which she uses in lieu of safety glasses perched atop her head. She grins at Della, the day manager, who knows her and the rest of August's employees all too well, as his wife is the shop owner. Even if that weren't the case, her father, the erstwhile chief of police, is in here plenty. She orders a ridiculously sweet, sticky, frothy concoction with a chocolate chip muffin and waits near the pickup area. Tyler gets a nod of hello.

Is December, in Washington State, a good time to move to a new place? Look, sometimes it is. Sometimes, maybe not. If the day a person arrives in a new town is 'day one', this is day two, for Una: and that means coming out in search of coffee. She tugs her scarf tighter as she enters, a few steps behind Finch, as if using it (the scarf, that is) as a defence mechanism against strange town-folk, but lifts her chin up towards the heat (even if that means blocking the doorway). She's pink-cheeked and a little damp; likely, she's been outside for some time already.

Black leather jacket, black jeans, black motorcycle helmet under one arm, black gloves -- the tall copper blond who strolls in has a theme going for him. Ravn Abildgaard heads straight for the counter and places an order for a coffee, straight, black with one of the young barristas. He half-turns to look for familiar faces and -- realises that the barrista somehow replaced herself with Della the Day Manager, and yes, he's being served a pumpkin spice abomination that no doubt was invented just for him.

The sigh is epic. "You hate me." He still takes it, though, before raising a gloved hand in a lazy wave to Finch. Tyler is not a familiar face but he gets a friendly nod too because it's generally a really good idea to be nice to the guys who put out fires, particularly in this town.

Tyler takes a drink of his latte, and he returns a little smile to all the new folks. This place was dead when he got here, and suddenly it's hopping. He leans back a little, trying to seem a bit more open to interaction as he makes some eye contact with the other customers. He smirks at Ravn's remark about the barista hating him and asks, "They give you decaf?"

Admittedly, townfolk don't get much stranger than Finch. Eventually Una is bound to hear all the gossip about her family and the hereditary CRAZY that runs in it. Her mother and great aunt are both in the loony bin. Ravn gets a return grin from her. "Hey, oh man, Della is still punking you with your orders, hm? I think that means she really likes you," she jests to the Dane. She claims her order and looks over the new arrival. Not seen her before.

"Hey," she greets Una, almost apologetically. Frankly, anyone winding up in Gray Harbor kind of deserves a pre-emptive apology for all the crap the town is bound to throw their way. She heads to Tyler's table, beckoning Una and Ravn to join, because she's the opposite of shy.

People are blocking the doorway, and here comes Jules barreling in from the cold and the wet, black hat pulled down low and blue puffy jacket up to her ears. She runs smack-dab into Una with an indelicate squawk, trying to side-step while simulatenously trying to get out a "Sorry! Sorry!"

"Uh," begins Una. "Hey?" She might say more-- honestly, being actually addressed by someone (that is to say, Finch) has probably made Una's day-- but then there's Jules, whose forward locomotion jolts the brunette, and has her letting out a squeal of her own. "My fault, my fault!" True. At least it means she moves out of the way, heading to make her order (coffee, nothing fancy) while still keeping her eye on that cluster she's been invited into; there's something warm and fuzzy about that. To Jules; "Sorry!"

"Worse," Ravn tells Tyler with an ominous look at his dessert in a cup; there probably is coffee in it -- below everything else. "All I ever wanted was black coffee. All I ever get is syrup, almonds, whipped cream, sprinkles, white chocolate, you name it. Protip: Never get in a fight with the manager."

He's got an accent that isn't quite British -- close, but not quite managing it -- and a friendly, lopsided smile which he's generous enough with as he sidles over to the table, happy enough to get dragged in to the welcome wagon. The motorcycle helmet is hung on the chair and he flops himself down bonelessly. "Hi," he tells no one and everyone. "Ravn Abildgaard, resident history geek."

Tyler lifts his brow a little, watching Ravn closely as the man settles. "Keep your friends close, but your baristas closer," he notes, nodding with a boyish smile. He glances at the others then returns his gaze to Ravn, since he introduced himself. "Tyler Wellington," he returns with an interested grin. "Local history or like, Messy Potato Men world history?"

"Oh, shit," is the inevitable follow-up to all the "Sorry"s. Jules catches herself, regains her footing, and turns to share an apologetic, sheepish smile with Una. "Nah, I didn't see you, my bad." She pulls off the hat, wet as it is, and runs fingers through her hair. Jules ends up following Una a step towards that table with the others, embarrassed smile still in place. Then, "Are you Una? You said you had red hair--"

"How is life in the GHFD?" Finch asks Tyler as she sips her gingerbread latte thing with gusto. She slides into a seat at his table without ceremony or invitation. She shoulder bumps Ravn gently. "And don't forget tireless runner of the HOPE center here in town." She has to sell that, since it is Ignacio's project. She smiles to Una and Jules.

"Finch Celaeno...er...de la Vega." She's still getting used to using her father's last name since she made it official a while back. "No one important, unless you need tree trimming done."

Having yet to have time to piss anyone off, Una gets the coffee she's after, and: "Oh! You must be Jules." She doesn't move to sit, but at least she'll stand near that table, because with this many people around, the likelihood of meeting her demise at the hands of an unknown person off the internet is surely significantly lower. "Una," she confirms, voice pitched to carry just a little further than merely to Jules. "New in town."

"Used to be world history, specialising in the early industrial age of Scandinavia but then this place happened to me, and well." Ravn's little lopsided smile stretches a bit wider; anyone who's been around this town for a bit might recognise that need to find out what the hell is going on around here and why.

He keeps a straight face when Finch bumps his shoulder, but nonetheless shifts a bit, trying to get a few more inches of distance. Maybe he doesn't like her deodorant. Or maybe it's just that he can't help pick up a few words of the conversation happening right there; the folklorist turns around and glances at both women. "Welcome to Gray Harbor," he tells them both. Because oh boy, are they in for a ride and there's only one way to find out if anyone told them so yet.

"Yeah, that's me, I'm Jules. Hi. Sorry again." The words all come out in a bit of a rush, and if the young woman didn't look embarrassed before, she sure does now. "I'll just -- go get a coffee, if you don't mind? I'll be right back." First, though, she pauses to scan the others present, gaze settling on Ravn given his welcome. "Thanks," says Jules, and this time when she smiles it's a little less flustered, a little more composed. "Be right back," she repeats, scooting off to order.

Tyler shrugs Finch's direction. "Same as always, I suppose. Stuff burns around here." He nods to Ravn, "So, it's local history now then? Since this place... happened to you?" To the newcomers, he agrees to Ravn's welcome. "Home of champions. Or, something." He rolls his eyes, and then takes a drink of his coffee.

"Newly arrived?" Finch asks the two unfamiliar faces. There is a shadow of concern that passes over her features. Or is it pity? "Welcome to Gray Harbor. Has anyone given you the welcome speech yet?" The one that consists mostly of places to avoid at all costs, and where you can find help for the things that will inevitably happen to you.

Una's glance after Jules is more appraising than approving, brows raising in a gesture that screams of dubiousness. Still, long fingers wrap more carefully about the mug she's claimed, and Una, shoulders back and chin held high, turns her attention back to the others. There are so many things to respond to-- in the end, the young woman chooses the most recently: "The welcome speech?" This, it seems, will have to do as confirmation of her status - as if her unfamiliar face weren't enough already.

"Mostly local history now," Ravn murmurs and makes to sip his coffee before he remembers what he was given and absolutely doesn't. Then he glances at both women again, and for a moment one could get the impression he's checking them out -- rude bugger.

Then he nods. "This town has a bit of a history. It can be a little -- intense. Tell you what, no one believes this spiel at first anyhow, some weirdass stranger trying to impress them with a wild story."

He picks up a teaspoon from the table and tosses it at Una. "Catch."

Only, that's going to be more 'pick it out of the air' because the thing stops in front of her, and just -- floats there.

Jules orders quick: black coffee, no fuss. While she waits, she half-turns back towards the table, keeping an ear to their conversation. Once she collects her coffee, she returns at a more measured pace. "Yeah," she says, confirming her new-to-town status, and starts to say, "From--" Except that's cut off thanks to the trick with the spoon. "Aww, /fuck./" Out comes the expletive. Except it's less surprised and more...pissed?

Tyler lifts his brow at Ravn's display. He tilts his head a little, and watches the spoon with a bit of interest. He doesn't say anything, just watching.

"The welcome speech," Finch confirms. "Things like, this place has the best coffee, Two if By Sea's loaded tater tots are glorious, the Safeway isn't worth memorizing the aisles of, they'll change every time, Coach Kelly is awesome." That sounds nice!

"And also things like, don't go anywhere near the lumbermill, don't go into the Firefly Forest alone, stay clear of Gray Pond, avoid the carousel in the park." Well THAT doesn't sound very welcoming. "If you need...unusual help," she gestures at the floating spoon, "people can be found at the HOPE Center that specialize in dealing with it." She looks utterly nonplussed about it and oddly, most of the customers don't seem to even notice it's happening, except those it's directed at, and those that Glimmer. As far as that goes, Finch herself glows like the sun at high noon, radiating power of many flavors.

Una's eyes go wide. Not in a 'whoa, what the fuck, I've never seen anything like that' kind of way; more of a 'oh, shit, so that's a thing here?'. She pauses, and then one hand lifts from the coffee she's warming her hands around, and she plucks the teaspoon from the air. And; "I /knew/ it." Vindication! Dark eyes lift to glance from one person to the next, one after another, appraising them each in turn. "You're all..." Jules, too. The teaspoon gets dunked into her coffee, almost (but not quite) blase.

"Welcome to Gray Harbor," Ravn repeats, and offers that little lopsided smile again. "Sorry. It's just -- no one sane listens to some stranger talking about this stuff. At best they think you're crazy, at worst they think you're a crazy axe murderer. Just tossing it out there saves a lot of time. A lot of people here are -- like that, yes. Some more than others."

Next to Finch, for example, he's an almost dead AA battery next to a nuclear reactor.

Jules, too. It's there on her, that buzz or glow or what-have-you, faint but pulsing brighter as she sees and stares at the spoon. Una's spoon, now. She's silent a good long moment, expression suddenly intent as she considers each person in turn, eyes narrowed. Una last but not least. "Great," she says, somewhere between sarcastic and resigned. "Cool. That's awesome. What's wrong with the forest?"

Tyler just continues to watch all of this. He hides his silence behind his cup, which he leaves hovering by his lips.

"This place draws people like us. And it tends to keep us here by any means possible. So, if you want out, now is the time to get out, before it gets its hooks in too deep," Finch murmurs quietly. "I've been here all my life, I've seen a lot." So very, very much. "It's a thin spot, so to speak. A lot of things Happen here. Most of the time, the only way out is through." That should really be the motto on the welcome sign.

The Forest. Finch grimaces at Jules. "Again, thin spot. Things tend to cross over from the other side. A lot of the time it happens in those woods. The Sawmill is there and it was a bad place historically. A very bad place. The things it attracts tend to be dangerous." Nevermind, one of those dangerous things is now her Veil familiar. Clever Girl is just misunderstood!

"My mom... she said I was crazy, even though she glows too." 'Glows' comes with a frown, and a wave of one hand; not a perfect descriptor. Una hesitates, though, before saying anything further: her eyes have gone a bit wide, and her vindication is muted. "No wonder she left. If it's that... Well." Her breath sucks in. "But we're safe, right? Just being here. Normal. I mean, as close to normal as... normal."

Ravn exchanges a glance with Tyler and Finch. Then he sighs ever so slightly and murmurs, "Welcome to the Hotel California. We always tell people to get out. No one ever does, myself included. Safe is very relative."

He glances around; no one seems to be paying much attention to the conversation. "It's a long and complicated story. The very short Cliff's Notes: No. Sorry. There are things in the mist that get off on making us scared or miserable. It helps to have each other's backs, make friends, stand together. But you are safe as far as the authorities go -- no one is getting abducted to Area 51 because they can start fire with their minds. The weirdness here rewrites reality for people without this power. They don't see it, they don't remember it, they rationalise it all away."

"I'm from just up the coast a little ways," Jules ventures, letting that detail out into the room. It comes out slowly, a little guarded, but there's relief, too. It's out. Her shoulders settle, releasing a bit of the tension she carries with her. "The Quinault res, Taholah. Sometimes things Happen there, too." She sips her coffee, holding it close to her face. "Shit. I already paid for classes at Bayside--" There's a struggle being vocalized in fits and pieces as Finch and Ravn give the 'get out while you still can' spiel. Jules is silent a moment, taking it in. Finally, to Una, she quietly says, "My mom, too."

Tyler finally takes that drink and sits his cup down. "I've lived here my whole life, more or less. Get out while you can, or decide to stay. No reason to be scared. Life's dangerous everywhere. But it's more interesting HERE."

Finch looks down into her to go cup and sighs. "If only. They will notice you, They always do." One can hear the capital letter in her tone. "It's easier if you don't do things with that glow. Sometimes you can fly under their radar. But even the people who don't glimmer get sucked into things here from time to time. Their brains just rationalize the weird away into something mundane after." She grimaces. "And the city protects itself. You never see the crazy shit that happens here show up on the national news." The Veil hides itself well from the uninitiated.

"If you get into too much trouble, find me. I live with my gran and my boyfriend in a big old crumbling mansion at the end of Bayside. Can't miss it, look for the chickens running around in their coop. My Dad is chief of police and he's like us. His job sucks, because he has to make shit up all the time to explain the unexplainable, but he will help if you need it." He just might be really grumpy about it. Ruiz is anything but cordial on a good day, but if you give him a monster to shoot, he might be a bit happier.

"For now though, I have to get back to work. Nice meeting you, and good luck." The 'you'll need it' goes unspoken as the brunette rises and heads for the door.

Whatever enthusiasm Una had from acknowledgement of All That Shit dissipates fast; she frowns, and then her expression falls further, harder, until she's almost scowling. "Cheerful," is obviously intended to have some bravado, following after Finch's departure, but aimed largely at the others. "You," Jules, "Had better come and live with me, then. Safety in numbers. Is there..." this is for the other two. "Something I-- we-- should do? To mind ourselves? I'm not looking for trouble."

"Get settled, try to live normal lives. Make friends, get to know people -- you never know who's going to have your back when something unusual happens. And keep your spirit up -- these things are attracted to suffering a lot." The Dane offers another light little smile and scoops up a sugar packet from the table; it dances across his knuckles in some silly little display of sleight of hand that he seems barely aware that he is doing. "The number one rule, I suppose, is don't use your power frivolously, because there is always a risk of being noticed. But Finch isn't wrong -- they will notice you eventually anyhow. A lot of people hate it here, not going to lie about that - to me, Gray Harbor is the home I never knew I was missing."

"Thanks, I think." Jules is frowning as Finch leaves. She appropriates the chair Finch leaves behind, brows furrowed and still frowning over her coffee. Her response to Una's offer is a little confused, although that's presumably the whole point of this. She's failing Acceptable Roommate Material 101, but doesn't seem to notice. "Yeah, I mean, if that's okay-- I don't know, maybe this isn't a good idea-- " She's quiet again, thinking and watching Ravn play with the sugar. Her attention sharpens on Tyler, then. "Life sucks in lots of places," she agrees. "Can you, I don't know, learn it? Control it?"

Tyler shrugs, "Control what? Life in Gray Harbor? Some. The weird? A little." He looks at Ravn, "Sounds like you're teaching people. You got like, a class on the shadow people or anything?" He laughs a little at that. "Dreamy University at Ravn's house?"

There's a visible display of thoughts bubbling beneath Una's expression, though the specifics of them aren't available for public consumption-- except for the furrow of her brow, and the purse of her lips. "I bet we're better off together, then," she announces to Jules, her tone edging towards 'you will do this, or else'. "My big question... why here? What is it about this place? I mean, hell, I'm not leaving fast. It's this or move back in with my mom, and I'm a bit too old for that."

"I volunteer at the HOPE Centre," Ravn replies, because while the question might have been tongue-in-cheek, it's also valid. "So, no, no classes. Just, I give the pep talk a lot. That's what the place is about, after all -- connecting people so none of us have to deal with the pain eaters on our own unless we prefer to."

Maybe he should have a class. Or at least a pamphlet.

"You can learn it, if you have the talent. Me? This is all I can do -- make small things float. There are people in this town who can do amazing things. Most of them are willing to give pointers, yeah." He lets the sugar packet dance back into the bowl. "As to why here -- that's another of those 'have you got a week' stories. But the gist of it is, there are places where realities kind of clash, rub against each other, overlap. A lot of the things we see here is not hostile as such -- just, so alien that it might as well be. But the things that are hostile feed on our suffering, and that is why they draw us here. You'll be surprised how many people like us there are, here."

Jules clarifies, "Not have it eat your brain so you turn into a mess and can't hold down a job?" A sideways glance to Una, to whom with growing solidarity she notes, "My mom." A little nod, a tip of the chin, is her concession: she's in. More fervently, when it comes to moving in with one's elders: "Word." She shifts in her seat and suddenly straightens. Ravn and Tyler have her full-bore attention, a stare that only breaks when she looks from one to the other. "It's Them, isn't it. What you just said. Shadow people? Pain eaters? We talk about Them up on the res, too. Stories about The Old Ones." She can't hide her shiver. "I need a cookie."

Tyler leans forward just a little, offering a nod. "They're here. A lot. This place attracts the glow, and you can't have glow without shadow. I don't know that they are here because of Gray Harbor directly, but they are definitely here because Gray Harbor attracts so many people that can spoon trick like this guy," he nods toward Ravn. "Have either of you seen one? What do you know about them?"

"It ate your mom's brain?" Whatever relief Una had for confirmation of her newfound partner-in-weirdness, it doesn't last: that's freaky shit, man, and her moue of distaste is in no way disguised. Her coffee is shifted from one hand to the other, as her gaze shfits from one man to the other. "What kind of percentage? Should I expect the whole world to start twinkling at me, to greater or lesser degree?" And, with rather less bravado: "I... don't think I know what you're talking about. Shadows? Pain eaters?"

"I study folklore. Stories, archetypes, cultural gestalts." Ravn finds the courage to sip the thing in his coffee cup and quite unsurprisingly makes a face; it is a true horror. "We don't know this for a fact; no one's had the chance to interview one of those things. But my working theory is that the things we call dark men, shadow people, pain eaters, dolorphages, all kinds of names-- they borrow shapes and forms from our stories. From you, yes, they would borrow forms that you are familiar with, that frightens you. I know another First Nations girl -- we ran into the Thunderbird together a while back. From me, they nick Scandinavian myths instead."

He shakes his head. "I don't think I have seen one directly. Every account I've seen or heard says, it's their creations we meet. Only very rarely the real thing, and frankly, we should probably be grateful for that."

It's possible he asks himself why he always ends up giving a lecture. Protip, Ravn: It's not knowing when to drink your coffee at home. "At a guess there's maybe a hundred of us. In a town of eighteen thousand. A little more, a little less. Not everyone wants anyone to know. Some just -- keep quiet, try to stay unnoticed."

"I mean, not literally, she's just kinda fucked up, you know?" Jules looks uncomfortable as she answers Una. Maybe it's the oversharing that makes her less willing to engage with Tyler's line of inquiry. "No, I don't think I've seen one. I'd know, right? I don't actually know anything. It's just-- stories. Stuff you tell around the campfire and scare your little brother with. A lot of the legends aren't all that nice. But we tell them because, you know, heritage and all that shit." There's a considering look for Ravn's explanation, a little nod, and then she pushes up to her feet and away from the table. "I'm getting my cookie."

Tyler nods as he listens to all of them. "Everyone has a theory. I think it's not just the glow they are attracted to, but more the burden. The pain it causes." He shrugs, "I've seen them. A lot. I think it's because of the job. People lose their house, that pain and weight, and then you add in a little glow, and then there they are. In your perpendicular vision, just out of sight." Yeah, that's what he said.

For Ravn's explanation, Una shows a flicker of interest: first for the mention of folklore, and then, one nod after another, for the rest. She lets out a breath, letting it whistle through her front teeth. "Shit. I was going to say 'oh, a hundred's not so many, but this isn't Seattle, is it? That's what-- half a percent? Shit." It's now that she remembers her coffee and takes a sip from it, but even while she's swallowing, she's got to add her next question: "Does the... you know, whatever it is. Glow, sure. Does that make bad things more likely? Vicious circle, like?"

"Kind of, sort of. You throw it around like fireworks, you get attention. But do nothing and you will still get dragged in every now and then. It does matter." Ravn shoots his dessert a disgusted look and just puts it on the table. Behind the counter, the woman who seems to be the manager smiles to herself; another point scored in a private little feud that has gone on for more than a year.

Then he nods at Tyler. "I mean, he's not wrong. The more awful stuff you deal with, the more sad and depressed and scared you are, the better you taste. That's why I keep recommending for people to make friends, live your best life, make the most. Or, you know, get out -- but no one does."

Tyler leans back in his seat once more. "The Shadow people are really pretty fascinating. I mean, what are they? What are they doing? A lot of people think they're here to destroy things. Others think they're just mindless animals that are hungry." He grins just a little, "Maybe it's both?"

Over the rim of her coffee, Una's gaze tracks from Tyler to Ravn and back again. "I think... I think I'll leave those shadow-things to themselves, if I can. If it helps to have a good time... you know, not be depressed," a nod towards Ravn, "then you'd better tell me: what's worth doing in town? What's fun?" Beat. "Aside from coffee that's clearly unpalatable to your discerning-- European?-- palette?"

"Danish," Ravn confirms with a sheepish look in the manager's direction. "All I ever wanted was a straight, black coffee."

He cants his head and thinks for a moment. "I suppose it depends on what you like to do? The sailing is good here. So's the hiking and the fishing. We don't have much of a wild night life but there are a couple of bars and dance clubs. I'm not really the right bloke to ask. Most people tell me I'm about as exciting as watching paint dry."

A glance to Tyler. Help a man out here, dude. What's fun to do when you're not an academic who likes motorcycles and cats and solitude.

Tyler inhales deeply, thinking, and then exhales. "I hike a lot. I run a lot. The surfing is good, but you have to go to up the coast a bit for that." He looks back at Ravn, "I don't know, man. I work 48 hour shifts. The only fun I have is watching you hate on that coffee you just got." He looks once again at the young lady. "I'm sorry, I never got your name. I'm Tyler."

Una, city girl, nods - and nods again - though it's more polite acknowledgement than girl-meets-passion-for-new-hobby. Cheekily, "The black coffee is pretty good." She lifts her cup as proof, her first grin of the conversation in place. "I'm Una. Una Irving." It's not impossible the last name is recognisable: eighty-one-hear-old Cass Irving died... well, at some point over the summer.

"Ravn Abildgaard." It's a mouthful to an anglophone, and the man doesn't look like he expects anyone to actually be able to repeat it. "I live with a bloke on Oak Avenue in winter, on a boat in the marina in summer. Been in town about -- bit more than a year by now, came in shortly before Halloween last year. I was headed to Portland as it happens, but my ride dropped me here, and we know how that story goes. Town went Hotel California on me, and here I am."

Meanwhile, Jules has been engaged in a fierce conversation on the phone, stepping outside to take it. Through the windows, one might be able to see fierce gesticulations. When she re-enters, the call is wrapping up by the sounds of it: "Yeah, okay, look we'll talk more later, I gotta go. Bye -- I hear you, Pa-Pa, I get it. Love you. Bye." Back to the table she comes, and yes, she does have her cookie. Chocolate chip. "Sorry about that."

Tyler smiles, "Hi Una." He laughs a little, "I do NOT live on a boat." He lifts his coffee a little, "Nice to meet you." He looks at Jules as she returns. "Welcome back."

"Rav--" Look, Una makes a valiant attempt, but she's an American who has probably never even left the state she was born in: she shrugs. But: "Oh-- I'm on Oak, too. And Jules," smile for the other woman! "is going to move in with me. Nice to meet you both. Tyler." And Ravn, but he just gets a nod, rather than another mispronunciation attempt.

It is -- not the first time someone a native English speaker has choked on that very Danish vowel. It's not raven, ray-ven -- but one syllable, almost as if you took the word 'round' and kind of chopped off the consonant at the end. And don't get started on the last name unless you have a lot more time.

"I think a lot of the houses on Oak are shared like that," he nods. "They're kind of large for just one person, and hey, it's a way to save on rent, yeah? My room mate has a girlfriend who lives in England, so it doesn't get crowded a lot, even when I'm not on my boat. We do tend to have some pretty neat beach bonfires, get togethers on the marina during summer, but the weather's kind of miserable for them this time of year. And of course the town sports what's probably the West Coast's only fight club but for lobsters."

"Assuming I stay," Jules chimes in, but it's soon amended. "Which I probably will. Sounds like it might be the best thing right now. And I already paid for classes. I'm gonna need to get a job." She nudges her cookie towards the middle of the table in a universal gesture for 'help yourselves.'

Tyler smiles, "Well, you all sound like you've got things in order, so I suppose my work here is done." He pushes up to his feet, grabbing his cup. "Stay safe out there. It was nice to meet you all." And he prepares to go.

Una still hasn't actually sat down, and seems more inclined to shift from one foot to the other, an uneasy, ever-moving figure looming above. The possibility that Jules might not stay is dismissed out of hand, and there's not much to say in response to most of Ravn's statement, except to nod, though 'fight club but for lobsters' earns a longer, more dubious glance. If she means to ask, it's postponed by Tyler's departure: "Nice to meet you! Have a good one."

"Watch your back, fireman." Ravn straightens up and nods at Tyler; anyone who's lived in this town for a while learns to appreciate the first responders -- very often first to deal with the weird and having to mop up after it when it is gone.

Then he too gets up and reaches for the black motorcycle helmet. "I need to be on my way as well -- have a Zoom meeting with a student in twenty. But -- 3, Oak Avenue. Drop in if you need something. I realise that sounds like the cheapest pick-up line ever, but in this town people really do mean it. We stick together."

And then he too is off; that vintage Triumph isn't going to drive herself home.

"Thanks," says Jules, and suddenly she's the last one sitting. "Well," she says then, getting to her feet and looking to Una, "Maybe I could check out your place and the room you've got available? Can I get the walk-through? And we can talk some more about all this." This time, she offers the cookie directly: "Here, take some."

Directly-offered cookie is harder to resist, and so Una obliges, breaking off a piece and blithely dunking it into her coffee. "Yes! Yes, that's a good idea. We, uh, may need to do some clearing out... did I mention it was my grandmother's house? But it's a big enough room, and the bones are good." Her smile edges towards conspiratorial, the only acknowledgement she gives to the 'all this' that's still lurking in the air like the buzz-buzz of static electricity.

In response, Jules smiles, and this time --at least for now -- it stays. "I'd like to see it. And thank you. I just realized, I never said thank you."

"To be honest... thank you. You're doing me a favour. Genuinely." Una shoves her piece of cookie into her mouth and chews (pre-moistened, it doesn't take a lot of chewing). She at least waits until she's swallowed before adding, "If it works for you, you can genuinely move in any time. And... I won't be offended if you decide it's not for you. I mean, I've claimed you as my roommate, but it's fine, really..."

"We'll talk more," Jules says, cutting Una off there. She starts for the door, saying as she goes, "I was just talking to my grandparents -- that's who I've been living with -- about the whole thing, and they think maybe it's not such a bad idea for me to stay. They've seen the opposite, you know, where you go and run away from it all but it doesn't stop going after you -- and I don't want that to happen to me. So maybe it's better to just face it, and learn, you know? Eyes open." She stands at the door, holding it open for Una. Her words have been growing firmer as she speaks, and as she stands there, looking at Una to meet her eyes, resolve enters her expression, too.

Una's nod is just a shallow one, accompanying her quick-footed steps after the other woman, though the expression that meets Jules' gaze is serious. She grabs for the door, and says, quietly, "I think my mom ran from it. And I think my grandmother... I think she may have been... witch-y, too. Glow-y. Whatever. Anyway, I think you're right. And it's easier to do that with other people, right?" And as the door swings shut behind her: "So what is it that you can do?"

"I don't really know, but there was this one thing that happened with fire..." And the story will follow, as the women head out into the cold.