2021-12-11 - All Along the Watch Tower (Wannabe)

Suburbia, at its finest; white picket fences, neat lawns, sensible family cars. Oak Avenue's houses are predominantly from the first half of the twentieth century, and they speak of a time where the town had everything going for it; the lumber industry was booming, the new harbour was bringing in the shipping industry and -- well, it was nice while it lasted. Now, everything is a century older and a bit more tired, but life goes on because what else can it do? You either stick around and stick it out, or you get up and move to somewhere with better prospects.

As far as people with the shine are concerned, the second is rarely a real option. The Hotel California effect is a local joke, but it's no joke.

Ravn Abildgaard is a chronic wanderer; he roams the streets of Gray Harbor daily, going nowhere in particular. In his black wind breaker he's a common sight -- and as of this week, people can now proceed to get used to seeing him on a vintage Triumph motorcycle too, just getting around. Or like now, standing with it in the driveway outside 3, Oak Avenue, carefully polishing the chrome because what are garages for, actually going indoors to do garage stuff?

At the house next door, an old beater car has appeared overnight. Number 5 has stood empty for some time, but new life has appeared in the past day or so, including this car on the curb. The front door creaks open and out comes Jules, wearing almost the exact same thing as the day before: blue puffy jacket, worn jeans, even more worn tennis shoes. She heads for the car, only to pause halfway and peer over at the activity going on in the neighboring driveway. "Hey," she calls, then begins to cut across the leaf-blown lawn. "Raven, right?" She pronounces it like an American. "Sorry, can you say your name again? I'll try to get it right."

The Dane looks up from his position, kneeling in front of the fuel tank with a rag. A lopsided grin spreads on his face and he raises a gloved hand in a lazy wave before getting to his feet. "Ravn," he says, chuckling. "But, I've been in the States for almost two years now. Believe me, I'm used to Raven and a lot worse. Apparently that vowel sound is very difficult for anglophones."

He glances at Number Five and then at Jules. "You weren't kidding about moving in on Oak, eh? How's it looking up for you two, getting settled? Neighbours around here are pretty good and pretty solid if you need anything."

"Ravn," Jules tries, managing a decent approximation of the right sound. Not perfect, but decent. "Ravn. No, it's okay, I mean, people should try to say your name right. It's just basic respect." She smiles, then glances back at the house from whence she came. "Yeah. It's okay so far, I think. I was gonna go pick up my stuff. Drove down to meet Una and check out the place, ended up staying overnight. The place is huge." She doesn't try to hide how impressed she is, even as old and in need of a facelift as it is. "I think I'm staying. Already paid for classes next semester." Jules repeats a line from the day prior at the coffee shop; money, most likely, is something of a concern. She tilts her head a little while eying up the motorcycle. "What are you working on?"

"Honestly?" The Dane looks a little sheepish. "Just playing with my new toy. I only got her this week and I am still making up excuses to go for a ride or just polish her up a little. Friend of mine found her at an estate sale, restored her for me."

Thirty-one years old is obviously not too old to be a kid around shiny new toys.

Ravn nods back at no 3. "I live there in winter, with a friend -- Aidan Kinney. The old van over there is his. The garage, well -- we decided we'd rather have a sound studio. By which I means we put egg -- you know, the paper baskets? Don't remember the word. We put them all over the walls to sound proof it a little but if you hear drumming, that's Kinney practising. Hear cats being tortured, it's me. Come summer, though, I'll be on my boat at the marina."

Oh look, there's one of those new neighbors, now! Walking down the road from 30 Oak is Turner, everyone's favorite androgynous librarian, with a cat on a leash who's curiously exploring the grass, taking her time and sniffing everything as they walk, as if this is an entirely new experience. A mostly white Ragdoll with bright blue eyes, her little peacoat perfectly matches Turner's, and her little booties seem to be causing only a little irritation as the cat walks. Every so often, she turns to look up at her human, to make sure he's still following, and he smiles and gestures for her to continue, silently. He slows as he spots Ravn, freckled face breaking into a warm smile. When the cat looks back again, he doesn't gesture for her to continue, instead bending to pick her up, approaching with a shy smile, almost using the cat's fluff as a shield. "I like your new bike."

"That's awesome." From Jules' grin, she means it. "What kind of boat you got? Like, the sailing kind, or you take it out fishing, or what?" Suddenly she has lots of questions, getting in one more before she stops to look over at Turner's approach. "What do you play?" Her smile for Turner is friendly, with a bit of laughter in her eyes given the cat on a walk, most likely. "Hey."

"Hey Turner. Come say hello to -- Jules, yes? New in town, almost in the original casing." Ravn flashes a small grin the librarian's way.

The small, ominous disturbance in the fabric of reality is the ragdoll cat. Or rather, it's the black cat sitting on the garage roof, staring at it with large, green eyes. That ragdoll is about to either get murdered, or liberated in a rush of freedom, running off to live wild and free in a world where peacoats and booties are legend. The black tail swishes ominously.

Ravn notices nothing, or maybe he's just used to the small ball of feline malevolence. "I play the violin a bit," he replies. "And, sailing boat -- King's Cruiser 33, if that tells you anything at all. It's an older model, from the 1970s. Not exactly a luxury yacht -- but large enough for a guy and a cat."

"Hello." Turner smiles to Jules, brown eyes crinkling just a little at the corners as he smiles. "It's nice to meet you... I didn't realize we had new neighbors or I'd have..." he trails off as he spots what he assumes to be Kitty Pryde sitting atop the garage. "D-don't even think about it, young lady, or no more tuna. And I'll... get rid of the catnip in the flower bed, too." Does everyone in the neighborhood feed Ravn's cat? Probably. Turner hugs his cat a little tighter. She, for her part, is happy for the attention, purring loudly and utterly ignoring Kitty. He steps up onto Ravn's driveway, still cuddling the cat. "This is Juniper." he introduces the cat as if he would another neighbor. He does not, mercifully, wave her little paws.

"Jules, yeah." She doesn't hold out her hand to shake. Her hands are currently shoved deep in the pockets of her coat, and besides, Turner's got a cat to hold. "Nice to meet you too. It's not my place, I'm just gonna rent a room. The owner's name is Una, she just moved in too. It was her grandma's place. She's got red hair, can't miss her." Jules happily rattles off other people's business, then returns to the subject of boats: "I don't really know sailing, but most people have some kinda boat where I'm from. Lots of fishing and stuff." Her eyes go to the cat atop the garage, only noticing after Turner addresses it. "Cats everywhere. Better not get a dog," is her lame joke.

"Oh, that one is mine. Or I'm hers, all a matter of who you ask." Ravn glances up at the black cat who in turn stares at Turner like she understood perfectly well what he just said, thank you, and don't you ever get a goldfish pond because she will leave dead birds in it out of spite. "She's got a bit of a temper on her, but really, she's a darling."

Pause. "If you see one that looks just like her but is the size of a lynx, though, might just want to give it a bit of space. We call that one the Uncat. They're technically the same cat -- the Uncat is sort of Kitty Pryde's ghost, except she's obviously very much alive. It's a long story."

We're all very normal here.

"Oh, right, Mrs. Irving. I didn't realize she had any family left." Turner's expression goes a little sad, but he's smiling again, glancing up at Kitty before shrugging slightly, "There's lots of cats... it pays to be nice to the cats in Gray Harbor, so if you do get a dog... just make sure it likes cats." Turner says, seriously. "Juniper's never out on her own, though. She's deaf and has a tendency to wander into traffic, so Grams always kept her inside. But she's getting a little too chubby because somebody keeps sneaking her table scraps." he shifts Juniper about like one might a human baby, adjusting her chonk. This, apparently, is also fine. "Oh! If you or Una ever need anything, my housemates and I are just down the road, the red brick with all the ginger bread trim? J-just in case there's anything... weird." he pauses, looking thoughtful for a split second, "Th-that wasn't a come on or anything, I promise."

Jules' eyebrows go up, and she eyes Kitty on the roof with a bit more interest. "I'll remember that. And steer clear." From her tone, she means it -- and doesn't find the warning to be a joke. "Hey, about that. I mean, not about the ghost cat, but about that thing." She pauses, glancing Turner's way -- is it safe? Do people just talk about all this so openly? The length of her pause makes that internal reckoning almost audible. Perhaps it's Turner's offer, with mention of the 'weird,' that compels her to soldier on. "Nah, it's okay -- thanks, I mean. Appreciate the offer. I take it there's a lot of weird stuff that happens around here. Which is what I was gonna say," she continues, with a look towards Ravn, "you said you were interested in researching local legends and stuff? Am I remembering that right?"

"Yes, and yes." Ravn straightens up and pockets the rag that he was using to polish the bike's already entirely shiny fuel tank. "I am interested in researching these things which is no surprise given I have a PhD in folklore -- this is literally what I do. And yes to the other half of that question too -- we do talk about these things pretty openly among each other in this little community of weird people. Talking to each other keeps us alive and sane. No one should be shouldering all of this alone. We can help each other out -- and when we do get dragged into one of those strange other reality experiences, it is useful to know who the other people are, what they can do."

He grins slightly, mischievously. "You probably shouldn't have this conversation with someone who doesn't have the -- shine, light, song, art, whatever term you prefer. But if you do, they'll just remember that you're a weirdo. They won't believe you, and they won't remember much of what you said. The Veil rewrites reality in that regard, it covers its tracks. That's why no one outside of town ever comes around to ask what the hell it is we're doing here, either."

"They talk about it openly. I prefer euphemism and keeping my head down as much as possible." Turner admits, blushing just a little. "But... there's three of us in one house. So... It gets talked about a lot." he shrugs a little, offering as an aside to Ravn, "Xavier moved in when we'd lost time... and... apparently we started dating." his brow furrows a little as he looks at the man, then the house, "Wait. You didn't live here before, did you."

"Weird stuff happens, but... if we take care of each other, we can weather it." He shrugs slightly, "Like most college campuses, one in five Bayside Community College students transfer out in the middle of the night and leave all their belongings behind." he... sounds like he may have actually heard that from someone, before.

"Damn, you must be real smart." Jules looks impressed with Ravn's credentials. Given how she looks like she's somewhere in her mid-twenties and has mentioned classes at the community college, it's a reasonable assumption that she hasn't done much since high school. "You ever been up on the res? The QIN, I mean. Or up at La Push or Neah Bay. Cause if you haven't, you should go talk to people there, hear their take on things. I can introduce you to my grandparents, if you want." And then, since they're being all out in the open with the weird, curiosity gets the better of her. "So do you like...see it? Or feel it?" Jules might well look odd, given how she's now staring at Ravn, then Turner, concentrating hard as if looking for something that they're hiding. A shiver makes her shoulders shrug and shake. "That's so weird. God. Makes my spine tingle, like someone walked over my grave."

"Smart enough to live with a room mate and a cat at thirty-one," Ravn grins back. Okay, so he may be clever but he's clearly not ambitious if all he's done with that PhD is, well, this. He shakes his head. "I haven't. I keep meaning to delve into First Nations myths but then this place keeps happening to me. By now I am inclined to research whatever happens here, and then find out what culture it was lifted from later."

Then the Dane glances at Turner again and flashes that lopsided little smile of his again. "Finally got around to getting together? Even I saw that coming. Congratulations!"

It seemed like as good a day as any for a jog, especially given the fact that Fae had consumed 1.5 large pizzas the night before during a TMNT movie marathon with her boyfriend, luckily nobody knows that but her and her ability to smash down pineapple pizza remains a well-kept secret.

Her running outfit doesn't remain a secret however, it's truly an exercise in Taco Bell ® advertising, every piece of the workout gear has big bell shill written all over it, even the limited edition windbreaker. Are you hungry yet? Well, you should be, nothing builds up an appetite quite like corporate sponsorship...or watching someone else work out.

Seeing everyone from the block gathered up in a huddle of conversation manages to divert her path as she heads on over. Waffling her hand over to the group as she approaches, a bit sweaty and short of breath while painting a warm smile over her face, "Hey, ya'll havin' a party?" her tone radiates a mirthful demeanor while her headphones are pulled from her ears, the sounds of Spice Girls filling the air from her cassette player as she clicks the stop button and saves everyone's ears.

"I... try not to notice it. But people won't let me." he casts a glance at Ravn, only vaguely accusatory, "My Grams used to say that if you don't look at it, it won't bother you, but... I don't think that's right, anymore. I just... prefer not to, still." Turner shrugs slightly, absently scratching behind one of Juniper's ears.

"There's nothing wrong with having a roommate and a cat." Turner says, defensively. "Y-yeah. We did. I guess, I mean... we did, but it was when everyone doesn't remember, so does it really count if it happened during all that, or do we count the first day we remember as our anniversary?" Turner asks, clearly confused by the time jump, still.

"Hi, Fae." Turner smiles at the young woman, shifting the cat about in his arms again. "I like your exercise gear."

"There's some creepy shit," Jules says, unsolicited, smile disappearing. "Like Basket Woman. Anyway. If you ever want an introduction, let me know." She lets it drop, pulling out her phone as a tactile distraction. She pokes at the screen a couple times, glancing up to give Turner a small smile for the relationship-talk, though it's preoccupied. It's the same smile she gives Fae as she jogs over. "Just moving in. Speaking of, I should get going, go get my stuff so I can do this for real. I'll see you guys later -- nice to meet you, Turner."

"How does coffee and a sit-down to talk First Nations legends sound sometime?" Ravn smiles at Jules. "I am very interested. And don't hesitate to come over if you need something, all right? My cooking is crap but Kinney's a decent provider -- and absolutely fantastic at repairing things."

He raises a hand at Fae in greeting as well; gloved as always, and then coming to rest on the fuel tank of the motorcycle. "Heard we got to spice up our lives or something?"

"Spice Girls are classic, you should spice up your life whenever possible." Fae good-humoredly chortles over to Ravn, her hips shifting to the side as they meet her palm and she catches her breath from the run. "Good music remains good music forever, that's the magic of it." so profound, much wow.

When Jules mentions just moving in Fae's eyes light up with a chipper cheer "Welcome to the neighborhood then!" she chirps out, adjusting her ponytail ever so slightly so it's not falling out of her scrunchie. "It's always nice to see some new people about. I'm Fae by the way." she might be late to the moving-in party but introductions are still important, even if her name already being thrown out by the other residents.

"That'd be great. I kinda want to know more about how our stories -- the stuff I grew up with -- interacts with what you all know, you know? But seriously, you ever see a giant woman with a big basket on her back, you get the fuck out." Jules is downright serious, though her expression opens with Fae's welcome, and she grins back. "Thanks. I'm Jules. Okay, for real, I'm gonna run." With the hand holding her phone, she spreads her fingers as a sort of wave, and then she breaks away, headed to the old, ice-blue Toyota parked on the curb.

Jules gets a friendly wave from Turner, but not from Juniper, before he looks concerned about the big woman and the basket. "That's... not at all ominous." Turner says softly. Juniper, for her part, starts to finally squirm. Turner sets her down on her little bootied feet, glancing up at Kitty suspiciously. "My mom liked Spice Girls when my sister was little." Turner offers. It doesn't sound like an insult the way he says it, but it... kind of sounds like an insult, accidentally.

On the garage roof, Kitty Pryde washes her black paws daintily. Cannot see the bootied abomination down there, cannot hear it, cannot -- it doesn't exist, no cat would subject itself to this kind of humiliation, that there is clearly a dog.

"I horrified my fiancee once, playing Wannabe on the violin," Ravn offers, grinning. It is admittedly not the kind of tune that lends itself easily to classical string instruments -- and the experience was likely more unusual than pleasant. "So you're both getting settled in, then -- how does it feel, you're already the last generation in Gray Harbor?" He looks after Jules as she walks. "And me, I guess I'm the old guard now, along with the blokes who were actually born here."

"My Mom loved Spice Girls, we used to listen to them together when I was really really little." she yammers over to Turner with a smooth dimple of her cheeks. As Ravn mentions his musical talent he gets a cool nod from the little country girl, "That's pretty impressive. I tried to play the tambourine for my Uncle Harold's band once and they told me not to quit my day job. So I really respect anyone that can actually plan an instrument," much like the rest of the world Uncle Harold's band is apparently a bunch of critics.

"I'd totally like to hear you play it again sometime though, even if it's kinda weird to hear it all classicalled out. I like strange stuff like that." who doesn't? Nobody of culture, that's for sure. "Do you still play?" she hums, deciding her workout can just stop here, she ran basically a block so that's about a million calories burnt right?

Turner eyes the cat on the roof, until suddenly Juniper is letting out an incredibly loud and inelegant 'MRRWOAAAWL' at the top of her chonky little lungs. For his part, Turner looks down... and starts signing to the cat, who's watching his hands like she at least halfway understands. <You want go home, eat tuna?> is asked, and the cat meows again this a bit softer, but more demanding. "I'm being informed it's time for tuna." he tells Fae and Ravn apologetically, a little reluctantly, "I'll chat with you later!" The cat is scooped up again with a slight grunt of effort. A lot of that fluff isn't fur.

Ravn in turn looks up at Kitty Pryde on the roof. "Looks like Juniper's smarter than you are," he tells her. "Look how well she's got her human trained."

Juniper is going to get hurt. Or Ravn is. Maybe both.

Then the Dane grins at Fae. "You're on," he tells her. "One of these days? Coffee and Spice Girls, on the violin. It will be awful, just the way we like it. We should subject the entire neighbourhood, remind me to leave the garage door open."

He has at times told people he's not very good at playing. This seems like a splendid opportunity to prove his point.

"I don't drink bean juice, but the spice must flow...even if it requires pumpkin spice on your part." she jests, entirely ready to caffinate Ravn to get the jams she needs to subsist in this cruel world.

As Turner takes off she wags her hand over to him and his fluff ball. "Later!" she calls out, returning her attention back to Ravn for a similar farewell, "Later to you too! I need to get back to my run, but we'll spice up our lives soon. You get some practice in and I'll sell tickets, we'll donate all proceeds to buying local kids kazoos or something." she's such a humanitarian, as long as you're not an adult with ears around those kids that are going to have the most obnoxious instrument of all time.

The headphones go back on and she takes off down the sidewalk with a final flutter of her fingertips, "The race is on to get out of the bottom, the top is high so your roots are forgotten, givin' is good as long as you're gettin', what's driving you is ambition I'm bettin'" is sung out off-key as her headphones hit her ears anew and she jogs away. She really better not quit her day job.

Ravn shakes his head, laughing quietly as she goes. He's a musician; a quite skilled one at that -- and right now he wishes he was entirely tone deaf.

Better get back to polishing this chrome that's already gleaming as to compete with the sun. And maybe see if he can work in a few curious scales of Wannabe next time he rehearses with Rosencrantz, just for shit and giggles.