2021-12-11 - I can teach you!

The time has come! It has arrived at his door. Well someone has arrived at his front door. They have arrived without an invitation too.

Gabriella presses the doorbell and then realizes it might not work. So she kicks the bottom of the door with her foot. BANG! BANG! BANG! For such a very small thing, Gabby knows how to make a lot of noise. In her arms are a few 'bring your own bag' grocery bags that are filled with items. The young woman just seems to balance them there as she cants her head and kicks the door again. This causes a few neighbors to look as well.

It doesn't occur to her that he might not be home. She sighs and shifts the items. It is here that she moves to kick the door again....

"You know, Kinney already told that door it's not allowed to break, so it won't."

Ravn's voice comes from behind the girl -- because as it happens, he was in the detached garage, doing heaven only knows what. Whatever he was in fact doing, it seems to involve an oil rag -- which he still holds in one hand -- and presumably, oil; something glistens on his jeans at least, and if it isn't oil, he really needs to stop rolling around in the jello tub or playing with very large snails.

He cants his head, perhaps a little surprised -- that's a lot of groceries for not very much girl. "What's up? Ran out of pantry space across the street?"

For a moment, everything about Gabriella stills. She stops breathing. She doesn't move. It's pretty clear she's caught between screaming or shanking him. It's a hard desire on it before she slowly turns to look at Ravn at his voice. Her eyes narrow dangerously, even as her smile is sweet as honey on warmed biscuits.

"Oh. So you were out here already?"

Totally did not surprise her. Not at all. Then she shoves the bags at him and offers, "I came to teach you how to cook something. You are most welcome. It shall be amazing. You will fall under my spell and shit and things."

"I was in the garage," Ravn confirms and declines to touch in on how he just happens to generally not make a whole lot of noise when he walks, unless he wants to. The oil rag decides to float along next to him as he catches the paper bags -- with good reason because groceries might be heavier to levitate, after all.

He looks around. "I mean, we might get a surprised Kinney wondering what we're doing in his kitchen. He'll want to help. But if you're okay with surprise exploding turkeys, let's go give it a shot? Sounds like it could be fun."

"Your partner's name is Kinney? I thought it was Aiden." Gabriella teases lightly as she knows that Granny thought they were more than just room mates. "I mean, I would be okay with him coming in, but this is your lesson." She watches the man for a few longer moments as if she's not sure what she thinks of him.

Ravn sighs lightly in that way that reveals that Granny Leigh is definitely not the first person to reach this (flawed) conclusion. "Room mate. Aidan Kinney."

The kitchen of the craftsman's is a large, open affair that merges directly with an open dining room slash living room. It is colourful in a strangely pleasant kind of avant garde way -- someone here clearly dedicates a very large amount of time to finding and restoring furniture from second hand shops, and the result is a curious but not at all bad mix of a dozen styles. Nothing seems to be accidental; and at the same time, it all looks accidental. Whoever decorates this place has a steadfast but very unique sense of style, and a profound love of colour. It probably isn't Ravn.

He plonks the grocery bags on kitchen table. "So, what are we making? And I ask as the guy who knows where to find the forks, the microwave, and the milk bottle -- and that's just about it."

"OH! I love this. As it's not all black, I'm going to assume you didn't design it. Aww, look at this chair." Gabriella is already gushing over the various designs and colors. Her eyes sparkle as if she's forgotten the man and his holding of the groceries. She merely bounces from one object to the other to figure what she loves the most.

"Oh, food yes. I thought we'd start with something pretty easy. We are just going to do a roast chicken with root vegetables and a side salad. It's easy. It's classic. Most people can do it." Gabriella winks to him. "I'm giving you a food to make that is not just spaghetti. Oh! I should teach you to make that from scratch too. You'll have to beat the people off more than you already do."

Gabriella smiles vibrantly at him. "I mean unless you've decided we are in a relationship now or something. I mean.. we could be. All you have to do is say the word. You. Me. Life together. Forever." One does not need to be an empath to see she's messing with him. "Lots of good food, tons of cuddles, a fuckton of sex..."

"Food and sex, she offers, to the guy with an eating disorder and a touch disorder." Ravn cracks a smile the other way because the absurdity of it is funny, at least to him.

He watches with some amusement, too, as Gabriella takes in the room -- Aidan Kinney's ideas about interior decoration has that effect on people a lot. It looks great -- but at the same time it challenges people's ideas of what's 'normal', in the way that art is supposed to. Which is part of what Ravn likes about it (another big part is, it means Kinney gets to make all the decisions because really, to him, interior decoration means, is there a table for me to toss my bag on? good).

The folklorist pretends to roll up his sleeves. "Right. Let's do this? It sounds fun, actually. Do we need to hatch the egg and raise the chicken first, or do we cheat and use a pre-grown, pre-plucked one?"

"Wait was that an option?"

Gabriella looks at the bags of groceries as if they have BETRAYED her with their readily available dead chickens. "You know, if we raised a chicken. I would probably make it our feather baby and then refuse to kill it. There would be outfits and names and...OH!" She pulls out a recyclable pouch. "I brought the kitties something."

This isn't just tuna. Oh no. It's salmon. The real fish. In little fillets. That's right. She brought the cats fish. FISH MAN.

"Well first we wash our hands. Then we turn on the oven to .. 450. Yes, let's go with 450."

No, first we feed the cat.

How the slight black cat managed to teleport into existence right between Gabriella's legs is anyone's guess, but there she is -- meowing and purring and turning herself into a furry slinky, rubbing her chin against the woman's ankles and declaring her ownership. Salmon.

"How quickly is the heart betrayed," Ravn murmurs, with an amused glance at the faithless feline. Then he manages to find a saucer somewhere, for fish to happen on, before proceeding to -- glance at his gloves. "So, what I usually do is wear plastic gloves instead, and then toss them when done. I mean, there's not a whole lot of point to washing my hands and then sticking them right back into my usual gloves before handling food." A box of see-through plastic gloves is procured from another cabinet; the shapeless, see-through kind that a grocery shop attendant will wear while stacking fruits or handling pastries, in order to avoid contaminating the product.

"Hello, love of my life..."

Gabriella offers as she attempts to pick up the black cat. If allowed, she will snuggle the kitten against her. She puts the cat back down but it follows with some salmon on the plate for the cat. She will pet her lightly behind the ears.

Those green eyes consider the gloves as her blonde brows furrow a bit. "So... does that help with your touch issues? The gloves break the contact or.." She's interested in this.

The expression on Kitty Pryde's little black face is priceless. For a moment there are two cats; one who really wants salmon and goddamnit, if that means sucking up, we suck up -- and a grumpy feral who'd rather die than get picked up, oh, wait, right, salmon. Gabriella gets to live. For now. Because salmon. Shh, busy, salmon.

Ravn can't resist a small laugh at the display; he only serves tuna, so no wonder he needs to be reminded what proper cat care looks like. Then he nods as he replaces his leather gloves with plastic ditto. "It helps -- I prefer heavier gloves for if I touch things accidentally, but since I expect to be touching food it's not a big deal. I could probably do without -- until something doesn't turn out to be what I expected and I end up jolting and dropping everything. I find it's easier to just -- go with it."

"So. What happens exactly when you are touched or you touch something? Does it cause pain? An electric current?" Gabriella now hooks her hip against the counter as she watches him. It's a genuine curious thing and she doesn't seem to realize he might not want to talk about it. Oh, but the kitty. That sweet sweet kitty is going to have so many treats every time Gabby crashes here.

"It's often like that, yes." Ravn turns the oven to the decreed temperature and looks curious as to the next step. "I tend to say, it's like sticking your finger in an electrical sockets. Though sometimes it's more like ice or fire, or even just itching like you'd been rolling in poison ivy. It's not very pleasant, so I tend to just -- wear the damn gloves and not have to deal with it."

Gabriella washes her hands and then starts to pull things out of the bag. There are root vegetables pulled out as she turns to look at him for a moment. "Where are your pans? I didn't think about it. Do you have a roasting pan or a pan that I can use?" It almost seems that she's going to stop poking into his 'ailment'. Almost.

Her lips curve up a bit more to study him. "Do you think that I could feel it? I mean if I did that head stuff? Can that even happen that you experience what another person is feeling? I'm still learning what I can do."

Ravn throws a look around. What pans do you have, and where are they? That's actually an excellent question. He's very glad someone asked it. Any other questions?

Oh well. One way to find out. He starts opening cupboards to see what's in there. Gotta be something -- and as it turns out, something doesn't start to cover it. Really, Aidan Kinney, did you raid a pan shop? Are pan shops a thing?

He looks up again, holding up several pans hopefully; one of them is a Danish apple slices pan, wherever the heck he found that. "I'm pretty sure you can, if you know what you're doing. Thing is, I don't. I don't have any of the mind talents at all. There are folks in Gray Harbor who can walk straight into your mind or invite you into theirs, but I am not one of them."

Gabriella is silent as she looks at what is offered. There is a frown at the Danish apple slices pan. In fact, she pulls out her phone to take a picture. Then she pauses and looks over at Ravn. She moves over in front of him. "Make a face." She sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth while holding the camera up. Selfies are happening people. They are happening.

The smaller woman glances past her phone to the countertop. "This will work." She grabs up a few cooling racks and a larger cake pan. She puts the racks in at a forty-five degree angle, touching so that they make a 'V'. "We can put them on this." She does make sure not to touch him through all of this.

"I mean, I think I can walk into your mind. I've done it a few times. I can also walk through the Veil. If you want to be healed though, not your bitch here. I'm more inclined to find one though."

"Kinney's one of Gray Harbor's best healers as it happens. For which I have been grateful on occasion." Ravn absentmindedly rubs his forearm. Then he makes a small face of awkwardness -- but at least he doesn't try to dodge the selfie taking. He may not be much of a social media guy.

"I have had people walk into my mind twice," he says, while watching what Gabriella is about to inflict on the dead bird. "The first time, a friend -- Rosencrantz. He was so surprised at what he found in there that we both fell out of the mindscape. I was -- not what he expected, apparently. The second time, was more like a therapy session. De la Vega is a powerful mentalist. So's Alexander Clayton. If you want tips, I mean. I don't have any talent of that kind at all."

"Ah, Javier.." Gabriella smiles a bit to herself. It's like that look that Kitty Pryce gets when Ravn says she's not getting tuna, but they both know she's getting that tuna. "I'm sure if he was going to get all in my mind, he'd just mess stuff up. He'd start making it so I was a dope addict or something." She's so with the times. Bet!

"Alexander is an interesting sort. He doesn't like me." There isn't a sound of hurt in her voice to that. She hmms softly. "I think we had some of the same experiences growing up though. So it might make him a kindred spirit." She looks around for a few knives and a cutting board.

That tone causes Ravn in turn to raise an eyebrow and shoot the smaller woman a curious look. "You know he's in a relationship, right? De la Vega, that is. As I am aware, they're quite happy." No need to mention the two boyfriends. That'd only complicate matters.

Then he chuckles. "Alexander Clayton is pretty up front about how he feels about things. If he doesn't like you, he'll tell you. If you ask him why, he will tell you. He is a bit of a walking disaster area as far as social graces go, but I kind of like him for it. At least you know exactly where he stands and what his opinion is, and he's not afraid to tell you if you're being an idiot. He's dressed me down a few times, and he's been right each time."

"Oh, I know about his relationship. I didn't say I wanted to marry him. Really, I think I just like to poke him to see what happens." Gabriella offers. "I'm not a homewrecker..." He might remember that text conversation earlier. ".. so if anything ever happened, it would be full of consent and understanding that his relationship isn't in danger." She looks at him a few moments to that. She knows about the two boyfriends. She's lacking some dangle bits.

There is a bright smile to that. "Alex..." For a moment, it's as if that's all she's going to say. That she's going to say his name and leave it there, but that is not the truth. "I don't think he doesn't like me. I think that he just doesn't like me. I'm not everyone's taste. I present one way that they are so hopeful about and then end up something else. Tell me, Ravn, what are you afraid of?"

"Full consent from him, and full consent from the rest of the household, too?" Ravn quirks an eyebrow, perhaps at that last statement in particular. "Now I'm curious as to how you feel you present yourself, and what you feel people are disappointed to actually find you being."

He fixes the plastic gloves to his wrists. "I find that most people are afraid of a great deal of things. Some are more vocal about them than others. For me? Commitment. Not to a person in particular -- to everything. I don't feel comfortable having a fixed address or a day job. It is a great deal easier to be transient in life, there one day and gone the next, never forming bonds or attachments. When no one remembers your name or that you were even there, no one is disappointed or affected much in any other way by you; there's a certain carefree lack of responsibility to that. But fear exists to be faced, and I am finding that in this town, somehow, it seems to be working for me. I actually do feel like I am part of the community here."

"I mean I am not calling each of them individually, but he knows the rules of his relationship and what is allowed or not. I did ask though. The answer is personal to him, but I'm sure you understand." Gabriella offers so easily to that and then she grins. "I'm not saying anything is going to happen between us or such. I think we enjoy the play off each other than the actual act of it. The tease as it is." She skips the part about her for the moment. She might circle back.

She finds the items she needs in the kitchen and pulls out the brown paper wrapped chicken. She got it fresh, not one of a million in a grocery store. It looks farm fresh. Gabby starts to clean the sink down, scrubbing it before she uses it. Then she looks at him at the words. "I understand some of that. I mean, I understand all of it. The words and the sentiment. I don't think that people are permanent in my life. They always leave so there is no reason to build a rapport and connection to them. Perhaps I've been the one left too many times. In truth, my favorite hobby is reading. By myself." She grins. "I'm nicer than I let on too. Shhh... don't tell anyone."

"People play very strange games with one another. I do not much approve -- it complicates things unnecessarily." At least the kitchen is spotless; Ravn is a bit of a neat freak, and Aidan is no slob either. Mix and match second hand kitchenware by no means indicates a lackadaisical attitude towards cleanliness. The Dane even manages to find a pair of chicken scissors in a drawer; odd, twisted knives that work perfectly for opening a bird, and pretty much nothing else.

"People don't leave me," he adds. "I leave them. Or I never connect with them in the first place, because a lot of the time there is no point. Gray Harbor is different in this regard. We have very real things out there in the dark, stalking us as prey. You need to know that when you find yourself in a dream or otherworld experience, you can trust the other guys to want to have your back. Sometimes, the only thing that saves your backside is someone else being willing to put theirs on the line for you."

"It depends on the person what I do. I tend to let people dictate the relationship." Gabriella's nose scrutches at that last word. "I find people are rarely honest when people first meet them. So as a girl, and I'm sure you will judge me.. anyways. I hit on them. Then if they are too eager, I realize that maybe I shouldn't be alone with them. If they brush me off.." She looks pointedly at him. "... I then see if they are playing hard to get or if they are good to have friends with."

"I've had a dream. I mean I've had them before here too." Gabriella smiles softly to that. "I never knew why mine were so real feeling though. I just.. I cross over. I know the points in the Veil, I guess. Then I can just step over. Can you?"

Ravn shakes his head. "What I can do comes down to levitating spoons and stealing hazelnuts from out under cups. I have very little talent. Have plenty dream experiences, but it's got more to do with me being a pain in the arse to a few entities on the other side than it does with me being worth much for the harvest."

He rummages around the spice shelf, not entirely certain what's going to be needed. "I tend to ignore it. When people -- regardless of gender -- hit on me. What's the point? I'm not really interested, might as well save their time and mine."

"Are you not interested at all or just me?" Gabriella is curious. "I tend to enjoy flirting because it's complimenting people. I'm telling you that I think you are amazing. That's part of it for giving you my attention." She pulls out the chicken to start washing it off. She checks the cavity as well. "I had them put the innards in a separate container, but you will want to make sure to remove the giblets and such if you buy a chicken." There's some sort of lesson in that.

"When I'm interested in people, I normally don't feel the need to get naked with them unless I feel some form of connection to them. I just don't count on it staying." Her eyes study him. "What was your worst dream?"

"I'm not really interested at all. I don't have much of a dating life, never did." Ravn procures a couple of oven proof stoneware containers from somewhere, in case chicken bits needs to go into something. He glances at the innards, not entirely certain whether he's supposed to do something with them, besides feed them to Kitty Pryde; chicken liver, it's a thing. Isn't it? He's pretty sure that it is.

He pauses to offer a wry smile. "But since it interests you: I was interested, properly interested, once. She ended up killing herself. Thought I might be again, this summer. It fizzled. At this time? I'm honestly quite happy to just have friends. I don't need to sleep with my friends for them to be friends. And I get to not have to deal with the whole boundaries, who's seeing who, and who expects what. We live in a town where dreams and monsters happen regularly. Getting laid is not a priority."

The Dane pauses to think back; heaven knows there's been a few. "I think that if I have to pick one it's going to the insane artist painting with human flesh. Tried to take my arm off with a meat cleaver. It's pretty mundane compared to some of the more sublime horrors around here, but it was the first time I got really well and properly hurt. I play the violin -- for a while, I didn't know if I'd have nerve damage and lose the ability."

Gabriella nods her head. "Well if it comes around again, you should try to capture it. I mean happiness when you can find it right?" She nods her head to that. "I don't mean to be vain, but I'm slightly glad it's not just me. I mean, don't get me wrong, blonde isn't a thing or short for everyone and I'm totally good with that. I'd just be sad if I was the only one."

"Okay....so we have the oven on and I have made a roasting pan with the racks here. So how about you cut the veggies? I wouldn't dice them.." Pause. "small and uniform. I would do more a larger bite-size sort of cut or larger. We are going to put them on the bottom of the pan."

Chopping vegetables, a task even a Danish guy with no cooking skill can figure out; carrot goes on cutting board, carrot becomes many smaller carrots. "We've a saying Danish: The hardest thing to predict is the future." Ravn chuckles. "I'm not defending an ideological view point here. I'm just not unhappy enough or idle enough to worry about it. Also, if I have to be perfectly honest about it, I don't see Gray Harbor as a place to look for love or want to raise a family. People die here, a lot. People get lost in the Veil and never return. Alexander Clayton told me once how, when he was a child, his toys would come alive in dreams and try to eat him. What kind of life is that, for a kid?"

He shakes his head. "Provided I don't end up wandering into the Veil and fail to find my way back out some day, I plan to go home eventually. If I decide that I want to look for love and think about getting settled? Definitely going home, or anywhere else that isn't a thin spot."

"I don't think I've ever really had a home to go back to." Gabriella offers easily. "I mean my Grandma's but even that isn't home." Her lips curve up as the watches him chop. "You are doing great already. Do you have any herbs or flavoring that you don't like? A lot of people put lemon in the chicken and I don't really like it through the meat."

"What do you think would be a horrifying dream that you have not yet had? I don't... know what mine would be."

"Oh, I have a home as in, the physical location. I haven't lived there for years, though -- the place is rented out. Kind of a family home affair, entirely too big for one man anyhow, so if I went back, I'd probably get an apartment on the outskirts of Copenhagen somewhere. Central Copenhagen is rapidly becoming gentrified, but the outskirts are still livable." Ravn ponders the dill -- and then decides to sneak the dill away because he doesn't like it much, and if it doesn't exist, it can't be used against him in future experiments.

He pauses and ponders. "You know, I don't know? Dreams where I had to watch someone get hurt and not be able to help them, I figure. Dreams where no matter what you do, there just isn't a solution. Or you have to watch someone break and know that no matter what you do, this is the kind of damage that cannot be undone. Sometimes, there's just nothing left to do."

Gabriella looks around for the dill. Wasn't it just here? Then there is a look as it occurs to her where it probably went or rather why she doesn't see it. "If you ever go back, I'd like to come with you." There is a pause as her green eyes come up to look at him. "Not like with you, but to see where you are from. You know?"

She will go through all the steps of roasting the chicken. It's if it turns out that is the real question.

"I could see that. I don't know if I would find that as upseting. I think a lot of..." She stops and then smiles a bit more. "I could see that for you. Have you ever had a dream where touch doesn't hurt?"

"My home town is a lot like Gray Harbor. Somewhat bigger but the same provincial feel." Ravn begins to chop the greens again, looking thoughtful as he sends his mind down the catalogue of lost and half forgotten otherworld experiences. "I don't think I have, no. I have had empaths use their projection to help me calm anxieties."

He pauses. "No, actually, that's not true. There has been one occasion where someone managed to do that to me for at least a very short while. A complete embarrassing clusterfuck in which I had to kiss the empath -- in front of the woman I was interested in. Did I mention that these dolorphages love to make us miserable?"

"You had to kiss another woman in front of Hyacinth? That was probably awkward for you. Maybe that's why she hasn't called? You have to call her probably and follow up with that." There is a cant of her head as Gabriella considers him. "If you want, I could try to calm your anxiety and that. I haven't tried, but I'm sure that I would be willing to, if you wanted."

She supervises him on this as she moves to find a place to sit. She's teaching him, but not doing it for him. Yet. That might change in a moment.

Ravn doesn't mind doing the actual work; how's he supposed to learn, after all, if someone just does it all for him? He's meticulous in that inexperienced way of a new cook, making sure that all the pieces end up roughly the same size, and looking carefully to see that he's doing things right. "It's a tricky thing to do," he says. "I have the impression from the guys who can do those things, that they don't do them just -- when they're not necessary."

A small, wry smile at the memory of the dream in which he was elected prom queen, much to his own consternation. "It was that dream that prompted us to -- well, talk about maybe making something of something. Also, who said anything about a woman? For proper misery, you need to have the straight guy kiss another guy."

Gabriella stares at him for a long moment. She stares longer. Then she laughs. She can't help it. "I'm sorry. That was really just hetero of me. I was thinking you were kissing another girl because the girl you wanted was there." Her lips curve a bit as she shakes her head to that. "I don't judge who you feel things for or anything. Well, I suppose that is a good thing than. If it prompted the talk and the feelings. Those are always awkward conversations to have. I think it's why I try not to catch feelings."

"Like I said," Ravn points out, smiling. "Too many complications. And always, in Gray Harbor, the overhanging shadow that if you are happy, the dolorphages are not happy. You have to be ready to lose, at the drop of a hat. Commitment here is really commitment."

"Do they create unhappiness outside of dreams though?" Gabriella is still pretty new to all these things actually being talked about and learned about. "My mother isn't.. sensitive to these things and I have no clue who my father is." She doesn't seem to want to know either. "I mean, he's probably a local though." That thought just occurred to her.

"Of course they do, they just can't do it directly. Imagine you were deeply committed to someone, only to find out that in a dream, they had to make love to someone else, or worse, fall in love with someone else? Even planting the idea in your mind would make you miserable, would it not?" Ravn nods. "Don't get me wrong -- there are people in Gray Harbor who manage. Who are happy, who can weather whatever the demons bring. Strong people, strong bonds. I don't think I'm one of them. I don't think most of us can, and that's why you'll hear people say things like, the best way to cope is to drink a lot and fuck a lot. I'm on board with the first, personally."

Gabriella stops. She cants her head so very slowly to the left. It's very clear that she hasn't thought about that before so she turns it over in her mind. Is she okay with just a dream but dreams aren't really fake here either. She turns it over probably longer than she needs to. "No." The word leaves her lips on that as her brows lower. "Yeah, I don't.. I don't think I could do that." She smiles and goes over the next steps in the process.

"People should do what works for them, and cope however works for them. But no, I don't think I can do that either. Relationships are complicated. Relationships here are very complicated. And that's even leaving out all the running gags about Gay Harbor." Ravn watches the chicken procedures; and if he is aware how disturbing it can be, to discuss such matters with such a completely clinical approach, he does not let it show.

Gabriella seems to be secretly clinical about a lot of things. Don't tell anyone. "Okay, so I'm going to have you butter the chicken." She pauses. "Let's see if you can pick it up to do that. It can be slippery you know." Her brows lift up to that. "Yeah, I'm not a really jealous person, but I'm also not into open relationships if I catch feels. I mean I have nothing against it." There is a pause. "Gay Harbor?"

"Old joke. Gay Harbor, because no one here is straight." Ravn cants his head and then goes about the process of applying butter to a chicken; maybe wearing plastic gloves is not such a bad idea, though he may have to change them after this process is complete. "I have no idea who started the joke. Someone who couldn't get a date, I figure. Town's got a lively queer scene for such a small place, that's true."

He shakes his head. "Got nothing against open relationships. People should do what makes everyone involved happy. Personally? Don't really see myself interested in several people at once. Don't think I'd care a lot if my partner was, though, unless she ended up not having time for me."

"I doubt I'm going to come to the point where I have to be so involved in a relationship that it matters." Gabriella moves over a bit closer to him as she wrinkles her nose. "This is the part I dislike. I did it once without gloves and I couldn't get the oil off my hands. It was horrid." Her lips curve upwards for a few moments. "So, tell me something silly or funny about you?"

"Something funny about me?" Ravn glances ceiling-ward a moment, thinking. "Well. I don't know if it's funny per se, but people tend to look at me funny when I tell them. I spent part of my wasted youth as a thief and grifter. Need a pocket picked or a lock opened, come see me about it."

He winks. "It's come in handy a few times. You'd be surprised how many dreams involve getting locked up somewhere, or needing something from someone else's pocket. Even outside of dreams -- Hell, I had to open a safe a month or so ago."

"I think we've all done things in our past to you know, survive." Gabriella offers easily but she does sort of look him up and down. Then her lips quirk. So very quirky those lips. "There is a joke in there about being able to unlock my safe baby." She winks to him. "I'll remember that next time."

"So have you ever taken anything from my pocket." Gabriella looks him over with a bit more interest though. "Why did you have to open a safe?"

"Why would I go into your pockets?" Ravn looks up from the chicken and quirks an eyebrow. "I'm not a cleptomaniac. I made a living in whatever worked, mine was swiping wallets and keys. Hooked up with carnies along the way, pulled the occasional car theft and a lot of small time grifts. Think less Mission Impossible and more sleeping in the back of a car on the outskirts of town until police chases you off for loitering and suspected petty theft."

A grin spreads over the man's face as he turns the chicken around; he's definitely going to want to replace those plastic gloves once he's done smearing butter all over it. "The safe, though, that was just to see what was in it. We were playing urban explorers in the basement of the Bauer Building -- a lot of the stuff down there has sat around literally for a century. Found this old safe dating back to prohibition times, and sure enough, it turned out to be full of moonshine. Tasted bloody awful."

He hitches a shoulder. "Also found a body rolled up into a carpet that'd been there for just as long but that was perhaps a bit less exciting."

"Are my pockets not good enough for your hands?" Gabby offers with a loft of her brows in humor. "Look, people have to do what they have to do to make it happen. There are points in life that we are not living life, but surviving it. You know? I mean most of the childhood and life I remember was very survive it." She shrugs a bit and then smiles.

"Chicken goes on the rack." She's going through the instructions step by step. There is a glance to that. "Did you dream the prohibition? I mean here I thought things just started to occur when we find things." She smiles a bit more. "I tend to find things even if I didn't realize I was looking. The fair folk have nothing on me." Her green eyes slide over the area as if she expects a fairy to hop up and get upset about that.

"What did you do with the body? What happened with it? Who was it? Is the building haunted?"

Chicken goes on the rack, carefully. "Oh, the safe was real enough, I don't think there was any dreaming involved there. It'd just sat among the other junk in the basement of the Bauer Building since Prohibition; there was probably a speakeasy there." Ravn winces at the memory.

"The body was some kid -- his ghost turned up when we were looking into the safe. Pointed us to an old wardrobe, and sure enough, there was a small, very mummified body inside a rolled-up carpet inside. Going to wager a guess and say the kid got lost in the basement and locked in -- and when smugglers or speakeasy gangsters found the body they hid it, rather than attract police attention. And then it was just -- forgotten. We called the police, of course, that's what you're supposed to do when you find a body. At least the kid gets a proper funeral now."

No fairies manifest; in fact, the only thing that manifest is the paw of a small black cat, reaching out to boop the butter. Because she can. And also, she needs to remind people that once the chicken is ready, there is such a thing as feline taxes.

Gabriella pauses for a moment. "That's horrible." It's not the idea of dead bodies. "Could you imagine being a child and that happening? Or parents and not knowing what happened?" She angles her hip to watch him with the chicken and beams gloriously at him.

"Look at you, you are a pro. We are going to have you cooking all Sunday dinners from here forwards. Speaking of... do you have any holiday plans? I'd love to have you come over to Granny's for it if you don't. I mean, since I've decided we are going to be best friends now." Her eyes drop to the fuzzy wonder kitty. "You can bring Kitty too and .. Aiden?" She thinks she has his name right.

Another pause

"What do you want for Christmas?"

"I haven't actually thought about it a lot," Ravn says, in accordance with the truth, and then looks down at Kitty Pryde, all smug and full of salmon. "She intends to turn up and claim leftovers in every house on the street that doesn't kick her out, of course."

The Dane pauses in adjusting the stove and gives the question due consideration. Then he shakes his head. "I don't really have anything that I want. Maybe I am in the fortunate position of being able to say that on the whole, I am pretty content where I am, with what I have. What about you? Where you are, is that where you want to be? You can always hope for a new shirt or a nice book for Christmas, but when it comes to what we really want out of life, do you feel you have what you have been looking for?"

To play the game or to let the honesty run forth. This is always the question for Gabriella. Although, she's usually more inclined to honesty when one on one. Her blonde head tips and she's sooooo adorable. It's probably lost on him, but she has adorbs in spades, man.

"No."

The one word is answer to his questions as it's summed up, but she smiles vibrantly anyways. "I am never going to get that. I'm alright with that understanding of things. We are always in places to give something, even if we don't have money. I'm a believer that time is one of the best things you can give people. It's my love language probably."

"Money isn't all it's cracked up to be," Ravn agrees. "Obviously it's a rather big deal when you don't have it -- but once you don't need to worry about it much, attempts to buy affection and concern with it become just that: Bribes. Time is a far more valuable commodity, I will agree."

He can't resist, though. The Dane cants his head and looks at Gabriella curiously. "If you could have everything the way you wanted, though? Where would you be? I am fairly certain that my answer would be right here, right where I am -- because I am actually quite content with the way my life has been going the last year and a half. But if you could decide? Where would you go?"

"That's the thing, Rav..." When your name is short, Gabby can still shorten it. She's going to forget everyone's real name. "..it's not a place."

She shrugs her shoulders a bit and then hops up to sit on a counter. She's just here to supervise and help put out the fire when his cooking eventually leads to that. "It's a feeling. Here is just as good as anywhere. I mean, slightly better since I can talk openly about the Veil and such things." She sighs a bit. "I want to feel.. secure. It's not going to happen. We live this life. People aren't dependable. It's not where I would go. Although, my feet start to itch after a while to move."

"The right place isn't geography. If that was the issue, I'd live on some beautiful tropical beach." Ravn chuckles and then shakes his head again. "Gray Harbor is the right place for me because I have made friends here, and I feel that I have things that keep me here. Before I ended up here I travelled -- across Europe, and then across the US. Didn't feel I connected anywhere, didn't feel any urge to stay anywhere. I have made friends here -- and while it was certainly not written in the stars that I'd end up being the every day coordinator for a community centre, it works. I am happy doing what I do, knowing the people I do. Life can always get better, but it is a good feeling to be able to say, I pretty much am where I want to be, have what I wanted to have."

"It's because I showed up in your life isn't it?" Gabriella offers a bright smile with the bad joke. "It's okay. I can take it. You can tell me how I'm your queen and you are waiting to construct me a throne of ..." She glances around. Most of this decor is the roomie's idea. Then back to him with a brilliant smile. "Books. I mean they won't be hurt, but you could construct me a throne of books."

"Mm-hmm. Might end up finding your place in this town too if you're not careful. I never planned on staying -- a week, maybe. Then two. Then a month. Just for the winter, then. Fine, maybe the summer too. Oh, look, apparently I bought a house, guess I am staying." Ravn winks and peels the grease covered plastic gloves off in order to replace them with a fresh pair. "Before you realise it, this town gets its hooks in you. You make friends, you fall in love, whatever it is you need to do."

"I don't fall in love."

There is a laugh though from Gabby to that. "I love my grandmother, but that's different. Have you fallen in love here already?" There is a look in her eyes. A spark of empath perhaps before she offers, "Friends are okay though. I don't think anyone thinks that way of me though. It's fine. It helps when you have to leave."

"Love is a big word, I'll admit. I had my hopes up a bit -- but you know how life is, nothing is ever simple." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "A lot of people do, though. People of our kind -- it's one of the ways Gray Harbor gets people to stick around, dangling a great love affair as bait. When you've been here for a while you'll start to notice -- a lot of people come into town and a week later they're holding hands with someone else who came in a week ago. It seems to work, and it makes people happy, so -- I mean, it's devious but it seems like a win for most of them so who's really complaining."

"When was the last date you were on?" Gabby offers to the man as she watches him. Her eyes slide over to the oven as she gives the next in line of roasted chicken directions. She's already queen of the counter. "I mean don't get me wrong. I'd like to find my person, but there is a lot of ... messed up ness in my world and my head for that I think." She does wink to him. "I mean, I thought you were cute when I first saw you. It's the hair. Totally the hair. However, my most beloved object of my affection. You have already ripped down all hopes I had."

"Date, as in, formal date, going out together of our own volition? Because the Veil's tossed me on a few date-like affairs, but that's not what you mean, I think. In which case -- 2015. I'm not really the dating type." Ravn chuckles again. "If you mean anything that resembles a date in some capacity, I attended my own high school prom a few months back."

Gabriella wrinkles her nose a bit. "That dream thing.. probably why I couldn't trust love here. I... I couldn't imagine them being with anyone else. I mean, I'm not judging people for that. It's their life." She leans forwards a bit to that. "We should go on a date. I mean, I know you aren't interested, but we can go through the motions. Think of it like a dress rehersal for when you get that Addington or whomever."

"Living here kind of does mean you probably need to develop some kind of ability to differentiate between infidelity because she wanted to cheat, and infidelity because the Veil smooshed her together with someone else, yes. Him, her, whatever your preference." Ravn nods again, and rootles in drawers for the chicken cutter. There has to be one. Right? "I could probably handle that. After all, once you've been through a few you know it's not really a choice. If the story says 'and then they snog', then that's what happens, unless everyone decides to just stay right there forever, waiting for the story to end. You have to move through."

There is a shake of her head and maybe a look of disappointment. It isn't directed at him though. "Well, that seals my singlehood while I live here." A pause. "Thank you for letting me know though. It's always a choice, Ravn. Don't blame it fully on the Veil. However, I know people here aren't exactly a one on one type relationship type from what I've learned."

Her smile is a little more forced, like learning something one wishes they could unlearn. "I'm sure you can look in the right drawer. I think I saw them in there." It might show up it, it's not fully her luck if he's looking for it.

"So what should we do on our practice date? I don't know anything around here."

"No, it's not like that. I mean, I'm sure it's sometimes like that. But it's not always like that. I'm very monogamous and as far as I am aware, also not interested in boys. Still had to kiss the prom king for it to be over, remember? The building was coming down on top of us and odds are someone'd have died if we hadn't finished that story." He winks. "I will tell you this: I spent considerable amount of tooth paste getting back to feeling, well, a bit less like a sock puppet afterwards."

Chicken cutters . . . Bread saw, curious device for extracting olive stones, a nut cracker shaped like a squirrel squeezing things between very muscular thighs, a remarkably 1970s set of dessert forks with little emerald and orange glass hilts, and no chicken cutters. "Might have to use a sharp knife here. Or a pair of regular scissors. Aidan probably put them somewhere logical, and now no one will ever see them again."

Gabriella looks so very confused now. "Isn't snogging sex?" Oh, see that's where he lost her. All those foreign words for things. "I thought of you snogged someone you were like naked with them." She shrugs. "I think it's more about the person than the gender. I'm monogamous in a relationship, but out of one.." There is another shrug.

There is a laugh to the logical. "You sound like me getting upset about people adding logic into my rants when I have them. You know, I'm feeling the Veil thin-ness more and more lately." Her lips quirk a bit. "I'm sure you made a good .. prom.. queen?"

"I know the saying about being easy like a teenage girl on prom night but I beg to differ." Ravn smirks. "I don't think actually having to sleep with someone in dreams is that common. If it is, people don't talk about it -- which I suppose I wouldn't either, because really, there's a lot of baggage about lack of consent right there. I've been married to people in dreams but we kind of left it at the formalities, you know?"

"I tend to have nightmares. When you are in a relationship in a dream, do you... do you feel the affection too for them? Or do you have to have the affection outside of the dream?" Her eyes watch him with curiosity. It's clear she's trying to figure out how she feels about this. Then she laughs. "Not that anyone is rushing my door to relationship me up."

Pause.
Pause.

"What is snogging?"

Ravn chuckles. "As far as I am aware, it means kissing -- well and good and with a lot of intent. I could be wrong -- not a nativer speaker and all that."

Then he shakes his head. "I've never had a dream tell me my feelings. Story may tell me someone's my wife -- or I'm theirs, whatever -- but it's still more like acting. You have to play a part. And this part is someone's spouse. But I haven't suddenly found myself attracted to someone I'm not usually, or in love with someone I wouldn't be, no. "

"It adds a layer that I haven't really thought of here. Like how would I feel of my significant other making out with someone else or sleeping with someone or loving someone. Or what if they aren't asking to marry me, but are married to others." Gabby looks like the idea is already getting a headache. Then she smiles at him.

"You have to plan the date thing. Also, please text me the right outfit." He did agree to that didn't he? "How's the chicken coming along, Gordon Ramsey?"

"Have you met Isi Cameron? First Nations girl, and as far as I am aware, into girls. She was my wife in a dream experience recently. I'm going to rib her mercilessly about it, when we have a little distance. But obviously, neither of us have any of those feelings, and we certainly didn't extend the pretence to the bedroom. She just had to deal with being called Mrs Abildgaard and keep a straight face." Ravn grins slightly. "Not that that wasn't bad enough."

He has heard nothing about dates, enope.

Silence.
More silence.

"I met her once. I don't think she was impressed by me. She called me a construction cone." There is a thoughtful expression. "Maybe she likes both and it's just foreshadowing." The date though. She has a debate in her head. Be a good girl and then push it to the limit.

"Didn't you say we could pre-date? You know... like go out and test run it for when you want to? Pretty sure you just agreed to that. Now you are just avoiding." Her eyes move to the cat. As if Kitty will back her. Two to one. "I mean, it should start with fresh salmon for Kitty so she doesn't feel left behind." Cat conspiracy. That's how Ravn gets tricked into this. She's turning the cat to her side.

"Meow," agrees Kitty Pryde who may not have the gift of speech but sometimes seem a little sharper on the uptake than any house cat has the right to be; might be Kailey Holt's infamous Veil creature, the Uncat, rubbing off on her -- which would make sense, given that technically, they are the same cat. It's a very long story.

Ravn shakes his head, laughing. "What would be the point? We can eat somewhere together sometime, sure. But a date implies something else, and well, like I said, I'm not really the dating type. I dislike eating anywhere jeans aren't good enough, and I strongly dislike crowds and stuffy people."

Gabriella does not know Kailey and her twin Kitty. She drops her eyes to the meow of agreement. Then she offers, "The true queen agrees. You surely cannot go against her wishes, can you? How can you look at that cute little face and deny it?"

"Well, I did say you could pick it. I mean, a date one can wear jeans. As well, one can be away from people." Then her eyes slide back up to his with mischief.

"I'm perfectly happy to go eat a greasy burger at the Grizzly Diner sometime," Ravn agrees with a laugh. "But dates, to me, are sticky candied fruits that I only eat during Christmas. A date signifies a romantic intent or hope. Pretty certain this town has folks aplenty who'd be all over the idea, so don't waste your time chasing the guy whose idea of a good time is a book and a bottle of twelve year whiskey."

"You say that as if it is not my idea of a good time as well. Although, I'm sure our tastes in reading differ. For I am inclined to read up the reasoning of those that do what they want to do and how they do it. The psychology of it. There is then the classics."

Gabriella tosses her blonde hair a bit. "Do you not feel romantic inclinations towards me?" It's not serious, she's really just messing with him.

"And I tend to read non-fiction," the Dane agrees, smiling. "Though I'll make an exception for a well researched historical novel that offers a believable portrayal of the era it is discussing."

He leans in to check on the bird. It is doing exactly what a bird in a hot oven should: Turning brown. "About as romantically inclined as you feel towards me, I suspect." The Dane looks up and winks. "You like to chase, that is obvious. If you wanted to simply catch, there's folks enough hanging around bars hoping to get lucky."

"I have gone on dates. You are one of the few not letting it known that you want to get in my pants." Gabriella offers. "I do not feel a warmth of love in my heart for most people. There are few willing to put in the work to truly win it." This is a factual statement not a sad one. "I do not find myself longing and sighing that true love's kiss comes and saves me from the lands."

Her eyes slide up one side of him and down the other side of him thoughtfully. It's as if she's weighing and measuring him. "I don't know what I think or feel about you yet. I mean, I know how you feel and think of me. I am not quick to weigh in. I am interested in how your mind works or how your body responds to things." Her cheeks flame a bright red for a moment.

"I meant.." There is a blink and then she starts to rattle off words. Poor man. "I mean how your body responds to touch. NO! WAIT.. not like sexually but to the other touches. I mean.. oh by the lord..." She takes a breath. "You interest me, but I'm not saying I'm interested yet. I'm also not saying I won't come to that."

Ravn smirks; the expressions fluttering across Gabriella's features do amuse him a bit. Then he shakes his head and rests his hip against the kitchen counter. "Barring the neuropathy my biology's the same as any other bloke's, and it tends to do the same things. True love? It exists, I believe that it does. But I do not believe that it's something we're entitled to simply on basis of getting born. It's something people can build between themselves, if they are willing to go that extra mile."

"But people never do wish to go that extra mile, Ravn." Gabriella offers it from her place upon his counter as she talks. "I do not mean that in a horrid way. Look around you. People fall in love in weeks. It is the truest of loves they have found. I do believe that one can feel lust initially. The problem is lust is a flame. So it tends to burn those that hold it." She smiles at him. "I believe in the concept of true love, but I've never seen it. People tend to do the basic of work. They want life to be flawless in neat little boxes. I enjoy some of the chaos."

"And you wonder why I don't bother?" Ravn can't help a grin. "Like you say -- falling in lust is easy. Doesn't work very well for me, since I require a potential partner to go more than just that little extra mile. So I don't bother -- though obviously I wouldn't mind some day finding that someone who's willing to put in the effort and put up with my issues. I'm just not going to plan on it -- and I'm not going to try to accommodate a situation that doesn't exist. If someone's genuinely interested enough, it'll show. Eventually."

"You mean like they will ask you for a date while respecting your distance of space needed? Talk to you about more intimate thoughts." A pause of Gabriella's. "I mean the more intimate as in mentally not sexually. Will they teach you how to cook and make sure that your darling feline is fed well?" Her lips quirk in humor.

"No, I mean that they'll be my friend. We'll have things in common, shared interests, shared hobbies, shared passions. And maybe at some point it'll make sense to expand our friendship to including a sexual aspect -- or maybe it won't." Ravn shrugs. "I don't really care all that much. I tend to find that people obsess about this -- finding the right partner, finding a partner. Sometimes, to the point where you have to wonder if they are simply afraid of sleeping alone in a room."

Gabriella sighs. "Why must you kill all my good jokes when I am making them?" Gabriella shakes her head. "I like to sleep alone for the most part. One is most... I do not enjoy sleeping with people. Either dreams come and I come up missing. Or I give them the ability to hurt me." Her lips curve to that. "I don't think there is a partner out there that can handle me. They will want to change that what I am. You, my most beloved, are simply perfect. So no one would seek to change that."

Another lopsided smirk on Ravn's face as he opens the fridge to take out two cold beers; might as well kill time while waiting for bird to become dinner. "Because that's who I am. Someone profoundly boring. Maybe you're right -- you're too hot to trot, too much for one man or woman to handle, too much going on, moving too fast. Me, I'm the opposite -- I'm simply not very exciting. I lead a quiet home life, I don't like to argue, I don't like going out and doing interesting things, I avoid crowds, and I am quite happy to forget that other people exist for days at a time."

Gabriella makes grabby hands for the beer. "Would it surprise you to know that is my end goal?" She smiles at the lopsided smirk upon his features. "It just isn't likely to be. I don't trust people enough to be that person. My choices in life is to curl up with a book. I find in crowds that I play the role of social butterfly well. However, it is very tiring by the end of the day to do so. It is just who I must be in the crowds to protect myself from more harm."

Ravn's smirk widens a tad; he excels at simply disappearing from social contexts. Then he nods. "It's a complex social interaction, and I do not enjoy it. There are few crowds I can think of that I want to be at the centre of, and I can't think of any that would benefit in particular from me stealing the spotlight, either. Lots of people enjoy getting stared at and desired by strangers. Let them have it."

"Desire is a double edged sword. For if you spark it in one, they may think that it is owed to them." Gabriella smiles to that. "People believe you to be what they think they see. They do not expect you to be more. I find that flirtations and social allow one to see how people are." Her lips curve a bit to that more. "To do so, they tend to think that I am sex craved or love craved."

"Well, we've got a strong cultural bias against women taking the initiative still, the whole Madonna or Whore complex." Ravn shrugs lightly. "It's not something I worry about a lot. I don't really register as a potential to most women, and that suits me well enough."

He studies the younger, smaller woman; not so much in a lascivious way as if he's trying to work out what it is she's trying to tell him, beneath the flirtation and the banter, and the pretences. "Does it really matter, though? What people think? Do you genuinely care whether some random stranger thinks you may be easy, or that you're playing hard to get, or whatever else he or she comes up with?"

"I care little to what strangers think, but it seems there is bleed over to those that do know me." Gabriella smiles to that. "I care little to what most think of. I am an island in a sea of people."

"You mean, you worry what your grandmother will think." Ravn tosses an almost conspiratorial wink Gabriella's way. "Let me tell you a little secret: Your grandmother didn't bat an eyelid at the idea of three men living together as lovers. I don't think she cares very much whether you flirt or get laid. I suspect she cares a great deal whether you're happy, and I wouldn't really be very surprised to see her flying at someone who hurt you."

"She has not been overly full of judgment. However, they are not her granddaughter. She expects better of me. If I were to take a lover, she might be shocked. She may not." There is a cant to her head on the mention of three men living as lovers. "Things are as they are. I shall live my life as needed and she wants me to make friends."

"That's a fair point. Though in truth, she doesn't strike me as someone who wastes time worrying too much about what other people do in that regard. Maybe it's a life here that makes a difference -- when you see the things the Veil comes up with, I figure that a couple of blokes being all sweet and nice to each other is good news." Ravn sips his beer. "It took a little wrapping my mind around, for me. But hey, Rosencrantz's my best friend and if that lifestyle makes him happy? Good on him, not my place to tell him they're doing something wrong just because I doubt it'd work for me. I suspect Granny Gail feels much the same way, from the way she acts and talks about these matters."

"We must find happiness how it is. I cannot say how one relationship should work over another. I have met Joe, but I do not know Rosencrantz. What is he like?" Gabriella nods her head. "I went on a date with Benjamin Martin. I am not sure he will want to see me again though. As you said, Addingtons. They manage to take all the men I might desire." She winks teasingly at him.

"Can always give Benedict Addington a shot?" Ravn smirks. "I take it Martin is hitting it off with Erin Addington then? Can't say I really know her -- met her a couple of times but I don't speak Rich Girl very well. I know that she's a nurse, and that she likes fast cars."

He sips his beer. "Rosencrantz is -- how to best describe him, really -- he's flighty. Not in the evasive way -- in the everywhere at once kind of way. Never sits still, always elbow deep in something. He's got a very large heart -- gruff exterior sometimes but below that, he's one of the kindest people I know. Wicked sense of humour. And of course women flock to him because what man is ever more attractive than a charismatic musician?"

"Oh, I don't know if they are hitting it off or not. He's not mine to inquire about. I hope that he finds happiness with her or without." Gabriella lowers her brows as he says women flock to him. "Isn't he gay?"

"Rosencrantz? I don't think he's particularly discerning. But he is in a relationship, so, still off the market as far as I am aware." Ravn chuckles. "I've seen the way women look at the man when he plays, though. He plays at Sitka -- the lounge at the Casino. I've gone to listen a few times. Some musicians have that ability -- to reach out beyond the music itself, to really touch something. He's one of those."

"Will you take him to hear him play?" Gabby is offers with a curious shift of her head. "I think that I would like to hear it." Her lips carefully. She watches him for a few moments of thought. "What about you? Do you play something? Have hobbies? I can't remember."

"I play the violin a bit. We practise together at times. But I don't play professionally." Ravn sips his beer. "I don't have his ability to get passion in there. I'd also rather break an arm sideways than get on a stage before an audience."

"Perhaps you will let me take a photo of you playing though. I rather enjoy taking photos of everything and everyone." Gabby swings her legs a bit as she drinks the beer and then pauses. Her eyes move to the oven. "You did set the timer right?"

"I'm supposed to set a timer?" Ravn's idea of cooking really does begin at 'this is a stove, you turn it on by turning this button'. On closer inspection, the bird seems to be turning a nice shade of brown; no black edges, and no funny smells. It's a good thing one of the two people present has any idea what she's doing.

"Is there any way to tell whether it's cooked inside?" Ravn frowns a little; uncooked chicken meat is the number one cause for salmonella poisoning, right?

Gabriella wrinkles up her nose a bit and starts to look around for a thermometer. She's just ransacking his drawers as if she lives here. "Well you are supposed to check the internal temp for the right type of doneness." There is a pause as she crouches down to look at it.

"I mean... I guess it looks okay. We could let it rest and see if it's done or not." Her head cants as she looks up at him for a long moment. "Did you see a temp gauge that we can stick in it?"

Ravn is honestly not even certain what he's looking for. But the thing he holds up has temperature measurements on it and a vicious spike so -- presumably it's for somehow jabbing a chicken and guessing at its core temperature, possibly to estimate the risk of an imminent reactor meltdown. He hands it over with a rather sheepish look because he has no damn idea how to work the thing, either.

Gabby stares at the spike. Then she stares at Ravn. Then back to the gauge. "Seriously?" She asks about the sheepish look then she pulls out the chicken to find the thickest part to plunge it into.

"I thought all men were born with the ability to know how to stab into anything. You know.. a person, a tree trunk, a chicken breast."

"Look, contrary to common belief, perhaps, I did in fact not grow up learning how to swing a sword or win a jousting contest." Ravn makes a face. "I did take a few fencing classes -- enough to realise that it's the last damn thing I want to learn, possibly exceeded only by accounting. Hi, I'm the resident nerd, I read books."

She manages to stare at him for a few moments without reaction. Gabriella just stares at him for a few longer moments. Then she just starts laughing. No no, it's cry laughing. It's not even that funny and she's... did she just snort.

"You swinging a sword?" snort "You think highly of your stabbing weapon. Is it..." snort giggle "A two handed sword?"

Ravn returns a flat look; he's never heard that joke before, nope. "As it happens, a number of them are. Most are not designed for actual use in combat; they're for dressing to impress." Because no joke survives being taken literally, or at least he's going to make his best attempt to bury it. "We do have a collection of blades that have been used in actual warfare, but for some strange reason, guests and kids don't get to touch those."

Gabriella laughs again at 'most are'. "I feel you should prove that to me." Wait... okay.. chicken. There are things in ovens. She has this. Gabby clears her throat and looks so very solemn and serious. "I feel like you shouldn't let kids touch it at all."

Then she goes to see if the chicken is actually done or not.

"Well, I guess you're going to have to take my word for it, considering that most of the family belongings are in storage," Ravn remarks. "I'm the only member of my family who'd actually live in the family home, and I'm not there either so it made no sense to just leave it all with some groundskeeper. The traditional boys' sports in my family are hunting, horsemanship, and fencing, and I bloody well detest all three."

The chicken looks nice, though. Maybe Aidan told the oven to be good to chickens.

Gabby is mature. She does look like she really wants to happy hug him right now though. Luckily, for both of them, she does not do such a horrible thing. She just gives him a soft smile as she pulls out the chicken.

"You did it. Look at this. You roasted a chicken."

"For a value of me doing anything." Ravn cracks a smile; this is clearly a much safer subject. "Let me find some plates and cutlery. What else to do with our chicken than eat it?"

On the floor, Kitty Pryde has a few suggestions.

Gabriella goes over the finer points of carving too. There are roast veggies. However, her green eyes drop to the floor as she takes some of the chicken and accidentally drops it on the floor by Kitty. OOps.

Nothing fish or fowl shall ever grace this floor with its greasy presence; she of the swift paw, the black terror of the night, the slayer of possums and nagging housewives, the cat who is only part cat, shall make sure of this. Kitty Pryde rushes to add devourer of roasted fowl to her already quite impressive resume.

Plates end up on the kitchen table; that, at least, Ravn knows how to do. "I really should consider talking somebody into giving a bachelor's cooking class at the community centre, just so I can join it. It's really quite embarrassing -- but then, cooking is something that never managed to catch my interest to any great extent. Maybe because food doesn't? I have a friend who's a chef -- and I will never understand how he can get worked up the way he can, about goat cheese or the exact colour of frosting."

"I'm partial to buttercream frosting." Gabriella offers as she studies him for a few moments. There is a moment. Quick as it might be that there is a flash to her eyes. Maybe a first shimmer of friendship, but she quickly blinks it away. "You should talk to this chef friend and introduce me. For a purely, I want to eat what he cooks way." Her lips curve to that.

"I like cooking and baking. There is something ... I don't know. I like the idea that I'm making something from all these things and they become something else. It's probably one of the reasons I went into psychology."

"Vyvyan Vydal. He owns the Pātisserie downtown and believe me, if you offer him appreciation of his desserts and intelligent conversation, you will find him delightful, if sharp-tongued company." Ravn smiles, his usual lopsided affair. "I drive him batty. It's not really intentional, or at least it didn't start that way. I'm just not big on food in general, and I never manage to get quite excited enough. He does make a remarkably nice coffee cake, though."

It's like telling a brat how to perfectly brat. Don't get too excited about the food. Sadly, Gabriella gets excited about most things. She does study him and smiles when he does. Although, she quickly starts to plate the chicken to a serving plate. Well. It's bigger than the plates. It could be art for all she knows.

"Are you much into sweets or are you more a savory person?"

"I'm largely a have to fuel the engine to keep it running but I don't think about it much person." Ravn shakes his head. "I think that given a choice, though, I'll probably go for savoury. Vydal does lovely desserts and chocolates, but I always find myself ordering either the coffee cake or the goat cheese and pear galette. What about you? I am going to venture a guess and say sweet."

"It depends on my mood." Gabriella offers easily. "Sometimes I want something sweet. Other times something spicy or salty. Then there are times I just want something new. I tend to just ask people what they love and get that. What is your favorite meal of all time?"

"In truth? I don't have one. Whatever gets me energy enough to get through the day and doesn't waste too much of my time." Ravn shakes his head. "I think I've said a few times already -- I'm not a very exciting person. I'm not passionate about most things. I don't get excited easy, and when I do, it's usually about things other people don't find to be exciting in the slightest. I'm excited about my vintage motorcycle, about my violin, about my friends. But I probably never read your favourite poet, I have no idea what your favourite dish is like, and I have no idea whether your changed your hair or bought a new dress."

"You have a vintage motorcycle?" Gabriella looks in the next room as if it's going to be right there. Then she smiles a bit to him. "Who are your friends? I mean if you don't mind me asking. I'm curious who you consider."

"A 1963 Triumph, yes." Ravn smiles lightly; he is rather fond of it.

Then he hitches a shoulder. "I'm not really one to form a lot of close bonds. There are a fair number of people in this town I'd very gladly sit down for a beer and a chat with. A bit fewer that I would want at my side when the manure hits the fan. A number I hope wouldn't feel too disappointed to find me to be next to them when the manure goes flying. But close friends -- people I'd lay my soul open to, all the way? I'm not there yet. I'm not sure I ever will be. Maybe it comes down to how you define 'friends'."

"I'm not sure how one defines a friend." Gabriella sounds perplexed by this. "I mean..." She listens to what he says. "Are you close to having close friends? What about Aiden? Or your best friend?" She cants her head as she looks at him with an almost clinical interest now.

"I'm not comfortable putting that level of commitment on someone else's shoulders." Ravn settles at the table after having found a couple of cold beers in the fridge. "Gray Harbor is the first place I have lived where anyone really gave a damn whether I went or stayed. There are people here I do not want to know too much about me, lest they stop being friends. And on a couple of occasions I've been proved wrong -- that when they did in fact find out things I thought would be an issue, it really was not a very big deal at all."

Gabriella studies him for a few moments. It's almost like she's trying to read his mind, but she's not being rude enough to actually do it. Her eyes watch him a few more moments after that. Then she offers, "What would be known that you think would make me not want to be your friend?"

Ravn rests his chin on his gloved hand a moment and watches the woman with grey eyes that seem almost amused. "You? You're going to eventually put together that the reason you don't seem able to find out what makes me tick is that there isn't a thing that makes me tick. I used to be a grifter, Gabriella -- I know this game. You study people, you find out what they want -- what makes them feel flattered, what makes them feel empowered. And then you give it to them, or let them think that they may find it with you. But the only thing I really want is the absence of excitement. I don't want to find love, or make money, or receive critical acclaim for my work, or make a difference, or whatever else makes people reach out with hope. It's very difficult to dangle bait in front of someone who already has what they desire."

Gabriella mimics his movements to rest her chin on her hand. She listens to this and then she smiles slowly. "You think that I'm trying to figure what you desire to give it to you?" This seems to amuse her just a bit for some reason. "Like a fairy or like Santa? Or a genie." She watches him to that. "I don't know what people desire."

"No. I think you're trying to figure me out simply because you can." Ravn returns her look evenly. "I don't flatter myself enough to think that you find me mysterious and exciting. You're a psychologist, you want to know what makes people who they are. I understand that need. I share it to some extent -- because you cannot be a successful grifter if you cannot play people by ear."

There is a wrinkle up of Gabriella's nose as she ponders this for a few moments. She tips her head to the side thoughtfully and then she tips it the other way. "Play people by ear..." Maybe she doesn't understand the phrase as she watches him a bit longer. "I try not to play people, but I do try to understand them. Usually, I find that I understand it all wrong though."

She pauses to drop a piece of chicken to that floor. Easy bet that it won't actually hit said floor.

Nothing ever hits said floor. Unless it's a vegetable or worse, a deworming pill. In which case it can lie there forever.

"I didn't say you were trying to play me," Ravn points out. "I said that I understand a somewhat similar sentiment, because in my former trade, reading people is a job requirement. What you do when you put yourself in a position that might easily be read as flirtatious, such as when we met? You pointed it out yourself -- you allow people to draw their own conclusions, because that way, the conclusions you draw tell you a lot about who they are."

The chicken is surprisingly -- chicken. In spite of Ravn having touched it, too.

"I do something somewhat similar. I let people approach me, and let them tell me who they think I am. The very most? Hold me to be some geeky, pretty harmless academic, not very exciting but not about to cause any major drama in their lives either. I am content with this. My life has had more than enough drama and I'm only thirty-bloody-one."