2021-12-17 - Christmas comes but once a year

Gail is on a mission today. She has her purse over one shoulder and a cloth sack over the other. Today is, sadly, a rainy day (again) and so she also has that cane of hers - just in case. There is a determined air about her as she pauses before each of the shops, examines her list, then decides if she should enter.

"Afternoon, Granny Leigh." The cheerful greeting in a Danish accent comes from the tall guy in black who seems to have been heading in the opposite direction. Ravn has a handful of flyers for the HOPE Centre under one arm, and from the looks of things, he may have been going around asking shops to hang a few at the counter for picking up. There's nothing particularly Christmassy about them, but of course the community centre slash charity is going to try to get a slice of the annual buy-some-good-conscience proceedings from Gray Harbor's more well-to-do citizens (to then be channeled to the not so well-to-do ditto). "Need a hand carrying parcels?"

"Ravn, Hello my dear." Gail greets Ravn, beaming at him. "If you wouldn't mind - I would be most happy. I'm afraid I left some of my Christmas shopping too late this year. " Tahnkfully, she doesn't have any bags ~yet~ but she will. Soon enough. "I need something for Gabriella first, but I haven't the faintest. I'm afraid she has grown past the knitted sweater phase. You're young - what would you enjoy?"

Because all young people are the same.

"I may not be the right person to ask," Ravn replies with a grin; he too can easily predict who's going to be returning to Oak Avenue buried under parcels like a pack mule, and it ain't Granny Leigh. "In my family, traditional presents were sporting gear and jewellery. I'm not saying Gabriella might not appreciate the latter, but without knowing her tastes, buying jewellery is tricky."

He ponders. "Personally? I'm easily won over with a good book but then, I don't think I really meet most people's standards as far as young and exciting goes. My fiancee used to tell me I was born a grampa."

It's tradition for a handsome young man to help. This is as Christmas SHOULD be.

"Hum... well." Gail glances at a clothing store and pushes the door open - "It can't harm to look then." She is OFF.

But, uh, this place has pants with 'juicy' written on the butt and while Gail isn't scandalized, she does seem a bit puzzled.

"Think those might be more for teenagers or for people going to dance clubs," Ravn suggests -- though when push comes to shove, he's actually not entirely certain because what the hell does he know about women's fashion in the first place; as long as no one's frozen blue, that's as far as his interest usually goes. "Something something nice melons?"

He's not going to comment on the adult-sized pink tops with glittery Daddy's Girl on them, either.

"I remember dance parties," Gail exclaims, looking down at the pants once more. "We would wear the prettiest of dresses. My Ronny kissed me for the first time, it was quite a scene."

The pants are let drop as she moves deeper into the store. This seems a little more acceptable - they ARE dresses. Picking a black glittery thing off the hanger she holds it up. "Isn't this just darling?"

"She's got the figure for it," Ravn agrees. Beyond that he doesn't have much to say because truly, his understanding of women's club wear boils down to, they wear things, and a lot of those things are worn with the notion that at some point, somebody gets designated to peel them off. "Can you tell I haven't got any sisters? I honestly have no idea what women like to wear when they go out. I don't really go out a lot myself either, and when I do, well -- if my blazer's not good enough, then I'm probably not good enough either."

Ah well, maybe this store isn't right. Gail leads the way, chatting about minuita, and they sail into the next place. This is more Ravn's speed. It's a PAPER store. All sorts of weights and sizes. There's a choose your own section in the back as well as premade journals for those who like that sort of thing.

There is also everything that one could ever hope to write with there.

Oh yes. This is Ravn's turf; almost as much as the book shop next door, provided that the book shop next door can be convinced to clear its shelves of whatever confession piece or crime bestseller is topping the charts this Christmas, and bring in more of the classics and more non-fiction. He can feel the texture of high end paper made for the scratching of a proper fountain pen through the leather of his gloves (and he has in recent times started to actually ask himself how). He likes the smell of paper; virginal, ready to receive words.

No one actually does a lot of writing by hand anymore, though -- not even him. It's all laptops and phones, because paper takes up space and postal delivery is so much slower than email or texts. It's a pity, and he feels nostalgic a moment. He ends up picking up a couple of Christmas cards in little envelopes -- simple ones, with just a print of a Christmas tree and a bit of snow, and a star-studded sky above. Maybe this year he'll actually send a card to a couple of family members who may be wondering if he's actually, you know, alive.

"You must have a fair number of people to send cards to," he says, glancing Granny's way and remembering envelopes delivered to the wrong address, with childrens' drawings on. "I have a couple of great-aunts back home, but no one I'm really close to. I should send them something this year, now that I actually have a fixed address. And pray that they haven't gotten any daughters my age."

"Oh yes," Gail says. "It is quite the undertaking. My daughters, their husbands, children, then of course Roland's family..." Gail continues to tick off the list one by one, ending with, "the lovely young man across the street." It will arrive soon Ravn.

Pattjng his arm for the young woman comment. "Gray Harbor will likely prove too much for them. I am sure that the town itself will prevent any such issues from being more than a momentary bother."

Moving away she picks up a journal with a little lock attached and considers. "This, I think. She is alone too much in her own mind - no matter how much she might socialize. Perhaps it might become an outlet."

Ravn manages to conceal his wince; it's not that the pat actually hurt to any great extent and he was certainly not surprised by it -- Granny Leigh is exactly that kind of little old lady. A lifetime of experience has taught him that a certain kind of little old lady does things like this often, and the only thing to do about it is expect it all the time.

He appreciates the intent, anyhow. Granny Leigh is hard to not simply like.

"Gabriella seems quite intent on making friends," the Dane offers, diplomatically. "Won't be surprised to see her dating someone in not too long? People who go actively looking do tend to eventually find someone they can connect with."

That's a SIGH. A SIGH RAVN.

"Yes - perhaps. Though i would be suprising if she formed much of an attachment. She had a bit of a rough go of it as a child. Gretchen had her so very young and well." Gail looks up and around the store as if peering through the walls into Gray Harbor itself. "She didn't have the shine." Ravn would understand that this town can be rough on those kinds. "When Gabby was five she picked up and left home, dragging the girl behind her where ever the fancy took her."

Does Gabriella want Ravn to hear all of this? Maybe not.

"I have a distinct feeling that growing up as a child in this town is hard no matter whether you shine or not," the Dane agrees. "There's a lot going on that you will not understand, and not know how to protect yourself against. There's a kid come into town just this week -- name of Monroe, seems quite decent. Takes care of his brother, age thirteen, fourteen, something like that. He was asking me if Gray Harbor is safe. Had to tell him -- no, though at least it's a different kind of unsafe than elsewhere, but it is not safe."

Gail pays for the journal and the bag is added to Ravn's pile. Such a nice young man.

"I find it is a theme to try to warn off new comers, especially those who shine." Gail restarts the conversation once outside of the shops. "Do you ever consider it a good thing when one arrives in town? Take poor Alexander. Would he ever be able to find happiness away from here?"

"We always warn people," Ravn agrees. "I tell them that the wise choice is to get on the next Greyhound. Just keep right on moving. I also tell them that that's exactly what someone said to me, and I did not do it either, because there is no point in pretending. Sometimes, people do leave. They almost always come back. Alexander Clayton did leave -- he was in Oregon for a while, I know that. Probably elsewhere too. And Fern, from HOPE, was gone for some time. But they come back. When I went home to Denmark last year, I could think of little else but when I could get back -- it felt like a fairytale country, something made up and not quite real, just keeping me away from my real life, here in Gray Harbor."

Gail hums and they head into the bookstore - because fuck, it's a BOOKSTORE - who wouldn't want to go in?

"I rather thought it was better for them to learn for themselves. Harsh, I know, but they never really believe till they experience it anyway."

Yes, Gail is going to totter over to the children's section. "Does HOPE have a small lending library by chance?"

"Not as such, since the local library is actually quite good," Ravn says with a chuckle. "We do have a handful of children's books, mostly picture books -- because sometimes, someone comes in and needs to talk, and their kid needs to be distracted while they do. I'm not very good at that. Fortunately for me, some of the others are."

Gray Harbor, also not void of single teenage mothers in trouble, nor of victims of domestic violence. Is anywhere?

He glances at Gail. "I don't disagree, though. I always end up showing them -- something small, but something that normal people can't do. Levitating a lighter, a spoon, something. Let them feel for the string, try to figure out how. And most turn out -- they just nod because they knew this could be done. The only thing they did not expect was that others can do it too. Just like it happened to me last year when I came into town. Seeing is believing."

"Good, I do love buying books for children." Thatbis code for, the collection at Hope is about to double and Granny Leigh won't hear a word about 'no'. "My grandsons are getting on to the age when they think they are above picture books." Also a faint wistfulness there, she probably misses holding said children upon her knee and cuddling them close as she reads.

"I never could do any of the things outside the mind," this said absently as she peruses the board books, plucking out one here and there and handing the cardboard books to him to approve or reject.

Ravn has no idea what books are good for toddlers. If he's the one making the final call on which ones end up bought -- well, then the criteria are going to be, they were in his right hand and not his left. He has no idea what children like.

"If you want to come down on occasion, see some of the kids -- " why not toss it out there? There are parents' groups and mothers' circles for support and mutual learning about having kids, they could no doubt benefit from an older woman's experience. Probably more than they could ever benefit from Ravn's, anyhow.

He shakes his head. "I can't do any of it. I mean, all I do is that -- levitate lighters and spoons, steal small things. I am genuinely upset at times by the things people can do -- it's a reminder how ordinary some of us are, how powerless we would be against some of the people of Gray Harbor. Imagine an empath inducing an unwanted emotion -- I would have no defence. All the more important that we keep an eye on one another, keep each other on the same team."

"Well that is very kind of you." Gail says, pausing in her perusing to beam at Ravn for the suggestion. "I might just do that."

Then she trundles her way over towards the actual picture books. Again, more books go into Ravn's hand.

"We all have our own area of weakness sweetie. And I do agree - watching out for one another is quite important. Especially when the elves appear." SIGH ELVES.

"People are my worst fear," the Dane says and wonders what it is about grandmothers that makes you want to tell them things. "I nearly died last year. There was a shoot-out here at the mall, during a garden expo. Nothing supernatural -- gangsters from out of town, trying to take out our police. Casual bystanders got hit -- I was one of them. Took a stray bullet to the leg and then someone with a sniper rifle decided that the tall guy in black had to be de la Vega, and I got another bullet through my chest."

He pauses. "I am trying to say, it's not people's power or lack it that makes them good or bad. It's what they do with it."

Maybe it's that they're JUST far enough removed that they aren't actually a part of the emotion.

A few more books get loaded into Ravn's arms before they head towards the front of the store. "You don't recover from that kind of experience easily." A statement of fact. "Ronald, bless his heart, wore the scars of Vietnam his whole life, even if we did make something good of it when he returned."

"It taught me that everyone matters." Ravn follows like the good pack mule he is. "No one ever told me who saved my life. I never asked. I know enough anatomy and enough baffled expressions on the faces of surgeons, to tell that I was supposed to have bled out and died there. I didn't. Because somebody used some of that power we have, to keep me alive. And that somebody likely was someone who belongs in a jail cell."

He cants his head, and keeps his voice down a little. "It taught me that there are more important things. Some crook decided to stay and keep my lungs inside my body instead of bailing. They could have ended up shot too, or in police custody, and they still stayed for some random stranger."

"Praise the Lord." Gail replies, casting her eyes upwards with for the rest of the unspoken prayer. "When in a pinch I do believe people do the right things." Into line they shuffle and there is the chocolate. "Would you like a sweet dear?"

"Oh, I'm really not much of a sweets guy," says the entirely too skinny Dane who is quite believable in this regard (he would also be quite believable if he said, I only eat once a week). "But if you're planning on sitting for a cup of something and a slice of cake, I'll be happy to keep you company over a cup of coffee. Who knows? I might even get it black here."

That means he wants a chocolate bar right? He is getting a chocolate bar. A nice one too, because this is a bookstore not a market.

"I wouldn't mind getting off my feet. That is one shame of getting old."

Books, and chocolate, get paid for.

Who's Ravn to argue? And if somehow, Granny Leigh can put the fear of Granny Leigh into Della the Day Manager at Espresso Yourself, he might even end up with a decent cup of coffee. "How is settling back in working for you? I imagine it's quite a lot to adjust to -- getting to know everyone, and with a granddaughter turning up as well."

A small grin. "I can't help think, though, that maybe a number of us are better off now. It's good to have someone older and wiser around to pat us on the head sometimes and remind us that when this was all fields and woods there were also shiny people here, and whatever this week's disaster, life does in fact go on."

"It has been a readjustment." Granny follows him towards the coffee shop. There the conversation will have to pause as Gail greets the people she knows fondly.

But back to it, "There have been quite a few funerals since I left. A symptom of old age."

Imagine Ravn's surprise when he is in fact served simple black coffee. He makes a mental note to never go here without at least one septuagenarian again. He blows on it and curls long, gloved fingers around the cup as he sits and watches Gail's face a moment.

Then, "If you go to the cemetery, you may feel some of them there. Not all who are buried in Gray Harbor are in any hurry to leave. There are many who -- stay for a while, to keep an eye on things. Maybe if you go there, you may feel the presence of old friends, even if you cannot speak with them."

"I speak to them occasionally. I wish, sometimes, for..." Drift off into memory there for a bit before she shakes her head and pulls her attention back to the present.

"That dear Javier and Alexander are both on my list also. Would you have any suggestions for them?"

Ravn cants his head. "Alexander loves crime history. Not fiction -- actual history. He is little short of obsessed with the criminal history of Gray Harbor -- not that I don't understand him to some extent because even after a year here, I have had quite a lot of use out of my own knowledge of stories and how they work. If you can find a book or similar that discusses something new, something he hasn't already read, about murders or the mental workings of murders, you may have won his heart."

He taps his lips. "De la Vega, on the other hand, that's a good one. I know he likes tequila, and I know he likes to cook. But I don't actually know a lot about what else he does on his own time. I spend a lot of time with Rosencrantz but since we're often practising, he tends to bail."

Poonnddeerrr. Gail gets a deep thinking look and digs in her bag for her list and a pen. The suggestions are noted down.

"He enjoys cooking?" Gail asked, faint puzzlement coloring her words. "He said his partner was the one to enjoy it. Dear, I hope he was not just humoring me."

"Might be they both do. He made me brownies once, and they were fantastic." Ravn smiles at the memory. "Rosencrantz brought quesadillas to my boat once that the Chief had made as well. They were excellent. But whether he cooks because he wants to eat properly or because he enjoys it as a hobby, I do not know. I know Rosencrantz sometimes whips up Jewish specialties, too."

"Why that little," Gail says under her breath - clearly not calling Ruiz a nice young man any more. BUT NO MATTER. She brushes her hands together as if to shoo the thought away. "Now forgigve me - but I seem to remember his partner's name was Joseph Cavanaugh, have I misremembered?"

Old age is a bitch.

It's 2021. Almost 2022. Maybe it is time to get the older generation up to speed. Or maybe it's just that Ravn is not quite someone to judge others -- but also not to lie about them. "Oh, there are two," he says offhandedly, as if it is no big deal at all; Gail lived through the Summer of Love, surely she's seen and heard (and possibly done) worse. "Cavanaugh and Rosencrantz. Rosencrantz lives with him; Cavanaugh has a place on Bayside, and a house boat next to mine. It seems to be working out well enough for them though of course the Chief has to keep his head down a little. There's always a few folks in a town like this who fancy themselves in a position to judge everyone else's business."

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

"Well."

Blink.

Ravn offers a small lopsided smile and sips his coffee. "I find that if people do what makes them happy, then it is not for me to judge them. I don't know that I could be happy like that myself -- but they are, and that's what matters, mm?"

"Well." That gets said one more time before Gail shakes her head. "I'll just have to buy them both a gift also then." Never mind that Gail hasn't met one of them, Joseph is quite nice, and so clearly Javier's other young man must also be. "What would you suggest for Joseph, and his other, um, friend?"

"I don't actually know Cavanaugh very well," Ravn admits. "We share the same pier and we've had a beer a couple of times but I don't know him. He used to be an astronaut, I know that much. Maybe that can give you a few pointers."

Then his smile widens. "Rosencrantz, though? I know him pretty well. We play together. He's the finest mechanic I know. A damned good violinist. Bit of a showman, likes reptiles -- he's got a gorgeous python, for one, named her Lemondrop. Runs the Salmon Garage, restores vintage cars."

"Something Nautical then," Gail replies, jotting down the idea. He'll probably get a nice little boat magnet or something. It's not the price of the gift that matters - it's the THOUGHT.

"And perhaps... Musical then?" This requires more contemplation. Musicians can be picky about things.

"Pretty sure that if you can find a good jazz piece that lets the violin shine, you will have won Rosencrantz' undying love." Ravn grins. "He's good at bluegrass too. We do Devil Went Down To Georgia together sometimes -- he's a fantastic Devil."

"Done." Gail scribbles that down. She'll probably have to go out of town for that.

Yes, Gail still drives. It's fine. Totally fine.

Ravn'll get grilled about a few more people in town. Most will probably get cookies, but there's nothing like a little gift to make people feel better at Christmas.