2021-12-18 - Fatality! One Turkey, Frozen, Previously Deceased

Safeway. The place you go for holiday cheers and meeting your neighbours and sharing holiday joy. Or, more likely, the place you go to pick up groceries, swear about Aunt Ann and her food allergies that seem to only apply when she wants attention, and pray that this time, no one gets eaten by gremlins or undead turkeys. Life in Gray Harbor being what it is, maybe Aunt Ann will get eaten by undead turkeys.

Ravn Abildgaard is just there to pick up a few packets of dates. He likes dates. Dates have multiple uses. For one, they taste good -- he likes them, sticky sweet and gross as they are. And second, there are so many bad puns about them -- something which he appreciates considering the last couple of months have contained more suggestions of dates than his thirty-one years of life previous. Maybe he just wants to have a pack of dates sitting in a cupboard so that he can offer a girl a date when she's blatantly begging for one.

The ones who don't laugh are the ones to avoid.

For the most part Kailey avoids the Safeway in town. In part because the last few times Everett has gone something weird has happened. Usually she takes a day and goes with Momo to Seattle and shops PIke's Place. Bringing back all sorts of goodies. But not this week. Things had gotten behind, sleep had been lost by all, and there was a new member of the house at 6 Oak st.

Kailey is here because it is easy and she forgot things. Also they just happen to have a sale of rib roasts and they have a smoker just waiting for it. So there she is, standing in the meat section, eyeing the various roasts on display. Strapped across her back in Morganna, her toddler of a daughter, staring at the meat display quizzically. Kailey hefts a roast to check the poundage and the baby reached out a hand to try and pat at the thing curiously. "It's meat, honey. Beef from a cow. Moo for cow?"

All Ravn may want is dates, but all Perdita wants is the fixings for a Christmas meal the likes of which she hasn't had since her parents split a lifetime ago. Her long hair is in a simple braid, fringe tidy, wearing a knit jumper. A happy cat wearing a Santa hat (trimmed with faux fur and an actual pompom) and bright red glasses (formed of sequins) adorn the gray jumper, and it hits nearly mid thigh, which is good because those black leggings are distractingly tight. Since she's shopping she's in a low heeled black boot. Her purse is sitting in her cart, and the strap is clipped in with the seat belt, just in case.

She already has potatoes, carrots, makings of various deserts... and is now looking at the meats curiously, as if trying to decide what to get. She smiles at Kailey and Morgana, recognizing them, even if they don't recognize her.

In this town, a good, heaping dose of paranoia is often what keeps people alive. A certain amount of gut feeling, an ability to pick up that something is about to go do down, preferably noticed before the manure hits the fan. A soldier's feeling that the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, that somewhere in a treetop nearby, there's a sniper with a bullet with his name on.

Ravn pauses and glances around; he's not the only one to pick up on that very quick feeling of something being not quite right. He glances at the two familiar faces (three if one counts the tiny one strapped to her mum's body).

It's just Safeway. Couple of folks wandering around, shopping. The cashier behind the counter, bored. A car pulling up, people in long coats exiting.

Kailey smiled and waved in friendly fashion at Perdita. "Hey. Happy Holiday?" She wasn't sure the woman's preference. But then that feeling of ice running down her spine hits and the smile is gone

Her piercing green eyes scanned the store and notes the people in coats leaving. "I really wish they would leave the grocery stores alone," She comments to Perdita as she pushes her cart closer to hers. Success in numbers and all that. "Hey Ravn, what brings you here?" The faux chipperness goes with the flimsy smile she throws him.

"Happy Holiday-" Perdita senses it a split second after Ravn and Kailey, but she does catch it. "Hm. Is... there a rear exit by any chance? You... might want to get as many people out of here as you can, with you." Perdita puts her body between Kailey and Morgana and the front exit, with one of those too cheerful smiles on her face. One of these days she's going to just... start packing a gun. As it stands, she doesn't even have her taser. Ravn gets another of those smiles when he's spotted.

"I just... want a nice Christmas meal." Her purse is unsnapped from the cart, and the designer bag suddenly has a can of green beans stuffed into it, which is probably going to ruin the stitching, but...

"I'm going to download the blueprint of every shop in town," Ravn murmurs because back door suddenly sounds like a really good idea.

Trust the instincts of grifters and survivors to spot something that is inconspicuous enough that most people wouldn't pay it much heed -- but most people have not spent years of their lives toeing the very narrow line between monster chow and living to laugh about it all later. It's the long coats. That's what's wrong.

Three men enter the shop; white guys in their late twenties, throwing furtive looks around. Walking in their long coats in that fashion of men who absolutely, definitely have a baseball bat or worse concealed in those coats. Walking like trouble.

One of them picks a bag of taco shells off a shelf and tosses it on the counter. The bubble gum chewing cashier, new to her job, turns her head to punch in the code on the register.

"Yeah...I just...oh. Oh shit....mundane crap?" Kailey flicks a finger at the men in long coats. Looking around quickly she ducks through the butcher's door back into the cutting area. Putting a shushing finger to her mouth at the butcher and pointing back towards the front. "Call 911," She says softly as she crouches down behind the metal counters. And once there closes her eyes and lets her senses drift out.

Out and into the minds of the young men obviously not here buying taco shells. Letting her mind invade there own without any real remorse about it. She's one of those kind of empaths.

To be fair, until she moved here, the only monsters Perdita's had to deal with were mundane ones. "That's... not a bad idea. Guns, bats... or katanas?" Perdita asks, keeping her voice soft and cheerful as she casually opens one of the freezers, hefting a frozen turkey in both arms. Either she's still shopping, or she's about to launch 30lbs of dead frozen bird at someone.

When Kailey crouches instead of getting the hell out, Perdita's voice gets a little frustrated, though it stays soft, "You have a baby. They might have guns. I don't know a lot about babies, but I'm pretty sure babies are allergic to guns. Get out of here before they notice you..."

Scattered mental images, thought processes --

-- the face of a heavy set man, battered as if he'd gotten punched well and solid a few times --
-- fire, on water, and fleeing on foot in the dark --
-- pride, bruised, you gonna let 'em get away with that? --
-- gonna fuck up their shit so bad, show 'em who's boss --

-- testestone and rage fuelled. Whoever those men are, Kailey feels it -- they're here to settle a score. It's probably not the nineteen year old, bubble gum chewing cashier who's the real target here.

And then there is the butcher, blocking the young mother's way and sucking in his breath to launch into a tirade about this is a restricted area and get back out there and do your shopping and stand in line like everyone else, only to be cut short by the intense request: Call 911.

He too has worked here for some time. He remembers the falling light ornaments that killed people. How someone shot up the glass doors to get everyone out when -- yeah, he's not even going to break his brain trying to reason with how temperature inside a building could drop to dangerously freezing degrees in minutes, or that time there were dead turkeys everywhere, or the fires, or the flooding, or the people gibbering about murderous Christmas elves.

"Not again," is all the man says, and steps aside to press the silent alarm while promising himself yet again that he's going to retire to Tampa Bay, Florida, this year, or at worst, next year.

Ravn and Perdita exchange looks. Neither really need to say much to share their sentiments.

"Distraction," Ravn murmurs and raises his hand slightly, pointing at an array of chocolate bars next to the register. He intends to just turn it over, buying a few seconds of time for people to duck, hide, get away before the manure hits the fan. What happens is -- chocolatesplosion. Much as if someone threw a pebble at a wall only to find out that what they tossed was a live grenade.

"Afraid so, Frank," Kailey says with a quick glance at the man's nametag. Then it is back to her intense focus and eyes almost closed, hiding out of sight under the butcher counter.

When Kailey makes mental contact with someone, the scent of candy comes with it. Cotton candy and ice cream to be specific about it. And there is always a small degree of embarrassment when she connects. A little 'sorry, sorry, walking on your white rug brain space with my dirsty shoes' sort of thing.

~These men are here to settle a grudge. Be careful. I'll see what I can do.~ She informs her companions.

Distraction, indeed. As the chocolatesplosion happens, Perdita glances over at Ravn, tilting her head to one side as if to indicate 'not bad'. Once Kailey is behind the counter and safely out of sight, Dita relaxes... only to tense immediately back up, almost dropping the heavy turkey. The sense of rage at the invasion is white hot... but squashed quickly as Perdita focuses on the situation at hand. She'll talk about boundaries later, but right now she's got bigger fish to fry. Namely, idiots trying to rob a grocery store... or something akin to that.

Reaching out with her mind, the turkey suddenly takes flight, one last blaze of glory as it goes sailing through the air like a cannonball rather than a Butterball, though it sadly lacks the force as Dita aims for the man closest to the cashier.

Suddenly everything happens fast -- when things go down, they never decide to do so at a leisurely pace.

Chocolate bars explode, showering bubble gum girl and the three mens in delicious bits of hazelnut, fudge, nougat, and what passes for chocolate but is also mostly hazelnut. Colourful bits of wrapping float down gently like falling leaves, even as a frozen turkey sails through the air and --

-- and the guy with the three-day stubble reacts instinctively at something coming towards him at high speed. He twists his arm and boom goes the shotgun he was hiding, and now there's turkey everywhere.

The cashier girl screams and dives for the floor.

The other two men spin around, guns ready, looking for -- do they even know what they are looking for? You walk into a store intending to leave a message and then this?

"What the actual fuck," is all that Ravn manages to say, before dropping behind a display of canned tomatoes, wiping chocolate and turkey off his face.

"What the fuck?" yells trenchcoat number two.

"који курац?" echoes trenchcoat number three.

"Yeah, again," says Frank the butcher, to his cell phone. He sounds tired.

Kailey jumps at the sound of the guns and Morganna begins to cry, but suddenly there is quiet. Kailey's head had turned to look at her upset daughter over her shoulder and whispered, "Shhhh, it's okay. Go to sleep," And with no notable resistance the child's green eyes flutter closed into a deep sleep. Good thing no one is there to see it, or she might be getting crap for that stunt later. Everett really dislikes her doing anything finger-wiggling on Momo.

It lets her focus. Focus on the men at the front of the store, on Ravn hiding behind can's of tomatoes, and Perdita throwing turkeys. There is no doubt she feels that instant of rage and the retreat is notable. As is an actual and soft, ~Sorry.~ But she knows what they are both doing and so she decides to build on it. With an illusion of a hazy ghost, bound in chains, doing a good Jacob Marley impression.

"You fools! You fools! How could you? Begone before I curse you!" The ghostly illusion says as it rattles chains.

Okay, that was Russian, that should tell them something. Perdita doesn't know Russian, but her cousin Dmitri is from Russia originally... She has the good sense to get down when the gun goes off, and doesn't even let out the girlish scream she wants to unleash, clapping her hands over her mouth as she looks up at Kailey and Ravn with an apologetic expression. Usually bludgeoning someone telekinetically with a heavy object works...

It's supposed to be the Ghost of Future Christmas that threatens Scrooge with doom and hellfire, Ravn thinks to himself in what even he will admit is an amazing leap into the irrelevant, even for his academic mind. He gets a grip on himself behind his stack of tinned tomatoes. The vision of the chained ghost going doom and damnation on the three gunmen is a terrifying sight to behold. If the Dane had not seen Kailey pull stunts like this before, and she had not warned them in her mind -- he has to sullenly admit to himself that he'd probably have needed a change of underwear around now. The vision is remarkably convincing.

If you have a bit of imagination -- something which apparently eludes the turkey shooter. The gunman grits his teeth and gets a distant look on his face as he readies his shotgun and aims it at the ghost. "You! Fuck off back to the circus! Fucking freak show town!"

The man behind him also holds a shotgun -- but he fails to raise it as he just stares blankly at the apparition, while turkey and chocolate slowly drips from his face and clothing. The expression on his face is one of utter disbelief. Whether it's the combination of frozen bird being used as a clay pigeon or exploding chocolate bars or ghosts manifesting over the counter is hard to say. Maybe it's the combination of all three.

The third guy -- the one who swore in a language that is decidedly not English -- seems to be the one with the most sane reaction, from an asshole point of view. He raises his shotgun and points it at the girl cowering beneath the register and yells, "No one start shit! Tell Monaghan to draw dicks on his own face next time! We're gettin' outta here! Everyone just stay the fuck down and no one else gets hurt!"

"Don't hurt us!" is the shout from a middle-aged man with a shopping cart full of toilet paper and wine bottles; planning a party, and a day after, perhaps. He dives behind his cart, staring at the apparition wide-eyed. "Shh!" a woman tells her toddler, as both crouch behind a display of dish washer fluid. "Next time we're ordering on Amazon and fuck Jeff Bezos," yells someone down the grocery isle.

But wait, dear shoppers, there's more! Kailey doesn't notice the blood dripping out her nose as her mind is focused on the front of the store. Not even aware of what is happening in the butcher's cutting room. Instead her mind focuses on the people harassing the store.

At this point she is frustrated and angry. Personal grudges and firearms are not okay
Especially during the holiday season. If they can't be scared by an actual ghost to the face, then Kailey will just i still them with proper emotions. Like fear. But more than fear is a crushing and overwhelming guilt.

How could they? This is the holidays. There are families here they have traumatized. They are bad people and how could they? That lady looks like an aunt, that kid a favorite cousin. What will their families say when they find out? Surely they will find out! How stupid they are. How selfish. Gram's is extremely disappointed in Heaven for sure. So much guilt is draped in their mi ds like so much Holly and wreathes. Maybe they should just turn themselves in?

~Sorry again. Perdita can you yank their masks off? ~ Kailey's mindvoice is strained. Trying to uphold an illusion AND mental shenanigans is hard. Jacob Marley hisses at the men behind the counter before sinking through the floor before their eyes.

"LEAVE THIS PLACE BEFORE YOUR CHAINS BECOME TOO MANY TO BEAR!" Wails the ghost of the Scrooge stories. She and Ravn can argue about her lack of canon in stories later. Probably when she wakes up from her oncoming post-Glimmer nap.

The bristling sensation from Perdita intensifies, but she does as asked, gritting her teeth and focusing on ripping their masks off, pulling the men off balance as she does. She doesn't need to see them, picturing them perfectly in her mind, and, for good measure, she throws a telekinetic shield around the poor cashier being held at gunpoint, a shimmering, glittery bit of air that looks incredibly fragile... but will hopefully hold up to a blast, should the morons decide to add murder to their armed robbery charge.

For a change, Perdita's fully on the side of the angels and rooting for the boys in blue to show up. And it feels gross.

Masks are peeled from faces like bandaids off hairy forearms; there is yelping at the rough treatment -- or maybe it's yelping at the not at all subtle apparition waving its netherworldly chains and promising brimstone and hellfire.

Or maybe it's the overwhelming sense of guilt -- what kind of life is this? When these men were boys, was this the life and career they hoped for? The turkey shooter wanted to be a firefighter. The one who seems to disbelieve his own eyes wanted to study biology. The non-native speaker wanted to go to law school. And here they are instead, three thugs in a Safeway in fuckall, nowhere, shooting up turkeys and terrifying nineteen-year-old cashiers. Is it even possible to be more of a loser than this?

Ravn is staring too. Once again he is soundly impressed (once again) at what people with true shine can do. And wondering what happened with those chocolate bars.

The middle guy breaks first. His bandana flies from his face, revealing a young man who could do with a shave -- twenty, twenty-one at best. Ashen grey, he does another double take at the ghost of Jacob Marley -- and then throws down his shotgun. "I'm out," he declares. "Don't know what the fuck is wrong with this town, but I'm done." The firearm clatters as it hits the floor to the sound of running feet. Maybe he'll make it off the street before the cops actually get here.

The last guy stares at the conjured ghost as his mask is torn from his face; a few years older, clean shaven, an old knife or bottle scar on on cheek. The puddle that's forming down his pants and on the floor between his pants is not turkey juice. When his buddy's gun hits the floor, he more drops than throws down his own too, and curls up in a small ball, arms over his head, mumbling what is probably a prayer in some language that certainly isn't English.

The first man in is the last man to break; the man who blew up a turkey is revealed to be the oldest, maybe some thirty years or so. He's a bit chubby, with coarse features and a not too bright expression -- but bright enough, apparently, to hold on to his piece and follow the other man out the door.

Who knows? Maybe they'll make it. Sirens in the distance are probably Perdita's heroes in blue, coming this way. At least they'll have one man to pick up, though how much sense his explanation will make is arguable.

Maybe the Veil will just do its thing. After all, Frank the butcher and half a dozen other patrons are also staring at Jacob Marley the chain rattling ghost, and reading the Gazette tomorrow might just prove interesting.

The scales tip and then fall the fuck over. Sometimes Kailey even surprises herself and she grins at butcher Frank with blood freely flowing out her nose now. Marley watches the men scampering meanwhile, a similar smile on the ghostly visage. The illusion gives a nod of satisfaction and steps back into the freezer, fading from sight.

Kailey gasps in a big breath as she releases the illusion. Slumping to lean against the wall as a post-Glimmer haze twinkles stars in front of her eyes. The headache begins poubding in her ears with the rapid beat of her heart.

"Uhhh...miss? Your nose...are you okay?" Frank asks. Kailey licks her lips first and there is mild surprise on her face. She reaches up and smears blood a bit more as she touches her face.

"Oh. Shit..." Kailey says as she fumbles to stand up and falls back down on her ass. "Ow...oh shit shit shit...hey Ravn? I hurt my brain again...can you call Ev?" The request comes as Frank, being the understanding long timer he is, brings her a few paper towels. Which she proceeds to clumsily use to try and stench the bad nosebleed.

Leaning back against the shelves she's been crouching behind, Perdita lets out a soft sigh of relief as the gunmen break, using a last bit of telekinetic energy to send the two firearms sliding away from the gunman on the floor, just in case he has a change of heart once the cops arrive. The shield around the cashier falls, the faint energy dissipating entirely.

"Can't help but feel like I should be running after the one with the gun, still... but I don't feel like getting shot at, and there are cops coming for that. I'm not Wonder Woman, after all."

She laughs softly, relieved that there's been minimal bloodshed, and that the only fatality was one frozen turkey. There are worse things to lose than an already dead bird.

"Of course I can," Ravn murmurs and fishes in his pocket for his cell. "Are you sure you don't want to see a paramedic? That's a lot of nose bleed." He's not going to argue the point, though: Kailey knows best how using her substantial power affects her, and the Dane trusts her to know what she needs.

Someone yells about the guy who managed to bolt. Another voice, older, yells back -- stay the fuck down, this is what we pay our taxes for, you think your kid is going to thank you if you manage to get yourself shot for Christmas? A sentiment which Frank the butcher echoes too, handing paper towels to Kailey and muttering about this fucking town.

Frank doesn't shine. But he reads statistics, and since he doesn't shine, he is firmly convinced that it's the drug trade that goes through town, people sample too many of their own damn goods. It's as good an explanation as any.

The girl cashier stays down. She doesn't feel like minimum wage is worth dying for, either. The foreign-speaking guy stays down next to her, curled up, hands over his ears, murmuring.

When the police does in fact arrive -- it feels like a lot longer than it actually is -- he is taken into custody. Questions are asked but Frank steps up to deal with most of it; he works here, it's hardly the first time, and if you ask him -- yes, drug addicts. It's always drug addicts. People seeing ghosts, elves, gremlins, undead turkeys? Drug addicts.

When the one captured gunman is questioned by officers? Drug addict. Son of immigrants from ex-Yugoslavia, used to speaking Serbian at home, addict. Happy to get told to go shoot up a Safeway in Gray Harbor by some friends of his uncle's, didn't ask a lot of questions, got paid enough to fuel his coke habit for a few weeks. Some kind of warning, he doesn't know, doesn't care. The Gazette attempts to link the incident to a fire on the old harbour last spring, where a couple of dead sailors turned out to also be Eastern Europeans.

Then it runs a somewhat xenophobic editorial about the dangers of small towns being used to funnel drugs into the country, and blames everything on the proximity of Seattle and Spokane, as always.

There are definitely worse outcomes than the fatality of a turkey, previously deceased, frozen.