2021-12-19 - Trailer Trash Mojitos

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : you got fucking shot?

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : Yup. Not too bad this time, just a graze. Addington didn't get shot too bad either.

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : I don't know who that is - why the fuck did you let yourself get shot again?

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : The tricky part was explaining to the EMTs how I managed to accidentally shoot him and myself with his service gun, and somehow manage to shoot us with different calibers...

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : "I'm talented,sue me" didn't work?

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : Nuh. But 'here's my lawyer's card' did.

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : (Probably didn't hurt that the other victim was, like, saying the same thing).

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : Fuck you both and this fucking town. You able to get out?

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : Oh yes, I'm home. Doing fine. I happen to have one of the town's best healers for a room mate, yanno?

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : Also, can't speak for Benedict Addington but, wine and dine me first.

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : How much wine do you need? How do you feel about getting wasted tonight on said wine?

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : I got no other evening plans. You want to come over, get drunk, talk about stupid shit, and tomorrow we look at each other awkwardly and wonder whose face print is in the cake, I'm on board.

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : Let's go to a nice neutral third party place. I don't want to end up on your couch again and I'm gonna bet you don't want on mine. Beach?

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : Bit cold this time of year but that's what coats are for. Let's do it. Also, what's wrong with your couch?

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : I ran out of coffee. Need to hit the store up tomorrow.

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : Or tonight. There's something to be said for shopping smashed...

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : I am now picturing your couch as some kind of blanket and a couple of throw pillows quickly tossed over a stack of crates of expensive civet coffee. Why don't we hit the store for wine and coffee, and then decide on beach or your place or whatever?

(TXT to Ravn) Isi : Okay - but you're missing the point of shopping drunk. I'll see you there.

(TXT to Isi) Ravn : I miss most points, in case you'd missed this point. Brt.

SAFEWAY - where everyone wants to spend a Friday night, right? Well, the working class sure thinks so, because it's busy as people get that essential function out of the way before their weekend begins. The only time that is more crowded is Saturday morning when the poor suckers who didn't do it Friday end up crammed between the isles.

Isi arrives on foot, bundled up in a coat but no hat or mittens. She's not going to give the cold THAT much power over her. She lingers by the entryway and gets weird looks from the people who wonder why she's just... standing there.

SAFEWAY. Where people die from falling lighting armatures, or the temperature dropping to far below zero in a matter of seconds, or vicious elves, or vengeful undead turkeys, or East European gangsters trying to shoot up the place. Ravn has not experienced one of those. It's anyone's guess which party he missed out on. (It was the elves). Also, they sell really crappy dates, very disappointing.

The Dane drives up on his vintage motorcycle, both because for once he doesn't feel like walking (pain killers make you a bit tired and all) and because he's still in the phase of motorcycle ownership where he'll take any damn excuse to get in the saddle. He walks into the store with his raven feather design helmet slung over the arm that's not on a sling -- the one where the already damaged leather jacket has gained a bit of new ventilation as well.

"You look like an Isicle," he calls out by means of greeting because no day is not improved by horrible puns. And maybe he's just a little high already on those pain killers.

It's an AMERICAN grocery store - of course it sells terrible dates. The only thing worse is the ACTUAL dates that some teens go on here.

"Ha - very funny." That's sarcasm from Isi. She eyes the motorcycle. "Did you get to skip out on the pain meds part of being shot too?" DRIVING HIGH IS BAD RAVN.

"Eeh." Ravn waves his free hand dismissively. "I didn't take the morphine after I got home, no. Aidan is a miracle worker, I don't need them. Injury's practically healed already, just need to rest it and not tear the stitches -- not that I really need them, either. It can be a little -- I mean, I can't really tell the nice doctor that my room mate kind of can patch this stuff together in five so don't go to any special effort. But it's really not as bad as 'I got shot this afternoon' ought to be. Also, I'm a pretty damn careful driver."

EYES. Isi is doubting literally every word that Ravn's saying, but she does turn and lead the way into the grocery store. Apparently drinking is still on the table, even if she's not sure about his non-drugged status. She'll be WATCHING HIM for unsteadiness.

Once inside she pulls her coat off and tosses it into a cart she snags. "So tell me more. Alexander didn't elaborate much."

"His new office is haunted. There's some kind of story that the Veil wants to tell us there -- something about gangsters in the thirties. We were just talking about a case he and Addington are investigating when suddenly, we're in period costume, there's a guy dying in the bath tub, and wolfman gangsters are shooting up the place." Ravn shakes his head and chuckles. "I mean, I want to say that I didn't see it coming but -- Alexander already got injured by wolfman gangsters there once, and a building with the kind of history that the Bauer Building's clearly got, getting its hands on a handful of people with the shine. Of course things are going to go down there. A lot. Because the place has a dozen ghosts and the Veil is just going, yes, thank you for the inspiration, let's do this, let's do this too, woo hoo."

He picks out a pack of dates -- Christmas reindeer print and all -- and tosses that in the cart on top of Isi's coat. "Alexander tell you about it, then? I don't imagine he thought it was a big deal either. I can tell how indifferent I am becoming sometimes, and I have only lived here a year -- not a life time."

"No - he didn't." Isi replies, shaking her head slowly as she makes a beeline for the aisle that has the pretty bottles full of mind altering substances. "Make a big deal of it. Just showed up for a hike in ironed pants and a button-up shirt." This is an important fact Ravn needs to know. Why? Who knowssss.

"So okay - you got shot. This other dude got shot. Alexander didn't get shot. Is this going to be a running theme at his place - do we need to be worried about Dita?"

Ravn glances at Isi. "Yes. You should always worry about every damn person in this town who shines. But you should also not, because you can't. Try to just -- don't be stupid, and play with the team when shit goes down. I drove myself crazy here at first, trying to figure out how to protect people, protect myself, make myself useful. That's what they want, for us to fall apart over it. Now I'm more just -- things happen, we deal with them, life goes on. All of this? You're still more likely to get run over by a drunk driver. The Veil is just more dramatic."

He laughs softly, maybe at the absurdity of it all. "But yeah, there's me thinking, oh hell, they just shot Addington. Now I'm going to have to explain to him that dreams are real. He's just coming into it all, you know?"

"I wish the fucking dreams were the height of what's on my mind." Much muttering of that - Ravn will have to be listening SUPER carefully to hear it over the buzz of conversation and Christmas music playing. A hand comes up to sweep the strands of hair that have escaped her braid back away from her face.

"Better question." This is louder as Isi turns the corner onto that bottle-display place. "What is your poison tonight?"

"I'm not going to insult my taste buds with anything they call whiskey here. Apart from that, I'm easy as a teenage girl on prom night. Beer, wine, some other hard liquor -- maybe not tequila." Ravn winces; he's not forgotten that hangover yet. "Pick something out, let me pay for it -- I owe you for that night. And then you can tell me what's on your mind that makes dreams sound like any day ending in -y."

"Fuck you," Isi replies, the swear an offhand comment as she browses the shelves. Skipping the whiskey and tequila. That's easy enough. "I'm still in your fucking debt for nights I stayed on your couch. So shut up and accept my alcohol."

She seems nonchalant, but Ravn hit a sore spot with that last comment. A few random bottles are picked up - examined - then put back. Ravn gets to decide what they are, because the player hasn't the faintest idea. "It's nothing you can do anything about. Tell me more about your buddy cop dream." Gonna just make it seem light. #coping.

Ravn decides on a bottle of decent rum. The good thing about rum is, you can get drunk stupid on it if you want to, but it can also be used to make some not half terrible, fruity drinks that might be enjoyed for their actual taste. He's not in the mood to actually call up his bartending lessons and go all out cocktail maker -- just, you know, pick out some lime, club soda, and mint leaves and it's mojitos o'clock.

"That's pretty much what happened," he says, honouring the not very subtle hint. "The guy in the bath tub died while we were getting shot at, because that's how that kind of story goes. Carried a secret sign for a speakeasy. And a dead wolfman thug had a hotel room key. We decided to go look at the latter, and then the dream ended. So I'm guessing that's what happens to Alexander and anyone standing next to him when chapter three drops. The Veil can be like that sometimes, it's like Netflix but with Cthulhu hosting."

A grin spreads across his face for a moment. "You know what I was thinking? I see lead flying through the air and I feel the slug hit my arm, and the thought that goes through my mind is, so this Benedict Addington, is he the brother or the cousin of the woman I still think entirely too much about?"

Good Ravn, picking up on the clues nice and happily. "Netflix with Cthulhu hosting?" Isi casts a completely confused look at Ravn for that comparison. It went right over her head. Netflix, yes, what the hell is a Cthulhu?

She arranges the stuff in the cart and then turns them down the oh god sweets and salts aisle. Which.... is half paper products? Not super helpful, though she does grab a roll of paper towels, because that actually might be useful. "So - This Addingon, aren't they the town's like...nobility or whatever? The head people? I swear I've come across that name more times than I'd like on my paperwork. And that's... what's her name..." Names are HARD, okay?"

"They're one of the town's two founding families. Think Hatfields and McCoys, since the late 19th century. The Baxters got here first but the Addingtons made the money. Everything Veil-related aside -- and believe me, there's a lot of it -- yeah, the Addingtons are kind of the local gentry. Not in the European meaning, but in the meaning of they own half the town, employ half the town, and run half the town. Mayor's an Addington, no surprise."

He can't help a small chuckle at that last line. "And yeah, Hyacinth's one of them."

Benedict, unlike Ravn, does not have a Healer Friend (TM). So he took an uber to get here, since he's definitely had some painkillers. Apparently, however, saying Addington in Gray Harbor causes them to appear so he suddenly found himself with a craving for food he didn't have available. To Safeway! And now he just happens to wander down the isle where Ravn and Isi are discussing his family, almost bumping into them just after Ravn concludes his explanation. "Oh, hello!"

The great Narrator in the Sky absolutely loves good story telling. Ravn doesn't even look surprised at talking about Addingtons -- and then getting startled by one. The way Gray Harbor works, the only way this could have been a better setup would involve several naked women, a jazz band, and a candid camera. "Speak of the devil," he adds with a smile. "Here's my partner in getting used for lupine target practise. Benedict Addington, Isi Cameron."

Isi looks Benedict up and down, eyes lingering on the padding of the gunshot. "Did no one tell you that Ravn is an absolute shit magnet? Hang around him and you will get fucked up."

Isi has reached the salty part of the asile and holds up Doritos in cool ranch and regular. "What do you two think?" Obviously Benedict is coming with, right?

"Pleasure to meet you." Benedict beams. "And, well...no, nobody has specifically told me that. And Alexander said it happened before, so I don't know that Ravn is entirely to blame. Anyway, it's fine. Just a little flesh wound." He peers at the Dorito bag, considering through the slight fog in his head. "Generally I'm a cool ranch man."

"And I will pretend to eat anything," Ravn says with a lopsided smile. "I don't think I get to take credit for the Bauer Building, though. Alexander is a bit of a magnet for these things as well."

He doesn't deny that he is one. Statistical evidence exists in large amounts.

"We were thinking mojitos and griping. Sound good to you, or do you have another preference? I refuse to drink any whiskey this place has, but apart from that, I'm easy as pie." He glances at Benedict and then can't help a small chuckle. "Sorry, it's just, I can't help think of all the times Hyacinth's warned me against this town's Safeway, and how many times this place has proved her right. It's not exactly high-end, either."

Cool Ranch it is then. Isi tosses it in and moves on to the tortilla chips and dip. "Good Monty Python reference," Isi says holding up a can of queso and salsa.

"I'll drink just about anything." Benedict grins, before admitting "I probably shouldn't have too much anyway. I'm sure there was something about how I'm not supposed to mix these painkillers with alcohol." But he's going to, because of course he is. "Eh, high-end can be overrated sometimes. There's times you just need easy, or available, or close, or...."

Trust Ravn to keep a perfectly straight face as he murmurs, "Are we still talking about booze, or -- "

A couple of limes go in the shopping cart. "I'm a snob when it comes to whiskey, not going to deny it. Anything else, I'm not particularly uptight about. I'm sure my parents would have large amounts of issues but given that they are both dead and not haunting me, they don't get to file a complaint. And speaking of, I am going to drunkenly ask you later where you fit in on the family tree."

In the end Isi goes with both. They are going to feed the hangover. "No alcohol for you then," point at Benedict. "I did the alcohol and pain meds not long ago and I woke up half on the floor with dreams that the Chief of police was still in my living room."

Their dirty innuendo is IGNORED.

"Yes." Benedict tells Ravn, leaving it entirely open-ended what he meant. "And I don't mind answering that question. "Then there's a slight pout. "Awwww." Isi says no alcohol. "But you're probably right. It's for the best. And honestly I feel pleasantly fuzzy as it is already, so I'm sure I'll fit right in once you two start drinking."

"Oh, I don't think I'm going to be tossing back drinks like I got paid to, either." Ravn glances at the sling his own arm is still in. "I'm not on quite as many pain killers -- but unless I want to spend another night on Isi's couch, maybe I shouldn't drink more than I can still figure out how to walk my bike home. Or walk home and pick the bike up some other day."

He glances around. "Think we got the basics covered? I got my dates, have to be able to make a bad pun about giving Isi a date somewhere."

"This is the closest I've gotten on a date in way too long - so I'm counting it. I'll even call it a threesome in the diary that way later." Isi's tone is dry, so so much sarcasm. SARCASM.

"I need coffee still," Isi replies, turning the cart another direction. "I am still down for the beach but we can go elsewhere if we have two injured blokes."

"Oh my." Benedict deadpans. It turns out he actually does a pretty good George Takei impersonation. "I'm gonna get, just, all the meat. Or that was my plan anyway. So if you guys like meat, I'll get that and we can...I dunno, beach bbq? In winter? I bet they sell those disposable grills." Pain meds are just a fountain of good ideas. "I'm good to go wherever, really."

"Going to get all the meat in a threesome, on the beach, in December." Ravn nods with a perfectly straight face. "At least I'll have something to put on my travel blog, not that I've updated it in months."

Sure enough, Safeway has disposable table grills. You don't have a national forest reserve like that around the corner and plan to not milk every tourist that passes by, even out of season. A tin of instant coffee goes the same way.

"We don't need to worry about where to get hot water for coffee at least. My boat's on the marina -- she's dry docked but that doesn't mean the stove doesn't work if we do decide we need to thaw out at some point." He winks. "And if push comes to shove, Vydal named her The Good Ship Cannabis Discowhore for the smell and the 1970s interior when I took her over, so I figure that anything we can do, she's seen worse."

It is a PLAN.

Meat will be achieved- they have way more supplies than three people need but that is ok.

Now - transportation. "Walk, Uber, or shall we all try to balance on Ravn's girlfriend?"

"Cannabis Discowhore. That's quite a name." Benedict grins, clearly amused by it. Sounds like we have a plan, then."

And then his thought process is entirely derailed by Isi's question. "Wait, balance on Ravn's girlfriend? Clearly there's a story there."

Ravn's girlfriend turns out to be a vintage Triumph motorcycle whom he proudly introduces as Lola Bianca; that explains the need to carry a motorcycle helmet around, at least. "I think we'll have to walk, though -- unless Isi happens to be a skilled driver, because I am not feeling quite up to driving with two passengers on the back."

There's not really room either. Maybe people in 1963 were just generally thinner. And shorter, definitely shorter.

Ravn just called them Fat. UNIVERSE do you hear that?!

"No. A few friends had bikes back home, but not us. Walk it is." Isi has the bags but promptly starts to hand them out so they all three can be equal pack mules.

Then Isi picks a direction and starts walking.

"I'm a real good driver. Pilot...anything with an engine, pretty much. Buuuuut, I'm not legal to drive right now." Benedict eyes the motorcycle appreciatively. Once he gets his share of bags, he just starts following Isi. Clearly she has an idea of where she's going. "At least it's nice out here, for this time of year."

Ravn doesn't mind just leading Lola Bianca by hand, though one gets the weird feeling easily that he really does think of the machine as a creature he is leading, rather than, well, a machine he is pulling along. "I'm not," he says willingly enough. "I like vintage bikes. Other kinds of engines, they do not speak to me. My father was all about fast cars and sports planes, and I think I kind of resent them a bit for it still."

He follows Isi's lead as well. After all, there's one marina and one beach in this town, and if feet start to get wet, you've gone too far. "One thing, though. Anyone see or hear mermaids, we ignore them. They're hungry this time of year, without the tourists."

"Ah, I see." Benedict has the good grace to not, then, starting bragging about his fast car and flying jets. Instead, he focuses on the latter part of the conversation. "Mermaids, huh? Why am I not surprised that they're real too. At this point nothing should surprise me, I guess. And they eat tourists?"

"Think more sirens of Greek mythology and less Ariel of Disney, yeah." Ravn shrugs a little, almost apologetically. "Thing is -- the Veil picks its stories out of our heads. Which means that if it ever existed somewhere and anyone in town has heard about it, then yeah, it can become real. In a country populated by immigrants? There's a lot of stories to draw on."

He chuckles. "Sorry, I don't mean to lecture. It's my field -- I study folklore. Which is part of why I'm sticking around, of course, I got a first row ticket to the show here."

"No, it's alright. It's interesting stuff." Benedict considers the implications of this for a long moment. "Wow. I didn't realize....because Alexander's office was using historical things that were actually present here. But you're saying if any of us have heard of it. That's...a lot. That means we could theoretically find ourselves in historical war stories here. Or the fall of Rome or...that's a lot."

"The Thunderbird showed up once," Isi tosses in, shaking her head at the fuckery that the Veil can and will toss. "I'm opening one of these bottles." That gets announced, and that is what she is going to do.

"Welcome to Narnia." Ravn offers an apologetic smile and pretends to not hear Isi's snort. "If it sounds crazy, it's because it is. The jury is still out on which came first, the chicken or the egg -- did our myths shape the Veil, or are our myths the stories of others who survived contact with it? We'll probably never know."

He doesn't move to defend the rum bottle. "You're supposed to spike that with lime and soda, but if you prefer your mojito more rocket fuel and less cocktail, don't let me stop you."

"The Thunderbird. Of course." Benedict eyes the rum balefully, but doesn't make a move for it. Because even in the pain pill haze, he knows Isi's right. He does, however, grab one of the grills once they're settled. "I'm gonna start cooking some of the meat. Do you ever get used to being, you know, Talented? And to all the stuff showing up?"

"Fuck you " Isi replies with false cheer to Ravn, falling a few steps behind as she uncorks the bottle.

To Benedict's question Isi holds up the bottle. That means no, no she hasn't for sure yet.

"Seeing ghosts is something I've done all my life. So's being able to move small things -- car keys, coins, spoons. The rest? I don't do any of it." Ravn parks his bike and then joins the other two around the grill.

He shakes his head. "Not going to get used to the rest. Get used enough to not panic. But it's never the same, so you never grow complacent -- or if you do, maybe that's when you don't come back. Here on this beach? Last time I was here with fire, an Aztec goddess turned up and demanded we kill her, to make the wheel of the year turn. You don't grow used to something like that."

"Great. Well, hopefully that doesn't happen this time." The threat of it doesn't dissuade Benedict from starting a fire on the grill, though. He's apparently pretty single-minded in his pursuit of the grilled meats. "So, Isi, what do you do? If you don't mind me asking." From Aztec deities to small-talk, in one easy step.

Isi flops herself with the bottle. If Ravn wants to make the drinks he will have to use another or reclaim hers. She has a single handed determination to get smashed atm. "Auditor at City Hall - which is another reason to get drunk. Mandatory meeting with HR about appropriate workplace relationships on Monday." That will be fun.

"Oh, great. I had to do a few of those back at Copenhagen U. Which is one of the reasons I do remote teaching these days." Ravn reaches for another rum bottle because damnit, he is having a mojito, even if it means peeling the lime and kind of stuffing it into the bottle along with some soda when there's room for it. "So what unfortunate college girl did you make uncomfortable by telling them that Indiana Jones is not the best example for how to get a teacher's attention?"

Benedict grins. "Ah, a fellow government worker. That sounds appropriately awful." He seems to sympathise. "We had a lot of that sort of training in the Air Force. Then about four years they started teaching it with this concept of green and red dots. Which, I mean, I got what they were going for but...." His attention flits to the mention of the movie. "What are you talking about? Indiana Jones is awesome!"

"The girl with the eyelids. When Doctor Jones is teaching, at the beginning of the movie. She's written a love message on her eyelids, in class." Ravn rolls his eyes. "It's funny in a movie. Some things should stay in movies. Anyhow, college girls are notoriously stupid creatures. What do you mean, green and red dots? They're teaching you where it's appropriate to hit up your co-workers now?"

"Good question. Considering I yelled out to the office that my boss was sleeping with me to get away from him..." she hitches a shoulder upwards and blinks.

"Trying to sleep with your students again?"

"Ah, yeah, that would do it." Benedict winces, and then shakes his head. "No, not exactly. It's...so, if you go back aways, we started having an escalating problem with sexual assault and other issues. So they comissioned a new training program. And the idea was...what if you plotted all of these appropriate and inappropriate actions on a map. So sleeping with an enlisted when you're an officer, or seeing something a a party and not stepping in...those would show up as red dots. But posting a sexual assault awareness message on Friendzone, or passing a note under your Commander's door to let him know about an issue, or helping your drunk friend get home safely...those would all be green dots."

Ravn points at Isi with his rum bottle. "I love the way you tack that 'again' on there, as if I'd even slept with a student once."

The look Benedict gets is far more serious; it contains genuine interest as the Dane blows a lock of unruly hair out of his face. "That sounds very complicated. But probably also necessary? Press does have a lot of stories about abuse of power, that sort of thing -- maybe a good idea to go a little far on encouraging a culture of not tolerating sexual assault, rather than not going far enough?"

Isi lifts her bottle in a salute. "You can make one of those for me also if you are doing the effort." Isi will get plastered before this is over tyvm.

"Way too complicated." She agrees with Ravn about the system. "They should bring back corporal punishment for shit going too far."

"I don't disagree. But the issue is the Air Force, and the other services....your new recruits are late teens early twenties. Often away from home for the first time. And highly sexualised. So you start with a problem. And then these campaigns, if they're at all silly or come across badly...it's just endless mocking, and then they don't take it seriously." Benedict explains. "But enough of that depressing stuff, probably. I don't know. What do you two want to talk about?"

"By that logic I might have been up for a public caning when that girl claimed I groped her ass," Ravn points out in response to Isi -- and hands her the bottle after having secured a suitable amount of rum for himself in a plastic cup. "Or, you know, I wouldn't because there are two things that academia deals with like utter shit: One is pretty girls claiming some TA harassed them and expecting to get a better grade to buy their silence, and the other is that when those things do in fact happen and end up on some board somewhere, the rich white guy never goes to jail for it."

He shrugs and then nods at Benedict. Depressing subject. "How about -- you tell me where on the family tree you are? Still working out a lot of things about this town and also, I kind of want to know if I have a crush on your cousin or your sister."

Yesss. This is what Isi wanted. Her other hand will work on a bag of chips to help make a nice base for the drinking. Ravn's question is a good start, so she holds off any other topics.

"Sure." Benedict agrees. "So my grandparents, Robert and Claire, they had Margaret, Thomas, Robert, Jeremiah and my father Christopher Addington. Who married my mother, Emma." He gets an idea part way through, and starts actually drawing the whole thing out in the sand. "Now most of my cousins have children of their own. I'm sort of an outlier in our generation that way. So more than likely you have a crush on one of my first cousin's once removed, although I do have a little sister....what's the lucky girl's name?"

"Hyacinth." Ravn hesitates a second and then decides what the hell -- it's not like half the town doesn't know about it. "We have been talking off and on about going on a date for -- well, since May. This town, though -- if it's not one thing it's another, never mind that she has her whole business empire to look after."

"It isn't fun to be hanging, " Isi adds to the conversation. "Half the women in this town would happily sleep with Ravn, but he has her on the mind. "

"Yeah, cousin Gregory's daughter." Benedict is apparently familiar with her. "And that doesn't surprise me...I had heard she had taken over large amounts of managing the family business and holdings." For all that some of the family can be incredibly competitive about that sort of thing, he doesn't seem troubled by it at all. "Well, maybe the two of you will find the time in the new year. Could be a New Year's resolution for you" Isi's comment draws forth a grin. "Oh, you got a fan club, Ravn?"

"I think half the women in this town may have missed that memo," Ravn says drily and sips his rum. "Or if they do, I know I missed that memo. You put far too much emphasis on Perdita Leontes' attempts to make me blush, it's a game to her."

He rolls his eyes and reaches for more lime. "She runs her own business, yes. Doesn't want Margaret to have power over her, given the family history. I do realise how weird that must be, having some stranger like me talking about it -- and I apologise. It's just that the Addington Baxter feud literally created this whole mess, so speaking as a historian, it kind of is my business."

"He is oblivious," Isi replies with a straight face. She might be lying. She might not!

The cup comes up? More lime please?

Benedict shrugs an easy-going, good-natured, shrug. "No, I get it. You gotta remember, I grew up here. Addington means being in the limelight. I'm used to having people gossiping about the family or asking me questions about my relatives. Honestly it was kind of...both a relief and a really difficult thing to adjust too, when I got to the Academy. Nobody cared who I was, and when I heard 'Addington' it was usually being yelled at me aggressively."

"Hear you loud and clear," Ravn murmurs. "And now you know why I'm in the US and not at home."

He's happy enough to grant Isi a solid squish of lime; those bartending lessons at the Twofer did not pass into the oblivion of forgetfulness it seems. She even gets a squish of club soda to go with it because that's how a mojito goes, damnit.

Well, there's supposed to be a mint leaf too. But he's not going to substitute a bit of seaweed.

Sea weed would suck. So thankfully that isn't a thing Isi has to think about. She settles back to nurse her drink more slowly now.

"American and European royalty right here. I feel like someone should be playing trumpets."

"I think it was good for me." Benedict reflects. "And I loved my job. I never expected to back home so soon, to tell you the truth. Figured I'd be gone at least another six year or so." He doesn't sound upset about being home, though. There's a grin at Isi. "I dunno about American royalty. Maybe Gray Harbor royalty. Washington State if we're lucky."

"I'm not bloody royalty." Ravn rolls his eyes again and takes a generous sip of his plastic cup trailer trash mojito. "There's one very specific requirement for royalty that I'm pretty certain neither of us meet: You have to a member of a royal family."

"Riigghhhttt, sure." Sarcasm - Isi hasn't been dissuaded by their insistence that neither of them are royalty.

"A mere technicality." Benedict tells Ravn with another of those charming smiles. Apparently he's more comfortable with the idea of being royalty than the European is. "I think the food is about ready, by the way." There's a mischievous grin as he considers. "I could do the whole royalty thing, I think. Strut up and down, wave a lot. Talk to people. I've seen Hamilton."

Ravn raises his cup and points it at Isi (fear the trailer mojito). "You want me to give you the speech on what constitutes royalty and what does not? I'm only going to warn you once: You know I'm a university lecturer. I will send you into boredom coma. I strongly advise you to settle for, the word you're looking for is 'gentry'. Or 'aristocracy' if you really want to kiss arse."

Benedict's grin has him laughing in conjunction with the strong alcohol and the lingering morphine in his system, though. "You know what? I'd watch that. Hell, I'd grade it."

Isi holds up her drink. "I have the ultimate defense from your boring ass. You say a large word, I drink. See? We could make this work. I have two already." Very deliberately, she takes two drinks.

Her eyes click over to Benedict. "If your meat tastes as good as it looks, I will fucking crown your ass myself."

"My meat is fantastic. I routinely won wing grill-offs." Benedict either has no awareness of how the first part of that sounds or knows exactly how it sounds and just doesn't care. Ravn gets a grin. "Sure , I mean how hard can it be, right? It's all...." He switches over to his best very affected royal British accent. "So you're a seaweeeeeed. What do yooooou doooo?"

"Well, this is going to be fun." Ravn grins, wide and lopsided. "Aristocracy is the rule of the few, often considered morally and intellectually superior, ruling in the interest of all but effectively as a tyranny or oligarchy, possibly a timocracy, as opposed to a democracy, and are you drunk yet?"

Knock-out by one sentence. Or, well, it would be, if Isi could drink fast enough.

"Eeehhhh," Isi squints at Benedict. "You sound horrible. Also, that is 5, right?"

Dutifully Isi drinks down. Congrats gentlemen, Isi wjll be passing out on them.

Benedict grins as he watches Isi try and keep up with Ravn's fancy words in their impromptu drinking game. "Aristocracy. Aristocrat. Definitely better than Gentry, I'll admit. Although not as much as Royalty."

Ravn laughs and watches Isi's face as she kisses her sobriety goodbye on an academic challenge. "If you want to get technical about it -- " because who can resist here " -- then the line between gentry and aristocracy goes at count, and aristocracy becomes royalty at duke. It's all a correlation of proximity to the royal house; you have to be a blood relative to be a royal, while you can be gentry or aristocracy without, but aristocratic titles can only be bestowed by royalty."

Bottom's up.

"I am not counting doubles." Isi proclaims- it is her game, she can make her own damn rules, got it?!

Three drinks then. She also gets to decide what counts.

Her eyes are on the meat a cooking. No vegan here and the more drunk she gets the more she wants to eat.

"Wait a minute...." Benedict realizes something. It takes a minute, through his brain fog. But slowly the train arrives in the station and there's a huge grin. "So if I'm royalty...I can give people titles?"

He follows Isi's gaze, which reminds him about the meat. "I think it's done." He proclaims, beginning to serve it.

"I will absolutely bear witness if Your Royal Highness Prince Benedict of the House of Addington of Washington should decide to bestow the title of Duchess of the Trailer Trash Mojito on Her Grace here." Ravn sips his own ditto -- and looks delighted to receive his share of fried dead animal. No vegan here, either.

"I feel like I should be more offended by that then I do...." isi trails off on that. Something to consider later. Now she is being served dead charred animal. EXCELLENT.

"He needs a crown." Isi will eat with one hand while starting to twist some paper towels together into a crown. Drinking left off for now in favor of eating and crowning.

"Well, yes, I suppose I do need a crown if I'm going to hand out titles." Benedict clearly thinks this is a marvelous idea, as he tucks into his own meat. "And I don't think you should be offended. It's referring to the style of the drink rather than you I'm pretty sure."

"It's cheap white rum in a plastic cup, topped up with cheap club soda and the squeezing of a communal lime, no mint. If there was ever a thing worthy of the title trailer trash mojito, this is it." Ravn is indeed not referring to Isi as much as he's referring to the beverage she's busy ingesting.

He picks at a chicken wing with the appetite of a teenage girl whose crush hinted she might look a little chubby in stripes and then looks at it. "So. Why are those things called buffalo wings again? I always wondered, is it some kind of joke? Does anyone actually think buffalo have wings?"

Sly look around. "Are we sure that buffalo in Gray Harbor do not have wings?"

Crown done Isi pushes herself to her feet, not totally steady. This is fine. Over to Benedict. "On your knees for crowning- that's how it goes, right?" Isi has no idea. She is being over the top because it is easier than being normal at the moment.

"You have to deep fry it to make it a Buffalo wing you weird foreigner." Isi replies, no comment on weirdness because acknowledgement of it might make it TRUE.

"That...seems right." Benedict agrees. He's seen some movies. Shifting around until he's kneeling in place, he looks over to Ravn. "Honestly I'm not sure about anything in Gray Harbor at this point."

"So are you an empress or an archbishop or a Pope, considering you're crowning people now?" Ravn sips his TTM (sigh, no mint). "Good thing you're not knighting him -- you'd have to tap his shoulder with the steak knife, and I'm not sure that's safe."

And then, just because there is a tiny devil lost in the folklorist, he can't resist adding, "You have to anoint his head before you place the crown upon it. I suggest the grease."

"Pagan priestess or something." Isi decides after a moment of thought.

A glance at Ravn, "Don't be a dick to the local royalty. Melting his face off would be rude."

Isi will move to pour rum on Benedict's head instead. Unless he ducks or dodges.

Unfortunately, Benedict has no ability to do either. Because when Ravn speaks, he's no longer paying attention to Isi. "Wait what do you mean anoint me with the grease?"

He never sees it coming. But at least the rum used to anoint him smells good!

Maybe it's that Ravn is the one person out of the three who has actually spent time -- far too much time - reading about these kinds of ceremonies, not to mention being made to stare at paintings of people in fancy clothes carrying out rites that make little sense to him, to impress other people who also died a long time ago, and most of them probably for stupid reasons like choking to death on a glazed peacock wing pie or braining each other with gilt duelling blades that would be about as useful in a real fight as their respective owners.

Maybe it's just that he can vividly picture his mother's face if she was to watch some upstart American nouveau riche get crowned by some not-even-upstart American nouveau no one, and whatever it is, it has him curl up in silent laughter, dropping his chicken wing and holding his knees and shaking uncontrollably. He will get around to "Sto-ho-hop, you're killling me!". Eventually.

"We broke him." Isi deadpans and promptly drops the paper towel crown on Benedict. "Congrats. You how now King Benedict Addington the whatever of Gray Harbor. May your reign be long and you not get stabbed by the bitches in your family for the honor."

After which she will flop down again, one leg over the arm of her chair.

Benedict stays kneeling a moment, as if awestruck. And then slowly rises to his feet. "It is well done." He proclaims, before looking over to Ravn. "Ok, so is there anything in particular I need to do to hand out these titles?"

"That's what Rosencrantz calls me," Ravn manages to choke out between laughs. "Abildgaard, the Kabillionth of His Name."

He manages to sit up and wipe tears of laughter from his eyes, and then shake his head. "I think -- I think you are now fully vested to hand out titles and fiefs. All hail King Benedict Addington the Whatever, long may he reign!"

And then, because this is Gray Harbor, he promptly looks around. Just in case reality shifted to some faux medieval banquet hall or something.

Isi gives a nice loud woooop before leaning her face against the cool side of the boat. "I think you just wave your hand and bam, done."

"Alright. Easy enough." Benedict looks to Isi and then waves his hand ceremonially. He's momentarily stumped on wording before he remembers something. Promotion warrants!

"Attention to orders! Based upon special trust and confidence reposed in you and the power vested in me do I grant you the title Duchess of Trailer Trash Mojitos. With all privileges and rights there appertaining."

He looks to Ravn then. "Titles can be based on where you live, right?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he's off again.
"Attention to orders! Based upon special trust and confidence reposed in you and the power vested in me do I grant you the title Duke of Cannabis Discowhore. With all privileges and rights there appertaining."