2021-12-29 - Body Swappers

It's 100% normal Gray Harbor. Completely normal. The streets, the mild bustle, a small dusting of snow that is quickly melting and evaporating - nothing at all about this is strange. Except that when Shawn looks down at his hands they're all graceful and thin, and when he reaches up and touches his face it's a clear 5 o'clock shadow instead of his full turning-gray beard. Higher up he's missing his characteristic hat and his coat is... fluffy. It's fluffy.

".... huh." Hands splay out in front of him as he turns them over and over.

Shuffle out of a shower with a hangover and throw a glance at the mirror and

WHO THE FUCK IS THAT

realise that the Veil is up to its antics again because the face that looks back at you is

IS THAT MY FACE

not your own; it's the face of a man at least a decade older, of far heavier build, and possessed of a long, full beard.

Also, naked.

I HAVE DEFINITELY NOT GOT BULK LIKE THIS

And

... My hands don't hurt.

It takes Ravn a moment to collect himself. He sits on the toilet, naked, unceremoniously, staring at his new hands, far meatier than he is used to. Then he touches the wall. His chin. The door.

Everything.

Excuse him a few minutes. He's not used to being able to touch things just like that.

Shawn continues to stand in the middle of the street staring at his lily white hands. Not that his hands are work stained and roughed - seriously, he's a doctor. But, uh...

This is about the time when a passing group of teens walks right into him and pain goes everywhere. Unaccustomed to said pain Shawn has to strangle back a scream and ends up curled in the middle of the sidewalk making tiny sounds of "owowowowow". Nothing like a 6'3" man in the middle of the street.

Welcome to Gray Harbor Shawn.

So that's what plastic feels like. And porcelain tiles. And --

There's always a narrative. There's always a story that needs to be told, and sitting here touching the toilet paper and his own beard is not going to tell that story. And while it's tempting

so very tempting

to just pretend this is the new normal, it's not going to work like that, and also, there's a guy out there who's just inherited a rather damaged body and a title.

Better find out who he is, then. Or whose face he's wearing. Time to do a close inspection -- tattoos? Scars? Stains on the skin? Anything at all that might tell him where to make a phone call.

Ravn's found himself in the body of a large man. His shoulders are broad, but have the feel of one who hunches forward quite a bit. Particular care has been taken of his hands. They have quite a bit of dexterity in them, and no scars. Someone's been careful. In a pocket of the brown coat Ravn'll find a small clue. A pair of plastic gloves like doctor's use. And if he can smell, a tang of chemicals like one finds near corpses.

On the other side of town Shawn peels himself up from the sidewalk, his confusion only increased by the fact that he's having to run a small medical examination on himself. "Pins and needles..." as he flexes his fingers and toes - yeah, probably not doing himself any favors here as he talks to himself. "Sensitivity to touch..." He doesn't arrive at the right diagnosis right away, but a nice handful of them. This isn't a TV show folks. It's information to go onto though.

So he sets off again with a puzzled frown on his face until a young woman, one named - unknown to Shawn- Vicky Barret, calls out, "Ravn! Hey I had a question for you!" And since his name is Shawn and not Ravn Shawn just keeps walking down the street utterly ignoring said person. (Congrats, someone thinks Ravn hates them now. Better believe the Veil is going to let them remember the snub.)

It's not like Vicky Barrett isn't already regularly accusing Ravn of crustaceancide and animal cruelty; by all means, let her have a few more bullets to fire. Ravn would laugh -- if only he knew, and if only he wasn't sitting, butt naked, next to a set of clothes that are

not black

definitely not his, and trying to piece this together. Scrubs. Chemical scents. Plastic gloves.

The logical thing to do is -- well, logical. He gets dressed -- who knew it was this easy to button things without gloves on -- and walks past Kitty Pryde to the door. The cat stares at him like it's wondering who the hell he is and more importantly, does he have tuna -- but she doesn't get in his way. For which he is relieved considering that others might see a small adorbs black cat, but Ravn has not forgotten the dead woman in the dumpster. Neither has Aidan, presumably, given he was the one who found her.

Some cats should be kept happy.

Walking feels wrong, too. He's not accustomed to this much weight, and his footfalls make too much noise in boots that were not bought for their silent qualities. It's probably a bad idea to take Lola Bianca -- riding a motorcycle requires balance -- and so he walks, towards Addington Memorial because somebody there has to know this face.

Shawn is walking - but he's use to taking a brisk pace at the end of his shift and finds himself by the end of the second block with a shortness of breath and pain in his chest. "Asthma." At least that one is easy to diagnose. A quick patting happens to his outfit, "Huh, at least the black is okay, little froofy though." Yes, keep talking to yourself Shawn, mental stability that is. He's looking for an inhaler as some kind of signal for how severe this asthma is.

He takes a moment to pause and lean - oops, nope, no leaning. Right. Got it.

He takes a moment to just stand and looks upwards at the closest building. "The HOPE Centre. European? Canadian? Huh."

The inhaler in Ravn, well, Shawn's pocket readily places the body (if not the owner) on the asthma scale as far as a medically trained person goes; this is someone who likely takes a dose in the morning, and then keeps the inhaler on him for moments of physical exertion, to stave off attacks. The body seems to be quite fit; one could get the impression that the other attempted treatment is a lot of stamina building exercise.

And of course there's the tall older fellow with the white crew cut inside, waving at Shawn-Ravn like he has something he wants to tell him. Which indicates some level of familiarity, maybe.

Ravn, on his end, finds himself in the hospital lobby. It's not a place he enjoys visiting -- for a man who sees ghosts, a hospital is not a good place. This, at least is familiar -- don't assume that just because you can see the guy shouting at the vending machine, everyone else can too. He heads for the receptionist at the counter and asks, quite bluntly, "Any messages for me?"

If she knows who he is, well, then it'll show.

Shawn reads the prescription printed on the side and gives a small nod. Yep. He's got this. Well, as got as one can have it when this is literally not his body. (Aka, he's got nothing.)

But he's remaining calm. This isn't the first weird as fuck thing that's happened in his life. The fact that no one has ever believed him about weird things before keeps him from making a scene. He was about to keep walking but he sees the person saving their hands and runs. An upraises eyebrow has Shawn raising his hand slowly to wave back, while also turning his head to try to see who the guy is waving for.

He's use to turning a whole lot more to see behind himself and ends up spinning this skinny-ass body right around. Woops.

In the hospital Ravn gets stared at blankly by the woman at the counter. She glances beside her and an older woman wearing a supervisor's tag slides in beside her with a false smile. "Are you okay love? Is someone missing you?"

Just going straight for wondering if Ravn is a special person who needs special treatment. His beard IS rather long, if well groomed.

"Pretty sure somebody misses me," Ravn replies, in the fashion of someone who can't believe the lack of organisation around here (and doing his very best to imitate a generic American accent because he's pretty certain that there aren't a lot of Danes around here). He needs to find out who he's supposed to be -- and the only way a grifter knows how is to let other people fill in the blanks. So he pulls the surgical gloves from his pockets because for all he knows those things are colour coded -- and the smell certainly is, uh, unique.

"I'm supposed to start my shift in twenty minutes and I got no idea where I'm supposed to be going," he drawls, hoping that the receptionist or the older woman will have one of those 'oh you must be Mr Brown, then' moments. Because if they don't, well, he might be finding out what elder care is like in God's Own Country.

On Spruce Street, the silverhaired bloke slams the door open and steps out, hands in pockets and shoulders up, to stare at who he thinks is the centre's daily coordinator guy and all-round weirdass Scandinavian guy. "They got to you," he murmurs upon getting a second look. "Got you good and well, man. Gotta get you inside, come on, don't fucking argue. We gotta fix this."

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh......" Is Shawn's reply to being abruptly accosted by an older man who is saying something about him being gotten. He looks up and down the street a few times before shrugging.

What the hell, why not? Shawn's probably done stupider things in his life than turn and look at the guy who is accosting him. "Do you know who I am sir?" Direct question to him, because id you're gonna be stuck in a case of the body swappers it's best to be direct.

Over in the hospital the supervisor has shooed the less experience nurse off to go and help the next person. She keeps her smile on her face as she looks up at the 6'3" tall man. "Yes, of course, one moment sir. Why don't you just stand over here for a little bit and I'll go open the doors for you."

Which is code for get the security agents on alert because they walk out a few moments later and approach Ravn. "Sir, I think it is best you leave now."

"Yeah, I do." The silver-haired guy seems rather more calm about this than you'd expect as he reaches out and then doesn't take hold of Shawn-Ravn's arm; one could get the impression that he knows what response such an unexpected gesture might invoke in the other man.

The door to what is clearly a former storefront closes behind them and somehow, a chair materialises under Shawn's backside. "Put this on," the older guy says and disappears into the backroom -- emerging a minute later with 'this'; an amulet, home made -- a necklace consisting of string and various sea shells and gull feathers. "Wear it, they can't get into your head if you wear it. Then we talk."

At the hospital reception Ravn-Shawn knows when he's beat; no grifter with half a grain of smarts sticks around when the game is lost and so he nods at the nurse and the security guy. "I'll get this sorted," he tells them. "Sorry, I know you're just doing your jobs. But I'll have someone's head for this." And off he is, with the kind of huffy stomp you'd associate with someone in a position of authority just being told to bugger off.

Don't know who you are, Mr Weird Smell and Surgeon's Gloves, but I'm not getting you arrested.

And that thought prompts his next decision. Gray Harbor's emergency responders -- firefighters and police -- occupy the same building. If he's some kind of doctor or surgeon, odds are that at some point, somebody at either place has seen him -- whether at an incident scene or when bringing people into hospital. Which means that the GHPD/FD is his second best bet at getting randomly recognised. Good thing it's not a far walk. These muscled legs are heavy.

The absence of asthma is nice, though. And it does take effort to ignore that little voice in the back of his head that says, You know, dude, if you ever want a lap dance in your life, now's your chance to get one and not scream into the girl's ear.

Shawn doesn't have the reflexes of one who has lived with pain for some time and so he doesn't flinch as the guy reaches towards him. That's a night bright red flag that SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH with the person currently wearing Ravn's face. He follows the man insie an looks around curiously.

Until that amulet appears. Then he arches an eyebrow upwards. "Are you kidding me? That's..." And this is where Shawn realizes that he just followed a rando into another rando place and where is the door? is just going to race through his mind. Turning he looks for said exit and does not take the offered 'protection'.

"Look - do you know my name? That'd be a good place to start." Shawn, hopeful.

The hospital is QUITE happy to see Ravn-Shawn walk right out the doorway, though the security guards do follow him just to make sure he isn't about to swing back and abruptly start impersonating a doctor again. (They frown on that kind of stuff here.)

At the GHPD/F Ravn gets a bit of a break. The man behind the main desk happens to know him. "Hey Shawn," he calls out upon Shawn entering. "Forget your keys or something?" Today must have very few crisis' because the reception area only has a small smattering of people all busy filling out their own forms and pointedly not looking at the desk or the man who just entered.

"Ravn," the other man tells Shawn with a very patient expression, and dangling the feathers and shells in his face. "Look, just put the damn amulet on. They got to you. You don't even remember your own name, man. It's what the mermaids do. Bet you remember hearing singing, and then you felt like walking towards the ocean, right? Good thing I was here to grab you off the street before you got your scrawny, Danish ass turned into siren kibble."

"Worse," Ravn replies to the receptionist in turn. "My whole damn wallet. Gotta be here somewhere -- driver's license, credit cards, all of it. Don't suppose you could spare a moment to help me look?"

He makes a mental note of the other people present pointedly not seeing him; so he's apparently not Mister Popular here. That's -- good, in the sense that it means people know who he is. Now he just needs to get them to say. Here's to hoping someone will get volunteered and then walk in front -- that way, at least he'll know where he's going.

Shawn eyes the amulet in his face before sighing. Reaching out he takes it and strings it over his neck - and sneezing abruptly as the feathers tickle his nose. Well. Okay.

Talking in his most calming voice Shawn says, "Danish, like, the pastry?" His eyebrow is FIRMLY arched upwards as he considers the man. "No - I didn't feel any of that. I clocked out of work, made it half way home, and abruptly I hurt when touched, have asthma, and lost half my body weight - and I'm talking to a crazy man." That last isn't pointed at the amulet bear-er. It's to Shawn, back to saying the inside things outside. More gently, "Look, I just worked a long shift. There was an apparent suicide the family is contesting that got shoved off onto my plate and I didn't find anything to suggest it wasn't suicide and I put the report off. I just want to go to bed."

Because sleeping with ~absolutely~ cure this waking dream, right?

At the GHPD the officer laughs, "Sorry - don't have the keys to the morgue. You'll have to go talk to the supervisor for that. Here, sign in, and I'll get you a visitor badge. Have you met Nelson yet?" Another clue, the people aren't ignoring Ravn-Shawn because of popularity and more because they just don't ~know~ him.

Assuming that Ravn's going to do just that a visitor badge is put down even as he presses the button to unlock the door.

The other man's ocean blue eyes stare right through Shawn-Ravn, as if they want to bore into his skull and maybe root around what's in there for a bit.

Then he sits down opposite of him and says, "You're not him, are you. You're a fucking mermaid in my mate's body. I don't know you did this. But you got ten minutes to un-do it, or I'm taking you apart with the fire axe. I told you bitches, stay off dry land, that is the deal."

When things turn south, fast, indeed.

Ravn-Shawn glances at the badge and then fixes it to his shirt because what else can he do? You play a role, you play it through. "Don't think so," he agrees and does his best to sound American, or at least American-er. Shawn? Scottish or French? Fuck only knows.

Here's also to hoping nothing too gruesome is on the slab because as it happens, he's only set foot in a morgue once and that was -- really rather remarkably bad.

So

Fuck

Shawn darts straight up out of his chair, knocking it over in the process, as the amulet giving dude threatens him. "Sir, calm down." Using as soothing a voice as he can Shawn is going to attempt to keep rando dude from turning violent while also backing up towards the doorway. "I assure you, I mean no harm."

At the front desk the police officer waves Ravn deeper, but doesn't offer to go with him and engage his services in the introduction. Shawn can do that himself, right? He totally knows the way down into the basement where they keep the bodies, right?

Well, no one will bother Ravn if he has to wander a bit. The actual morgue is locked up tight but the office across the way where all the actual paperwork is done is open. Someone, probably Nelson, wears a suit and tie as he sits at his desk, back to the doorway, and types on the computer set in front of him.

Hearing the footstep he half turns and asks, "Hey - what are you doing down here?"

Want to play tag around the table? 'Mermaid' Denny is totally game for playing tag around the table. At least he's not actually got an axe -- yet.

"You bitch! You're supposed to stay in the water!" Man's got an impressive voice, too. "We had a deal! You think you're not harming the guy by just borrowing his meat suit for a little while, is that it? It doesn't work that way for humans! Get the fuck out of here right now, I swear to God, I will cut you open and rip you out!"

Very lovely first impression there.

"Looking for my wallet," Ravn-Shawn replies. "I must have dropped it somewhere. Don't suppose anyone handed it in?"

What he wants is out. But, as he reminds himself, you play a part, you play it to the end because bailing in the middle is usually not possible anyhow -- and whoever this guy is, odds are he's another shiny person. Got to have each other's backs -- even when you don't even know each other. The last thing Gray Harbor needs is some asshole with connections at the GHPD developing a bad attitude about the community centre, for example.

"I guess I better go check my car again," he tells Nelson. "But if someone does turn it in, throw me a text, yeah?"

Shawn goes to juke left but Danny jukes right and poor Shawn is not the best at reflexes, especially in this new touching hurts and pain is the worst body he's found himself in. So he tries to backpedal when he realizes the pair of them are going towards one another but instead just manages to trip an go right into Danny's hands.

"Why - oh, you must be the new guy." Nelson corrects himself, "They said you were a tall bugger. Ah - Shawn?" There's a question mark on the end, like Nelson's not quite sure himself of the name. "No - it's fine. I'll let you in. Did you finish the autopsy on that Cinton man? I haven't checked for the overnight reports just yet."

Apparently, the one thing Denny did not anticipate is incompetence. The entity he thinks has taken over Ravn's body fighting back? Yes, he's on board with that. Running away? Fair enough, not that he's going to allow it. Invoke the wrath of the oceans and all the ghosts of all the dolphins ever drowned in tuna fishing nets? Sure. But flop over like a useless starfish and whimper like Denny even got a punch in when he hasn't even raised his hands properly yet -- he did not see that option coming.

Don't let it be said of 'Mermaid' Denny that he doesn't recognise opportunity; fast thinking and even faster running is what allowed him to reach his silver years. Before Shawn-Ravn knows what hit him he's on a chair and did you know how useful plastic strips can be for tying someone's wrists and feet to a chair?

"Now you and me are gonna have a talk," Denny tells the tied up presumed-possessing-something. "And you're gonna tell me what you done with my mate. Because he's a skinny, rich kid with his head up his professor arse, but he's good for this place, and you're not. And then maybe, if I like what I hear, I'll rip you out of there and toss you in a fish tank instead of letting you die from dehydration. And if I really like it, I'll toss you back in the ocean."

And elsewhere, Ravn-Shawn cringes. Of course he has to be the coroner. Couldn't just be the guy who files the paperwork or fetches coffee -- nope, had to be the guy who looks at all the broken pieces and tries to assemble them back into some kind of human jigsaw puzzle and --

Sorry, Nelson. Sorry about the waste basket. Because Ravn finds himself transported back to where he smelled this smell last -- a morgue in Vejle, Denmark, almost seven years ago, when he had to identify the body of a woman who had to be scraped off the road with a mop and bucket after she rammed a tree at entirely too high speed because he told her wanted to break up with her, and it's been seven years of anxiety in a knot inside him, and he's going to throw all of that up in your waste basket right now.

But at least when he's done he's got the composure to say, "I must have caught a stomach bug. I think I better just go home."

This is not what I expected.

He's going to kill me.

Oh god but I just made a friend!

Shawn is a whole mess of feelings and thoughts and yes - he is going to cry. Poor pretty face is all mussed up now, and that jacket has developed a tear. His hair is sticking up in one place like that poor kid on little Rascals.

And he's CRYING DANNY. THE FACE OF HIS FRIEND IS CRYING. "Look, man, my name is Shawn Oliver Young. I just moved here. Got off work, walking down the street and just bam. I'm here. I swear - I just wanted to go, get a pastry, a nice shower," One thing Danny is not going to have to worry about is getting Shawn to talk. He's talking. He goes on an on like that explaining every small detail about his process of getting into bed.

Probably to keep this Mermaid guy from trying to kill him too quickly. One can't escape if one is dead.

"Oh man," that's Nelson as Ravn heads for the waste basket and throws up. "You should've said something." Nelson has some rough sympathy for the large bearded man now over the trash can trying to get rid of the memory of his lunch. Not that he will come closer. No one wants to screw around with a stomach bug.

"Let me grab your wallet." Over to the desk in the corner - and miracle of miracles, there IS a wallet there. Poor Shawn would have been really upset when he went to buy something for dinner/breakfast and didn't have it. "Here," and it gets shoved towards Ravn with the very tippytips of fingers to keep the bug from spreading.

"I'll let them know you can't come in. There's nothing pressing -you left the paperwork in the overnight bin, right?" The work goes on, and if the dead don't get examined one more night - well, it is what it is.

"Shawn Oliver Young." Denny scoffs with all the might of a sixty year old man who has seen everything. "At least come up with something that sounds like a name. No one names their fucking kid Shawn. Rhymes with prawn. And lawn."

He sits down across from the crying man and looks disgusted; Ravn does not have the complexion for crying, and those big blue-greys are not prettier for now having red rims and tears in long eyelashes. "You look like a girl," he tells the man gruffly. "But that's because you are a girl, isn't it? Fuckin' fish girl. What's your real name? Scales? Choral? Catfish? Spirulina?"

"Thanks," Ravn-Shawn murmurs and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and whoa hey, yikes, no. "Got a napkin?" Because he's not used to throwing up through a beard like that, and yes, that's not pretty.

He wipes his mouth. Carefully. Because yuck. "I'm just gonna go -- sleep it off." Wallet grabbed and pocketed.

Once he's outside the building, though, that wallet gets opened and examined. There has to be a name in there, on a driver's license or similar. A name, an address, an idea who the hell he is.

Well - that's new. "I'm a boy!" Wait, that doesn't sound right, "I am a MAN." Right?

Shawn is beyond caring that it hurts, poor Ravn's going to have some nice ligature marks on his wrists when this is all over. Some poor sucker is going to ask about his sex life probably. "It's Shawn - I swear. I'm from Mesa Arizona. Medical school - fuck I look at dead bodies for a living, I swear. Look - look," trying to keep Danny occupied and not like, trying to expose scales that aren't there. "I have a place - rented. Up on Bayside. We could go there! I'll show you photos of what I'm suppose to look like."

Fuck - I just told his crazy mother fucker that I live by the ocean.

Well, that cat is out of the bag.

Thankfully Shawn is a law abiding citizen. When he moves to a new place he gets his driver's license updated first thing. It lists a modest place on Bayside, one of the places that has a constant stream of renters because, surprise surprise, the actual owner doesn't want to live in Gray Harbor. (Honestly, at this point, does the owner even remember what properties they own? It's all managed by a faceless company anyway comes in as income, goes out as taxes.) It has a partial view of the ocean and a shared walkway down to the beach. It's nice! A retreat for someone who has the kind of job Shawn has.

There's a moderately nice car in the driveway, but it's a nice day, and Shawn obviously walked to work. For the sake of the narrative, Nelson also gave Ravn a set of keys so Ravn can get into the house.

Conveniently, the HOPE centre has a laptop. This means that poor Shawn-Ravn finds himself in a game of questions and answers soon enough because Mesa, Arizona has one thing going for it in Denny's book: There is no ocean in Arizona. Meaning that poor Shawn is going to be asked all kinds of questions about Mesa, Tucson, and half a dozen other places, and Denny is going to verify each and every answer on Google Maps and Wikipedia.

It does beat getting brained with a fire axe.

Ravn-Shawn finds himself on Bayside, and for once not to visit Vyv Vydal in his chef's paradise of an apartment. It feels odd, just walking up like this and inserting someone's key -- and that amuses him because he's certainly entered people's homes uninvited before. Just, usually through a window or a back door, even through a sky light a few times. Or at the very least he's had to steal the damn keys -- not get handed them by the mark's co-worker.

He looks around the place. He's not here to assess the man's wealth and possessions, nor does he intend to abscond with any. What he is looking for is very specific -- anything at all that might give him a clue as to why this has happened. And the absence of occult circles on the floor, drippy candles, and incense sticks is very frustrating in this regard.

Alas, Shawn is frighteningly human. MESA, he can answer questions about that. Arizona State University, new years eve block parties, the temple in the middle, all those Mormons! But Tucson? Prescott? Sedona? Other than the things any casual visitor might know from various road trips as a kid.

But he'll keep answering. Danny's going to learn a WHOLE LOT about Shawn, probably more than Shawn has told anyone at all. Like that time when he got a complaint filed against him in his residency - because he told the girl that she had an STD from her boyfriend without, well, telling her parents first because HOW DARE he do that?! Apparently that's a no-no, even if the girl is underage.

Keeping the crazy mermaid man talking is good. That is all that Shawn is focused on. Grasping for straws - "What about you though, I mean, you don't like the ocean. Where are you from? Or or - this dude. He's a friend right? What is he like?"

Poor Ravn. It's dreadfully boring - well, until he hits the library and Shawn's conspiracy button is put on FULL DISPLAY. There are books about the moon landing, flat earth, QAnon, Black Helicopters, Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 - look, Shawn's a nutcase of his own kind. That might help Ravn a little bit. It's easier to believe in conspiracy theories when one has actually seen the effects of some of them in their own life.

There are files cabinets too - full of Shawn's kind of crazy. And if Ravn pokes around he'll find Shawn's diary. It's full of every-day common place things, but then vivid recollection of what can only be dreams or experiences with the veil.

A knock comes at the doorway in the middle of Ravn's looking, the polite neighborly kind of knock.

You did this to yourself, Shawn Olive Oyl Arizona. You asked Denny for his story. And you're tied to a chair so you can't escape.

"Well, maybe you're not actually a mermaid," the silver haired guy mutters and moves to undo the strips at Shawn-Ravn's wrists. And then -- instead of bending down to undo the ones at his ankles, he suddenly shoves something into the man's face. Shawn Olive Oyl Arizona fails to melt, scream, or burn. He's probably not a mermaid. Although now he -- or rather, Ravn -- has the imprint of a rock with a hole in on his cheek, too, along with a bit of beach sand.

"Now I'm gonna say this and you're gonna keep quiet about it because you get to be in a very secret club now." Denny nods. This is Important. "Me, I weren't always what you see now. I lived Somewhere Else, by the sea. And so did They. But something broke, and I found myself and my boat coming ashore here, thirty years ago -- and They are here too. They're out there in the sea, you understand? Girls with fish tails. They feed on human flesh. They sing to you and lure you to sea. But they are not allowed to touch people who are Touched. That's the Deal. I made a deal with them, you see? They can have the mundanes. But they can't have us."

Charming, no?

It's probably a good thing that Ravn-Shawn's investigations are interrupted. He doesn't actually want to intrude on the privacy of whoever this Shawn bloke is -- but the folklorist in him obviously wants to explore, because what is this if not modern-day folklore?

He thanks some power that be for the timely reminder that he's kind of on the clock here, and goes to open the door with a noncommittal grunt. Because this could be anything from the neighbour wanting to borrow a cup of sugar to a wife coming home to her husband and oh God, he bloody well hopes not.

No screaming but there is a strangled gasp and some more whimpering. Shawn reaches up and rubs at his wrists to bring some circulation back into them after the forced containment. When Danny gets super insistant he looks back up at him, searching his expression for any signs of real lunacy. He sees it - plenty, but Shawn has seen his own shit too. So he bends forward, taking Danny into his confidence.

"I heard about that once. The government - they're researching mind control, and splicing DNA. Know about how they talk about designer babies, choosing the eye color and whatever? I think they're trying to combine humans and animals. Like your mermaids." Helllllllo insanity. Can Shawn be friends with Danny now? They're just come at it from different angles. Magic vs Science.

It's a pretty woman who opens the door with a box of pastries. "Hello Shawn! I hope I didn't wake you up?" She seems bright and cheerful and lacks even a hint of shine. "I made some muffins and since you're new in town I thought - well," a food scuff, "Maybe you might want a .... friend over?"

Hopeful glance upwards. Pretty fluttering eyes.

The ankle strips go too. And then Denny puts coffee on, because Denny is actually a nice guy -- for a guy who will tell anyone that will listen that he is in fact a fisherman slash demigod from another multiverse, forever bound to chase and control a pack of feral mermaids from the same other multiverse, and this is just about where most people zone out, shake their heads, and walk on. If Denny needed proof that Shawn is not Ravn? Well, Ravn never asked any questions. Ravn seems to think Denny's probably a bit nuts, except, well, he's seen the mermaids.

The mermaids are real. Ravn would, if he was actually there along with his body, testify to this.

Across town this is the moment that Ravn-Shawn decides that he's definitely not staying around. So this is not the wife -- but it's actually worse, it's a woman who's very clearly got designs on the man he's supposed to be. That's fine -- except, he has no desire to sleep with a complete stranger, but if he tells the woman to bugger off, he may have ruined it for someone who would like to.

Thank you, anxiety, for making it easy to go kind of green. "I've caught some kind of bug," he says, looking absolutely miserable. "I think it might be best if you don't come too close -- today. I don't want to return your kindness with a bad stomach flu."

Here's to hoping that's neutral enough that whoever this lady is, she will scoot -- but not ruining Shawn's chances with her later.

Shawn is going to keep Danny talking and finds himself, perversely, getting into the conversation. "Oh man, I have a book - " and as coffee is delivered, he goes into a whole spiel about HIS experiences. It's not mermaids but... well. They can compare stories. About a half hour in Shawn is completely over the fact that Danny accosted him, tied him up to a chair, and shoved something into his face. If there are napkins and pens to be found there is going to be much scribbling that happens.

The woman at the doorway turns a bright red when that disclaimer is put forth. "It's okay, I, well, here." The muffins are shoved at Ravn, and hopefully he grabs them before they drop. She's turned a nice bright red and turns around to walk away from him very very very quickly.

Later today, Vicky Barrett and other volunteers are going to wonder,

a) who drank all the instant coffee,
b) how did Ravn not know where his backup supply is,
c) why are there scribbles on everything.

Best friends have been made. Congratulations, Shawn-Ravn. You always wanted your own dimensional refugee slash crazy homeless guy, right?

Ravn-Shawn, on the other hand, is not doing so great. He puts the plate of muffins on the kitchen table -- and then finds a notepad. Sorry about the lady who brought these. She thinks you brushed her off. Hope I didn't ruin anything. Because eventually, this switch is going to end, and maybe then Shawn will at least know that whoever wore his skin didn't set out to ruin his life.

He doesn't sign it, though.

Time to abscond. He's not entirely sure what to do -- as Veil stories go, this one seems to have missed the part where there is an actual narrative. Or maybe the narrative is, a man flails around pointlessly until --

-- until he finds himself. Of course.

Well, great.

And this is when finally, the confused Dane has a good idea. Of all the places in Gray Harbor this guy whose face he is wearing might end up -- if there's a guy out there wearing Ravn's face, where would he go? Ravn is well known in certain circles.

3, Oak Avenue, or the HOPE centre. And frankly, if this is going to turn bad, witnesses are good, so it's going to be Spruce Street and the community centre first.

Thank goodness this is Ravn's body and not Shawn's - because with that amount of instant coffee in his stomach Shawn is NEVER getting to sleep tonight. Unlike Ravn though, he's not trying to find some kind of narrative in all of this. Crazy just happens - or is MADE to happen. There's no reason to think that this is something can be controlled. Just discovered. CONNECTIONS. "What I wouldn't give to have my library -- hey, do you want to go see some of the books I've collected? Maybe we could find a connection."

Shawn being new is painfully clear as Ravn walks through town (or drives, if he chooses to take Shawn's car. Look, it's a really nice car, fun to drive, especially around Bayside). No one calls out to him, and the woman is the only one who seems to have known him.

Also his body is pretty awesome. Fit, healthy. No health conditions. Honestly - does Ravn even want to go back? There's a little voice in his head, whispering all the benefits.

And thus, narrativity finds a way. Here's two guys bent over a pile of notes, looking at the laptop, looking at each other's cell phones -- seriously, Ravn's is in a pink Hello Kitty casing, this guy must be gayer than a 18th century bachelor party in Paris.

He recognises himself, of course -- stepping in through the HOPE centre's humble front door. It's a strange experience -- not just seeing yourself from behind like that and hearing your own voice, but the body language is wrong. Body language is something Ravn is hyper-aware of, and the slouch, the posture, all of it, is wrong. The man who is sitting there with Denny sits like a man much heavier.

Like, well, himself.

So he coughs. "Shawn Young, I presume?"

Shawn doesn't complain about the phone, seriously, y'know, maybe the guy who's body he's in is just.... like that. When his name is called out he looks up surprised at the suddeness of hearing well.... him. His name. Bllliiinnnkkkk.

"Oh! Oh!" He shoots to his feet and scatters some of the papers and bangs his hip against the table. "fuck, ow," he swears, still not ready for the pain that it causes. Poor Ravn's going to have a bruise there. Ugh.

"Yeah you're, uh," a glance at Danny - who apparently Shawn has decided is 100% sane and worth confiding in, "..... me?"

Ravn-Shawn opens his mouth to reply -- or possibly say something along the lines of stop breaking every bone in that body, it's my damn body -- when instead, he takes a sea shells and feathers amulet to the face.

It falls down. It lies at his feet. He looks at it. He looks back up. "Hi, Denny. I'm not a mermaid. Cucumber."

"Goose," Denny confirms with a satisfied nod. So safe words between non-mermaids are apparently a thing.

Then the guy with Shawn's face and a decidedly European accent turns to look at, well, himself. "I'm apparently you. And I hope you're not best friends with a bloke named Nelson, because when I found out what you for a living I threw up in his waste basket. Also, your new neighbour wants to get laid. Hi, the name is Ravn Abildgaard. Which you probably already know, if you've looked through my wallet the way I've looked through yours."

"Code words - genius." Shawn mutters to himself because yes, yes that makes totally sense. "Danny and I were just having a long conversation about - well, mermaids, of course, but other things you know? All of this," his finger twists up in the air to show all of Gray Harbor.

He comes closer to Ravn with a medical type interest. "You know - your body is fucked up. And no, I hadn't met Nelson yet. Is he kind enough? Oh... and Linda? Is she interested?" Puppy hope.

"She baked you muffins." That's all the answer a man needs, isn't it? Ravn is slightly distracted by watching his own face move independently. He's seen it often enough while shaving but never moving without his wanting it to move -- this is weird and not entirely comfortable. Scratch that -- it is in fact extremely uncomfortable. "And, yes, believe me, I've noticed. I have a very rich date life. I buy them in boxes."

"And he loves that fucking awful pun," Denny inserts. "Now get yourselves sorted out or something. Can't keep wasting my wards and amulets on this."

"Well that was nice. Were they raspberry?" Shawn-Ravn looks way too interested in that. He likes raspberry muffins. Well, he likes raspberries in general. The pun goes RIGHT over Shawn's face. He's much too earnest.

But Danny's interrupting and bringing Shawn back to the realization that this should get fixed. "Oh yeah - uh.... you ever done this before, Mr. Abildgaard? I've seem some weird stuff before, but this is a trip."

"Can't say that I have," Ravn murmurs and leans his hip against the counter just like he always does -- in an unfamiliar body, which means he accidentally knocks a stack of papers and a desk lamp off it. "But at least now I know what it's like to walk around in the street without gloves and not want to scream every time I accidentally brush my fingertips against something, so there's that."

He cants his head. "Maybe it's one of those 'don't meet yourself' situations that we know from science fiction and time travel stories. Except now we have so -- if we shake hands, the universe ends, or we go back to normal. Are we tired enough of this universe to give it a try?"

"Huh.... well, you know there was one book written by, " he snaps his fingers together as he tries to remember the author of the book that touched on something similar to this experience. "Oh man, I can't remember. But then there was that movie - great movie, Freaky Friday. They ran into one another. " He claps his hands together forcefully to mimic them crashing into one another - "Except, wait. No, that didn't work, they just bounced back together."

Quick, Ravn, Shawn is lost in his thoughts. Grab his hand before he starts coming up with something else.

Tackle hugging is a thing Ravn has never done in his life -- largely because the idea of it alone hurts, he doesn't even need to actually try to feel the anticipatory cringe.

But he's not in his own body now. Some other sucker is. For once in a life time, man, just for once.

Yes. That's a flying rugby tackle. And if he'd maybe not had neuropathy all his life, and possibly ever practised this kind of thing -- he'd have hit Shawn, and not Denny, and the desk, and the laptop. Graceful it is not.

Man - Shawn is not doing well in this body. He'd be a quivering ball of jelly of pain if he remains much longer. Instead - Poor Ravn gets to have his own pain back, because when a flailed hand from Shawn-body slaps Ravn-body they snap back into place. It's Shawn-Shawn now that's laying all tangled up with his new friend Danny, and Ravn-Ravn who feels the sting of the slap on his hand and the pressure of the marks on his wrist.

"Oh, oh wow. Uh, Danny, I like you but..." Y'know, not that much. "Sorry man." He turns and looks up and blinks. "Oh! Hey! I'm me! You're you!"

"For hede hule ind i det sorteste, ramsaltede sømandshelvede..."

The words don't matter; the tone makes it clear enough -- suddenly being returned to a body that's been driven by someone not accustomed to Ravn's levels of wariness and awareness all day is not pleasant.

He's probably just going to lie there for a bit.

"Oh man, did we break him?" Shawn asks of Danny, pushing himself to his knees and and scooting to Ravn's side. "What is your actual diagnosis Mr. Abildgaard? I narrowed it down based on symptoms but, you know, most of my subjects are already dead so other than keeping my medical licence recent I have let some diagnostic skill lapse."

At very least he grabs up some ice and offers it out to him.

"Neuropathy," Ravn murmurs through gritted teeth. "Just need a moment. It's a disorder of the central nerve system. And if you don't mind, I'd prefer to not become one of your customers."

He hauls himself up to sit on a plastic chair. "Also, please, Ravn will do. And, sorry about rummaging around your place. I was trying to find out what the point was. If there was something I needed to do, to reverse this."

Shawn nods in understanding, sitting back on his heels over Ravn gets up. Only then does he push himself to his feet and flex his hands back and forth. HIS hands. "Dang, didn't think about how nice my own body was," then quickly adding, "No offense. That Asthma is a bitch though."

He bounces up and down a little bit. Just testing out his own body like a kid on Christmas morning. "This was wild. Alexander said weird stuff happened here - he was right huh? WAIT." Abrupt realization strikes like lightning. "YOU." He points and squints at Ravn. "YOU KNOW THE WEIRD TOO."

"Several hundred people in this town do," Ravn murmurs and tries to prop himself up; because after intense pain comes fatigue, and he really feels like he could use a stiff drink and a nap, or both. "Denny -- make us a pot of instant coffee? We have a lot of talking to do, it seems."