2021-12-30 - I Just Want a Cup of Damned Tea

When your coffee preference is 'black, and none of that fancy espresso stuff necessary', it's just as easy to brew coffee at home (not to mention cheaper)-- but when the weather is miserable, sometimes it's worth it to go out. Una's staked a claim to a table just out of reach of the chill that comes in every time the door opens, both hands (in fingerless gloves) wrapped around the oversized mug as she lifts it towards her face, inhaling contentedly.

Nothing unusual about Ravn wandering in, a bit gaunt-faced, to engage in an argument as old as time -- or at least about a year and a couple of months. Della the Day Manager is a patriot. On his very first visit here, Ravn made the mistake of requesting an American coffee -- by which a European means a black drip coffee, no extras. He's been soundly lectured that there is no such thing ever since, and he has also not been able to get a simple black coffee.

Today's compromise is hazelnut roast with just a sprinkle of cocoa powder. It's far from the worst concoction he's ended up with; at least it's got no pistachio nuts or mint syrup.

The look he shoots Una's coffee though -- and then, upon recognising the person holding the coffee, the Dane raises a hand in a lazy wave. "Hey there."

Una's not so intent on her coffee (though it is pretty good coffee) that she's completely oblivious to her surrounds, and especially to looks like the one Ravn's aiming in her (coffee's) direction. Her brows lift, but her grin's cheerful enough. "Morning," she greets. "Another coffee fiend, I gather?"

"Three things get me through life: Whiskey, coffee, and cats." Ravn yawns and tries to hide it behind a gloved hand. "Sorry, I was up most of last night -- a friend is kind of crashing hard. She was in a robbery, and before that, a guy tried to run her off the road, so understandably, she feels a bit like reality has it in for her. Left her tucked in with the girl she's got a crush on, though, so I imagine she'll be fine. Usually, a bit of human closeness helps -- even when it's just building a pillow fort together and curling up."

Una's smile is for Ravn's list of three things; the frown that follows is clearly for his explanation, genuine sympathy caught in the furrow of her brow and pull of her mouth, and perhaps just the faintest hint of something deeper, more personal. Her reply is quietly fervent, and as it is made her fingers wrap more tightly about her mug. "That's awful. I hope... she'll be ok. It's good she's got people around to look after her." A beat later: "And pillows. Pillows are good."

Ravn doesn't really mind. It's not that he's Mr Social Butterfly but this is how Gray Harbor works -- people who shine or stand out or have the Art or whatever one's preferred descriptor is, they sort of end up at the same table, having the same conversation, drinking the same coffee. Like seeks like, and this kid? Ravn's never seen them before but that's no reason to be unfriendly.

"This one was a blanket, deck chair, pillow, two young ladies one," he says with a small grin. "However, sleeping in a deck chair outdoors this time of year is not a great idea for an asthmatic so I quietly nipped off once they started to snore."

Una, on the other hand, is still new to town - and far more used to the anonymity of the big city, where even your own neighbours tend to pretend they've not seen you struggle with the security door lock every day for the past five years and give you suspicious looks. So she blinks, yes, when the green-coated stranger joins them, though her smile is cautiously friendly.

"Sounds cosy," she says. "And comforting. Though not," a nod towards Ravn, "necessarily the best possible venue for all. Not in this part of the country, in December. I'd much rather be safely indoors; I'm still thawing out as it is."

"The climate of this area is pretty close to where I'm from," Ravn says and sips his hazelnut roast; it's almost just coffee. "We don't have glacial melt in Denmark but the rest is similar."

He pauses, and then fixes his own steel greys on the stranger. "Nightmares, you say? As in -- horses? Funny you should mention that. Someone else mentioned nightmares recently. As in horses."

Una's choke of laughter is for 'nipply', and maybe there's a continuation of that, too: this apparent high schooler, so sure of themselves as to self-identify as 'elite'. It's easy enough to dismiss a person as a-weirdo-but-still-harmless... at least until the mares.

Her eyes narrow.

"Nightmares as in horses? Night_mares_?"

"And what happens if they do? Is it a bad thing if bad dreams turn into horses?" Oh look, the Danish guy seems to be taking this kid quite literally at that. Maybe there's not just hazelnuts and cocoa in that coffee.

He studies the kid over the edge of his cup as if thinking -- or remembering -- hard, then looks at Una. Almost apologetically, "I think I've mentioned this town sometimes is a bit strange, and reality is a little fluid here."

Then the folklorist looks back at the kid. "So, is it Peter, or Petra, or Petre? We've been sort of debating that."

Teeth. There are too many teeth and-- Una stares but she also straightens her shoulders and sits back. Really, she's almost breezy when she answers Ravn: "Once or twice. It's a good thing I'm not terribly attached to rea--" Possibly she's just decided that that may be a boast too far (and a very ad move), because she closes her mouth again, and waits, expectantly, for the unknown stranger to reply.

She picks up her coffee again, lifting it towards her mouth in a gesture of unfazed unconcern.

"That's fair. Do I want to know what Vanlandi is, and why anyone wants to bust its king's head open? Or do I just want to go out there and look for horses that aren't in the paddocks they belong in?" Ravn shakes his head lightly; not so much 'this is silly' as 'Gray Harbor, you do you'.

He glances over at Una again. "This is Petre, sometimes Peter, sometimes Petra. He -- is really quite nice. Seems to have a thing for lost kids -- feeding them, cheering them up, and sending them home. He's -- "

The folklorist looks back at Petre. "What are you, actually? Some kind of sidhe?"

Una swallows the coffee she's drunk and gives Ravn a little, and only slightly dubious, nod. Superficially, that's not such a bad story, as Gray Harbor goes!

Her words follow on immediately after the Dane's: "And why would someone let your horses out? Dreams. Whatever it is. Sorry, I think I'm not entirely following this conversation, but I suspect that's not entirely vital. Carry on."

"That's not the answer I expected, but to be honest? It's a better answer than I hoped for." Ravn nods and then throws the kid a lopsided smile. "I haven't forgotten. It's a small thing, maybe, to take a kid in and feed them smiles and cake, but it's a big thing to the kid in question. You taught me a very valuable lesson about compassion, Petre, and I want to thank you for that."

He looks at Una. "Whatcha say when we've had coffee, we get on my bike and take a look around for stray ponies?"

Una's frown turns thoughtful, though there's an edge of compassion to it, too: really, she's adjusted remarkably well to taking stories like this at face value. "So... it really is important to get them found, so that you can focus. I don't think anyone needs rogue nightmares on the loose; I get the impression that's not ideal."

There's a glance there, too, for Ravn, but despite her penchant for questions, she holds her tongue on that count.

"Yeah," she says. "All right. I can hun-- look for-- stray ponies."

"... So that's who it belongs to." Ravn looks up and for a moment there's open admiration on the man's face. "Bloody hell, that's what I call planning ahead. How the hell did you even know I'd move into that house some day?"

He shakes his head. "Right. Animals that act off. At night. Cold iron, not rope. Unseelie faerie creatures, at least I know the classics." It's hard to not laugh, it really is. Because sometimes, Gray Harbor is just so very Gray Harbor that even Gray Harbor ought to shake its head and say, that's a little Gray Harbor, isn't it.

Una's eyes narrow, because even she knows of the mushroom ring, and it really does all fit together, and-- she shakes her head. "I keep feeling I should have read more fantasy when I was a kid," she mutters, not so much complaint as comment. "Although maybe that would just confuse things. I'm not even sure where to start on capturing animals, though."

It's an admission, but not one shrouded in reluctance; she's at least game to try.

Ravn breathes out; Petre may be friendly but the fair folk are never just friendly. Then he looks back at Una and makes that little shrug and smile that really should be expressed in Japanese katakana: ¯_(ツ)_/¯

"Cold iron. Meaning, iron that's iron and not an alloy. Salt circles. Rope braided from the hair of a virgin. Rowan branches. Lots of options -- and it's pretty guaranteed we won't know which ones work until we try them. But let's keep an eye out -- I doubt we'd have had this visit if he doesn't expect the things to turn up near that mushroom ring. Which is -- very close to your yard, too." Ravn nods. "Sometimes I think to myself, who the hell studies folklore for a living. Then things like this happen."

Una's gaze follows Petre for a moment, but rather hastily turns back to Ravn, that shrug and smile drawing a low chuckle of her own and a shake of the head: go figure.

"I half have to wonder, would things like this happen if there was no one around who knew this stuff? But-- I guess that's what libraries are for, right? And the internet. Ok, so, that's a lot of things to try. Some of them," her mouth twitches, "easier to obtain than others. I guess you'd better point out to me where, exactly, the mushroom ring is."

"Middle of our lawn -- it's kind of not trying to hide so hard that it might as well advertise on Google Maps." Ravn can't help another smile. "Be careful with the mushrooms though -- I can't tell mushrooms apart, but people who can tell me that there are two kinds. They shouldn't grow in the same biome at all, and one is the kind that gives you trippy hallucinations. We've kind of kept that second bit on the down low because we don't want half the town's teenagers sneaking in at night."

He toys with his coffee cup, resting a gloved finger on the edge and balancing it a little this way, then that. "My theory? The Veil communicates in pictures and stories that it lifts from our heads, yes. Meaning, what we see is something someone in the area remembers, or made up. But not all things supernatural originate from here -- I grew up in a place with things going on too, on the other side of the planet, and one of the things was, well, that guy. I know a girl who grew up on the East Coast, and she met him too, as a kid. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? By now I just... sort it into friendlies and unfriendlies, and Petre, Peter, Petra is friendly -- though I wouldn't trust him to return kids that don't ask to be returned."

"Well of course there are hallucinogenic mushrooms involved. Why not?" Una sounds amused, and a little resigned by that. "Ok."

She picks up her own coffee cup again as Ravn continues, blowing at it idly, though surely it's no longer hot enough to require that kind of attention, as she listens. "And the ones who don't want to be returned... they end up like him? Or like something. I guess a lot of things are connected. There are similarities, aren't there? In the stories from different cultures. Lots of differences, too, but... things bleed over. And maybe more, now, since people travel, and there's the internet and everything."

The folklorist nods; because of course he does, and he could probably pontificate for six hours straight on this topic if somebody mistakenly let him. "Most archetypes in folklore are cultural instructions -- social dynamics, life skills, passed down in the form of taboos and stories that are easier to remember. So yes -- there is a lot of overlap because whether you're in Siberia or in Namibia, the big cat with the long teeth is not your new best friend and you don't want to pet it."

"Smart," says Una in return, nodding quickly. "Ok, that makes sense. So I guess my next question is... these nightmares. Is whatever it is that will work to catch them likely to be pre-defined, or... actually, no. That's a stupid question, because it doesn't really matter, does it? The point is to be prepared."

She gives Ravn a thoughtful glance. "I don't suppose you keep-- what was it, virgin-hair rope?-- around? Or iron chains for that matter, but at least they can probably be bought."

Ravn scratches his chin. "I think most of my friends are going to look at me very strangely if I tell them we need the hair of sexually mature virgins. For reasons. Then again, it's Gray Harbor, they might just give us the numbers of a couple of awkward teenage boys."

He glances at his pocket as if he genuinely contemplates whom to text about it. He probably will text somebody about it.

Then the Dane nods. "Iron chains made from pure iron -- might be easiest to just talk to one of our chop shops or mechanics. I can do that, the guy I practise my violin with runs a garage -- if he doesn't have anything about, he'll know whom to call. Rowan -- there's a plant shop on the outskirts of town and the owner is one of us too. August Roen -- he can probably shape rope out of rowan if we ask him. And salt, well, that's easy to get. I think that given Petra himself is straight out of Irish slash Celtic mythology, we can probably assume that these nightmares play by the same rules."

"And then you get into all the questions of what, precisely counts as virginity," muses Una, her tone significantly more academic than prurient on the subject. "Though I suppose in this case you basically take no chances."

"Ok. That seems to cover off the obvious things. I can get the salt-- that's probably the one thing I'm good for at this point," Una's smile is cheerful. "Grocery shopping."

And as an aside: "Shaping rope out of rowan, though, that sounds cool."

"Roen's name means rowan, by the way. In Danish or Swedish, røn." Ravn chuckles. And then his lopsided smile grows a tad wider because who can resist a chance to be cheeky academic. "Actually we don't need to discuss what constitutes virginity exactly because medieval anglocentric folklore and theology is remarkably clear on this. Courtly love had a dozen rules, and one of them is that if no penis has been inserted into any vagina, she's a maiden. Might be she's a maiden who gives blow jobs that make you see the face of God, but she's a virgin."

Ravn is a font of knowledge! That first factoid is interesting. The second? That makes Una laugh. "In that case, all we need is the LGBTQ community, I would've thought. There's bound to be people who've never experimented with heterosexual sex. Trust the modern world to confuse the whole issue significantly more than it needs to be confused."

Ravn blinks. Then he laughs. "That's a pretty damn fair point, we might just manage without inflicting emotional trauma on any high schoolers."

He sips his coffee. "It's based in theology. As far as the medieval church was concerned, the only legit form of sex is the one that creates babies. Anything else is considered sodomy. So by inversing that logic, anything that doesn't make babies isn't sex. It's sin, definitely, but it's not sex and it doesn't count as far as virginity and maidenhood goes."

"At seventeen, I'd've lied about it straight out. Me? Nope, definitely not a virgin. But even being asked the question would've killed me. So - probably for the best, if we can avoid it." Una's sympathies, plainly, lie with the teenagers.

"Right. So you're going to hell unless you repent, but you'll be a virgin when you get there. This shouldn't surprise me. Biological imperatives aside, we're ridiculously obsessed, as a species."

Her eyes roll, but she shrugs, too. "Well, at least that makes all of this doable. Good."

"Well, personally I'm not a believer, and if I was, I'd argue that if there is a God, surely He doesn't punish people for making each other happy. Medieval theology is a pretty harsh affair, though, and so's the folklore that's rooted in it -- which includes the whole virgins have power over faerie idea that's so prevalent in Gaelic folklore." Ravn nods. "I think it's a fun study but, not sorry to not live it."

He chuckles. "Also, at seventeen? Heavens, I would have flown in your face screaming at you to mind your own goddamn business, I can get all the girls I want, I just don't want any, piss off."

Una laughs, reaching for her coffee again so as to take a quick swig of the rapidly-cooling liquid. "I can't argue with that. Anyway-- in this case, maybe it works out in our favour, so I'll take it."

"Seventeen's a tricky age." She pauses. "Mind you, so is sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, not to mention eighteen and nineteen. Thirteen. Twenty." It's possible she could keep going, all the way to birth-- and then back up to twenty-five or so-- but she laughs again, instead, shrugging her shoulders easily.

"Oh, thirty-one is overrated too, trust me. I am hoping to reach forty and wisdom. And when I get there, I'll convince myself I can make it to enlightenment at fifty, and so on. If I believe it hard enough, it has to come true eventually, right?" Ravn's eyes glitter with amusement.

He steals a sugar packet from the basket at the centre of the table and lets it dance across his gloved knuckles with deft little movements; a curious little tic, if anything. "I don't know what to make of this. The Veil is usually more -- I honestly didn't expect him to give me an answer as to who or what he is. Which enforces my suspicion that he's not really a Veil construct at all -- just someone or something who draws on the power. And I'm kind of -- all right with that. I mean, no celtic faerie is ever a saint, but as far as people go, someone who'll keep an eye on abused and sad kids gets a head start in my book."

That amusement is mirrored in Una's eyes, and her mouth twitches merrily. "It turns out the adults of my childhood didn't have the faintest idea what they were doing, either; who knew!"

Her amusement dwindles down into seriousness-- or perhaps more accurately, simply intense thoughtfulness-- as she considers the rest of what Ravn has to say. "I-- oof." The 'oof' gets said rather than expressed with a breath, but then she adds the breath as well; a double oof, as it were. "I can't argue with that. There's lots of kids out there that could use that kind of thing. I'm not going to pretend I get how that all fits together, though. The Veil, vs... this. Him."

The Dane shakes his head. "Don't try. I mean that -- don't try to rationalise and compartmentalise. It doesn't work like that -- the Veil is fluid, realities overlap, there are no rules set in stone. You'll drive yourself crazy if you don't manage to develop some kind of 'oh is that today's flavour' laissez-faire. At first I was very eager to create files, to make maps and journals and figure out how things work. I gave up pretty quick because it works like -- like it bloody well wants to."

Una's exhale is a lengthy one; not quite a sigh, but oh-so-close. "Got it," she says. "So you're basically just saying... roll with it. Let go." The resignation in her expression is reluctant, but nonetheless present. "It figures. Nothing in life ever makes sense, does it?"

"Kind of. Let it go. Accept that you can't predict what comes next based on what things were like yesterday. Try to think of it more like you were reviewing a book or a movie -- because all of this comes from people's minds. It very often follows narrative archetypes and tropes. It's very often based on actual folklore, stories, and myths -- or modern counterparts, I know people who have essentially re-enacted the Aliens franchise over there. So you can make some guesses, but a lot of the time -- shit happens because it wants to happen, yes." Ravn chuckles. "I find it interesting. I'm not going to lie -- I like that nothing is ever set in stone. It's an opportunity to make some decisions for ourselves, too, about who we want to be."

Apparently surprised by that last comment, Una's expression turns more thoughtful again. "I'd not thought of it like that," she admits. "But I suppose I can see it. People do make a study of it, though, don't they? Not just the folklore parts, or specifics of what and why, but the... the Veil as a whole, I guess. People do try?"

"Some try. I mean, I'm one of 'some'. But most just -- live in spite of it. And with good reason, since you can indeed not properly index chaos." Ravn flips the sugar packet and then spins it on a finger tip; some people pick their napkins apart, he toys with small trinkets. "And then there's the whole publishing issue. Most academics do want recognition. But you're not going to get a PhD in Veil lore because anything you try to ship out of here of that nature is going to end up firmly in the fiction department, and most likely get lost in transit somewhere."

That makes Una laugh, as her eyes idly track Ravn's efforts with the sugar packet. "Good point," she allows. "I understand academia's not particularly keen on things it can't quantify, not to mention the rest of the complications. Ok. But it's still nice to know that some people, at least, do more than just react to it. I'm not sure why." Her shrug, this time, is an easy one.

"So... likelihood of running into these delightful mares before all this stuff is collected? I guess if they wait until night, there's some time, still."

Packet goes flip, packet goes flop, packet goes back in basket. "Honestly? Petra's a children's story. We know how this works. They're going to turn up when we are ready to catch them. Because that's how the story goes."

He shakes his head. "Not saying I won't go look for useful faerie trapping items because that's also how the story goes: The protagonists go find the things that are needed. But timing will sort itself out, this is definitely one of those 'things will happen when they are ready' stories. And Petra is patient -- I mean, I met the guy in the early 90s. He's been preparing this for at least long enough to plant a mushroom ring years ago in a house that he somehow knew someone who'd recognise him would move into, later."

Una's nod is a slow one, repeated several times throughout Ravn's explanation. By the end of it, though, she's outright moved to shaking her head instead. "That's just bizarre. The timeline logistics are going to do my head in-- except I'm not going to get bogged down in that-- except to say: are you sure that mushroom ring was actually there, yesterday, and it's not just our memories of it that have changed?"

The answer is quick and sincere, though possibly not comforting: Ravn shakes his head. "Nope. In a place like this, where reality can get literally rewritten like a teenage girl's fan fic, you can never be sure of that. All you can be sure of is that as far as I know, it was there. And that means whatever story it's involved in, requires it to be there. Has anyone told you about the Revisionist yet?"

"Joy," says Una, but it's only half-serious, perhaps less than that. Perhaps not even serious at all. "Mm - yes, that's right. Rewriting reality. So ultimately... it doesn't matter if it was actually there yesterday, it is there now, and has, now, always been there. And when we're ready, that's where things will happen. Ok, cool." She lets her mouth twist up into a smile, this time. "I'm getting the hang of this. More or less, anyway. Eventually I'll stop asking questions all the time." Maybe.

"Never." Ravn laughs. "I know I don't intend to stop asking, I can tell you that much."

He sits forward and rests his elbows on the table. "The Revisionist, right. There are people Over There -- in one of these realities, one that seems fairly anchored, there's an entire mirror town. I have not visited -- but some people here can travel back and forth if they want to. The people there do not have names -- they have titles, and they influence a lot of things here very directly. It's a theory that they used to be human -- that they're actually ghosts of a kind. Some of them are malevolent. Most are -- not, but they have forgotten what it's like to be human, if they ever were."

The Dane sips his coffee. "The Revisionist did or does what it says on the tin: She revises reality. Her big thing was to give people more interesting lives. That became a giant clusterfuck for a lot of people, because her main inspiration seemed to be day time TV -- but it also proved to us just how far this whole reality editing thing can go. Me? I was suddenly a Swedish celebrity chef, my own TV show, paparazzi, the works -- I can't even fry an egg. I had to beg her to change it -- and she did, which is why I am now the guy who runs an illegal lobster fighting ring. I'm not going to ask again, because frankly, it could be a lot worse."

The front door to Espresso Yourself opens, and a groggy looking Seth makes his way into the coffee shop with zombielike grace towards the front counter. In a moaning tone, he utters syllables that could roughly be described as a sentence and makes grabby hands towards the barista until a cup of steaming hot black liquid is placed into them. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a gulp from it, paying no mind to the scalding hot nature of the brew before he lets out a contented sigh, and mutters a more coherent "Thank you..." towards the barista, tossing a few bills onto the counter.

It's only then that Seth makes the effort to look around and notice that he isn't the only one in existence, tossing a nod Ravn's way.

"Oh well, maybe it's just an occupational hazard of this place: why, Grey Harbor, why." Una's at least mildly amused by that, and leans back in her seat, fingertips still idly pressed into the ceramic of her mug.

Brightly: "Ooh - that's right. You did tell me about this. Or someone did. I remember the lobster fighting thing. It's hard to keep track of things in this place." Which crazy impossible thing to believe today?

Ravn raises a hand in a lazy wave hello to the burly redhead. "Been a while, Irish -- been out of town? Come say hello to my new neighbour, Una. Una, Seth Monaghan -- he's a bouncer at the Firefly and all round Star Wars guru. Handy with a power tool, too."

And then, the puppy eyes. The big grey puppy eyes, turned Seth's way. "I don't suppose you want to order me a cup of regular black?"

Seth arches a brow at the Dane, "What? You are going to gladly pay me Tuesday for a coffee today, Whimpy?" The 'bouncer' rolls his eyes and heads back towards the barista, fulfilling his friend's wish and dragging over another cup which he shoves in the Dane's direction.

Seth gives Una a once over, contemplates her for a second before giving her a nod in greeting as well. "Hi."

Jingle Jingle goes the bell to the shop when Gabriella enters. She's a slight thing in jeans and a long sleeve shirt today. It still has a saying across it though. In big print are the words: YOU MATTER. Then in smaller print are the words: Unless you mulitiply yourself by the speed of light squared. Then you energy.

Her eyes slide over those in there and checks off the people she doesn't know. It is probably clearer to Ravn that she's trying to decide which Gabby to be for this moment. So she gives a slightly nervous smile as she approaches the counter. She doesn't interrupt. Nothing to see here. Shy blonde or something.

Una regards the interactions between Seth and Ravn with unveiled amusement, gaze tracking between the two until the former returns with the latter's coffee. "'Whimpy'?" she asks, a little arch but mostly-- yep, still amused. "Nice to meet you, Seth. Come and join us. I'm hopelessly new in town and still trying to get to know people who don't conveniently live next door."

"Like the comic book character, I suspect." Ravn grins and fishes his wallet out of a pocket, to hand Seth the price of coffee, one, black. "But unlike the Archie guy, I do in fact pay today."

The look Della the Day Manager sends Seth promises pumpkin spice in his next plain black.

"Nice shirt," the Dane tells Gabriella as she tries to slip past unnoticed, because what is the fun of acute spatial awareness if you don't use it to make people miserable. He curls gloved fingers around his coffee cup and says, to none in particular, "I was just filling Una in on the Revisionist. Well, on Gray Harbor weird in general. The Revisionist didn't get you, Irish, did she? I know she got Vic."

"Popeye, not Archie, you lack-of-American-cultured Dane," jokes Seth with a smirk. The arrival of Gabriella causes Seth to glance over in her direction, eyes scanning the new arrival for a moment before turning back to the table, where he pulls out a chair and Rikers over the back to sit down.

"Vic? Recently, or in the past? I hadn't heard...I don't think. Far as I know, my life hasn't been fucked with, at least not in that way," explains Seth to Ravn, "What did she do to Vic?"

Una gets her turn to feel Seth's predatory gaze fall on her, "So, he give you the 'get the hell out of town if you know what is good for you' speech yet?"

Gabriella was really going to be all sweet and try to get free things and then Ravn had to talk to her. There is a smile that speaks more of devilish delights than that of a pure, innocent soul. "Thank you. Just remember, you matter." Then her eyes move towards Seth when he talks and then back to Una for a moment. So many decisions. So much so that she sliiiiides next to Ravn. Yet, does not touch him.

"I really wish someone would get me something chai. It would just be the kindest thing that anyone could volunteer to do for me. I'd be so happy that I would not attempt to hug them." A flash of green, pathetic eyes to Ravn and some added lash batting for good measure. "If only such a hero existed." Super subtle this one.

Then to the other two, as she joins the trio uninvited, "Hi! I'm Gabriella Leigh." Which means she lives on Oak. EVERYONE seems to know Gail Leigh (or she knows them - grannies and meddling). "I'm new too, so I take all the intel I can get."

Espresso Yourself sees no shortage of folks from the GHPD, both in uniform and not. Today, it's a pair in civilian attire who shoulder their way inside, bantering about New Year's plans. One of them's a big black guy most know as Moretti; the other, an older, sturdily built Hispanic fellow currently hiding under a baseball cap, battered leather jacket and worn black jeans. His badge is clipped to his belt, and he's rather visibly armed with a hefty looking Sig. The crackle of a radio as they step up to the counter -- turned down after a moment -- suggests they're both nominally on duty still. Everyone needs coffee breaks, after all.

It could be either comic book character; it could be any comic book character. Una looks blank, but covers over it quickly enough with a smile. And, besides: there's enough else going on to pay attention to, not least of which Gabriella's none-too-subtle chai-badgering (which draws a raised eyebrow, and the twist of a smile, but not much more in the immediate sense, though mention of her name draws a visible spark of recognition and a nod).

"I mean, I think I've been warned reasonably well," she says in answer to Seth. "Or as much as anyone can be, because I get it: you don't really get it until you're in it. Properly."

"We're neighbours. I think I met your... grandmother? I'm Una."

"You don't want me to order for you here if you want to actually get what you're hoping for," Ravn tells Gabriella with visible amusement and sips his cup of regular black joe. "I had to beg Seth here to order for me. The Day Manager and I -- well, it's a thing. She doesn't think I know what I want, so she gives me what she feels I should want. Want me to try to order chamomile tea, see if you get lucky?"

Glancing back from Ravn to the counter and back Seth looks at the Dane with narrowed eyes. "Did you just fuck me by having me order for you? I swear, if I get something other than what I order next time because of you, I am taking it out of your hide."

The door opens again and as the not-so-subtle pair of cops enter the coffee shop, Seth focuses on them for a moment longer than might be necessary before turning back to the table. It's subtle, but there is a shift in his stance that puts him more defensive. "I've already bought Ravn a coffee," he says as he pockets the money the Dane gave him, "I've done my good deed for the day. You're on your own, lady."

Gabriella turns her head to see what target..erm.. person walks in next. There is a look up and a look down, "Javi..." She greets the man. Already ear-marking him as back up to her chai addiction problem. Then her eyes move towards Una. "Yes, Gail is my grandmother. She is very..." Busybody? In everyone's business? Gossipy? Neighborhood Watch? ".. invested in the people around her." A curve of a smile, that might actually be genuine. It's bright enough to be. To Ravn there is a decidedly adorable pout. Since, Gabby does have adorable in spades, other things not so much, but adorable yes. "I mean, you could just give me the money for it and I would be happy to order it." Then there is Seth, "But what if my good deed will make it so that you don't have oatmilk tea when you order coffee? Surely, more good deeds are more karma points. I'm just thinking of you in this."

"She's very sweet," says Una of Gail, even if there's a something in her expression that speaks to awkward embarrassment.

Positioned where she is, with her back to the front of the shop, she's got a reasonably good view of the cafe as a whole, which helps her as her gaze tracks from one person to the next; so many people. So many conversations.

"This is what I miss when I drink coffee at home."

Coffee ordered, Moretti announces that he's going to swing by the gift store across the street, and he'll see Javier in a few. The Mexican gives him a good luck sort of look, like maybe they were talking about a belated gift for his wife after a forgotten birthday or something.

Then, cup collected, Javier snaps on a lid and turns to take stock of who's here today. He furrows his brows slightly when he spots the little clustering of familiar faces, sips his coffee, and starts ambling on over. Once he's made certain his radio's switched off. "Monaghan, just the guy I was looking for." Ravn gets a little nod in greeting, and Gabriella gets a twinge of his mouth like he's trying to smile. But this is Javier de la Vega, and he doesn't really smile at people.

"Hola, Chief." Ravn really needs to stop trying -- he pronounced the 'h'. A quick glance between Seth and Ruiz hints to either that he's aware that there's something there; that he might even have an opinion on it, one that needs perhaps not discussed right there, right now. "Today, at least, you don't need to pretend you don't notice me stealing your cup."

Because stealing from the Chief of Police is a perfectly normal thing to do.

Seth's brow shoots up when Ruiz calls him out by name, doubly so when the Chief of police says he was looking for him. Everyone else at the table seems to be forgotten for the moment as Seth focuses all his attention on the man. "Yeah? Well, I'm not that hard to find. I have this fancy thing called a cell phone, I'm sure you have heard of it before. If you want to talk to someone you can punch in numbers on them and it opens up a form of communication between you and the person you are trying to get a hold of. It's really rather unique."

Still, the 'bouncer' eyes the C.O.P. curiously, "What did you need?"

Gabriella goes to say something and then stops. This just got far more interesting to watch. Her hand moves out to take Ravn's coffee though as she does. You know how you get that thing you always wanted, like a black coffee, it's right there. It's in front of you. Then it's gone? Yeah that is about to become the feels of the moment if she manages to get it.

Context is king, and although Una is clearly missing a fair amount of context, she's not oblivious to clues on offer either. There's not much coffee left in her cup, but she draws it to her mouth anyway, dark eyes, above its rim, focused intently upon Seth and Ruiz, with the occasional flick of interest towards Gabriella and Ravn.

Surely there's nothing concerning at all about a big guy with a nasty ol' gun strapped to his hip, taking a shine in you. Is there? Javier's a friendly guy. If your idea of friendly is trying to pet a mangy old wolf who might sooner rip to you pieces than wag its tail.

"Ah, fuck, I knew there was something I was forgetting." The cop digs out his wallet, and then a business card from it. The letterhead's pretty nondescript; it has Gray Harbor Police Department across the top, and Javier R. de la Vega, Police Chief below it, with what looks like a cell phone number. "Tell you what. Why don't you give me a call, when you have a minute." He pushes it over, and looks Seth in the eye as he keeps two heavily tattooed fingers resting on the thing. "You think you can manage that?"

Ravn meanwhile casually picks up a toothpick and then aims it at Gabriella's hand as if he was holding a knife and about to stab her hand with it. "Anywhere else, I'd share. Here? I have to beg people to buy coffee for me, or outright steal it from them, and this coffee shop is not big enough for two thieves."

Subtle.

He watches the exchange between Seth and de la Vega with interest; but also with the wisdom to actually not intervene. He likes both men but, sometimes, there's a time to mind your own damn business. So Una gets a glance instead and a small smile. "Sometime, though, let me run you through the Revisionist stories. Seth's fiancee got entered into witness protection, just like that, out of the blue -- complete with invented-on-the-spot crazy ex stalker she needed to hide from. Because life needed to be more interesting, you see?"

Everyone else forgotten for the moment, Seth keeps his concentration on Ruiz, shifting his eyes from Ruiz to the card and back.

Seth finally reaches up to snatch the card from de la Vega's fingers, shoving it into the front pocket of his jeans, "Sure..sure. If you're reaching out though, I can make the time now if you really need to talk. Or do you have to get back to playing a peace officer?"

Gabriella contemplates her options in the CoffeeGate 2020. There is a toothpick. There is a coffee. There is the chance to be a brat. Oh so many chances. "We could... share the coffee?" Compromise?! However, her eyes slide towards Seth and Javier again. "Javi, why do you have to act all grrr and stuff, you could just get a cup of coffee and a chai latte, sit down, make friends."

Wait what? The comment from Ravn gets her eyes off of Seth and Javier to study Una, "You got a ex stalker?" She looks back towards Ravn. "What is this... new life thing?"

Una's hyper-focus is broken by Ravn's 'threat' and Gabriella's attempt at negotiation; she leaves off her staring, and though she smiles, crookedly, at the toothpick, it still takes her a few moments to effectively parse conversation with the two. "Wait-- what?"

A moment. "I don't have an ex stalker. Thankfully. But that's-- not cool. As a revision." And Seth gets another glance, albeit a quick one, because he's clearly distracted. "Yeah, it'd be good to get a picture of them. That kind of fucked-upness. Fuckedupedness? Whatever."

"Good." And then Seth actually does get a smile. Dimples and crow's feet and all. "You fucking wound me," Javier retorts to the peace officer comment, pausing at Gabriella's suggestion that he join them. Which he accepts, settling into a chair next to Ravn. "Later," he adds to Seth, with a sip of his drink. And then a speculative look that's turned on Una, when the talk turns to stalkers. She's given a little once-over like he's trying to place whether he knows her.

"No. Seth's fiancee, Vic, got set up with a crazy stalker that had her in witness protection -- except that it was not real. It was a story made up by a person on the Other Side whom we refer to as the Revisionist. She had me doing a stint as a Swedish celebrity chef, something which I recall with no fondness whatsoever." Ravn sips his coffee -- which he is absolutely not sharing, hell no. "I'm pretty sure she got it all sorted out in the end. Whether the stalker is currently at the bottom of some river with nice concrete boots I don't know, but then, it's Vic, so I doubt he'd get off that easy."

The glance from de la Vega prompts the Dane to add, "Una is new in town. She moved in next to me and Kinney, with a couple of room mates. And of course Gray Harbor is already doing its thing to them as well. Elf on the shelf, indeed."

Seth nods once to de la Vega, cringing a bit at the smile.

The word fiancee snaps Seth out of his tunnel vision focused on Ruiz and he glances over towards Ravn? "Wait...what? When did I....? Oh, that. Man, you know that was just a thing. She hears you say that and she might think it's true, and who knows what that will cause." The bouncer shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee, "I mean unless she told you something I don't know."

Gabriella cuts a look to Javier and reaches for his cup now. She offers towards him, "I said you could sit with us, with a chai latte." It's a tease. Maybe. Then she looks towards Una. "Elf on the shelf?" Have fun explaining that one. "I haven't had anything too bizarre happen yet. I'm sure it's forthcoming." Her eyes move between Seth and Ravn now.

"Hi," says Una, the greeting-- aimed at Ruiz-- following on fairly promptly after Ravn's introduction of her. She doesn't quite return the once-over, but her gaze is square enough... for a few seconds at least. And even then, maybe the distraction is because of Gabriella's glance her way.

"Elf on the shelf, yeah. In your grandmother's house, even. It, uh, came alive." It also leaves her blushing, so that's fun.

"Just wait," she prophesises. "It'll happen."

Maybe Javier's getting slow in his old age. Or maybe he's just distracted enough by Una, and this talk of the elf on the shelf, and wondering why it is that it's making her blush.. at any rate, by the time he realises Gabriella's trying to steal his coffee, she's already snagged it, and he's a moment too late with the counter-snatch.

"Una. New in town, huh?" He tucks the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, and settles back in his chair. "I'm guessing you've already gotten the 'leave and don't come back' speech, yeah?" If he had some semblance of social acumen, he might actually introduce himself. But as it turns out, he doesn't.

"We've been over that, yeah." Ravn cradles his cup in his gloved hands, where it cannot suddenly de-materialise and then re-materialise next to a certain blonde.

Then he looks at Seth and grins, quietly. "And after all the shit you've put me through at times, Irish, you think I am not going to run with you two being engaged? You're as good as married as far as I am concerned. Which reminds me that it's been ages since we went out to the woods to murder some weasel plushies, and we should fix that sometime. I could use the target practise."

Seth mumbles something under his breath, eyes focused on the Dane before lifting his coffee to his lips and taking a sip. "Yeah, you do. I'm sure we can go murder plushies soon enough. You'll just have to be careful we don't have some weird accident up there where you slip on ice and lose a body part. Like biting your own tongue off. That would be horrible."

Gabriella steals the cup and is victorious! She sips it slowly to make sure that Ruiz can see her take a long drink of it. All hers. Then Una says something and Gabby looks decidedly uncomfortable. "There was a living elf on the shelf in the house I live in, what happened there?" Looking between Ravn and Seth, she smiles a bit more. "I like your friend, Ravn. You should have him come over and play more often."

"Una Irving, yes sir." The 'sir' sits uncomfortably on Una's tongue, and yet it comes out in a way that suggests it was involuntary. "But," and yeah, she glances at Ravn, then back at Ruiz, "Yes, I've had the talk. Too late."

Gabriella's question draws a pause from the not-quite-a-redhead, who finally says. "It came to life, it flirted with me-- it must have missed you were there, else there's no way...-- and then it left it again. I doubt it'll be back."

Talk of murdering plushies gets an eyebrow lofted in Seth's direction. Then the cop's dark eyes turned on Ravn curiously. Then back to Seth at mention of losing body parts. The cop chortles to himself, but doesn't comment on their little excursion. Surely they're aware of the state laws concerning open and concealed carry of firearms, and he doesn't need to repeat them in polite company.

What Javier does however need, is his coffee back. Which Gabriella is surely enjoying, without a speck of sugar or cream. He locks eyes with her, glances to the cup, and beckons with two fingers.

To Una, "Javier's fine. Nice to meet you." Another glance at the almost-redhead. "You need anything, you can hit this guy up for it." He hitches his chin toward Ravn.

"With my skill, I'm more likely to accidentally plug your backside and not in a way that anyone would enjoy," Ravn tells Seth, straight-faced. The two men clearly have some kind of perpetual banter going; they're probably going to shoot plushies and indeed, not each other. From the looks of him he's certainly not carrying a firearm -- and anyone who knows what kind of bulge to look for can easily tell that there is no concealed firearm, either.

"Don't hit me up for repairs, though. That's definitely Aidan Kinney's field of expertise. Cooking, also a bad idea. Ask Gabriella." He smirks. "Although the chicken was edible, I don't think I get to take credit."

"Yeah, I don't think anyone has anything to fear from the likes of you, Ravn. Least of all a plush weasel," comments Seth with a smirk.

Turning to focus on the others now, Seth raises the cup to his lips once again, "What's this about horny elves? I always miss the good stuff. I just get pregnant frogs."

"There's no way what?" Gabriella inquires of Una. Her eyes slide over the woman thoughtfully, "If you mean the elf wouldn't flirt with you then that's just silly. You are gorgeous. Of course it would flirt with you. If I wasn't so busy getting coffee donated to me. I'd probably flirt with you as well. No one was hurt were they?" Like her grandmother.

To Javier, Gabriella meets his look straight on. She the clamps her hands tighter around the the coffee and pulls it closer to her chest. She keeps her eyes looked as she brings up the black coffee to her lips to take a drink. Clearly she would trade for a chai latte though. Clearly.

Chicken and cooking has been mentioned. Gabby's attention drifts over towards Ravn now. "You cook like a pro. I'm going to teach you that bachelor cooking. We will start with the basics though." Like this is a pot. Here's water. Here's how it boils. Then she smiles a bit more. "Ravn is amazing at everything he does. Truly." She's not going bulge hunting. Or if she is, she's not showing it.

To Seth, she blinks. "Pregnant frogs? There's a story."

"Javier, then. Nice to meet you too." Una seems amused by his voluntold-ing of Ravn, who gets a glance (and a grin), side-long. "I think I can manage the cooking and the repairing for myself, as it happens, so we're good." To Ruiz: "He's been doing a pretty good job of... explaining, so far."

Gabriella's remarks only seem to make Una slightly uncomfortable, though she manages to twitch up the corners of her mouth into a sort-of smile in response. Sweet. Misguided... but sweet. With questions from both Gabriella and now Seth, she attempts an explanation: "The elf on the shelf turned out to be alive, and decided to camp out on my shoulder and flirt a bit. At Christmas. It was fine, honestly; my roommate was horrified to hear about the proposed threesome, afterwards, but it took no for an answer, which is more than I can say for some men. The pregnant frogs sound much more interesting."

Javier, thankfully, is the Chief of Police, and presumably has better things to do than go around checking the shapes of peoples' bulges.

Things like realising this goddamned cup of coffee is not his hill to die on today. And pushing to his feet with a grunt of some old injury or another acting up, so he can dig his wallet out. He, at least, seems satisfied with what he hears from Una regarding Ravn's assistance. And he dares to murmur, "Buen chico," to the ex-grifter, along with a wink, before he ambles off to see about a fresh cup of coffee.

"Don't make me break your nose again, Irish. But do tell us about your time as a frog midwife." Ravn sips his coffee, smugly. And then, "Hasta la vista," to the Chief -- pronouncing, again, the 'h'. It kind of hurts. He probably doesn't know better. He probably doesn't realise he was just called 'good boy', either.

Then he sips his coffee. "That elf was -- something, to be honest. But, last year I heard people talk about undead turkeys and gremlins killing people at Safeway and whatnot, and I'm thinking that maybe getting hit on by slightly creepy three-year-old elves is in the light end compared to that, at least."

Seth rolls his eyes. "Like you haven't heard the story once too many times already, Ravn. Or is it just that you like hearing about me naked with nothing but a borrowes apron on? Is that it? Well take a damned picture, it would last longer."

Grumbling, Seth picks up his coffee and takes a sip, settling into his chair as he sighs. "Long story short, I ended up in a dream with a pregnant frog and it gave birth all over me. The details are unimportant."

Gabriella looks between Ravn and Javier. Someone knows what was just going on. She could correct the h's but not in front of people. There is a moment as she pulls out her phone. Is she really doing social media HERE? Chances are the answer to that is yes. She does lift her hand to take a picture of Seth. He said to do it! Her green eyes come up and then she wrinkles up her nose. "That sounds... egg-cellent."

Una inclines her head towards Ravn, nodding. "I'll definitely take the elf over some of the possible alternatives."

To Seth: "Details are always important, but I'll take the mental image and roll with it. This place... is something else, isn't it? I hope the frog-spawn were all well."

Javier's not sticking around to listen to the frog spawn jokes. He stops at the counter to buy himself a fresh coffee, switches his radio back on and mutters something into it about unit seven niner three, in service, and turns just in time for Moretti to show up. He's dangling a gift bag in his hand, and waggling his eyebrows at the Mexican.

"Guess that's my ride out of here," he tells the table at large. "Los veré a todos más tarde." To Seth, he mimes holding a phone to his ear, then lumbers on out with his drink.

Someone must have been talking about Vic, because it has summoned her like a little black cloud of simmering grumpiness. Hey, she spent most of her night in a capital D dream, stuffed into a boned western corset, throwing liquor bottles at bad guys. She's cranky. She shoulders her way in and heads for the line at the counter, dressed in sweats and a loose winter coat because after being restricted last night, she's not being confined in any way today.

"I'm sure I could use that picture for blackmail purposes, but no -- actually it's your 'details are unimportant' bit that gets me every time." Ravn's blue greys glitter with silent laughter. He manages to raise his hand in a wave to the Chief as he goes, at least.

He settles back down and looks at his own cup, now empty. And then at his other cup, also empty. "I feel like somebody really ought to be my coffee proxy. Again. Hello, Vic. You look like the New Years' Party came a bit early yesterday."

Glancing up as the bell above the door chimes again, Seth smirks and lifts a hand to wave at Vic once she obtains her coffee. "Hey hun. Ravn here says we are engaged."

Ravn gets a look and a sigh, "Details are the thing kept flirting with me, even after it birthed all over me. And I had to take its spawn to a watering hole using an apron as a bucket. An apron I was lucky to have because someone loaned it to me when I showed up in that dream au natural. There. Happy? Now go politely fuck yourself," the later he says in the most polite way possible, even adding a sugary smile after.

Gabriella looks up at Vic as she still has her stolen coffee. "Hi! I'm Gabriella. This is Una. She's pretty hot right?" Then she looks at Ravn and points to her coffee. Her black coffee. Her nothing in it coffee. "You should have shared, I would have shared with you as well, but now here we are." She sticks her tongue out. Then she looks towards the others thoughtfully.

"Glorious," says Una, who is not seeking further details, and seems genuinely happy with what she's received so far; it's pretty delightful.

... of course, then she promptly chokes, because Gabriella... and... "Hi." Look. She's blushing. It's a thing.

Vic gets her black coffee which even Della is NOT gonna argue about with her, and trudges to Seth's table with a scowl. That scowl gets turned on Ravn. "Oh yeah?" Well there is a rock on her ring finger. It looks a hell of a lot like an engagement ring. "I think that is only within the boundaries of the city of Spokane, isn't it? I think that pregnant frog is your wife here. Or are we actually engaged for real?" She looks back to Seth and arches a brow. That may be a tread lightly warning.

She glances around the table, decides if Ravn is there, everyone here must be in the know. Gabriella and Una get a grunt of hello. "I was stuck in a western shootout last night with my tits jammed under my chin by a corset, and not even a fucking gun to fight with." Tread very lightly indeed, Seth. She slumps into a chair. "I am not even wearing a goddamned bra today. Fuck the Wild West. The only Wild about it was how women didn't burn the patriarchy down right then and there."

"Preach, sister." Ravn nods solemnly. "I was stuck in a corset like that twice this month, and I don't even have tits. I did however have seven inch murder heels with very narrow, curly toes because fuck medievalism, call the SCA, and burn the patriarchy."

Seth eyes Vic, "Well," he says quietly "You are wearing a ring. I think it's your call. Make it when you see fit, darlin'" Seth picks up his coffee cup and hides his grin behind it as he takes a sip. "Though from the sound of it, it isn't something to answer about now. Wild West? Corset? Titis to chin? I would say I was sorry I missed it, but I don't want to get shot, so I will just go with Ravn thinks it is time for more murdering of plush weasles. Sounds like he might be right."

"Oh. And Javier wants me to call him. Gave me his card and everything. So that isn't ominous at all."

Seth glances over at the rest, "I have no idea about the frog spawn. I didn't stick around and thankfully I haven't been back to that realm of Oz."

Gabriella gasps! It's a big gasp. "You ... are a deadbeat frog daddy?" She stares at Seth on this one for a moment. "Also, that is a pretty ring on your finger." That might not be there in a few moments, but the spark of interest in Gabby's eyes. "I wonder if I could find one." Her eyes move towards Ravn for a few moments when he tells her to preach and she slides over half the cup of just black coffee she stole on her own to him. Then Una gets a glorious smile. "You blush a lot."

"Hi," says Una, smiling gamely. She is not going to comment on frogs, engagement rings, or anything else. Except: "Corsets are absolutely the worst. So are bras, for that matter. So." Cheers? She lifts her mug as toast.

(For Gabriella, she has a slightly less glorious smile - but at least hers is amused.) "Genetics. I can't help myself."

"What the fuck does de la Vega want?" Vic asks Seth bluntly with a frown. The song and dance with the card and actual request is what troubles her. Ruiz doesn't do requests. He usually just grabs you by the collar on the street for a talk, or pounds on the door of your house until you answer. "Stuff about Spokane?" God, that trip is going to haunt them forever, isn't it?

In regards to the ring, she looks and it, grunts, then reaches to ruffle Seth's hair. "Fine, we're fucking engaged. Are you happy, Ravn? I have beat out a pregnant frog for the hand of Monaghan in marriage." She sips her coffee with a smirk, and nudges Seth with her knee.

At Gabby's comment she studies the ring for a moment. "Yeah, it is pretty nice, isn't it?" Poor Una, she gets a discerning look. "Don't worry, after a month or two in this town, your body's signal that tells it to blush will entirely burn out."

Ravn just smirks. Yes, he's happy. He's such an ass he likes to see his friends get together. "Congratulations. Say what you want about this town, but at least it's a good place when it comes to people finding someone; not a lot of people are single around here for long unless they want to be."

Then he sips the coffee that Gabriella stole from Ruiz and then donated -- because apparently, communal coffee is a thing here, and who's he to argue, he started that trend (also by stealing the Chief's coffee, poor man). "I think the Chief might be on about the Safeway. At least I had to give a testimony about it -- some assholes decided to shoot up the place last week, and they yelled something about Monaghan."

"Well, alright then," acknowledges Seth about his engagement. He seems nonplussed by the whole thing like it is no big surprise to him, he just uses his foot to slide out a chair for Vic so she can sit at the table.

"As far as Javier, I have no idea. Possibly. I guess I will find out when I call him later...and get this...he /smiled/ at me. I think the end of the world is nigh, so maybe we should rush the wedding." The bouncer smirks, looking over towards Ravn.

"Safeway? That was like a year ago... What the fuck are people yelling my name for?"

Gabby and Una get looks, "Yeah...if you are modest, you soon won't be. All I will say is if you don't tend to sleep in something, I would start. It's not a guarantee that if you get pulled into someplace you will be wearing what you wore, but at least you have better odds."

"I found pants in my dream and pissed off the harmonicas." Gabby offers and then she looks at her phone. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be back, but I have to go see to something." She smiles towards the others. "It was nice meeting you. I expect to be invited to the wedding."

"... Congratulations!" Una's exclamation is genuine, even if Seth and Vic are both strangers. Best wishes are best wishes regardless.

Between Vic and Seth, the advice - well, it goes far enough to make the not-quite-readhead smile. "Ok, so I'll stop blushing, which would be amazing, but I should try and sleep in clothes, just in case. I mean, if achieving the former requires the latter, I can work with that."

She smiles after Gabriella, though cautiously. Too many blushes.

"Of course people find each other here. We're all pulled in, and like inmates in an asylum, we're the only ones who understand the particular brand of crazy we're all infected with." Glimmer that is. Vic sips her coffee some more, slouching in the chair because it feels like her ribs are all bruised. That corset was boned to hell and back. Fuck the Veil. "I never realized how satisfying hitting someone in the face with a thrown whiskey bottle is." Uh-oh, the Twofer better start ordering shatterproof bottles.

She snappoints at Una when Seth makes the 'don't sleep nekkid' comment. "Definitely wear PJs and maybe sleep with a weapon." She glances at Ravn. "And make sure if you drink too much, someone walks you home, so you don't go back to your OLD place and crawl mostly naked into bed with someone who now lives there. The resulting freakout is painful for all involved." She might have a permanent lump on her head from where she slammed it into the underside of a table on that auspicious occasion.

She gives Gabriella a grunt of farewell.

"Safeway was last week. Three guys with shotguns decided to shoot up the place. They hadn't quite counted on Kailey Holt and Perdita Leontes being there, and well, it honestly went pretty badly for them." Ravn shrugs. "Or he might just have decided to reach out and build community, ask if you want to buy a ticket to the Police Ball. You know de la Vega, he's as easy to read as your average Sumerian cuneiform clay tablet."

Oh yes. The man who prides himself in being very damn good at reading people has issues with the fact that Javier de la Vega is very hard to read.

Gabriella earns herself another lazy wave. Ravn's got plenty. And now he's got the remaining coffee, too. Then he glances at Una and says, a bit more seriously, "Sleeping commando is not always a great but, if the Veil wants you naked, you're naked. So, sleep however you're comfortable, and remember, if something embarrassing happens to you -- it also happens to someone else. Ask the Chief -- we had to kiss like prom king and queen in a Dream once, and I swear, I ate an entire tube of toothpaste in the morning."

Smirk. "And of course, there was that time Vic crawled into my bed drunk, yes. Which is, hey, at least I can brag I had a woman in it this year, mm?"

"Oh, I thought you meant that time in Safeway with the elves or gremlins or whatever they were," comments Seth with a shrug. "Still, that doesn't explain why I am being brought into this. I guess I will just have to make that phone call."

He looks between Ravn and his now-fiance and smirks, "You're just lucky I am not the jealous type, Ravn."

Seth stands, "Excuse me a sec. Need to visit the little boy's room."

At least when it comes to the embarrassment, however historical, of other people, Una can manage quite well without the blushes; instead, she laughs outright. "Got it," she says. "Embarrassment happens whatever you plan-- Ravn did more-or-less warn me on that one-- and also, some things are just funny." That one she my have figured out on her own. "At least until it happens to you. I'll grant that's less... helpful. Still fascinating, from my perspective, anyhow."

"So that was the chief of police I just met?"

Vic smirks at Ravn, then her eyes follow Seth as he heads for the bathroom. "He's climbing out the window and fleeing the state because I said we're engaged, isn't he?" she muses with a smirk. She knows he isn't, but it's an amusing image anyway.

She nods to Una. "Yep, Javier de la Vega. We used to work together undercover in Portland. He's..." A good man isn't really applicable. A bad man isn't really either. "Fair, and he understands the weird shit. So if there is a problem with that, you can talk to him and he'll do what he can to make sure there aren't police repercussions for Veil bullshit."

"Meh, not like the two you were even together yet," Ravn tells Seth's back as he leaves. "Also not like anything actually happened to be jealous of, unless you count generous amounts of coffee after I was done trying to crawl through the far wall. Being able to laugh is a survival skill in this town."

He nods at Una, and then at Vic at her assessment of the Chief. "Not as grumpy as he wants you to think. Intimidating as all hell when he wants you to be scared of him. The really good news is that in this town, at least when you tell the police that you were abducted by aliens, the Chief of Police will consider the option that you might be neither lying nor crazy."

A shrug. "And as for me? The Veil loves things like tossing me into women's clothing or having me be the prom queen to someone else's prom king. This is going to sound crass as hell but -- one piece of advice I got here very early on was, people need to cope, and the most common coping strategies are drinking a lot and fucking a lot. I do a fair bit of the former, and well, sometimes I get the feeling the Veil thinks it'll get me to break down in tears by dancing around the latter. Hasn't worked so far, and I make a great Maid Marian, thank you very much."

"'Fair'," repeats Una, in a way that sounds calmly accepting of that assessment of the chief of police. "That's... comforting, in a sense. Particularly," and for this, she has a nod towards both Vic and Ravn, "in the understands-weird-shit-sense. I'd hate to be... I don't know, caught specifically chasing the hair of virgins otherwise."

It's a pity her coffee is long-since gone, else she might raise her mug, toast-style. Instead: "I trust your ability to make a fine Maid Marian. And otherwise... here's to getting absolutely rat-fucked drunk, as required."

"Maid Marian? Oh I really need to hear that story sometime," Vic snorts to Ravn. "Last night I was a Madame in a saloon with a whorehouse above it. The bad guys wore ACTUAL black hats. Clayton was the town sheriff. De la Vega was the Mexican bartender. My boss (day job boss) was a piano player and still had a fake leg, just a crappier version. The pizza kid was there, and Cavanaugh too." She chuckles into her coffee cup. "There was a woman tied to train tracks and a moustache twirling villain and everything. Sometimes I think the Veil is also stuck watching retro TV."

She raises her cup to toast along with Una. "I bartend at Two if By Sea. Drop by for a drink on me sometime."

"Told you before, the Veil plucks stories from our minds. Somebody in town watches retro TV, apparently." Ravn smirks; he can picture it, easily -- particularly Clayton as sheriff and de la Vega just staring at him from behind a bar counter, shaking his head and smirking. It's a very easy image to call to the mind's eye, as it happens.

He leans back on his chair a little. "I seem to be doing a story line of a kind -- or maybe I should say, Leontes is. She gets pulled in as Robin Hood -- but it's this crazy gender inverted version where yours truly gets to play damsel in distress. So far it's been mostly just pretty damn funny. I mean, you've seen Perdita's tiny self. Now picture her having to carry me out of a tower window and escape on a noble steed." He's six foot three -- it must have been a sight.

The last coffee goes. "Why any of you ladies ever tolerate high heels is beyond me, though."

Coming back from the bathroom, Seth retakes his seat and promptly picks up his coffee to take a sip. "You are a damsel in distress, Ravn. Pants or dress, it doesn't matter."

"I mean... the retro TV thing has a definite something going for it," is Una's opinion, though that's easy for her to say, having not (yet) been drawn into it.

"So does the Robin Hood thing-- though I haven't met, uh, Perdita? But you paint a delightful picture. High heels aside. I can tell you that one straight: I'll pass. Shoes are oppression.."

She smiles cheerfully enough at Seth, as he returns, though her gaze is already turning down towards her empty mug, appraisingly.

"They make our legs look great," Vic retorts to Ravn, then pauses before she adds, "and you can stab someone through the foot with a stomp, or take out an eye." Practical as always. "Shoes are weapons." She grins over her coffee and winks at Seth.

"Fuck you sideways into Sunday," Ravn tells Seth, just as amicably. "You're just jealous de la Vega baked me brownies once. And they were good brownies. It was a day or two after I broke your nose." He looks at Una and then leans in to stage whisper, "It did help that Seth was high as a kite and pretty much knocked himself out on my fist. Still, life's little victories, you know?"

He chuckles and toys with his sugar packet, letting it wander around his knuckles again as if he was a stage magician and it was a shiny coin. "Perdita's great, you'll like her. I spend a fair amount of time with her -- though not enough to make her boyfriend jealous, I hope."

"Yeah? Brownies? Was that before or after he shoved his tongue down your throat, prom queen?" Seth quips back with a grin. He glances over at Vic, returning the wink. "Hun, you can make anything a weapon if you try hard enough."

"I'm generally just afraid that I'm going to ruin an ankle," admits Una, in reply to Vic. "I'd rather not wear self-inflecting weapons. But maybe I just haven't had enough practice." Her expression is too dubious to make that seem anything more than polite, however: high heels are the devil.

She bites back laughter, though, at the banter between Ravn and Seth. "Were they apology brownies? I mean... all brownies are good, so what does it matter. Broken noses, less fun, but..." But what? She doesn't specify. "I look forward to meeting her."

That's genuine: Una really does seem pleased to meet new people and hear about others. Not, it seems, an introvert at heart.

For now, however, she casts a glance at her watch, then begins to stand. "I should get moving. But. It was nice to meet you?" That to Seth and Vic. To Ravn: "I'm sure I'll see you soon."

Vic shrugs a little and grins at Seth. "True. But not everyone is that creative. Mostly, we wear them because some Medici who became queen of France was short and plain and her designer made something to make her stand out. And thus high heels were made. By a man of course. To make a woman look more appealing to some French shithead. And so it goes."

She looks to Una. "Seth is cursed. Every time he tries to spar someone at Kelly's Gym, he gets his lights knocked out. It's happened three times." She doesn't point out she was one of the three. "Nice to meet you, Una. Stay safe out there."

Some things can be expressed without words. Gestures, for instance, work great. Look at Ravn's middle finger, Seth, it has a lot to tell you.

"I should be heading out as well. I got a date with Lola Bianca and a bottle of expensive oil." The Dane stretches and then returns the sugar packet to the basket at the centre of the table. "And before anyone decides to misunderstand that -- Lola Bianca is a motorcycle, and road salt is not my friend. Also? Her name was Catherine de' Medici, sister of Cosimo of Florence." Oh, right -- historian in the house. "I'll see you two love birds around sometime, all right? And Una, let's go -- uh -- hair hunting tomorrow, yes. There's got to be a gay bar in Seattle we can crash."

Because that's Gray Harbor for you. Nothing makes sense unless it has to.

Seth grumbles at his fiancee. "We don't have to talk about that you know. Not everyone needs to know my kryptonite is trying to spar at Kelly's. I do just fine outside of that place! Just because I got sucker-punched three times in a row at that place..." The bouncer's grousing reduces to an inaudible mumble at that point, complete with shaking of his head.

Looking back up, he grins at Ravn's silent gesture...accepting it as a win for this round of banter before casting his glance over at Una. "Nice to meet ya. In case I didn't say it before, I'm Seth. That's Vic. I work as a bouncer over at the Phoenix, She works at the Twofer. Knows a shit ton more about what the deal is with this place than I do, I just work here." He grins, draining the last of the coffee in his mug and setting it down onto the table. As everyone starts to prep to leave, he looks over to Vic, "Should we get out of here too? Maybe go celebrate our engagement before you got to go to work? Of do I just show up ant the Twofer with balloons and confetti and other shit to make Bennie and Easton glower at me for making a scene?"

He grins, standing, "Maybe I should call Javi first though."

Una looks at Seth, in answer to Vic's explanation, because... really? REALLY? It's a little hard to believe. "Cursed," she says. Yes, ok, that much really is believable. "You too. Seth-- and Vic."

For Ravn, though, a grin: she's well aware of how that sounds. "Sounds like a plan," she agrees.

For now, however: she's out.

Vic says, "Hah, I vote for the latter, just for the glowering," Vic quips at Seth, and she gets up to go with the man."