2021-12-31 - Bring Out Your Virgins!

(TXT to Una Perdita) Ravn : Sorry to wake everyone up on the last morning of the year but ask your neighbourhood folklorist and he will tell you that a) New Year's morning is a morning of great omen, bested only by Jan 1, and b) he needs a virgin's hair. Hi, how are you both? I need to talk to you about something that happened yesterday too, Perdita.

(TXT to Ravn Una) Perdita : ... if you had seen the things I did last night you wouldn't be asking me for virgin hair, I'm just saying. I mean, I've got some virgin remy extensions if that's what you need? 12 inches, 18 inches or 30 inches. They're NOT in your color, though.

(TXT to Ravn Perdita) Una : Gotta <3 an omen-ish mrn. im awake! also still unhelpfully not a virgin

(TXT to Una Perdita) Ravn : Yes, I was not expecting you to tell me that you happen to be one, don't worry. And before you ask, no, I am not a virgin either. Remember how you texted me the other night, asking me about pie? Yes. That's what we need to talk about. Also, virgins. Mind if I pick Una up and come over, or something?

(TXT to Ravn Una) Perdita : Sure, I'll put on coffee as soon as I can feel my legs. I know you can let yourself into the building.

(TXT to Una Perdita) Ravn : So, Una, wanna come burglarise a building?

(TXT to Perdita Ravn) Una : ... ok yes. yes i do.

It's not far from Oak Avenue to the Bauer Building downtown (let's be honest -- nothing in Gray Harbor is ever far), and definitely not when you've got a motorcycle. Ravn knocks on Una's door next door not many moments later -- and if he's dressed for trouble, he always is; the usual black jeans, turtleneck, and leather jacket with a sleeve that looks like someone put a bullet in it. "Ready to ride?"

Walk or ride, it really isn't far. The Bauer Building, in all its somewhat dilapidated art nouveau glory, is not that difficult to enter, either. There's even a door bell -- which is probably why Ravn slips a pack of slender, metallic objects from his sleeve and yep, those are definitely lock picks. Don't challenge a guy like that and expect him to not take you up on it. Here's to hoping no patrol officers are nearby -- not that it takes him long to work the levers of the simple, rather old lock.

"Ready," agrees Una, greeting Ravn at the door. If she's put any thought into appropriate clothes for this kind of excursion, her thought processes are unusual at best; her brightly-coloured ensemble is rather the opposite of Ravn's black, though at least her jeans are practical (if pinstriped-in-pink).

It's curiosity and sincere interest that has her hovering close-but-not-too-close over the Dane's shoulder as he gets out those picks, dark eyes tracking his progress. "You really weren't kidding," does not sound surprised. Not even a little.

Perdita is up and about. The red, slightly sheer dressing gown looks more suited to discovering your husband died in mysterious circumstances with the feather trim, and is belted over a black negligee that at least attempts to pretend Perdita has modesty, stopping at midthigh. The fact that she has eyeliner, mascara and foundation on says either she fell asleep wearing it, or she's deliberately chosen this look to get a rise out of Ravn, indicated by the artfully mussed hair.

And look, there's Ravn's favorite, crème brulée coffee, going in the coffee maker. Clearly, she's out of plain black coffee, right? Right? Her bedroom door is closed, gently, letting the sleeping form inside get some more rest, and, she carefully adds another log to the fire going in the fireplace, to better banish the morning chill.

"When I said I used to be a thief? No, not at all." Ravn grins and opens the door like it's perfectly normal to go picking the locks of his friends' front doors. The elevator, at least, just requires pressing buttons. He keys in for top floor. "You'll like Perdita, I think. She owns the building -- just bought it, so renovations are kind of on-going. She's the other person in town who knows the kid we met yesterday."

Doorbells go bingely bingely bing. Because picking your friend's personal front door's lock is kind of rude. Kind of. Maybe he'll do it later.

Una glances back over her shoulders, just to make sure they're not being observed (being hauled in by the cops would not be a convenient end to 2021), but they're free and clear. "Oh really? I know you've mentioned her. And you think she'll be able to help us find our useful virgin." Also not a question. Trailing after Ravn, she tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat, elbows drooping laconically.

Doorbell goes bingley bingely bing, and Perdita glances up at the bell with a wince. One last glance at herself in the mirror over the fireplace, another quick artful toss of her hair to really drive home the night of debauchery, and Perdita answers the door with a smile, opening it. The apartment is tidy, though a bit sparse on furnishings, as if the owner is used to living only with what she can stand to let go of in a hurry. Still, the coffee table, a mid century piece, is a new addition to the space and freshly restored, as is the newly upholstered armchair that wasn't there the last time Ravn came by. The half grown cat sleeping on the lower shelf of said table isn't new, however, and she regards the intruders to her realm with eyes that can't decide whether they want to be blue or gold, just yet.

"Come on in, I've got coffee on. Una, do you drink coffee, or would you like tea, cola... vodka?" Dita doesn't judge.

Ravn blinks -- though on second glance it turns out to be not at the stunning display of a thousand tales of wild and exotic nightlife as personified in Perdita, but at her cat. A slow blink -- a friendly hello, one cat to another. Trust the man to have priorities, and cats always, always come out on top.

He greets Perdita next. "You look like you either had one hell of a night or intend to have one hell of a day -- and you definitely look like the only virgins around here are prone to receive an upgrade in very short time."

Shrugging out of his coat and tossing it over the back of a chair, the Dane rubs his elbow and winces; and no wonder -- in the gap between gloves and shirt sleeve, there are visible blue marks on his pale skin. "So, to cut to the chase here -- Una's my new neighbour, I think I've said. And yesterday we were having a cup of coffee when in wanders -- Petra. Petre, Peter. That kid, the one who asked you if you'd seen his nightmares. Only, this time, neither of us were sleeping, and he asked us the same thing. Made no secret of remembering me from when I was a kid, either."

By contrast, Perdita herself is the object of Una's attention - but her expression is one of friendly interest in putting a face (and ok, a body, sure, given givens) to a name. The just-barely-a-redhead trails in after Ravn, opening her mouth to say something (and then closing it again when Ravn cuts, indeed, right to the chase).

"Nice to meet you, Perdita. Coffee's great, thanks."

She doesn't have anything further to add to Ravn's story, though she does nod a couple of times.

Tsinyorri gives Ravn an appropriately aloof look of a queen observing subjects entering her domain, but Una gets a more curious expression, the ears lifting a little higher, tail twitching a bit, but still she stays on the shelf, where there is safety... and also her cat bed.

"I have no idea what you mean, Ravn." Perdita says with a coy smile... that fades when she spots the blue. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" she heads toward the kitchen, her feet soundless in the matching red slippers she's wearing. Look, Ravn, she can walk in something other than stilettos!

"Nice to meet you, too... He... didn't ask me if I'd seen his nightmares, he warned me they were coming." Perdita corrects, but looks worried, now. "Should he be able to be out and about? I know Baba Y'ga runs around, but I've never seen her in my dreams."

Perdita pushes open the little passthrough in the kitchen, gesturing toward the kitchen table, which already has chopped fruit sitting on it on a platter, and empty mugs just waiting for the coffee pot to arrive. She sets the coffee pot on the pass through, then steps around to move it to the table, pouring out three mugs. "Cream, sugar?" she offers Una, already knowing the answer to both is 'no' when offered to Ravn.

"Are there ever rules? I thought I dreamed about a faerie taking sad little boys in for milk and cookies, when I was what, seven, eight? And then I never thought about it again, because I had lots of weird dreams when I was a kid and that wasn't a bad one." Ravn Rikers on to a chair in an unrealised copycat move; Seth Monaghan would be proud. "But there he was, right as rain, walking into Espresso Yourself and making friends with Una and I, yesterday. And asking for help finding his nightmares -- who may be anything animal right now, and he wants them caught so they can turn back into horses. That's where the virgin comes in -- faerie creatures can be bound by rope made from the hair of a virgin. Or cold iron, or rowan, but both of those are in even shorter supply this time of year."

He curls long fingers around the offered coffee cup and glances at his arms. "And, uh, I didn't do anything. But the guy I accidentally swapped bodies with isn't used to living with neuropathy."

The cat gets a polite glance, and even a smile (of sorts), from Una-- who must have felt the weight of that glance, enough for her attention to be drawn, however briefly. More immediate is the need to follow the other two, and to sit (normally, like a normal human being, thank you very much), hands pressed together atop the table.

"Black's fine, thanks."

She's very silent, still, on the subject of yesterday's encounter (and on Ravn's accidental body swapping, too, though that does earn a flickering glance, a raised eyebrow, and the kind of resigned exhale of breath that suggests, fine, she's just going to accept that one too).

Finally: "Rather than, I don't know, accost some random teenagers to ask them about their virginity, we were thinking maybe, since it's a very specific definition of virginity required... there's got to be some gay men, some lesbians, whichever, who haven't experimented. Which... now that I've said that outloud, feels like a ridiculous thing to come into someone's home and talk about, sorry."

"Well... if you want to search the property for cold iron, you're welcome to, but I don't know any virgins with enough hair to make a rope... or any virgins, for that matter." Perdita looks thoughtful, then shakes her head and shrugs. She pours out the three cups, the scents of buttery caramel and coffee blending pleasantly. At least it should mostly taste like coffee, right? Right? She, too, leaves the body swapping for later.

"Experimented... as in experimented with the opposite sex? Penis-in-vagina sex?" Perdita raises an eyebrow, then walks over to the kitchen counter, where her smart phone is sitting, swiping it open and opening an app... which immediately starts playing a noise, repeatedly, about thirty times over the course of a few seconds... which surprises even her, apparently. She holds up her phone toward Ravn. "This... is Grindr. It's how you find gay men."

"Welcome to Gray Harbor where truly, this is a perfectly normal conversation." Ravn sips his coffee and from the expression on his face, he's not kidding in the slightest -- it's just the way things are around here, and really, queer virgins are the least of anyone's concerns.

He cranes his neck to look before murmuring, "Contrary to most people's impression of me, I have in fact never felt a need to learn how to use that app, no." Then he nods. "We are talking about an entity out of Celtic late 19th century folklore, so I am running with the assumption that the usual rules for that era and culture applies. Which means the definition of 'virgin' is essentially medieval Roman Catholic, which in turns means, penis in vagina, yes. Anything else was considered sodomy but not sex -- just sin."

"Back in Seattle? This conversation would've, I don't know, turned me into an absolute weirdo." Una's adjusting. The coffee-- the act of wrapping her fingers around the mug, the first inhale-- probably helps too.

"I'm not going to lie, using that," she nods towards Perdita's phone, "to meet up with a bunch of gay men in order to ask them for their hair, is still not striking me as... easy. I mean, step ahead of where we were, but. Also, good point: they'd need enough hair to make rope in the first place. That's a lot of hair. Unless it's a very tiny rope?"

Una gets a long, measuring look from Perdita, before she sighs, looking at Ravn. "How much hair do you need?" because of course she fits the definition, per the Catholic Church... She sits, wrapping her hands around her mug with a displeased expression, phone still open and making the occasional notification sound as she gets a message. "I hate you for this, by the way. I'm replacing the coffee in the HOPE Center with this blend for a month or two after this." She leans back in her seat, taking a long drink of her coffee, which is deliciously hot, but not scalding. "I'm making a fake Grindr profile with your photo, too." she tells him.

Ravn blinks. And then, abruptly, has to put his coffee cup down before he spills its contents, shaking with silent laughter. "Sorry, I -- did not think that way. Yes. I suppose that'd work. Well, the good news are, those unicorns and whatnot always get captured by some maiden making a rope from her own hair, thin as a thread -- so, actually not a whole lot. Just enough that we can braid a thin little noose and lead."

That last comment from Perdita earns a beatific smile though. "And why would you do that to a lot of no doubt very nice gentlemen just looking for a bit of harmless fun?"

Una's blink, and that look of utter incomprehension before she shuts that shit down, because that's rude, suggests... well, a lot of things. Her coffee cup, lifted towards her mouth, covers a lot of things, too. She drinks her coffee. She swallows her coffee.

"Ok - so not a lot, then, that's good."

Tactfully, she'll leave the promised retribution to the other two. Coffee. Yes. Coffee good.

"I'm trans, Una, and have never had vaginal intercourse... mainly because not having one myself means it's kind of difficult to do so in a way I'd enjoy." Ravn gets another irritated, catlike look, before Perdita rises from the table, disappearing into the bathroom and returning a few seconds later with a hairbrush. "This is like the super budget version of Galadriel's gift to Gimli, you know. Let's just hope they don't mean 'virgin' as in 'unprocessed hair' because this? Is not my natural texture." As Ravn well knows.

"I'm fairly certain that even the Roman Catholic Church did not have an opinion on chemical hair straightening in the Middle Ages. Though now you mention it, I do believe that bleaching your hair with human piss was considered a sin of vanity in Renaissance Italy." Yes, it's still a rule of thumb, don't ask your resident historian. Ravn reaches for the brush and tries to pick hair out of it -- and then slides it across the table to Una. "I'm going to have to ask you to do this. My manual dexterity isn't usually bad but, that bloke yesterday, he must have slammed my hands into every damn table in the HOPE building."

"Ok," says Una, not cheerfully but definitely without judgement. So at least her reaction is definitely surprise rather than distaste; hurray for crossing the most basic bar of not being an absolute asshole, Una.

"Was it even remotely possible to not be a sinner, according to the church in one era or another?" she wonders, reluctantly abandoning her coffee in order to pick up the brush when slid towards her. At least she's capable enough to be able to pull the hair free, and with only a faint wrinkle of her nose in the process: cleaning out hairbrushes, while not the worst chore in the world, is not more fun than drinking coffee.

"Let's come back to that, actually... body swapping, was it?"

At least it's a relatively clean brush, with only a day or two of hairs on it, long, clean, naturally jet black hair. "Don't go leaving these at any crime scenes, I don't think I'm in CODIS but I'd rather not find out I am because you left my hair at the scene of a quadruple homicide with, like, a nail file." Because if Perdita was going to murder someone, a nail file makes as much sense as anything. "Yes. Body swapping? How does one make that happen?"

Ravn curls his fingers around his cup again; one could get the impression the heat of it relieves pain. "I actually have no idea. I woke up -- and I wasn't me. Got out of bed, went on a journey of find people who recognise my bloody face. Turns out I was a coroner at the GHPD. Puked in the administrator's waste basket. Fled. Explored his home, dodged the neighbour who was trying to get laid, and eventually went down to HOPE -- where I found me, tied to a chair, being investigated about mermaids by our local doom saying homeless guy. When we touched, we swapped back. It was -- an adventure."

Una makes relatively short work of the brush, diligently pulling free every last hair-- and as carefully as possible, so as to preserve the lengths. "We'll take care of it, I promise," she says, though it's rather an aside, given she's focusing, with interest, on Ravn's explanation.

"What... was it like, being in someone else's body? Like, walking as them? Were colours the same? Sounds?"

"... yeah, you would choose to put someone else's need to be pain free above your need for the same. Were you at least... did you at least enjoy it for the little while you were pain free?" Perdita asks, expression sympathetic. "How rough was Denny with your body?" Una gets a smile. Either Perdita's becoming more open about her status as a trans woman, or something about Una made her decide to trust the young woman, one. "How weird was it throwing up someone else's dinner?"

"Stripped the guy to the chair with plastic strips. Which means, my wrists, my ankles." Ravn makes a face and peels back his sleeve a little -- and sure enough, nice blue wristbands. "It'll be fine in a day or two. And I can't really blame Denny -- I come in, sounding decidedly not like me, he's bound to think something is up. And with Denny, I mean, you know him -- it's mermaids. Every time."

He chuckles. "I'll admit, off the record, that for a moment the thought of heading out to the Platinum did occur to me -- one chance in my life and all. But, I don't actually want a lap dance, and even if I did, it'd be rather an asshole behaviour. For all I know this guy has family, friends, is an upstanding member of his church."

Una returns Perdita's smile with one of her own, and, once she's finished with the brush, nudges it (so clean!) back towards the other woman. Smoothing out and separating the individual strands of hair is something she does almost idly, listening, as she is, so intently.

"So you don't actually know the guy? I mean-- I guess you know him now, but that's kind of different. I'm not actually sure what I'd do... whether the desire to fix it would outweigh the curiosity of being someone else, just for a little while."

"Ravn..." Perdita sighs. She looks like she wants to reach out and shove healing energy into him, but she knows from experience that, from her, it's only good for external wounds. The brush is accepted and she shakes her head slightly at the mention of Denny. "Next time you want to try bondage, you don't need to make up an elaborate story about body swapping, just talk to me. Safe, sane, consensual... sanitizer." She winks at the man, then goes back to sipping her coffee. Of course Perdita knows bondage.

"I, for one, would be absolutely panicked. I worked hard to get my body the way I want it, I wouldn't want anyone else messing with it."

Ravn coughs -- and actually dusts a little pink, something that's unfortunately very visible on very pale skin. "Yes, I'll admit, that's something that I have not experimented with. Although Rosencrantz has implied a couple of times that some ladies would like it very much if I was to offer to tie them up and do things to them, without them being able to do anything back. I think I'll go right on being blissfully ignorant if that's all right with the two of you."

He shakes his head over the rim of the coffee cup. "Never seen him before -- from what I got out of his co-workers at the GHPD, he's a new hire. But at the time I found him wearing my face, he and Denny were friend bonding over conspiracy theories, UFOs, and crop circles, so, I'm guessing he's one of us too."

For someone who has a habit of blushing a fair amount and not particularly liking it, Una's genuine amusement at Ravn's pinkness is slightly unfair.

Examining her own pale hand, she admits, "I think I'd be interested to see what it was like to be someone else. I don't mind my own skin, but... I think it'd be interesting. I think. Presumably he has to be one of us, though, if it happened. Because otherwise he'd forget, or whatever, right? It'd be awful if this were his first experience of any kind, though. At least... at least he'll know where to go to find people who might have answers, right?"

Dita mimes licking her index finger and making a mark in the air. Another point scored on her part. She's made him blush several times now, and it always amuses her when she manages to make it happen. "Plenty of women, and plenty of men and quite a few non-binary people, too, Ravn. You're pretty." She looks to Una, as if expecting the other woman to back her up.

"I've lived stuck in someone else's skin, figuratively. Trying it literally, by which I mean body swapping not Buffalo Bill, might be interesting in the short term, but as much as I'd like to change a few things I'd also very much not be comfortable with someone running around as me... and yes, the motto needs to be 'HOPE Center: We have the Answers'. Oh! Reminds me. Ravn, Mrs. Leigh is looking for a lawyer versed in charities. I think she wants to rent the final space downstairs and turn it into a charity thrift shop. I mentioned you might know one. You know lawyers for things other than criminal complaints, right?"

Ravn laughs softly; yes, Perdita scored yet another point and at least he's not too proud to acknowledge it. "So you keep telling me. And yet the hordes of lonely women are not exactly beating down my door, are they now?"

One could get the impression these two rib each other on a friendly, regular basis.

"I was tempted -- but, there's the whole aspect of not ruining someone's life and simultaneously, praying that they're not ruining mine. I did enjoy touching things -- feeling their texture, and not having to watch my breathing as I walked but, what it really felt like was panic. I don't know this guy, I sure as hell don't want to be him and have to pray he's not in all kinds of trouble I don't know how to handle. It was a relief to get it sorted out. I don't much care to repeat the experience."

"You are very pretty," Una has to allow, almost apologetic when she glances at Ravn. Hers is a dispassionate look: this is yet another woman who does not seem likely to beat down his door.

She straightens, her fingers pausing in their de-separating attempts. "A charity thrift shop? I wonder if she needs a," paid, presumably, "store manager for the venture."

"Love, they would have to actually beat down your door before you noticed." Perdita points out, helpfully, "And then you'd wonder if they just wanted to borrow some sugar, or were trying to rob you or something. It's okay. I'll make you a Fetlife profile too, while I'm setting up your Grindr account." She's probably not going to make either, but... she'd probably be willing if he wanted her to. His explanation of touching things gets a sympathetic look and a nod. "Hopefully, if it repeats, you'll know the other person a bit better and be able to enjoy the experience more."

"She's an older lady, I think, so an assistant or two might be worth having. I'll mention it to her, though..."

Ravn rootles in a pocket for his wallet, then takes out a card -- for a law firm in Seattle, Wilson, Goldblum & Cruz. "Tell Granny Leigh to talk to these people, maybe. They're the company I use for HOPE. All round law firm, no specialisation, though they mostly deal with business and finance. Had them help me get a handful of trafficked girls new papers and out of here. I talk to Antonia Simoniescu there, she's a paralegal -- and while she doesn't shine, she's the kind of lawyer who will take your money and get the job done. As long as it's the right thing to do, she'll bend the law into submission, you know?"

The lopsided smile he tosses at Una is neither embarrassed nor disappointed; it's just what it is. "I'm not really looking for a partner, don't worry. I'm actually neither a crazy stalker or a desperate incel."

Beat. "And what the hell is Fetlife?"

"I've met her... I'll mention it myself, if I see her. When I see her." Una's apparently quite pleased by this piece of news, her nod a satisfied one.

Ravn's smile earns one in return. "Don't worry, I'm almost as ace as they come. Or... don't come. You're both pretty, but I don't want either of you in my bed. Or anyone." With that, she lifts her coffee mug in what could easily be termed a salute - and, having taken a sip, goes back to trying to separate hair, piece by piece.

"This stuff is going to be a massive pain to braid, though. So very fine."

The card is accepted, looked over, passed over the back of Perdita's hand, then apparently vanishes into thin air. Ravn isn't the only one with tricks, after all... though we don't talk about most of Dita's tricks. "Fetlife is a dating app." she lifts up her phone, "This is a PHONE, it gets on the INTERNET with things called APPS... wait, do I have to explain the internet to you?" it's... hard to tell if she's being serious or not.

Upon being told she's pretty, Perdita has the good grace to preen a little and say, politely, "Thank you... if you need more, I guess I could part with a lock right from the head, but my stylist will throw a fit if he notices."

Ravn peels his sleeve back a little, and holds up his hand, just enough to show the blue stripes between glove and fabric again. "And this is neuropathy, a fun, chronic condition that means most dates start with 'hi, my name is Ravn, please don't shake my hand' and end in 'oh, well, I guess that saves me having to pay for dinner'. Also, I did make a dating profile once, on a Danish app. It took me about two hours to delete it again because bloody hell, how many girls are out there, looking for a sugar daddy."

He rolls his sleeve back down. "Not going to pretend it's not been a deal breaker, because it's been a deal breaker pretty much always, barring two exceptions."

"I don't think," Una muses, glancing side-long in Perdita's direction, "You have a particularly enthusiastic taker, here. Though," her nod is in the direction of Ravn's wrist, even if it has been covered up again. "Can't argue, really."

She glances back down at the hair, apparently weighing up the need for Perdita's offer, but ultimately decides, "I think we'll be ok. Thin braids. I'd hate to take more than we need-- for your sake and your stylist."

"And Fetlife has an entire section for people who don't like, or can't handle, being touched." Perdita points out, but she sets her phone down. "Especially if you tie them up first. Just show them some photos of your gloves, that's sure to get some engines revving, Daddy Ravn."

To Una's comment about enthusiasm, Perdita smirks, "That's okay, I've never been a very enthusiastic giver, either." and then another sip of coffee, before she refills her mug. "And I'm just giving him shit, that's how our friendship works."

"I can't remember off hand if it's Morte d'Arthur or The Green Knight that has someone lassoing and dragging off a unicorn with one hair of a maiden used as rope. The Once and Future King spoofs it in a quite gruesome manner, by having the protagonists also butcher the unicorn in her lap, and as it happens, butchering a horse makes quite a mess." Ravn nods again; ask a historian, etc. "We'll be fine. If this works, well, that's all we need. If it doesn't, we could braid the hair of every tween in Gray Harbor into one rope, and it'd still not be enough."

He shakes his head as if disagreeing with himself on something, and then shrugs. "It doesn't matter whether I'm enthusiastic or not, and believe me, people with leather daddy spank me fetishes are the last thing someone with my condition wants. A smart girl told me once, if a guy hits on you and he's been single for a very long time -- you should stop and ask yourself why he's single. It's not bad advice, and I have better things do to with my life than tell myself feel-good stories about how there's someone for everyone. If my Someone turns up and asks for me, give her my number -- not going to worry about it in the meantime. And that's enough of me lecturing on the fine art of demisexuality for one day. Either of you doing something or someone interesting for New Years?"

Perdita's smirk draws one from Una, too; and there's a gleam of amusement in her eyes, for that matter. If that's how that particular friendship works, she's comfortable enough bystanding in it.

"... butchering a horse. Ok, I vote we pass on that bit of folklore... in fact, I wish you hadn't thought of it, just in case that becomes a whole thing in this particular story." The face Una makes is descriptive in its particular expressiveness: that's just gross, thank you very much.

"I'm going to bake cinnamon rolls. Always start a new year with all the carb-y, sticky sweetness you can deal with, and worry about the calories later; that's my motto."

"Now here's the interesting question. If it has to be a virgin maiden's hair, does mine still count in a metaphysical sense, or are metaphysics transphobic, too?" Perdita asks, because she doesn't want to think about having a unicorn slaughtered on her lap. She frequently wears a unicorn charm, after all, the one with Saint Sarah e Kali on the other side.

"Carbs sound amazing. I'm honestly not sure, it's... been a while since I've celebrated the entire holiday season with someone. We might just stay in and watch any fireworks from the veranda." she gestures toward the rooftop, where, indeed, one would have an excellent view of any fireworks. "Maybe we should make a party out of it."

"If it doesn't work, I'm not going on a quest to ask women if they're virgins and can I please have their hair." Ravn hitches a shoulder with a wry smile. "I've got enough of a reputation as is. I'll find a rowan berry somewhere and bloody well bribe or strongarm August Roen into growing us a tree out of a season, then we can carve whoppin' sticks and beat the damn things into submission."

He sips his coffee and adds, "There's a belief in Scandinavia that whatever you do when the sun rises on January 1st, you'll do for the rest of the year. So me, I intend to be sitting somewhere comfortable with a good book and a bottle of good whiskey, because that is in fact my idea of a good time."

Una's managed to produce something out of the hair from Perdita's brush: it doesn't look particularly much like rope except in as much as it is long(ish) and made of individual strands, but it's no longer just a pile of hair, either. She gives it an appraising look. "We'll just have to show up and see. I think you implied nothing would happen if what we had isn't right, yes, Ravn? But I'm feeling good about this." She pauses. "Though big sticks are never a bad thing, either."

She rolls her shoulders back, reaching for her coffee mug now that the hair is in better shape. "Well, I intend to be asleep when the sun rises, but otherwise, that sounds like a good belief. I like... I've always liked the freshness of a new year. It's all symbolic, sure, but what isn't? New year, new start."

"I'm pretty sure that'd get the boys in blue called on you pretty fast. It does sound like a prelude to serial killer behavior. As to the berry, Roen probably has one, and if you need help bribing him, let me know. I need to buy a bunch of plants for the veranda come spring, because I intend to make a garden out there... once I get the last of the safety railings installed." Perdita glances outside again, grimacing slightly at the thought of someone going over the side. Granted, with a building this old, it's happened. Hell, the bodies are probably in the basement.

"Sleeping the year away sounds pretty good, too. I'd like a good night of sleep uninterrupted by weird dreams or random nightstand pie."

"Yes. Well. I don't want to end up not getting arrested because de la Vega is laughing his ass off at the idea that I might approach a woman for anything but asking for directions to the laundromat. So, no, that plan is off the table. This works, or we find something else that does, or if it really has to be virgin hair, somebody possessed of a pair of tits goes to ask the girls." Ravn glances at his empty coffee cup and then at the pot. Does he dare? Will that too be full of cream and sugar and unspeakables?

"I'd like to spend more time around people in the new year," he says, returning to the other topic of the conversation. "This year has been -- I used to go weeks without talking to anyone beyond ordering coffee or buying a bus ticket. It's still new and interesting, I suppose."

"Bags not me either," puts in Una, albeit in a resigned kind of way: look, if it comes to that... "If only there were a religious order of cloistered nuns or something, just outside of town." The way her lips press together, however, and the look of determination that crosses her face? She's not going to take no for an answer over their present solution. (As if she gets a choice.)

There's still coffee in her mug, and Una takes a sip of it now. "I'd like to meet more people around town," she agrees. "And, if I have to, I guess, get a job. I like the idea of planting a garden," she nods in Perdita's direction. "And modernising my kitchen. So many possibilities!"

Glancing down at her meager bustline, Perdita shrugs, "Don't look at me." she pours Ravn another mugful of coffee, smiling. The caramel flavor is mellow, at least, and she's not sweetened or poured cream into it, so there's that. "... is there a religious order of cloistered nuns just outside of town? That sounds like something this town would definitely have."

"If there is, I don't know about it. That's no guarantee, though, it's not exactly something I'd go looking for." Ravn shrugs.

Then he sips his coffee appreciatively -- he will never admit it, but caramel is not a bad flavour at all -- and glances at Una. "I can't offer you a paid job but if you're looking to meet people, the HOPE centre is not the worst place to stop in every once in a while. Of course most of our regulars are -- how to put it, not the creme de la creme of society. By which I mean that most of them are homeless folks, people down on their luck, and others who desperately need some kind of help."

Somewhere, just outside of town, no doubt the cloistered order of St Someone of Someone continue their day, oblivious to the weirdness of Gray Harbor (or perhaps fully aware of everything, all the answers in hand). No? Ok, no, probably not.

"I... might check HOPE out," Una says, after a moment's consideration. "I've never had this much time not working in my life, and... I could use something to fill my time. Might as well give something back." Her nod's a thoughtful one, far from displeased. "There's a new year's resolution right there. Give something back... and eat more carbs."

"When I was really little I wanted to be a nun." Perdita says, sounding serious as she refills her own coffee. "It sounded nice. Spend your day wearing a wimple, be married to God..." she shrugs slightly.

"HOPE Center is pretty awesome. I need to get done restoring this place so I can spend more time down there... don't forget to take time to just enjoy being you, Una. Down time is important, too."

"It's a time eater. Don't say I haven't warned you. I was just going to help the founder with a bit of tutoring, and here I am, six months later, pretty much doing the daily coordination and administration. Good thing I don't work fixed hours, or I'd be in trouble." Ravn laughs and toys with his coffee cup.

He thinks for a moment and then shakes his head. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be a carnie. Wanted to run away with a circus. Of course, I did. Multiple times. CPS are really annoying sometimes."

The shrug of Una's shoulders seems to suggest that, well, it's not like she's got anything but time-- but she's got a nod to go with it, and for Perdita's remark, a warmer, softer smile. Her mug, finally empty (or close enough to) is nudged forwards for refilling.

"I wanted to work in the grocery store, just like my mom. Hopefully I can manage better than that. It feels... rather unimaginative, in retrospect."

And refilled it is, with Perdita rising, after, to put on another pot. Either she and her companions will drink it together, or she'll drink it as she does things around the apartment... or Garrett will wake with coffee already ready. "Well, you know, I'm only sleeping with you so I can move up the ranks of HOPE International." Perdita tells Ravn with a smirk. Of course, they've already established that sex isn't an easy option for Ravn. She returns to the table and sits, looking sympathetically at Una. "My mother worked retail and was staff at a hotel. The stories she used to tell me..." Perdita shakes her head. "I swore I would never do that sort of work, not because I thought the job itself was bad, but because of how people think they can treat you... and get away with it because management lets them."

"Honey, if you're sleeping with me, then with all due respect, you're a terrible lay -- I don't even remember." Ravn smirks; it is quite obvious that whatever the relationship between these two people, that's not it. "Also, seriously, that HOPE International thing -- I am going to set fire to both offices. The ADA's, for starting it, and the Gazette, for printing it."

He looks at Una and makes a face. "Someone thought it was funny to tell a rather dense reporter that the community centre is the front of some international charity foundation. I've been fighting with that ever since, and the fucking reporter won't believe me since I'm obviously not American."

Una chuckles around the rim of her refilled mug, amusement dancing in her gaze. "Sounds appropriate for this place, though: the truth being lost in a good story. I don't suppose any good has come out of it, though? Increased donations?"

"Yeah, mom did a lot to make sure I knew the realities of her life, even as she was trying to make up for them, and make things as good as she could for me. I was supposed to go to college. I was supposed to have a completely different kind of life. But-- things happen. We roll with it."

"Trust me... if I was sleeping with you, it would be a night you would never forget." The heat in the look Perdita fixes Ravn with could melt the ice caps, if global warming wasn't already doing its best... and then she goes and ruins it with a laugh. "She then made the leap in 'deductive reasoning' that because I was dressed like Elvira, with a fairly realistic breastplate, that big boobs means sleeping with the boss," she points one perfectly manicured nail (currently painted in a chipper holiday red with silver snowflakes) at Ravn, "for more power and control in the organization."

"Things never quite turn out like our parents plan, eh? Because the lives they plan for us are without our input."

"It means I've had to show our financial records to auditors a few times. That's about it." Ravn shrugs. "And well, there's nothing secret there except the names of a number of donors whose names I will quite frankly not reveal unless someone has a warrant, because they asked to be anonymous. And of course, intrepid reporter Alice whatever her name is has yet to piece together that I am not the boss. Insofar HOPE has a boss, his name is Ignacio de Santos, and he works at her own damn paper -- not that I've seen him about for a long time."

Maybe it's the laugh that ruins it for Perdita's sultry bedroom come-hither look there; maybe Ravn is just made of cold, dead rock. Una's comment draws a curious glance though. "What kind of life were you meant to have? Pretty sure that's the common denominator in this room at least, none of us turned out how our parents expected."

Una's little snort of laughter could be for Perdita's sultriness, Ravn's failure to rise to the occasion, or, indeed, just for the whole newspaper situation as a whole. Or all of them - all of them works too.

"To be fair to her, she wasn't that picky. She got pregnant with me at seventeen, so I was just supposed to... make more of my life. By now, I was supposed to have a respectable, professional job, be busy paying back my student loans, and... I don't even know. But you're right; I think it's pretty hard for most of us to live up to what our parents expect. None of them are in our heads. You can't plan for other people."

Ravn's insistence on anonymity gets a solid nod from Perdita, indicating strong agreement. Una's story gets a sympathetic smile from Perdita, "You're doing your best to live a good life, right? Give back to charity, looking to work in a charity shop? I'd say that's living a respectable good life, personally."

"I definitely didn't live up to either parent's expectations. My great aunt, though? She told Báte he'd have two daughters, and here I am." she laughs, "Never ignore the family witch and crazy lady! Opre fárma-kátarka!"

"Mm-hmm. I was supposed to go into the banking world, or politics. I managed to strike a deal -- I'd go to university, fine, but I got to pick my field. And that's why I have a PhD in do you want fries with that." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "Also failed on the get married, and have a brood of nice blond and blue-eyed kids to send to private school so you don't have to raise them yourself part."

Una opens her mouth; she closes it again. The way she's considering Perdita, her brows furrowing, maybe she's not-- at least, not properly-- considered her life from that perspective before. It makes her smile, eventually, the corners of her mouth turning up, and the line of her shoulders easing. "When you put it that way..."

She lifts her mug. Toasting with coffee is just a thing she does, now. "To living up to our own expectations, and not the ones foisted on us... except where we want them."

"If I could but birth a baby, I'd happily be your surrogate just so you could show up back home with a brood of black haired, brown eyed Mexican-Romani bastards with curly hair and grubby, sticky faces." Perdita's grinning at Ravn, now, fondly. It's quite the mental image. Perdita lifts her own coffee mug, tapping it lightly to Una's, looking to Ravn. "And to finding our family, whatever it may look like."

Ravn smirks; he actually evil-smirks, somebody should help him grow a moustache to twirl. "I'd almost wish my parents got out of their respective graves just to see their grandchildren in that case. But yes -- to finding family. A man can hope to have one, some day. I would like to, I'm just thinking I'm not going to sit up waiting."

"What a fabulous mental image," decides Una, who, having clinked her mug, takes a big, long sip to confirm it all. "Found family's worthwhile. And there's always adoption..."

"... Xindo, Ravn, you didn't mention they'd passed, before. I know you weren't close, but... I'm really sorry." Perdita takes a long drink of coffee, grown more serious now. "I might adopt some day. Probably not, but... who knows. I think I'd be happier as the wine bibi who shows up, starts shit at the holidays, gives fabulous presents and breezes out with a plate of leftovers before the dishes need done."

"To be fair, I did tell you that the family home is rented out. I mean, that kind of implies no one is around to live there." Ravn hitches a shoulder again, and then scratches at his wrists; really, plastic strips are not his best friend. "It's not a big deal -- like you say, we were not close. If I ever do have kids I want them to grow up different. With parents who -- well, want them around for being them."

He upends his coffee. "And that's enough self pity from me."

Una's still and silent, at least temporarily, in reply to Perdita's reaction, and Ravn's response to it. When she does speak again, it's to say, thoughtfully, "I've never known if I wanted children or not. But since it's pretty unlikely... being the aunt does sound like fun. All the fun, none of the responsibility." One hand slips away from the coffee to begin coiling the not-really-rope hair: around and around and around her finger it goes.

"Well, I inferred that your family is rich and living somewhere else, Ravn. Still... sorry if I've said anything that made their loss harder. And if they're your kids, they'll grow up with a great dad, and a bibi Dita to show up and give them alarmingly loud toys with extremely hard to remove batteries." Perdita promises with a smile. "It's a lot of responsibility, being a parent. Not for me. Having a cat was more than I ever wanted, but we lost time, I woke up in a building with a cat and a random firefighter. I kept the building and the cat."

"You can have children without having to have the father," Ravn points out. "Whether you go for the scientific method, or you adopt. If you want to have children, getting married or even having a partner with a penis is not a requirement. I might consider it, at some point. Figure the world has plenty kids in it that would want a parent -- even if it's just one, and not the full set of husband and wife. Might be some legalese issues, since most adoption agencies want a married couple but -- you don't even need to formally adopt to have kids around the house. World's also full of neglected neighbour's kids who would love to have an uncle or aunt type adult friend. Wouldn't get to know them in their infancy, granted, but then, in my experience most infants and toddlers are noisy and sticky, anyhow."

"True," allows Una. "Plenty of room in this world for families of all types. And... plenty of time to figure out what's going to work. Or not work, for that matter."

To Perdita: "But not the firefighter?"

"Noisy, sticky, smelly." Perdita tells Ravn, with a little nod.

"But not the firefighter. He made me pancakes that weren't half bad, but... romantic entanglement and I never really got along... until very recently."

"Should have sent him my way. I like pancakes." Ravn sips his coffee. "Of course he might have been disappointed in other regards but he might have made pancakes at least once before he realised."

"Pancakes," Una agrees, sagely, "never hurt. Even as a once-off. If you're going to lose time, you might as well get pancakes out of it. And a cat, for that matter. Actually, I'm happy with pancakes even without losing time."

"I can't say whether he'd have been disappointed or not, because I literally don't remember the night prior. Who knows, he might have disappointed you. I did let him stay the night, so it couldn't have been too terrible, but..." Perdita shrugs, "The past is the past, and pancakes, even mediocre ones, are still pancakes, and therefor, delicious."

"Beats the half a package of Oreos I have on my desk." Ravn, breakfast connoisseur. Maybe there's a reason he's on the skinny side. "I don't usually bother with breakfast. Or lunch. I'm a disaster in a kitchen. Which reminds me, I need advice on how to un-convince Gabriella Leigh that she needs to teach me to cook. I didn't mind the cooking lesson, and the chicken tasted all right, but really, there has to be a way to make it clear to a woman that when I say I'm not taking her on a date, then I am not taking her on a date."

Una is clearly on the side of 'pancakes rule', or at least 'real food rules'; she wrinkles her nose pretty determinedly at the prospect of oreos for breakfast. "Don't stoop that low: there's always breakfast food at my place, and I won't insist you learn how to cook it either. Gabriella-- I've only met her the once," ie yesterday, "but I'm not sure she knows how to take no for an answer. She's, um, something else."

"This is why you're a foot taller than me but weigh the same as me, Ravn. As for convincing Gabriella of anything, good luck. The girl's like my mirrorverse self, where I was born a cis woman, to a middle class white family, able to go to college, and can't take 'no' for 'no'." she rolls her eyes, but she's smiling all the same. "Tell her you're flattered, but she's making you uncomfortable. If that doesn't work, remind her that you're best friends with Perdita, and she has dibs." Perdita winks, then takes a long sip of her coffee.

"I told her I'm not interested in a relationship or in dating anyone." Ravn shrugs. "But yes. She reminds me quite a bit of certain women I knew back home, and I wasn't interested in hot little blondes looking to climb the social ladder back there, either. The dibs thing might not quite work so well, though, considering that you are in a relationship with someone else. In fact, it might open up the whole can of worms about whether that means I'd have the right to sleep around too and you know what, let's just not go there. People need to respect that if I say I am not interested in dating them, then I am not interested in dating them."

"Hopefully she'll find someone else to glom onto and move on?" The dubiousness in Una's tone suggests she's not entirely confident of this outcome, but it's a nice hope, surely. "It's a pity she's living right across the street, though. Makes it harder to avoid her... though I suppose I live across the street too, and I hadn't run into her."

"She has found somebody else to glom onto. My boyfriend." Perdita says, with a little smirk. She doesn't seem particularly upset over it, though. "I agree, though. While I like a woman who goes for something she wants, repeated refusal to take 'no' for an answer is no more acceptable from a woman or anyone else than it is from a man. If you'd like me to talk to her, I can, Ravn."

"Oh, she knows I'm not interested. It's more the principle of the matter -- it gets tedious to have to fend off advances all the time, even if they're just friendly banter. I can't shake this feeling that if I jokingly were to say something like, fine, let's go have a beer, I'd be booking tables at Sitka and putting on a tie before I knew what hit me, and I don't much care for that." Ravn traces a fingertip around the rim of his coffee cup; it absolutely fails to produce any crystalline sounds, probably because it's not made from crystal.

He shakes his head. "I'm not a kid, 'Dita. I'm capable of telling people off myself. It's just -- boring? Tedious? I'd like to talk to people about things that interest me, and honestly, most people's sex lives don't. I tire pretty quickly of people who take no interest in the other person beyond whether bed gymnastics is going to happen or not. If I can spend an evening with a girl and leave with the feeling that she wouldn't be able to tell someone else three things about me afterwards, then it's not worth going to do it again. If I can't tell three things about her either it's even worse, and honestly, all I know about Gabriella Leigh is that she claims she puts the moves on folks to see what they're made of."

Una rolls her eyes, but does not seem especially surprised that Gabriella has also been chasing men in obvious relationships; she's met this kind of girl before.

"Well," she says. "Maybe someone else will say yes, and... yeah, no, I've got nothing."

"I have no doubt you can handle her, but sometimes it's easier coming from another person of the same gender." The mention of bed gymnastics gets a slight coloring from Dita. Look, she can get embarrassed. When she spots Una's eyeroll, she seems to understand the emotion behind it. "We're not exclusive. I don't ever want anyone to feel like they can't explore a connection with someone else just because they already have one with me. As long as I'm not left feeling neglected and safer sex is practiced, if it reaches that point, I'm fine with him seeing other people. Just don't bring home any babies or STDs."

"Just, yeah -- enough, already." Ravn shrugs lightly. "People can do whatever and whoever they like, I don't have any moral panties to get in a twist. Several of my friends are in poly relationships, some of them with each other -- whatever works for folks. What works for me is being friends first, and then, if things develop, well, then we can talk about that later on."

He finishes the second cup of coffee; Oreos aren't his entire diet. "Don't think I could do the poly thing, mind. Might not really care if my partner was seeing someone else too, but myself? I don't think I could form that kind of bond with more than one person. Hell, I can barely form it with one person -- tried twice, and both times failed hard."

"No judgement," promises Una, answering Perdita with a bob of her head. "It's--" She breaks off, then laughs, ruefully. "Human relationships are just so complicated. Even before you add in the whole sex thing, and that just seems to make it ten times worse. But most of us are still searching for... connection, I guess. Of one kind or another. Belonging."

She stretches, now, and picks up that coil of hair: it goes into her pocket, now, safe and sound in preparation for its eventual, hopeful, use.

"I've been in what I thought was an ethical poly relationship before with that ex of mine. Turned out his wife had no clue about me. Ethical polyamory where everyone communicates and makes sure everyone is comfortable is great. I don't know if I'll keep exploring, for myself, or not. But knowing I can makes me feel a lot less likely to panic and run from something that could be very good." She glances toward her bedroom door with a smile. "You're demisexual, Ravn. Most people aren't willing to put in the work, but when they are... you'll both find it worth it, I hope."

Ravn shoots Una a surprised glance and then looks back at his coffee because really, it's quite rude to stare. "Yes. That. Connection is not something I do very well -- in fact, it's something I've only kind of taken back up in the last year. Belonging is difficult -- I've travelled over half the damn planet, and Gray Harbor is the first place I've felt any kind of home feeling at all. And even then I am -- well, due to my work at the HOPE centre, I'm the guy everybody knows the name of because my job is literally to connect people with each other. But I don't actually have a lot of personal relationships. It's difficult. And that, indeed, is even without adding the whole sex thing."

He nods at Perdita. "Most people aren't willing to put in that work even for friendship, never mind getting romantically involved." A chuckle. "I actually don't really like people very much. I want to, but most of them inevitably turn out to be assholes, or just so absorbed with themselves and their own issues that they have no space for others."

Una, catching that glance, lifts her eyebrows in question, though it's entirely possible she does so after Ravn's already looked back down. "Superficial is easy," she supposes. "Chit chat, and whatever. Deeper takes time and trust, and we tend-- or in my experience, anyway, we do-- to be less good at that. Particularly when our trust has been broken in the past." A nod towards Perdita, for that.

If Perdita catches the glances between the pair, which she totally does, she doesn't let on, merely sipping her coffee and not saying a word about it. "It's important to make the personal relationships you do have count, then..." Perdita nods to Una. "Trust is difficult. I'm trying, very hard, to get to a point where I can actually trust people. Only a very few people I haven't been intimate with know I'm trans, because people treat you differently when they know. I'm not ashamed of it, I just... hate how someone who's known you as 'Perdita, she/her pronouns' for four years will suddenly start misgendering you or demand to know your 'real name'." she rolls her eyes.

"You have to be decent at superficial to deal, here. We all have to be able to work together in a dream, have each other's backs. When Cthulhu is breathing down your neck it's a real bad time to start arguing about small and insignificant things." Ravn nods his agreement yet again. "But more personal things? It's a minefield. Also because we have to try to get along. If I know that the guy who's supposed to have my back is an abusive asshole who beats his wife and votes for the guy I don't like -- can I really say that I want to have his back, or be sure that he wants to have mine? It's dangerous to make enemies in a town like this, we have too many real ones."

He glances at Perdita and then shakes his head. "And that makes no sense to me at all. Look at you. Anyone who looks at you and sees a man needs an appointment with an optometrist. I mean, for fuck's sake, woman, just, no. If someone looks at you and uses male pronouns, that's not a mistake."

"What he said," is Una's very immediate contribution. "Anyone who's doing that, that's someone you don't want to know anyway. But... I can see how it would be hard to trust, because all it takes is one asshole, and then how can you trust anyone else?" That she's cognisant of being in a position of privilege in having this knowledge is plain; that she's aware of her own personal privileges? Yeah, that's pretty clear too.

"So, ok. Trust is hard. Balancing knowing too much and not enough is hard... I mean, ok. Basically all of it is hard, but I think we established that. People, yay."

"If you know the guy who's supposed to have your back is an abusive asshole, you tell me at the next available opportunity." Perdita says, softly. "He won't need to be afraid of Cthulhu." Her jaw tightens, slightly. Definite history, there. "And I entirely agree, I'm un-fucking-clockable, serving full woman realness, but... before I got my ID... fixed... I'd have people look right at me and call me 'sir' or 'Mr. Leontes'." not that her name was Leontes at the time, but that's beside the point.

"Myes. I've forked a bloke in the fork with a fork before," Ravn murmurs and winks at Perdita. Then he nods. "Well, maybe there's a project for you, Una. Perdita's talked about setting up a domestic violence shelter here. And much as I'd like to help -- I'm not sure that a 6'3 bloke is what you want to have hanging around one of those. I know I'm not an abusive asshole, Perdita knows I'm not, but those women who might come in battered and beaten with a kid under one arm, carrying their belongings in a tote bag, they don't know it. It's something I'd like to help with from HOPE, but -- I don't think I should be directly involved."

Una straightens, distracted largely immediately by the prospect of something she personally can be of use with. "Oh," she says. "Yes-- yes that's something I could be involved in. I'm pretty non-threatening, on the whole. Plus I have the whole domestic arts under control, and who wouldn't be soothed by the smell of fresh cookies?" That's neither here nor there, of course, because more importantly: "I hate that things like that are necessary, but if they are, then yes... count me in."

The smile Perdita gives Ravn indicates that a good forking isn't enough. "I'm definitely wanting to get one going. I figure the 7th floor, because it's the one directly below the penthouse, get it set up with a security feature like my floor has, so it's not easily accessed from the ground floor... and don't advertise it except through word of mouth to charities and the like so abusers, men or women, can't easily find it." Because Dita's not dumb enough to think that only men are abusive. "I'll let you know once I've got things closer to complete. Right now I've got a few rooms gutted down to their studs, because the more I can do myself, the less costs I pay out."

"I'm happy to help with the paperwork and the legalese, and even some of the funding. But, maybe not so much with the hands-on work, or at least only with women who have been told who I am and have agreed to my getting involved. I don't know a lot about that kind of shelters but I have a firm impression that if some bloke's beaten the snot out of you and possibly your kids for a while, then maybe you don't need some other bloke sniffing around." Ravn upends that third cup of coffee and nods at Una. "Maybe you could be -- I don't know, our connection? We get people in trouble coming into HOPE every so often, could tell them to go with the nice lady to a quiet place."

Then he taps out a little rhythm on the table with his fingertips because there's one other thing he's pretty good at besides wearing black and riding a vintage motorcycle. "When you get it set up? Tell me, and I'll come tell you where some stalker would try to enter uninvited. I did do a bit of uninvited visiting here and there in my time."

"If I can help in any way--" it's a promise, from Una, and one she adds to with the way she nods so thoughtfully in response to Ravn's suggestion. "I can definitely do that."

She reaches for her own mug again. "He's clearly already pointed out the insufficiency of the lock on that door downstairs." Amused, this time. "As people don't say, but maybe should: the best security is a reformed thief."

A nod to Ravn, and a sliiiight smirk at Una, "Then this will be the most secure building in Gray Harbor, possibly on the west coast. I'm thinking motion sensor activated laser grids, just for the drama." Perdita tells Ravn, dark eyes sparkling with mischief now.

"Reformed is such a big word." Ravn grins slightly, lopsidedly. "But, yes. I don't want to be in trouble with the GHPD so I keep my nose clean, and for that matter, don't keep my past as a thief secret -- people trapped with me in a dream might need to know that yes, I can pick that lock or swipe those keys. It's a trust thing -- I trust my hands to behave when they know that everyone else knows."

He presses a gloved hand theatrically against his chest. "Would you do that for me? And Christmas is over! It'd be so much fun!"

Some people have weird ideas of fun.

"'Retired'?" suggests Una as an alternative, smirking. "Except as required?" She's not particularly looking for a response to that - and besides, the drama of motion sensor activated laser grids (say that three times fast) is more amusing again. "The gift that just keeps giving, it seems."

But, abruptly, she pushes her mug away, and begins to shift. "I do have things I need to do today, as lovely as this has been. Thank you for the coffee, the company-- and the hair, too. I'll leave you to plan Christmas-in-January, shall I?"

Dita eyerolls, hugely, at Ravn. "He's as retired as I am. We keep our skills sharp in case we need them, we're just... not actively stealing because there's not much worth stealing around here, honestly." When she's thanked for the hair, Perdita just shakes her head, "Burn it when you're done with it, please, but otherwise, no worries. The company has been wonderful, and I hope to see you soon. Ravn, give the lady a lift home," she 'orders' with a smile, "I need to go wake up my beau."