2022-01-01 - What You Want To Be Doing In 2022

New Years Eve, 2021. Ask your friendly neighbourhood folklorist and he will tell you of the Danish traditional belief that whatever you're doing when the sun gets up on January 1, is what you're going to be doing a whole lot of in the year that comes. Ravn doesn't actually believe it -- but it's a nice tradition all the same, and when the stars are shooting there's no taxes to pay for wishing on them, so this is what he plans to be doing: Sharing a bottle of decent alcohol with a friend and having a conversation that hopefully will not be so drunk at the time that he'll be spending the entire year with a hangover or talking stupid.

He likes having friends. Not enough that he's going out for one of the parties around town, but, enough that for once, he actually doesn't want to spend a holiday entirely on his own. Hey, he met people on Halloween too, he's making progress even if he's not quite at dress up and go make all the trouble yet. Give it another five years and he might actually start going to parties.

The Bauer Building has a great view of Gray Harbor from above. The Bayside penthouse might do better yet but, this will do. He rings the doorbell this time, though, because while he's certainly capable of letting himself in, ahem, tonight is a night of drunk people and bad decisions, and the last thing he wants anyone to think is that he's a crazy murderer or some thief taking advantage of the general chaos.

Parties, at least the kind in public with tons of people, aren't overly interesting Perdita at the moment, either. Sure, she has on a cute black dress that's just this side of modest, art deco inspired stockings, a beautiful gold necklace with a unicorn pendant, and her hair is in a cute updo, but with Perdita when isn't she wearing something cute?

She's in her bedroom when the buzzer announces Ravn downstairs, kneeling in front of her closet. Or, more precisely, in front of a small shrine, in her closet, a statue of a dark skinned woman with black hair and dark eyes, wearing a colorful dress and a fabric head covering, a properly scaled diklo, draped over the figure's hair. Fresh flowers wreath the figure. Dita finishes her prayer, "Nayisimos." with a little smile, pressing her fingers to her lips, then to the figure's cheek and closing her closet door.

She rises, moving to the living room so she can press the buzzer to let Ravn in. If it's not him? She'll drop an air conditioner on the intruder, dammit.

Unaware how close he came to being turned into roadkill under an air conditioner flying from the seventh floor, Ravn wanders into the building and gets on the elevator. He's got a tote bag with a couple of bottles and a headache (which is dwarfed by his wrist ache and his ankle and his what the fuck did Shawn do my hips ache). It doesn't take long before he's at the penthouse apartment door.

"I brought coke, vodka, and Kahlua," he informs his hostess. "Because at least to me, New Years Eve means a black Russian. Possibly more, but definitely one. I did see if I could find one for you too, but Safeway was out of Russians so you'll have to make do with the bottled kind like me."

The door is opened and Perdita greets Ravn with a smirk. "I hope to hell you mean Coca Cola, Ravn. I will get shitfaced with you, but if I do coke I will literally perform an extemporaneous medley of 'Defying Gravity' and 'Let It Go' off the roof and end up exploding with the fireworks." Yeah, so she may have tried it once as a teen. She was homeless for a hot minute, after all. Or maybe Eddie gave it to her, or maybe she just knows how it effects other people. She did grow up in a town full of bored rich kids, even if she wasn't one.

Still, she laughs. "After dealing with the Russian in Safeway last week I don't think I'm in the mood for any Russians, just yet." She gestures grandly for him to enter, stepping to one side so he properly can. Tsinyorri is curled up asleep in her bed once more, purring at far more decibels than something that small should. "Thanks for coming over, nobody should have to spend the New Year alone unless they want to, right?"

"Something along those lines. I don't know -- feels like maybe it's time to stop being a complete reclusive." The Dane shrugs out of his leather jacket and tosses it on over the back of a chair. He stretches and then shrugs before putting the tote bag on the table. "But yeah, Coca Cola, not cocaine. Nose candy's a pretty common pastime where I am from, but I don't like it. Too much loss of control and, well, too much bloody addiction. I'll just drink too much, like a good, law abiding conservative."

Why, hello armchair -- plop! -- he's in it. "I'm in a funk about it for some reason -- being on my own, I mean. It's usually what I prefer, but it feels -- I don't know, it's not really about New Years at all. More about, priorities. That talk with Una this morning, it really got my brain reeling off down some weird tracks. What about you? I kind of expected to see Mr Tall, Dark, and Lost in the Veil for a Year here."

"I mean, maybe if you play your cards right you'll still get Defying Gravity. Gotta put the broom to use somehow, and I think I still have my witch hat somewhere from the year I painted myself green for Halloween." Perdita says with a smirk, lifting the Coke out of the bag and moving to put it in the fridge, because who the hell wants to drink warm Coke?

"He's on a date with your neighbor, Gabriella. Watching movies." Perdita's tone is pleasant enough as she says it, but she doesn't sound happy about it, either. That girl really needs to stop lying to everyone all the time, including herself. "Bad timing for me, but good timing for us because it means the best grifters on the west coast get to get up to mischief together."

It's certainly not Ravn's place to tell people that their relationships are weird just because he knows full well he'd be struggling in one like it; open relationships aren't for everyone, and definitely not for people who acknowledge that they lean a tad towards jealousy.

Well, not quite, he corrects himself mentally. He'd not be jealous of people smashing bits together. He'd be jealous of feeling like he might not be his lover's first choice. Maybe he'd be cool if he was told from the start not to aspire above being the back-up plan; maybe not. It's all very complicated.

The vodka is Absolut, a good Finnish brand; the Kahlua is, well, Kahlua. He's brought a lemon as well. "I'm aware that having cola in your Black Russian is considered a baby's drink, but, I like it. And I feel like getting shitfaced enough to watch you croon your way through half a dozen Disney songs. But if you start out by telling me you're not interested, I'm gonna just upend this bottle and pass out -- not because I thought you were, but because I'm weirded out by how many people feel a need to open a conversation that way lately."

A drink cart is wheeled out of the corner, and Perdita sets out a pair of actual glasses, rather than cheap second hand mugs. "Hey, as long as it gets me feeling relaxed enough to enjoy sky-explosions and doesn't immediately destroy my liver, I'm down..."

She glances up as he declares her intent to get shitfaced if she tells him she's not interested, a wry smile on her lips. She moves to drape across the couch, artfully, leaving the drinks unpoured for the moment, tilting her head to regard him thoughtfully. "Of course I'm interested in you. You're intelligent, you're brave, you're funny, kind, an excellent dresser, and you're a better thief than me... even if I am the better grifter... though at least some of that is because men are easier to grift... So tell me, Ravn Abildgaard, what was your greatest theft?"

Ravn laughs; they both know very well that's not the kind of interested he meant, and that that was not the point either -- he's not entirely certain what the point is, but something about not getting perceived as someone who must be warned away within ten minutes of a conversation opening, maybe. "My very greatest theft? You have to remember -- I'm not the kind of grifter you are. You've pulled some pretty spectacular capers -- I never went for the high pay-out like that. But the very greatest? Myself. I managed to drop off the face of the planet so hard there was an Interpol warrant out for a while. You'd be surprised how much they're willing to look for a guy if that guy happens to get perceived as being the key to a family investment fund. What's yours?"

A thoughtful expression, and then a rare moment of truth. "Honestly? As much as I'd love to lie and say it was that tiara I lifted right out of the transphobic countess's house, or that time I stole Eddie's brand new Bugatti as petty revenge, but... it was me. I had an entire world telling me I had to be this murshikano Rrom-baro, this... big man. Like my Báte, or my oldest brother, Raph. Or to be machismo like my other brother, Dmi. Get married at nineteen, have a baby, get another girl pregnant at twenty, be a lady's man."

Perdita rolls her eyes, "Nobody's looking for me, now, because they'd never think to look for me, Perdita Euphemia Leontes, instead of mousy little Leander Kolompár." ... oops. As soon as the name is out, Perdita's expression freezes in that smile, very much like 'maybe he didn't notice'. Something suggests she's already been drinking, maybe.

Heard it, filed it away under 'things we never speak of again' -- and that, at least is a social skill well honed in the kind of world Ravn grew up in, too. The list of things we all know and never mention in a family like his? Well, there's this entry from 1180 at the top of the list that says, 'Don't remind King Valdemar of the time he fucked a cow while drunk.'

"I can relate to this," he says instead. "I did not change my name, and to the best of my knowledge, I'm actually still on Interpol's list of people we don't have anything on, but if they ever turn up connected to something, give us a call. Not because of anything I did -- but because of money. My fiancee's family has money, so does mine. Anyone who cares to know will know that the European banks -- well, a lot of them do a lot of dirty work for China, for Russia, for whoever. And a lot of the European money families are entirely on board with that. Mine? Not that I know of. Hers? Same. But it's still enough that when she turns up dead in a seemingly pointless accident -- there's going to be someone saying, 'Was that a warning? Does he owe somebody in Moscow money?'."

The Dane shakes his head and pours himself a vodka, straight, while the coke cools. "I hate that world so much, so very fucking much. So, other end of the spectrum, but the whole not living up to expectations. Yeah. I get it."

"Oh, we can find that out easy enough with a few phone calls, but only if you want." Perdita is equally happy to breeze over the fact that she just blurted out her entire deadname to someone who has never asked and never even wanted to know, as far as she can tell.

"Again, for the second time today: fuck the expectations society and our families place upon us. I'm putting a pot of coffee on, too. We've restocked our plain black coffee since this morning." Perdita rises easily, moving with the same easy grace she always does. "This is why most of my money is untouchable right now. What I didn't sink into this beautiful death trap, anyway." She runs a hand fondly over the old Formica countertops with their metal trim, setting up the coffee.

"I hate a lot of the world, especially that sphere. It's why I've never felt bad about stealing from it. Never so much that it'll actually be missed, but enough to prick, to poke, to remind the rich bastards that no one is untouchable. Which is why I want to rob Jeff Bezos someday." Perdita smirks, tilting her head as she glances up at Ravn through the pass-through.

"Speaking as one of those rich bastards, I can let you preen on the fact that it really does get noticed. The richer people are, the more they whine about having to spend money -- or losing it. Poor people share because that's how you survive -- you help each other. Rich people hoard because fuck everyone else." Ravn's opinion of his peers is perhaps not quite charitable.

A smirk. "Let me know if you get an angle on Bezos. I'd be up for that."

He stretches his legs and leans back. "But yeah, I agree. Fuck expectations. Maybe that's why we get along? Grew up in opposing ends of the scale but when push comes to shove, we actually do have a hell of a lot in common."

"I was thinking we start a hit show, get a couple seasons in, cancel it, and then when he's addicted, he buys the right and we charge a small fortune with tricky fine print." Dita says, clearly joking. The fresh pot is put on, and she moves to lean against the wall, smiling, a little sadly, before she moves to sit back down, a little more upright this time. She sighs and glances out at the dark sky, where before long there will be fireworks.

"Well, you spit the silver spoon out dove out the gilded tower, while I clawed my way up, and we met somewhere in the middle. And now... we witness Nazis murder people." Perdita says softly, her gaze going distant. The other night, she was able to hold it together because Isi needed her. Tonight, it seems, it's hitting a bit more. "I plugged my old phone in this afternoon. The one from before... this." she gestures up and down, indicating herself. "I haven't turned it on yet, I don't even know if it still works. But it's got all their old numbers on it."

"You kept your past life, in case you needed it again some day." Ravn nods and throws back the vodka because while he's not upset in particular about his past -- and probably not quite so traumatised by it, either, given he has not had to re-work his entire sense of who he is in the sense that a trans person has to -- it's still a touchy subject. "I did too. You tell yourself that it's better to toss it all, don't ever look back. And I thought about it, I did. Getting a new identity is just a matter of money thrown at the right people. But there's responsibility as well, and while I may be the most absent technically-executive-director of a considerably-sized family business, I still get a say in some important decisions. The board knows that there are things that would bring me back there. They won't be investing in child labour, arms trade -- a lot of the very lucrative prospects are simply off the table, because if I hear about it, I will shut it down, and they do know that."

He makes a face. And given that the vodka is good, it has to be the topic at hand that tastes bad. "It'd be so much easier to just sell it all off, throw the money at Medicine Sans Frontiers, and live my life right where I am. I don't draw much money out of the company for myself; everything I have in Gray Harbor I worked for and earned with my own labour -- and in Denmark, education is free, so I didn't get a head start over everyone else on that account. This backdoor lets me make sure that Abildgaard money goes to places that needs it, that HOPE has a very competent and highly loyal law firm on call, and so on. I'm still responsible for the people whose jobs and income depend on the company that has my name on it. You don't sell off or discontinue a large business holding without turning a lot of lives upside down." Ah, noblesse oblige, 21st century edition. With a smirk he adds, "Also, while I am by no means struggling financially, I am nowhere near the league of men like Jeff Bezos. Some of these billionaires are so far removed from humanity that you have to wonder if they're even human anymore."

The rest of the vodka goes down the hatch and Ravn stops himself from lecturing on his own moral choices; one could perhaps get the impression that he's kept some of that bottled up for a long time because very few people would be in a position to actually hear what he said, rather than just 'feel sorry for me, I'm a poor rich kid'. "And about the Nazis -- I feel like I should point out that those were Heer, regular army. The oberst who got shot, I don't feel any pity for -- he was probably career military going wherever high command sent him, but he made a choice to stay career military when Hitler took power. The kids in uniform though -- just drafted soldiers without much say in anything. They saw a bloke shoot their commanding officer, and did what they were supposed to do, would have been them up a wall next if they hadn't. That's one of the things that frighten me as a historian about Nazi Germany -- the very most of people there were not actually Nazis."

"Exactly. And... I think I need it. Or closure. I'm finally feeling strong enough that if they reject me now, I have people around to dull the impact of it. But we could have died the other night." Perdita rises, moves to pour herself a drink. "I don't know if any of them will want me around." she shakes her head and follows suit, tossing back the vodka like a cheap shot.

"It wasn't... A lot of American kids grow up with this idea that the Nazis were this evil, faceless monolith, mustache twirling villains, if they ever even think of them. My grandparents made sure we didn't think that way. A Nazi could be the son of the butcher you buy your sausage from, who always slipped you an extra couple links because he knew you had a baby on the way. That was what terrified me so much. Normal people, doing horrible things, because they were following orders so horrible things weren't done to them. And the man with the falcon cane, doing the right thing and dying for it because the butcher's son knew that if he didn't return fire he'd be in front of a firing squad. And not just him, maybe his family, too."

She isn't crying, but the expression on her face suggests that might be solely because she has such a tight rein on her emotions. "It hits differently when you actually see it happen in front of you." She swallows hard, looking down at the empty glass.

"Yes, it does." Ravn reaches for the bottle to refill his glass; he isn't intending to get shit-faced before the coke's cold enough to make a proper kiddy Black Russian but he doesn't object to some, ah, emotional damage control. "My country is still struggling with it, eighty years later. A lot of people collaborated -- and it's very easy to condemn them for it, and we did. But it's never that simple. A lot of Danes volunteered for the Waffen-SS for instance -- not because they agreed with Adolf Bloody Hitler, but because they thought Josef Stalin was even worse, and you have to pick the lesser evil. History even seems into indicate that on a scale of willingness to commit mass murder on your own people, they were right. Our government ordered us to collaborate -- and until 1943, we pretty much did. That wasn't something we wanted to admit in 1945, or ever after -- and we definitely don't want to talk about the camps for German refugees in '46 and '47, and how we treated people in them."

He shakes his head. "I know all that as a historian and as a Dane, of course. But I never felt it affected me personally the way I do now. It's hard to not feel -- that at least part of the funds I have are fucking blood money. And that guy, the hawk cane guy -- I would have heard of it. I think? I should have heard of it. Let me tell you about that time during the Occupation -- he'd be remembered as a hero. So why haven't I?"

"Because it wasn't real. Or it wasn't real in our reality. It's Them picking a scenario that would hit all of us. Your childhood home. The group who slaughtered my people. Guns, violence in general, for Isi. They did a damn good job." Perdita states, shaking her head.

"You're doing good things with the money now, right? Helping people? Refusing to compound the blood money. We can't changed what happened back then, but we can change how we live in the here and now. You can keep doing charitable works. I can... remind people that the Pharrajimos happened, and that it could have wiped out the Romani people, that it did set back research for Queer people, and Queer acceptance. They tried to show us what we're afraid of, but for me, it just made me want to remind the world what we can overcome if we work together."

The Dane looks up and then, slowly, smiles. "See, that's what usually happens to me, here. Whatever the Veil does, it just makes me want to go right on fighting back. Because together, we can do amazing things, and apart none of us can do very much about it all but fall apart and eventually, get Lost or die."

He looks at his glass, and swirls the colour-less contents within. "I'm not a philanthropist. I mean, I'm not George Soros, engaging in humanitarian work all over, influencing politics, and making speeches. I just want my family business to uphold certain standards, keep people employed, pay them decent wages for their work, and otherwise leave me out of things. And I am in a position to at least guarantee that the Veil won't be shutting down HOPE and the people who needs it because we can't afford proper legal aid. That's something."

The Dane sighs. "And sometimes it feels... like it's nothing. Sometimes, we get hit where it really hurts, anyway. And a lot of the time, it's small, ridiculous things, too -- not even the main narrative. I came out of that dream feeling -- like that's all I am, some rich kid playing pretend, fucking with other people's lives, trying to turn myself into a victim when I've got tons of privilege. It's not a good feeling."

"The thing about privilege? It doesn't mean you don't have problems. It just means that your problems are less likely to be because of things that are entirely out of your control. Hell, I have a degree of privilege. I'm loaded. Or I was before I bought this beautiful beast of a building, anyway, I shudder to think what I paid for this, between the actual cost and the service fees and..." she waves one hand easily.

"My point is that it's not all you are. And you're not turning yourself into a victim, you're putting yourself on the front lines of a war you could walk away from, because if not you, then who? I'm no heroine. I don't see anybody else leading a charge quite like you are, right now. And that's why you're not doing it alone. You've made me open up and start caring about people again... which sucks, by the way, but... in a good way."

Ravn's lip twitches. "Yeah, it does, doesn't it? It's so much bloody easier to just mind your own business. I was fine, living like that. Transient, no one mattered to me, I didn't matter to anyone. Every now and then, a couple of emails from home to answer -- a business proposal to do nothing about unless for some reason I had objections or questions. Essays to grade and return, but no human contact. It was a lot easier. Giving up that lack of freedom does suck."

He raises his glass. "Neither of us are heroes. We're just at a point in our lives where we're done being told to be victims. Where we stand up and say, actually, no, I'm just going to be a decent human being, and you all can fuck off with your guilt, and your prejudice, and your bigotry, and your manipulations."

Perdita refills her glass enough to have something to sip, but she seems to know not to go too crazy all at once, at least... plus the soda needs to hurry up and cool down already. "Ugh, I don't want to be a decent human being, I want to be evil, like the Eartha Kitt song." Still, she's smirking at that, raising her glass to Ravn, inclining it slightly, "Siyas!" and then she sips rather than chugs it.

"I just want -- simple things. To live a life where the neighbours know my name and when I go to a bar the bartender knows what my drink is. And if I'm all optimistic about my future, maybe some day meeting someone who wants to wake up next to me in the morning. Don't really think that's asking for too damn much." Ravn shakes his head and looks at his glass; the next one is going to be a Black Russian no matter what the temperature of the cola.

Then he chuckles. "I've had the weirdest thing happen to me lately. For some weird-ass reason, people keep telling me their orientation like they want to be sure I don't get ideas. Seriously, do I come across to you as a guy who talks to women only because I figure that if I get enough Nice Guy points, they'll roll over and spread 'em?"

"... Are you quoting the Cheers theme at me? Pápo used to love that show, and I swear you just quoted it at me." Perdita teases, smiling. She reaches out, resting her hand, not on him, but on the bottle of vodka near him. Do not touch, even if your comfort-language is touch. "It's not too much."

"... Ravn, if you struck me as a Nice Guy, you wouldn't be in my apartment right now getting me liquored up. I trust you. Besides. I have offered more than once, and you've either been oblivious or politely declined. So either you're secretly trans exclusionary, the worst incel ever, or all incels are idiots who can't read when a girl is actually into the- you know that might be part of it. They're loser nerds, and so girls are never into them, but when a girl actually shows interest they don't understand it." Perdita tilts her head, looking thoughtful now.

"I know I'm bloody not a Nice Guy." Ravn upends the vodka -- gotta make room for that cola, after all. "But I don't have any control over how people perceive me, when I'm not playing a role. I mean, this is the real me -- and for all I know, the real me is some guy who make women feel they should make sure to tell him they're lesbian or ace. Not that there's anything wrong with being either, you know that's not the issue -- it just makes me wonder what I do that might make them feel like it's important to get on record."

He shrugs. "I did -- sniff at all that. For a bit, when I was younger. Read Molyneux, Jordan. But, I can read -- it's so very obviously all a scam designed to convince young men that their bone structure is the problem, but buy these books and channel your rage. It's a grift, and a very successful one, unfortunately. So, no, I'm not an incel either, at least not in the meaning of hateful asshole who blames women for everything."

"You never struck me as one, so maybe you've just had a string of girls who had bad luck with guys like that?" Perdita offers, "It's... not hard for me to believe that you'd run into more than one woman in a short period whose normal experience with men is that they hit on her, hard, and either don't take no for an answer or only take no for an answer if she's got a boyfriend, a girlfriend or literally would rather watch paint dry than have sex. Queer women, especially." she shrugs slightly.

"I've literally never met a woman who wasn't interested in a man because his wrists were a millimeter too thin, but I've had the displeasure of meeting men who thought the reason I wasn't into them was a millimeter of bone, instead of the complete lack of respect for 'Femoids'."

"I've met plenty of those men. And with a face like mine combined with a reputation for not being into girls, well -- the math is not hard to do. I do know what that's like, and I don't enjoy it, either." Ravn shakes his head and toys with his glass. "That's what annoys me about it, when it happens. I don't hit on people -- any gender. And I don't like having to ask myself, do I want to offer to help this person who obviously needs help -- or is she just going to think I'm adding to her problems? I want to approach people as people -- what's in their pants and whether it's hypothetically available is not really an issue to me. When they do this -- they make me feel as someone who has no respect for femoids, yes. And with all due respect, I do think that's a little unfair."

He chuckles and gets up, perhaps to go look for that cola, cold or not. "And yes, the idea that anyone's sexual market value depends on their wrist or their cheekbones is ridiculous. Every other person I meet, male or female, comments on mine, and as you've probably observed I'm not exactly being chased around town by women who can't control their urge to breed at the sight of me. I actually didn't realise you'd offered, mind. I am that bad at picking it up -- Rosencrantz's always ribbing me about it."

"You do look like you'd have run in my crowd, turning tricks, back in the day." Perdita admits. "You might have even outearned me." She raises an eyebrow ever so briefly, teasing. The cola is in the freezer, along with several pints of various types of ice cream, various frozen veggies, and a couple of those 'green goddess' type smoothie mixes that honestly look vile but proclaim health benefits.

"You do kind of come across as a Touch Me Not, though, to borrow a term from the lesbian community. In your case, it's because you literally have to be... and for what it's worth, the offer still stands." she quirks her head, smirking.

"I'll think about it," Ravn says over his shoulder, smiling. "If for nothing else, than because you just bloody well ask me outright. Doesn't help that I'm chronically shy, inexperienced, and pretty clueless about a lot of things, but hey, you also knew all of those. It's all fucking complicated from where I sit, if you'll forgive the worst pun of the century."

Cola, finally. It goes in with Kahlua, ample amounts of vodka, and lemon, producing a sharp, dark, chocolatey affair with bite. "It wasn't so unusual for people to think I was a sex worker, when I was a kid running away from home regularly," he muses. "And to be honest? I think the only reason I never did was the neuropathy. It would have been -- less humiliating than having to go home eventually because I was out of money, or getting picked up again by CPS -- or the police."

A low groan at the pun, but Perdita grins all the same, "Inexperience isn't a bad thing if you're attentive, kind, and generous with your lover. Put their pleasure just a bit ahead of your own, and if they're doing the same thing, you'll have an amazing time. It's not that different from a good grift. You find out what they want and then you offer it to them, so you can get what you want."

"A sex worker dealing with neuropathy sounds like something you'd see as a network television show, not gonna lie. And... it's only humiliating if you or the other person feel humiliated. I've had terrible experiences, but I've had wonderful ones, too. It all depends on your mindset and the client's, and what you both want out of it."

Ravn slides one dark, syrupy drink over and keeps the other while settling back down. "I've got no quarrel with sex work. Am not cut out for it with a condition like mine and a self esteem like mine, but I'm also not cut out to be a professional wrestler or a coal miner, and there's nothing wrong with those either. "Except fossil fuels are bad, something, something. "It's as anything else -- if everyone involved wants to be there, all's good. The humiliation, for me, was having to tell some CPS officer or policeman my name and watch them call my mum. Asking me first if you're supposed to call a countess Your Grace or something. It was fucking awful."

He stretches long legs and crosses them at the ankles. "I don't really do -- hook-ups. It's not a morals thing. More that it complicates everything. And it's very -- intimate, in the way that I have to let someone genuinely close to me, physically and emotionally. I have an absolutely disastrous success rate with that sort of thing."

The drink is accepted with a smile, a slight raise of it toward Ravn in thanks, and then she takes a sip, looking pleasantly surprised. "Oh, this is pretty damn good." she admits, brows raising slightly.

"That's why I had a list of aliases. The few times I got picked up and couldn't... work something out with the cop... I made up a name." Perdita smiles fondly, thinking back on some of the names she's used. But... no wonder she doesn't trust cops. She knows how many are dirty.

"I'm the opposite. Hook ups are easy... it's emotional entanglement I have a problem with." Her smile fades, and she looks down into her drink, then outside. "Fireworks should be starting soon."

"Let's go out and get the deck chairs ready before we finish our drinks, then." Ravn stands up -- because he knows all about getting comfortable and then downing a drink or three too many, and suddenly the whole idea of moving seems vastly overrated. He often finds himself asleep still clothed with his book on his face and a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the night stand. He doesn't want to talk about it.

"I'm not sure I would want it to be easy -- even if I didn't have this touch issue." He shakes his head. "It's hard to explain. Maybe the best angle to explain it from is, I want to care, and I want to feel that the other person cares. And I have -- convinced myself a handful of times that it could be so, and it hasn't turned out to be true. It hasn't always been awful -- but whatever the reason you're left behind, you're still left behind. And then of course there's the whole poor rich kid deal on top -- because conceited as it sounds, there are in fact a hell of a lot of women who will go for anyone if they think they can turn him into an ATM."

"That... sounds like a pretty good idea. Because in two or three more drinks, I'll be on the floor... white girl wasted, probably." Perdita laughs, slips off her heels because she knows it's a bad idea at this point to walk in them, even for her. "I'll get some blankets, it's gonna be cold, even with a fire. One of the darkest nights of the year and all." she rises, still moving with that easy grace, and grabs thick blankets from the couch, slipping on a pair of fluffy black house slippers with red faux fur trim that probably go with the dressing gown she was wearing this afternoon.

"Sometimes the other person cares, but isn't good at caring. Feelings are hard... turning men into an ATM is easy." Because Perdita? Has done exactly that.

Ravn extends an arm for blankets. "Got no quarrel with the idea when it's an honest trade. You want shiny things, I want sex -- everyone wins. I have a big issue with it when someone is trying very hard to be my friend -- only, what they're after is what they can get from me. I still feel that way around Gabriella, for instance, and she doesn't even know that there's money to fish at, as far as I am aware. It's just not a good feeling, it makes me feel like I am being turned into one of those Nice Guys without getting any say in the matter."

The blankets are passed over, carefully, and then Perdita pulls on one of those ridiculous faux fur coats, stepping out into the cold night with a little gasp at the cold in the air. Higher up from the ground, with less to protect from the wind, it's even colder now.

"Yeah... I can't say I'm happy about Garrett's choice in dates after what you said earlier..." Or, maybe, with anyone. But she's not quite drunk enough to admit that just yet. Out on the veranda, she sets about starting the fire, this side of the building mostly protected from the wind, though not the cold. "Next winter I'm setting up a freaking heated greenhouse." she jokes. Or maybe it isn't a joke.

"Why not? It's the perfect spot for one of those orangeries that my mother impressed her friends with. Basically a heated greenhouse but instead of fruits and vegetables you drink wine and talk about how rural you are, and how much you like what the gardener is doing with the rhododendrons." Ravn smirks. "The idea's sound though -- an outdoors glass room from which to watch the sky without freezing your arse off."

Then he shakes his head. "Don't let my impression of somebody sour things. I'm great at reading people for a grift -- and equally horrible at it when it's about me, myself. All I can say is, I felt like I was the mark. That I should make sure to not give her anything to latch on to in that way. She's not the first woman to tell me that she has a facade that keeps most people at a distance, and that she sets people up a bit to see what they're really made from, before she lets them close to her. It's not a bad idea to do, anyhow, because the world is full of shitty people. For all I know, I'm just being my usual reclusive, paranoid self who runs at the first sight of affection from anyone."

"That's... actually not a bad idea. Maybe I could actually grow veggies, too. Something to take to the HOPE Center. My bibi used to grow zucchini and she'd always have about ten times what she wanted because it apparently just goes wild." A slight shrug and Perdita smiles, fondly, at Ravn. She's getting to like the idea of being 'trapped' here, it seems.

"Except you're not the only one who feels that way. When I met her I told Ruiz I was looking at my mirror universe self. They always say that if you met yourself, you wouldn't like them... and while I don't dislike her, I trust her about as far as I can physically throw her tiny blond self."

"You bring in food, we'll certainly find someone who wants to eat it. It's not so bad this time of year, but in summer? Boardwalk crawls with homeless people and stranded tourists and kids run away from home for the season." Ravn arranges blankets. "A lot of the homeless people trek south in winter -- fortunately, I should say, because the Veil draws a lot of them here, far more than is proportional for a town this size. There are things that lures them here, to feed on them. Denny's not being paranoid about the bloody mermaids, I've seen them."

He sits down, holding the shot glass between two gloved fingers in order to not warm its contents with his own body heat. "I don't trust a lot of people. I am friendly with many people, but when it comes to trust -- I'm very bad at trust. It's not that I think everyone is out to hurt me. It's that I'm afraid they'll find out who I am -- that I'm just this guy who prefers the company of cats and books because he doesn't understand people. I resent that feeling because I do in fact realise that I have shitloads of privilege. I have a lot of things that people think will fix their lives if only they could have it -- whether it's skin colour, or money, or cheekbones, or education, or whatever. And none of it fixes my life."

"Man, tis the season to ruin all my childhood dreams. Next you're going to tell me there's unicorns out there," she gestures toward the Firefly Forest, "goring unwary travelers left and right." Perdita also sits, curling up easily into her chair, pulling the blanket around her until only her face is visible. Which makes one wonder why she wore such a cute outfit when she basically looks like she's wrapped in a snuggie now.

"I like you because you prefer the company of cats and books. I've been told more than once that I'm basically a cat. And while I don't read much these days, reading helped me survive the high school I did go through."

" I hope you know you can actually trust me, Ravn, and that I trust you."

Ravn smirks and sips his drink -- savouring the taste now, because a Black Russian is delicious. "There are unicorns -- Rosencrantz is one in the mind scape, did you know? Gorgeous black thing with white dapples on his butt. And I am a cat. Though I seem to be unable to decide which cat -- sometimes I'm a pampered, useless pedigree Siamese, and sometimes I'm a rag-eared, black alley cat. I guess it depends on what I am more of in the moment -- my mother's inbred pet, or a transient drifter who needs no one."

Then he looks up and nods. "You may observe that you propositioned me ten minutes ago, and yet there's not a Ravn shaped hole in your wall. That's what I usually do, when the penny does drop, you realise? I find an excuse to leave. And I don't go back. I thought I was -- coming around to maybe dealing with emotions like an adult, with Hyacinth. Turns out I wasn't. So yes, I trust you a great deal."

There's a snort of laughter at the mention of Itzhak having a dappled butt. "I don't think you're ether of those, personally... though the alley cat sounds closer to the Ravn I know than the Siamese."

"How much of that is because it's hard to leave a Ravn shaped hole in a wall when most of the walls lead to a sheer 7 floor drop to the ground?" Perdita asks with a smirk.

A few seconds later, the first firework explodes in the distance, faintly rattling the windows. She turns her attention out toward the fireworks and the bay, smiling softly. "Well, here's to learning to deal with emotions like an adult. By getting shitfaced and pretending everything is fine."

Ravn raises his glass to the explosion of fire and colour on the inky sky. "Here's to pretending you need nothing and no one so hard that you convince even yourself. Protip: It doesn't work."

Fireworks appear like flowers of fire that bloom for sparkly seconds and then fade into nothing. "And here's to hoping that the next year will be a little kinder. It's traditional to jump off something at the midnight stroke where I'm from -- you leap into the New Year, and you make a wish. I think I want to wish for getting to a place where I'm not afraid to be found out. Because there's nothing about me that is so horrible, except to my own mind."

"No, it really doesn't, does it?" Perdita says, very softly, her dark eyes shining bright as she watches the fireworks.

"... Ravn we're on a rooftop, if you try to jump off at the stroke of midnight I will catch you, and you will have to strip naked before you're allowed to fall to your death." she knows he didn't mean like that, though. Phone out, now, she smiles. "We've got about two minutes... and I'm just drunk enough to try something."

She's on her feet and back into the apartment, and then she's rushing back out, shutting the door forcefully before Tsinyorri can escape... and then she's on the broom... and the broom is in the air, floating with her on it, side saddle but looking secure, a look of concentration on her face.

The grin on Ravn's face at that is pretty damn wide; he finds the idea to be hilarious. "I'd take a picture if the Veil wouldn't drop my phone from the seventh floor before it let me have evidence like that."

He fingers his chin and looks impressed all the same; it's no small feat compared the small tricks that he himself knows himself capable of -- moving coins and hazelnuts, floating teaspoons. "It's traditional to jump off a chair -- not a building. That said, with another of these in me, maybe I shouldn't start jumping off anything lest I end up playing polar bear rug on your floor."

The broom lifts higher, moving faster, though she's not moving much faster than a walk. "You can always stay the night here. My bed is massive and incredibly comfortable..."

And suddenly Perdita's moving a lot faster, lifting suddenly with enough height to clear the railing, her grip on the broom tight but the smile on her face wild and free. Remembering her joke about singing, Perdita belts out a strong, clear note as she lifts straight up into the air, which fades into a shriek of delight as she dares a single loop, before she sinks slowly back toward the rooftop, laughing.

"Oh, Devláika... I've got to get stronger so we can both do that, Ravn..." she's breathing fast as her feet touch back down, looking excited now.

The Dane sticks his free hand in his jeans pocket and holds his drink in the other, watching and laughing. "If we keep this pace, I may have to accept that offer because I may get too sozzled to even find my way downstairs for an Uber." Did the vague innuendo go over his head? Probably. Some people need an instruction manual, with bullet lists and pictures.

"You are having entirely more fun than is legal in the state of Washington without a business permit, I'm sure." The smile doesn't diminish; Ravn likes to watch his friends snatch moments of happiness. "And if you stay here long enough, I'm sure you will. Everyone tells me that -- you stick around, your powers will start to come in for real. Except, apparently, mine."

Not counting flukes with chocolate bars. Might just have been spontaneous chocolate combustion.

More laughter from Perdita. People are going to start telling stories about a banshee shrieking across the night sky if she's doing flights like that regularly. "Hey. I saw you make all those chocolate bars explode." Perdita tells him, leaning the broom up against the side of the building before she sits back down, "Do not operate a vehicle, even a chudáta's broom, while over the legal limit." she tells him with a laugh, taking another sip of her drink, wrapping back up in her blanket.

"I am going to have a massive hang over in the morning, but this tastes delicious."

"I have no explanation for that," Ravn returns, laughing. "I have never seen that happen before. I was just gonna throw one at his head to distract him, then the whole damn thing explodes like a chocolate fountain -- what gives?"

Hangovers, though -- hello darkness, my old friend. There are times the idea dawns on Ravn that waking up without that taste of dead gerbil in his mouth might be normal. For him, well. He drinks too much. He knows it. He doesn't really have any plans to do a lot about it -- after all, 'too much' comes on a scale, and he's hardly in the deep end. Might resolve to maybe drink a bit more tea instead, this year. Might even keep the resolution, depending on what life and the Veil throws at him, and how hard.

"If there's one thing I want in the new year," he murmurs and looks at a star -- Spica, as it happens, not that he'd recognise it by name -- "it will be easier relations for everyone all around. No complications. And for me, getting better at saying no."

"Growth spurt, maybe?" Perdita offers as a possible explanation. "Maybe you're about to get a boost. Or, like, the power to freeze time, like in Charmed." Perdita offers, before shrugging slightly. Yeah, she was a nerdy kid, she knows. But there were four Charmed Ones and she had three siblings, sue her.

"And if someone around you cannot take no for an answer, stop letting them be around you... or find me and I'll make sure they learn to take no for an answer, hakyares so phenav?" Perdita takes another drink, smiling at Ravn like she didn't just forget not everyone speaks Kalderash... or more likely that she doesn't care if he does or doesn't at the moment.

"Mm, maybe. Might be I should experiment a bit, sometime, see if I can lift more." Ravn nods. The thought that his power might actually grow is not something he considers to be a genuine risk -- or promise -- but testing it can't exactly hurt, either.

"I don't mean say no in the -- coming on to me sense," he murmurs. "That's not usually a problem. People don't actually proposition me a lot in that way. I meant more about -- I see people who are hurting and in need of help, and I find it very hard to walk away. And I need to learn to do that. Not because one should walk away from people in need, but because sometimes, those people don't want help. They will tell you that they do -- but what they actually want is someone to take out their emotional garbage. They won't be there when you're the one who needs help. A number of them actually seem to just enjoy establishing who's boss. And I am working on getting better at what I used to be good at -- not caring. I need to find a balance where I care, but only if people show me that they actually, genuinely want to be cared for."

"Just do it smart, because... you know." she gestures vaguely, then makes the fig sign, warding off evil, "Them." Not that They aren't watching Ravn anyway, just as much as They watch anyone.

"You're your own boss. Well. Kitty is your boss, but she doesn't micromanage. And... it's okay to care and want to help, but not give that help because you know it will only hurt you, or them, in the long term. You're allowed to walk away. You know that, but hearing it out loud..." Dita shrugs just a little, leaning back in her seat, finishing off her drink now. "You cannot pour from an empty cup."

"And you can't save everyone. There are a lot of people in this town who genuinely need help and are happy to take it. And a number of us shiny lot who choke on our pride and don't want to admit that we're not on top of the world, just because we're under constant barrage from things that feed on making us suffer." Ravn upends the shot; that means there's room for another, right?

Then he chuckles. "But yes. You're right. And hearing it out loud does matter, so let me say the same to you. I love the idea of building a domestic violence shelter here -- but you will also meet people who will take everything you give them, and then complain it's not what they wanted. And you're permitted, too, to tell them to get over their bloody selves or get out."

"I feel very attacked." Perdita tells Ravn, smirking, before holding up her glass. "I also feel like we need more Black Russians." she admits. Keeping up with Ravn is going to kick her ass tomorrow.

"I'm going to check into other shelters and see what sort of rules they have, what rules they enforce, and what I agree with... and then I'm going to make sure I put someone smart and compassionate but someone who isn't easily manipulated and doesn't take bullshit in charge of the day to days, and I'll remain on site as back up and... muscle." she snorts, shaking her head slightly. "If my Báte could hear me now."

"Someone who's been through that grinder themselves." Ravn nods. "And allow me to suggest, that that someone presents female as well. We're still accustomed to think of men as abusers -- and most abusers still are. Ideally? Some thirty to forty year old woman as tall as me, half a time wider, with a crew cut and combat boots, and no patience whatsoever for guys going 'but we could try one more time, baby, I won't hurt you again'."

He looks for a moment as if there's something else he wants to say. Then he shakes his head as if at himself, and gets up. Bartender enough to go refill those glasses; and just be glad he decided to make the toddler versions with cola, because a proper Black Russian is supposed to be all vodka and Kahlua.

"So you want me to go to a lesbian biker bar, Ravn. Just say you want to go to a lesbian biker bar with me to find a female version of Everett Woods to be my bouncer." Perdita's grinning, though, before watching Ravn make their refills. Leaning back into her seat, she smiles up at the fireworks still going off. It's not how she planned to spend NYE, but plans are subject to change, and this clearly is fun for her, too.

Ravn cants his head as he adds lemon to the drinks. "You know, that pretty much sums it up. Girl Woods. If you want something, leave a message, your abused girlfriend will call you if she wants to talk. Want to walk out yourself, or will you require an ambulance?"

He walks back out and stands next to Perdita's chair, handing her the shotglass. "Will you be taking in men as well? As you said, women can be abusers. Sometimes -- very subtly so."

The glass is accepted, and Perdita nods. "Ideally we won't need it, because the location will be need to know... but I know that these things always get out eventually." She takes a sip, now, content to slow down. "Men, too. When I was first with Eddie, if I'd had somewhere to go that would have taken me as a trans woman early in her transition, my life might have been very different. But there wasn't, so I stayed."

Ravn nods slightly. "I was never abused -- like that. But there were times during my engagement I wished very much I had someone to ask what exactly constitutes abuse. I won't be the only bloke to feel that way, so -- good. It's a fine line sometimes -- where does bitch end and abuser begin? When there's a visit to the ER?"

"I wish I had an answer for that. But what I do have is space so that when someone feels it's bad enough, they've got a place to go until they can sort things out, get their documents in order, get things done properly..." Perdita shrugs slightly. "I just wish it didn't have to get 'bad enough' and that more people would get out once it was 'bad'."

"One of the things I am hoping to sometime find for HOPE is someone with enough experience as a counsellor or therapist to set up some kind of helpline or at least email-for-advice." Ravn settles in his chair again, and twirls the shot glass between dexterous fingers. "I think that there are a lot of people out there -- men, women, children, any age and gender -- who don't know where exactly the line is. I know I didn't -- and when I look back now, years later, well, there are more forms of abuse than just punching someone in the face. It would be good, maybe, if we can help some people leave toxic relationships before they become violent."

"That would be an amazing idea." Perdita says softly, watching as the last of the fireworks go off in the sky, the big finale for the night... though there will probably still be people shooting off fireworks for hours yet to come.

"I'm honestly still not sure, and I've lived it. I only know what I don't like, and what I won't tolerate, and I guess that has to be enough for the individual, right? The knowledge that we're allowed to set boundaries and aren't monsters for enforcing them."

"Maybe that's the kind of advice we need people to feel they have a place to get. A number they can call when their gut tells them boundaries were ignored -- someone who will say, yes, it's fucking okay to pack his stuff and tell him to get a hotel room. Whatever it was he did that has you in tears, you don't have to take that from anyone." Ravn watches a particularly bright explosion; one of those where a thousand shooting stars fall slowly down like embers, winking out and in and finally, out.

He crosses his legs at the ankles. "And you will need help. Because if there's one thing HOPE has taught me it's that hope attracts things from the other side. It's like moths to fire -- they want to snuff it out. Isi's not wrong when she's always telling people that sticking around me is dangerous because I attract weird shit."

"Well... I've got Garrett... most nights." Dita amends, her expression souring just slightly at that. "But a bad ass living one floor down certainly wouldn't hurt, either. Especially right next to the elevators." She smiles at the fireworks winding down, "Not a bad show."

"That's the second time you've alluded to some kind of trouble in paradise," Ravn says quietly. "Do you want to talk about it? I don't want to pry into things that are none of my business but I did wonder -- well, why his tall, dark and time lost self is out with someone else on New Years. Figured that might just be me being oldschool, though."

"I thought I'd be okay with it." Perdita admits, then shrugs slightly. "But I'm having feelings, and I don't like them. Maybe it's just because it's the New Year and I'm putting too much pressure on something pretty damn new. But I haven't had someone share my bed for more than a few nights in years... and he's barely slept in his bed since he arrived." She pulls her knees up to her chest, what little modesty she might have protected by the blankets. "Oxytocin is a hell of a drug."

"Yeah, it is." Ravn looks up at the stars, no longer blocked out by the shimmering lights of fireworks. "I stayed in a toxic as hell relationship for far too long -- because I'd grown used to the idea that being alone might somehow be worse. You make bad decisions when you convince yourself that you're in love. You should talk to him about it -- now, not in a couple of weeks or months when things surely have worked themselves out. Find out what you want, tell him what it is, open negotiations."

"I'm not. I don't fall in love. Not anymore." Even as she says it, with a slight defensive sharpness, she knows she's lying. And it doesn't even have the grace to be a convincing lie. The cat, who's staring at her from the kitchen window, knows she's lying.

"I've just... ugh. I want him to be happy. What good am I if I can't give someone what they want?" Perdita asks, staring into the fire. "Why the hell did feelings have to go and complicate great sex?"

Ravn can't resist a small laugh. "Tell him, and get it on the table. Not that anyone should take love advice from me. I've never told anyone I had feelings for them, and I probably never will. For Benedikte and Hyacinth alike, I waited for them to tell me. But I'm not like most people in this regard; I value having friends so much more than getting to sleep with someone I care for, and having that talk will complicate a friendship. But unless you want your dating life to be 'crazy cat lady' when you're in your thirties too, listen to what I say and not to what I do."

"'Crazy cat lady who slept with half the town, and found them terribly pedestrian'." Perdita corrects with a little shrug, smiling wryly.

"I'm not dumb enough to think he's my one and only forever. I don't think I believe in that. But I hate myself for letting any man have that kind of power over me. And for worrying that some amateur bleach blonde gazhi wannabe grifter is going to steal him. He's not property, he can't be stolen, and I'm not Dolly Parton." she downs the shot, then sighs. "Okay. No more of that for me, or I'm kneewalking and asking you if you can help me find my friend Ravn."

"You can't steal a man who doesn't want to be stolen -- but a man can be literal minded and assume that when he's been told that you don't mind him straying, you actually won't mind. So do yourself and him both the favour of telling him if that changes -- and it sounds like it has. You need to be honest with him, and with yourself -- and if you can't do that, then do you both the favour of breaking it up before either of you gets really hurt." Ravn lingers over his drink; maybe he's not intending to have another couple of them, either.

"Besides, crazy cat lady who slept with half the town and didn't find what she was looking for, or crazy cat lady who sleeps with no one because he's afraid it all gets emotional at some point, it's still crazy cat lady."

"I know. I just... ugh. I hate it. I hate being jealous. I believe in women lifting up women, that people shouldn't be treated like property. And... maybe if it was another trans woman, or someone I felt like I could trust but... I don't know." Perdita groans, draping backward into the chair.

"Well, if we end up crazy cat ladies, we'll be crazy cat ladies together. I bet Kitty would love the views from up here and would be smart enough not to yeet herself off the ledge." Dita turns, looking back toward the apartment. "Everybody knows the cat with the highest perch wins."

"Lifting up each other and not treating people like property is not the same as letting yourself be walked all over," Ravn points out. "You're allowed to want something, and to not want to share it because you don't want to play with the third person in the equation. What you're not allowed to do is demand that Garrett sees only you -- you can suggest it, and then he can make his decision according to what's more important to him. That's how adulting works, not that most people do it very well."

He looks up at the sky again and smiles a little, lopsided; maybe he too realises the irony of Ravn Abildgaard, advisor on all things romantical. "I believe that part of lifting each other up is being honest with each other. You wouldn't allow any kind of crap from someone just because they're female -- and nor should you. That's white knight thinking -- Nice Guy thinking, even: I'll take whatever she dishes, because then she'll put out later."

"I'll talk to him. About my..." the disdain in her voice is audible, "feelings and insecurities. Since he's my boyfriend and all." Ravn isn't the only one who's struggling with letting people close, it seems. "He's a good man. If he can't handle that, I'll still be happy to have him as my friend. I... just hope he can handle it." she admits, resting her head against the back of the deck chair.

"Listen to you. Dishing out the great advice for everyone but yourself."

"I know my limitations. I watch social dynamics because it helps me understand people, that's what makes me a half decent grifter. I also know that the hardest patient to heal is the doctor himself." Ravn smiles a little, still. "I can't sort my own shit. Or rather, I can, but most people will still tell me that the way I sorted it is wrong because everyone deserves happiness, and there's someone out there for you too, and just be more open minded and romance will find you -- and no offence to the romantically inclined, but that's bull. There's a feminist saying from the seventies I'm fond of -- if you want to find that damn prince, you got to kiss a hell of a lot of frogs. And I don't have the stamina or the resilience to move into the duck pond."

"Romance will find you because you meet someone you click with and understand, and build a relationship of mutual trust, a love of good books and whisky." Perdita points out. "But if it doesn't, that's fine too, because even though you're deserving of love in my opinion, not everyone needs it to be happy. And it's easier when you're surrounded with amazing friends. Like me! And Itzhak. And, of course, Kitty and Lola."

"Like I'm fond of saying -- if anyone spots my special someone, give her my number." Ravn grins and upends his shot. "I'm not averse to the idea. I'm just not looking because looking to me never meant anything but crushing on women only to realise that their interests lie elsewhere, or that they were in fact interested but I was so slow in noticing that they gave up and went with someone else. Of the two women I did in fact catch, somehow? One was jealous to the point of deranged, and the other -- well, she has no time."

He ponders and toys with the glass. "Maybe that's part of why you need to talk to your man pretty much now instead of next month when it has in fact not all solved itself. It hurts to realise that you were not priority one. Don't put yourself there -- if you aren't, then let him get that on the table right away so you can deal with it and make your choices accordingly."

"I will definitely let you know if I spot any gorgeous or interesting women that I think you need to know... and I'm always happy to play wing woman, whether it's for a legitimate interest, or with a mark." Perdita smiles at Ravn.

"Don't worry... I'll talk to him about it tomorrow... once my looming hangover subsides. But... that's Future Perdita's problem. Present Perdita thinks Past Perdita's decision against further drinks was justified, but... probably not going to hold up much longer." She's still not slurring her words, if anything her speech has become more precise to compensate, but she's definitely feeling it.

Ravn pulls his blanket up. "Let's just watch the moon and the stars and drink to getting things sorted out nice and quiet for everyone. Odds are I'll have you help me with a mark before a woman, but who knows? You never know who you're going to meet tomorrow, as they say. I'm not unhappy as I am -- and that, in its own way, is a very powerful position that I'm not sorry to hold. It means I am not desperate, and I am willing to let most of them slip me right by because I don't need them."

Perdita leans forward, grabbing another log, knocking it on the rooftop a few times to give anything hiding inside a chance to scamper out, adding it to the fire and then leaning back. There's an emphatic nod... and then an actual giggle.

"To the moon, the stars, and ringing in the new year with one of my favorite people, ever." Perdita says, softly, leaning back to look up at the night sky and let her troubles wash away with the pleasant warmth of the fire against the cold of the night.