2022-01-05 - Old time memories

"... and from what I understand, she's lived in Gray Harbor most her life, and knows a lot about everything, so if nothing else," Una takes a moment to breathe, "she'll be interesting to listen to. And if I don't take some of these cookies to someone, we'll all get fat." Said cookies -- oatmeal chocolate chip -- are on a plate that she holds out in front of her as she leads the way across the street to Granny Leigh's place. "Knock on the door for me, Jules?"

The young woman accompanying Una has at least tried to clean up. She’s wearing an actual button-down shirt tucked into her jeans (okay, the heels of which are still ragged). The cookie plate gets eyed. Can she snag one and scarf it down before knocking? Yes? No?

No. Jules obliges and steps up to knock, rap-rap-rap.

It takes a bit of time for Gail to get to the doorway - she was probably at the back of the house. When she does get there and opens the door she exclaims, "Una, so good to see you again. And you must be her roommate?" That second to Jules. Pulling the doorway the rest of the way open she'll usher the pair of them into the house and her old-fashioned living room. Floral furniture, crochet-dollies, all of the things that characterize old-people-homes. "You might be comforted to know that the elf is happily back in the hands of my youngest grandson."

While they wait, Una shifts from one foot to the other, restlessly; it's less impatience and more that it is cold outside.

When the door opens, though, she straightens, all winning smiles as she greets Gail. "Mrs Leigh - happy new year! This is Jules. I brought cookies." Is it weird, for the younger person to bring baked goods to the older? Whatever.

"I'm, uh... sure that he'll be happier there," is what she says of the elf, not without a twitch of her smile.

“That’s me,” confirms Jules, offering a bright smile. Here is one thing to be said about growing up with one’s grandparents: this young woman is quite comfortable around the older generation. “One of Una’s roommates, anyway. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Leigh.” She steps in when invited, but doesn’t immediately sit.

"Well isn't that kind of you. Jeffers up the street was complaining the other day about the younger generation not having manners. I shook my finger and told him, 'You must be doing something wrong Jeff, most are perfectly well brought up.'" The story is shared even with the finger waggle shown.

The cookies are directed to a table where all can enjoy and napkins produced for crumbs. One doesn't get furniture to last this long without careful care.

Then Gail sits herself, unable to hide a wince as she does so. "I hope you girls will forgive me, these hips aren't fond of the cold weather any more or I would be a better host."

Cookies deposited, Una takes a seat, foregoing the treats (at least for now). "You're a perfectly lovely host," promises Una, her bright smile intended-- it seems-- to be reassuring.

"My mom did her best. She always said it mattered, and I think she's right. I wonder if you ever met her... Lara Irving? She grew up here in town. Just across the street, even."

There's not a lot to remember about Lara, if she's remembered at all: a quiet girl who left home immediately after graduation twenty-five odd years ago and never looked back. The family, of course, is a long-standing one in Grey Harbor history, albeit without any particular distinction.

Jules goes right ahead and helps herself on the other hand, though she keeps it to just one cookie for the napkin. She takes a seat alongside Una, keeping the napkin in the palm of her hand. She doesn’t dig in yet. “My grandmother swears by blue elderberry for her arthritis,” she offers. “I don’t know if there’s a store for that kind of stuff here or not though - I’m new in town.”

"Twenty five years... that would have been about when Gabby was born..." Gail is muttering at herself as she stares at Una. A mental connection is made and she bobs her head once. "A sweet girl- but quiet. She didn't shine quite like you, or she would have been best. Your grandparents, whatever happened to them? I'm afraid I lost several of my contacts after I broke my hip and my daughters asked me to live with them." There is faint hope there that Lara's parents are still alive, at Gail's age most are working at passing on.

To Jules, "That is kindly said. I will have to see what I might find and if nothing else perhaps Gabby can find it for me on that internet." Gail doesn't online shop much.

Something in Una-- not just the line of her shoulders-- straightens at the recollection of her mom, and certainly, there's a brightening of her eyes. There's also a furrowing of her brow, and a thoughtfulness, but whatever it is that drives that particular response goes unsaid. "My grandmother died over the summer, unfortunately. So it's just mom and me, now, of the Irvings."

She gives Jules a sidelong glance, then adds: "She left me the house. Which was kind of her, since we never actually met."

“Next time I go visit, I’ll bring some back.” Jules means it, too. Growing up in a tiny, close-knit community like she did, it’s just the kind of thing you do. Within the next couple weeks, some kind of lotion or dried poultice-makings is going to show up in Gail’s mailbox, along with a handwritten note (Jules grandmother’s hand) with instructions.

"Bless you," Gail replies to Jules - there is a point where modern medicine and supernatural healers just can't combat a falling body.

There is a deep sigh from the Gail. "I suppose I should not be too surprised. I am sorry for your loss. But that is what brings you and your... roomate?" Yes, there is a question about their relationship status that Gail is leaving open to be or not to be answered. "To Gray Harbor?"

"Oh, I--" Una evidently changes her mind over what she intends to say, and ends up simply nodding in response to Gail's expression of condolences. Sometimes it's safer not to get into the intricacies of life. "Thank you."

"I didn't have a lot keeping me in Seattle, so I decided I might as well move into the house, and see how it went. I advertised for roommates and... well, that's how Jules and I, and Della, met." That's probably not clearing up the question about their relationship status, is it? "It's an interesting old house."

“I enrolled at Bayside,” Jules offers, and if Una won’t clear it up, then she will. “I moved down from Taholah,” the biggest place on the Quinault Indian Nation reservation, roughly an hour north, at a whopping 800 souls, “to start this semester. I saw Una’s ad a few weeks ago, and she let me rent a room from her without waiting until January.”

Well, until they clarify, Gail will just settle for 'roommates' especially if there is a third girl in the mix. Deat lord the younger generation...

None of that is said aloud. Instead she leans forward to catch all of Jules' additions to the story. "That was very kind of her. But, I am guessing the pair of you didn't come just for the sake of keeping an older woman company?"

Kind, maybe. Convenient for both parties? Definitely. Una smiles, letting that part of the conversation drop in lieu of getting to the point.

"Not... just for the sake of that," she allows. "It's... there's a ghost, in my house. Our house. We think he was my ancestor, and he's... frankly not a nice man, though the ghost itself is relatively harmless? And--" She may ramble for a little while, if Jules doesn't stop her.

“Yeah,” Jules agrees, with a glance across at Una. As the story starts to emerge, she’s happy to let Una tell it, or at least introduce it. We’ll see how long that lasts. In the meantime, she nibbles her cookie.

Granny attempts to exude a 'you can trust me' vibe, but it's spoiled when she can't quite manage to lean forward properly. She has to reposition her hips painfully in the chair before looking upwards back at them. "You'll find ghosts are more common here than other places. Some even have their favorite ghosts they go and visit."

She waits then, because ~clearly~ there is more to this.

Well, look: fine. If Jules isn't going to say anything, Una is just going to keep barrelling onwards.

"Right-- that's what we've heard. Anyway, we're just trying to figure out what he wants, I guess. Where he might have lived." Might have hidden things. "Or... anything, I guess."

Una might be rethinking this whole thing as she goes: being old... does not actually make you an expert in all things historical.

At this point, Jules does pin Una with A Look. Please. Time for her to take over. "Her ancestor, Albert Irving, seems to have set himself up as a guide back when this town was being settled. He also stole some objects from the local tribes, which we would like to find and restore to them. So I guess we're wondering if you happen to have heard anything about the Irvings -- what they did in this town, what kind of connections they made or who they married, if they made any donations or were patrons of some kind of local museum, anything like that." Another look at Una. That's how you do it.

"Irving..." Gail taps a finger aginst her cheek as she sits back and starts pondering. "Well there was Irvin, who was a sweet young man who use to cut my lawn for a dollar. But that would have been too recent. I remember your grandmother and I use to go to school dances together - oh, welll. There was one story."

Gail looks at the pair of them before considering. "She told me about a bit of a scandal her mother use to complain about that had the family out of quite a bit of money. Seems like they had wanted to start a museum of sorts in town to preserve our history. Utter foolishness, if you ask me, since most of the town can't decide what our history IS. That committee would argue forever over if we should include famous ghosts or just the run of the mill list of mayors. It never ended up getting off and the family was out of much of their donation. I think they had procured a building down town, you'll have to check the ownership records to see which one, before it all collapsed."

Una studiously does not look at Jules, the pink flush blooming upon her cheeks suggesting quite clearly how uncomfortable she is, continues to be, with her stupid pig of an ancestor and everything else to do with this whole sorry mess. (It must have taken a huge amount of willpower-- or something-- to get her to suggest this visit. It's a thing. Push and pull. Complex shit.)

None of that, however, stands in the way of her slight forward lean as Gail comes up with the information. Child of a single, minimum wage mom, further evidence of the one-time wealth of this family she knows so little about is... unnerving? Of interest? Something to digest? "Huh," she says, after a few moments of pause. "My family, patron of the," another pause, a quick little side-long glance at Jules, "probably stolen arts."

Jules, on the other hand, sits back with a pleased look as she listens. “Thank you,” she says at the end of Gail’s recollections. “That’s really helpful. We can definitely check the records.”

Gail considers the pair of then closely before bluntly asking, "How skilled are the pair of you with your skills? If you are dealing with objects likely to be cursed or a protective guardian then you had best prepare to be bitten."

Curses? Protective guardians? Una blanches, evidently not having given significant consideration to this possibility. Her fingers curl up against her palms, nails digging in to soft flesh. "I'm--" She pauses, shakes her head. Evidently, she changes tack, answering, instead: "Stronger than I was, but... not that particularly skilled. We'll make sure to have backup. Ravn, at least. I know he's not strong, but he's experienced."

“Huh?” Does that answer Gail’s question? Jules likewise looks unsettled. “Even of the ghost wants us to find it?” Bastard ghost is a bastard, and boobytraps are just one more indication.

"Oh dear." Gail says with a small shake of her head. "I do suggest you find someone who can read residues. I would offer myself, but unfortunately, as you can see, I am not currently walking very well. The cold does a number on my hips. Have you met Chief de la Vega or Alexander Clayton?"

Una opens her mouth, and then closes it again, looking... well, looking mulish and stubborn. "I've met the chief, but I wouldn't say we're on 'come and help us find these ghost artefacts' terms. I'm sure we'll be fine. Like Jules said: it wants us to find the damn things."

“I’ve met the police chief,” Jules relays. Her tone is just this side of curt. If she looks briefly haunted—well. They are talking about ghosts. “Who’s the other guy?”

"His bark is worse than his bite," Gail says with a half smile for their various attitudes. But she doesn't press the point. Instead, "He is a private investigator here in town. His father and my husband coached the high school football team together, and I'm quite fond of his mother Elizabeth also. Alexander Clayton. He has an office in the Bauer Building."

Uneasy, Una fiddles with some loose threads on the knees of her jeans, looking at anything but Jules and Gail, though there's no obvious reason for it. "Ok," she says. "If we need it. I mean-- Jules is right. It wants us to find things. So maybe it'll be fine. We'll work it out. It-- thanks. You've been very helpful."

“Thank you,” Jules echoes with a little nod. She’s back on her best behavior, turning a warm smile towards Gail. A gaze slips sideways to Una then, with a slight tilt of her head towards the entryway. “We’ll keep everything you’ve told us in mind.”