2022-01-20 - Silk and Saffron and Undiluted Coffee

Late afternoon finds Perdita Leontes on the ground floor of the Bauer Building in what will hopefully someday be a filled retail space. At the moment, it's merely a large empty room, antique fixtures in need of repair, the old tile floor definitely in need of replacing, because that's exactly what the young woman is doing now, hard at work peeling up gross linoleum from the 70s or 80s with a chisel and a hammer when needed.

She's dressed in an oversize black sweater and a pair of worn denim jeans with holes and stains from gods know what, workboots, and even work gloves. It's a far cry from the spoiled sugarbaby image she usually puts forward, with her long dark hair swept back into a French braid to keep it out of her way. Music is playing on a speaker system synced to her phone, and it's apparently keeping her going, because she's moving to the beat.

Parvati is announced by the clicking of heels on linoleum, a pair of robin's egg blue things with a three-inch heel of a swooping design. Above that, a set of lengthy legs protected from the cold by a long, green silk dress of rather ambitious design- slit all the way up to her hips on either side. It does nothing to hide light mahogany skin, or the 'fish-net' style tights she wears- each thread slightly thick so one can see the braiding of purple, silver, and black silk. Above that, the dress continues- clinging to this woman's form as only a custom dress could.

For a jacket, she wears a kurti, with long sleeves. This is made of stiffer fabric, the collar left tall and wide. Here, goldenrods and blacks are the order of the day- finely hand stitched, and likewise tailored just for her.

Parvati waits quietly as she watches Perdita do her work, before speaking up. "Excuse me?" comes the voice- her accent clear, a woman of East Asian origin- the clipped English of a native Hindi speaker. "I am looking for space for my studio. I had heard there may be places available here?"

The music is cut with a tap to her phone, and Perdita looks up, smiling. Her own features are, despite the smudges of dirt from hard work, refined, and the eyeliner she's wearing expertly applied into sharp wings. Who shows up to work on an old building wearing make up? Perdita. She rises, removing her gloves, and tilts her head as she realizes she has to look up, and up. Her expression seems to register somewhere between jealousy and amusement.

"What sort of studio were you wanting to open?" Perdita asks. Her own accent is perfectly American, the sort that wouldn't stand out anywhere in North America, almost as if it were deliberately chosen to be inoffensive. "Perdita Leontes, I'm the new owner." she offers her hand, which is clean, with well manicured short stiletto nails, currently painted a matte black.

"I make clothing." Parvati replies, head canted downward due to differences in height. The taller woman smiles quietly, her own makeup impeccable. Her nails well manicured, painted an almost metallic silver- but kept mostly short. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Leontes. I am Parvati Deloria." she says, taking Perdita's hand in her own to give a gentle, friendly squeeze.

"I seek to open my little store downtown. Perhaps to offer some fine clothing to the residents, although, you needn't worry about rent. Most of my cliental receive my work through package services. They fly in for a fitting, and then flit off back to wherever they came from to wait my wares in a cardboard box."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Deloria. Please, feel free to call me Perdita, or Dita."

"You'll likely want a studio on the ground floor, with plenty of space, so your clientele isn't competing with locals for the elevator. There's seven floors and the penthouse, but sadly the previous owner couldn't keep up with repairs as he got older." she gestures to the space, with its high ceilings and excellent lighting. "All three of my retail spaces are like this. I wish I could say any of them are currently elegant enough for haute couture design, but I've partnered with a few builders in the area, and I'm trying to see if I can get the Historical Society to help me. I want to restore the building to the glamor it had when it was built." Perdita glances around the space, smiling fondly. "What sort of requirements do you have as far as... square footage?"

"Mm. I need enough space for retail, and my studio proper. I will also, gladly, rent and assist in renovation of a space for housing." Parvati offers, "And please, darling, call me Parvati." she says next, as she pulls a clutch style purse out from the inside of her jacket- a little pocket inside for just that purpose. "Perhaps around fifteen hundred square feet for the retail space. I will take what is available for living space." she continues, as she opens the clutch to pull out a business card- passing it over towards Perdita. In stylized letters it proclaims: Saffron and Silk. On the back a phone number and email address are printed. A second phone number is written by hand. "The hand written number is my private number. The other goes to an answering service." Parvati smiles, "I prefer to keep my privacy, but seeing as you'll be my landlady, I suppose I have no choice." There's a slight, playful tease to her tone, all shaped by the smile on her lovely, painted lips.

"There's a few spaces that are currently livable up on the third and fourth floors, though the fourth floor is mostly going to be artist spaces, I believe. My boyfriend and my cousin both have studio space up there right now." Perdita accepts the card, tucking it into her jean pocket after glancing at both sides. "I promise not to call the private number unless it's dire." The room the pair are in currently is a little kitschy, looking like it was once intended to be an 'outdoor dining' experience, indoors, though other than the odd tiled alcoves, the division between a storefront and a private space seems pretty good.

"I have the utmost respect for privacy. I'm in the penthouse for a reason." Perdita's smile holds just a hint of something wicked and playful, the girl tilting her head. "My only concern with any renovations are that as many original fixtures as can be saved should be. The building's over a hundred years old, and to have stood that long in a town like this..." Perdita shrugs slightly.

There is nothing particularly odd about traffic noise, nor about traffic noise that is the rumble of a vintage motorcycle. To at least one lady present there is also nothing odd about said vintage motorcycle being dragged in through the building's front door and parked in the hallway -- because Ravn Abildgaard is a regular at this place for various reasons, and he's not about to leave that very beloved vintage motorcycle in the street for any random vandal to knock over and ruin the paint job.

He's a tall man in black -- jeans, boots, leather jacket, turtleneck, and even the crash helmet -- with a newspaper tucked under one arm as he wanders towards the voices. He knows one of those voices -- and the other, well, it's never too late to interrupt a conversation with bad news.

Parvati nods, smiling. "Oh, I don't mind. We'll be neighbors as well- quite important to have good neighbors." she remarks, "Anyways, how about we find some coffee. We can get to know one another. I'm new in town anyways, and starved for attention." she offers, tone playful as she chuckles to her own joke. "Are you native to this town? There's something oddly charming about it, don't you think?"

"I can take a little tour of the available residential spaces later- and of course, I understand. That's part of what gives the building her character, isn't it? It's much nicer to preserve such history."

Hey, look, it's Perdita! Dressed like a normal person for a change! Her head immediately moves toward the sound of the door opening, dark eyes a little too intent until she makes sure it isn't some sort of horrifying creature hiding just out of sight.

"No, I'm actually from New York. I ended up here about a year ago and... fell in love with the place. I like being near the water, and the view from the rooftop is amazing." She smiles at Ravn, gesturing toward him. "Another transplant. Parvati Deloria, this is Ravn Abildgaard. He helps run the HOPE Center, and apparently thinks my entry way is an excellent parking garage." her tone is teasing, however, and warm with welcome.

"As to coffee... we could make our way to the place down the road, or I could have you both up to the penthouse for a cup."

"Well, in the absence of a real parking garage," Ravn replies in an accent that is definitely not as British as it would like for you to think. He offers a lopsided smile and raises a gloved hand in a kind of friendly wave hello -- but does not offer it for a handshake. "Another new face, or another relative of Dita's?"

The copy of the Gazette stays tucked under one arm for now as he studies Parvati a moment -- there's nothing hostile to the look, but it is definitely a searching look. Maybe he just likes the look of those long legs, maybe she reminds him of somebody else. "I'm not going to say no to a cup of coffee. Odds of me getting one is better here than at the coffee shop, though."

"There wasn't a lot of call for parking garages in the early 1900s." Parvati states flatly, the clipped tones of her Hindi accent quite obvious. Her voice a lovely contralto- a hint of purr underlying almost every word. "As Dita has said, Parvati Deloria." she takes his hand, giving it a gentle shake.

Parvati, for her part, is tall- an inch over six feet, she looks the tall man easily in the eye with her three inch heels of robin's egg blue. Her clothing is impeccable, her makeup perfect. The mask she seems to wear cold, almost icy. as she takes in this new-comer. It's difficult to read- but is broken soon with a gentle smile.

"I have no preference on where I get my coffee- as long as it's hot, strong, and very dark."

"There is a parking lot across the street, Ravn." Dita points out, smiling. It's where she keeps her shiny red number, after all. "As far as I know she's not a relation, though with as far flung as my family is..." Perdita shrugs slightly, smiling. She tosses her gloves down next to the speaker, picking up her phone.

"It seems you and Ravn have that in common. He has an ongoing feud with one of the day managers at the coffee shop near here, though." Perdita gestures for the other two to follow her, leading the way to an older elevator painted with Art Deco designs, though the doors of it are likely from the 80s or early 90s. "You didn't come here just for my coffee machine, I hope." she glances toward Ravn as the elevator door swings open, before she steps inside.

When Ravn's hand is shook, his handshake is firm enough, if hesitant. "No, I actually came to make sure you'd read the newspaper, more particularly about the woman they dragged out of Gray Pond. But there was a strong element of hoping for coffee in there, somewhere. And I'm supposed to tell your cat hi from mine."

Ravn lists off both errands as if he's entirely serious; maybe it's some kind of running joke between them. Then he smiles and turns to follow Perdita towards the elevator. "You're new to town, then? I am presuming somebody already gave you the Hotel California speech -- get on the next bus while you can, no one ever does though, and all that."

Parvati's head turns ever so slightly as Ravn talks about a corpse being pulled from a pond, that mask returning. This woman's resting bitch face is frighteningly icy. Penguins would get frostbite from just how cold she's become in the matter of a few moments. She says nothing for the moment, just nodding and following towards coffee. Metal tabs under her heels ensure that every step is accompanied by a click that ensures she would be heard, her well designed clothing doing the work of being seen.

"That is troubling news to hear of my new home town." Parvati remarks. "I should hope there is an investigation ongoing? Violence against women is not something I take lightly."

"... Was it another of the rescued girls?" Perdita asks, softly, the cat joke lost in the more serious moment. She glances toward Parvati, shrugging ever so slightly to indicate she hadn't been the one to give the speech, just yet.

"It's not something either of us take lightly, either, believe me, and there are things in play to make sure it happens to less domestic violence survivors," Perdita taps the button for the seventh floor. "Seventh floor, then either the penthouse elevator or the upper stairs, if you ever need to reach me and I'm not available by phone."

"Same one, but it's hit the press now." Ravn nods, and then glances at Parvati. "It's a complicated affair -- the girl was a victim of human trafficking. She was supposed to have gotten back to Europe, safely. She obviously didn't. I am somewhat upset about it -- the HOPE centre handled those women's cases. I knew that girl, even if I had to speak with her through an interpreter. And it does bode ill for the other four."

Sorry, cat joke. You tried.

"I'm going to talk to the Chief about it. We -- didn't involve the police, maybe we should have. The police's certainly involved now." Ravn rubs absentmindedly at his arm. "Anyhow. Contrary to how that sounds for a welcome speech, Gray Harbor is not a bad place to live. It's -- unusual -- in some ways,. but you'll find that unlike a lot of places, people here actually try to look out for one another."

Parvati's posture, the tone of her voice, the cast of her face- it's all changed. Hinting at some barely restrained violent urge that lacks any direction. A timebomb wrapped in a tailored silk jacket.

Parvati takes a slow, measured breath through her nose and holds it a moment before releasing it slowly. Anyone familiar with yoga breathing techniques might recognize just how she's breathing now. "I see. So, there are four other young women in danger, is what you're saying." she says, the tone of her voice now steel edged- that hint of purr gone. "In India, and the rest of Asia, this is a serious problem. I had hoped a sleepy town in the pacific northwest would not have such issues. Naïve of me, surely."

"It wasn't a failure on HOPE's part, Ravn. Something happened that brought her back into town." Perdita's hand reaches toward him, but draws well short. The body language there is a little odd to anyone who doesn't know of Ravn's condition. The elevator takes a few moments to reach the 7th floor, before it rumbles open. "Any chance your team found them, yet?" she asks softly, leading the way across to the other little elevator, which requires a key to unlock before it'll open. The seventh floor is currently gutted, down to studs and exposed pipes, though the original red carpet is still in the hallway, having been lovingly shampooed.

"Unfortunately people, especially women, are in danger everywhere, because traffickers are everywhere. It's not as prevalent here... but it still happens." The second elevator ride is much shorter, and the elevator dings into a little hall right outside her apartment. The door is apparently unlocked, and Dita pushes it open. "Welcome to the penthouse. Come spring, there will be a garden out on the roof." she gestures toward the sprawl of rubberized space outside her penthouse, then toward the mid century dining table just off the kitchen.

"Please, sit, I'll get started on the coffee."

"I'm admittedly more interested in the four other girls who might still be alive," Ravn agrees. "I have contacted our law firm -- but, whatever happened to that girl, it obviously didn't go through official channels." He glances at Parvati, and seems to decide that a bit more of an explanation might be warranted. "They were being trafficked from God only knows where, towards Seattle. A sleepy old industrial port like ours -- it's an easy way to get goods into the country unnoticed. Mostly it's drug trade. There's been a bit of fighting between the local hoods and people from outside trying to take over that distribution channel. It culminated in a rather messy shoot-out at a garden expo last year and we all thought that'd be the end of it but -- well, obviously not. And I'm sorry that that gets to be one of your first impressions of the town -- we really are usually quite good at looking out for each other, but eighteen thousand people, there's bound to be some assholes in that bushel of apples."

"Mm." Parvati offers as she looks around quietly to the gutted 7th floor. "Good bones." she remarks, off hand, trying for a moment to refocus on something other than a deep desire to bring nightmarish pain to as-of-now unknown persons. "As I said, a naïve hope."

"What matters, darling," The Indian woman begins to Ravn, "Is that those who committed this crime are violently punished for their transaction. People like that understand a single language. They are barbarians, knowing only the sword. I say give it to them." Deathly serious, Parvati looks Ravn in the eye as she says this. "Be positively medieval. Boiling water, fire, acid- brand them. In a system that would allow such injustice, violent struggle is the only means to obtain real Justice." It seems, on this, Parvati has opinions.

"If I can be of any help, let me know. I still have contacts in Seattle, and I've got that one friend who's good with computers." Perdita tells Ravn, through the kitchen pass-through. The apartment is minimally decorated, though most of the furniture seems to be restored Mid-Century Modern, brought up from the basement and restored during her time here.

The water faucet sounds, and Dita washes her hands before she sets about filling her coffee maker and getting things going there. She returns to the dining area, draping herself in one of the chairs languidly.

"I'll have to leave the medieval punishment to others," Ravn murmurs. "But I can probably offer a lecture on applicable methods. When I'm not finding myself involved with human trafficking and organised crime somehow, I'm a historian. And even when I do, I find myself on the side of the people affected by it."

He must feel at home enough here to plop himself into a vacant chair with a fluid kind of bonelessness. "I'm going to play it straight from here, at least from now. The police's involved -- this is literally their turf now. My interest was getting those girls out and to safety. Which kingpin is claiming what street and who runs drugs in from where is none of my business and none of my problem. People getting hurt here is my problem."

Parvati finds herself a place to sit, finally putting her little clutch away inside her jacket. One leg is crossed over the other and she rests languidly in whatever chair it is she's found herself in. She falls to quiet, for now, listening- learning. There's no doubt she's paying attention. That mask has returned to her face- wholly flat, hiding any and all emotion. It's well practiced, clearly.

"I'm just worried about the other girls, their safety specifically... and if I'm entirely honest, part of me wants to find the bastards trying to move kidnapped girls through here and bring them down."

The scent of coffee is soon filling the penthouse, and the sound of voices has a pair of golden eyes peering out from the darkness that is Perdita's bedroom, curious but wary. The door to that room is mostly closed, while one of the other bedrooms is closed entirely. "But you're right. We should leave it to the police." Of course, Perdita's expression indicates her thoughts on leaving things to the police, even if they're headed by someone she respects.

"Playing it straight doesn't exclude keeping an ear to the ground." Ravn glances at Perdita. "It just means, I'm not going to go off and do something stupid on my own, and that I am keeping the Chief informed of whatever I might find. Wouldn't hurt for you to ask your friends in Seattle if they know anything about Serbian girls or gangsters. Something might turn up."

He takes a breath and straightens a glove. "Anyhow. Hi, welcome to Gray Harbor -- Parvati. Or do you prefer Ms Deloria? I'm not one of Perdita's lodgers but I live nearby, and I come by often enough. In a solely shared interests capacity, I'm not the boyfriend."

Parvati's eyes turn towards Ravn, taking another slow and calming breath before she answers. "Parvati is fine." she replies, "Yes, I've decided to open a clothing store in this building. I am a seamstress." she states, keeping her statements short and to the point for the moment. "I will also be renovating a space for an apartment." she relates, "At, I will as soon as Dita sends me a contract."

"And, it sounds as if I'll also be enquiring about being involved in your HOPE organization. It appears that at least the two of you and I have similar interests when it comes to aiding those in such need."

"Will do." Perdita pulls out her phone, before she can forget, and taps out a quick message to someone on the other end. If anyone can find anything on these missing girls, and the people smuggling them out, it's a certain non-binary hacker twink friend of hers. The comment about him not being her boyfriend gets a soft laugh, "No, Garrett is my boyfriend. A little bit shorter than you, great- smile... I'm sure you'll run into him at some point. The one with the beard and long hair, should you run into him, is my cousin, Yossi."

"I'll have a contract for you by tomorrow morning at the latest. I'm assuming you'll want at least a twelve month lease, if you're working toward renovations... Why Gray Harbor, though? We're not exactly known for couture. Not, of course, that I'm trying to talk you out of it."

"HOPE is self-owned. I'm just the volunteer with most time, so I tend to end up doing most of the administrative work." Ravn offers a small, lopsided smile and straightens a bit in his chair. "We primarily work with the community -- everything from self-help groups, parenting groups, and study groups, to finding shelter for the homeless in winter. But obviously, when we are asked to help get five trafficked girls out of reach of their traffickers, we help. It's a volunteer operation, and we're certainly not going to turn away more volunteers."

He watches Dita tap on her phone and then chuckles at her comment about couture. "Have you seen Hyacinth Addington and Vyvyan Vydal? They probably can and do keep a couple of high end designers busy between them. Jeans and flannels seem to be the main staple of this part of the world, though." Says the man who may try to pass for jeans and shirt -- but to a professional's eye, that shirt is a perfect fit, and so are the jeans, and before someone put a bullet through the sleeve of that leather jacket, some Italian designer was probably proud of it.

"Yes, a year to start. It should be good enough. And please, give me the contact information of the contractors you prefer. I'll work with them." Parvati begins, "I find the town charming, honestly. I can't say exactly why. I lived out East a while.." There's more she was about to say- her fingers twisting a golden band on her left ring finger before she goes on, "But, it was time for a change of scenery."

"My cliental almost always have money. They come to me darling. My business spreads through word of mouth, little secrets told here or there. Every article of clothing comes with an NDA to ensure my privacy- I assure you that you've seen my designs on red carpets, and they live in the houses of power. Those sort love a little secret, and delight in whispering to their friends how they've gotten something special and unique. As long as they don't tell the reporter who they're wearing, I care little." she smiles at that.

"Consider yourself as having a new volunteer, then." Parvati offers then to Ravn. "I speak Hindi, Mandarin, Farsi, and English." she begins, "I'm not so sure I'd be useful as a tutor, unless someone would like to learn how to make clothing."

"Hyacinth, Hyacinth... Sounds vaguely familiar. Tall, killer legs, one of them prosthetic and worth more than my entire building?" Perdita asks, head tilting to one side slightly. Some designer is probably still proud of Ravn's jacket. Thing took a bullet and still looks great, after all. Perdita smirks at Ravn, tilting her head the other way, now.

"I'm sure I've seen some of them in person." Perdita tells Parvati, smiling. "I don't look like much at the moment, but I used to move among the rich and powerful." granted, it was to steal from them... She rises from her seat to get the coffee, now that it smells mostly ready, returning swiftly with three mugs, cream and sugar on the little tray with them.

"I think you might easily find an audience for repairing clothing on a budget, maybe making it a bit more interesting." Ravn arches an eyebrow; that might not exactly be a high-end designer's dream of a challenge. Then he returns to that little lopsided smile. "I am certain, though, that there are people who will be relieved to be able to speak their own language -- be that Hindi, Mandarin, or Farsi. Gray Harbor is dominantly Caucasian but far from exclusively so. Having someone who speaks their language and can help with sewing and repairs might prove very useful for reaching out to some of those women who don't rush to spill all their woes to some white bloke who probably doesn't even speak a second language. It can feel very -- small town, sometimes. It's actually worse in summer when we have a lot of tourists come in -- but there might be potential customers among those, the yachters in particular."

He cants his head and thinks aloud. "We do have the Casino -- it draws a lot of high end tourists during the season. Gray Harbor is a little unusual in this regard -- there actually is a lot of money in this small nowhere town, it's just that most of it isn't really in circulation. We don't have a country club or a gated community, but we certainly do have a couple of very wealthy families and residents from overseas."

That look from Perdita, though -- that warrants a smirk. "Yes, dear. That Hyacinth, the one I managed to not go on a date with after all." He reaches for a mug -- and ignores the cream and sugar entirely. "She's rather remarkably sane for a very wealthy person. Such a thing does in fact exist."

Much like Ravn, Parvati takes her coffee black and plain. She holds the mug in both hands, nodding her head to Perdita. "Thank you, my dear." she purrs again, taking a moment to just enjoy the scent of a fresh cup of coffee. A sip, and a quiet nod. Perhaps liking what she tastes.

"I can show people how to sew." She doesn't sound particularly bothered by that idea, "Everyone should know how to mend clothing. If they want to learn more, I'll make my workshop available to them." she says simply. "I am not fully fluent in Mandarin, unfortunately, but I am able to read and speak well enough. About as well as I am with English, to be perfectly honest." she admits.

Parvati makes quick work of the coffee- she drinks gallons of the stuff. "Likewise, I'm more than willing to donate my skills in making clothing for those who are less fortunate. Everyone should have a nice suit when looking to improve their lives."

It's certainly not the highest end coffee ever, but it it isn't burnt, it isn't some fancy dessert coffee, and it's utterly customizable as far as cream and sugar go. Perdita adds enough sugar to hers to fuel a hummingbird, and just a bit of cream as well, since she got them out after all. "Dominantly Caucasian is one way to put it." Perdita says with a slight quirk of an eyebrow as she stirs her coffee. She glances out the window to the view of the city, which is really quite a great view even from inside. "Hyacinth's loss."

"Just in case it ever comes up, Kalderash and Spanish, Ravn." Which, of course, he knows, but it never hurts to remind. "I could probably muddle through a little Romanian and Hungarian in a pinch, or call Báte if need be."

"That's a very generous offer." Perdita tells Parvati, smiling with approval. That's... probably going to result in her rent going lower.

"I speak a bit of Spanish myself. Enough to annoy the shit out of the Chief by pronouncing it wrong. Don't tell him I said that." Ravn smirks a little -- whoever the Chief is, presumably a native speaker. "My sewing skills are essentially non-existent, and I am of the firm conviction that any occasion that requires a suit and tie is an occasion I'd prefer to not be invited to. But I'm also not a single mother with two growing kids and a pitiful income."

He quirks an eyebrow at Perdita again. "And how you would you put it? This town's whiter than my home town in rural Scandinavia, which is actually quite the feat."

"Hardly." Parvati says simply to Perdita. "I adore fashion, and exploring it as an art, and I absolutely profit from that. Not everyone can afford nice clothing but I truly believe that people have a right to feel good about who they are, about themselves. They should feel beautiful and powerful. What is a few hours of my time fitting and producing a suit compared to helping someone in their right in this?" she asks, "It is, quite possibly, the very least I can do."

Again, Parvati's hand finds her ring, rolling the simple gold band along her finger. Another moment of quiet contemplation. "I should head out, I need to contact my suppliers to update my delivery information and I've got a few ideas I need to sketch out." she says to the pair, fishing another card out from her jacket to hand to Ravn. Unlike the card given to Perdita, there is no private number- just the words on the front: Saffron & Silk. The back with a phone number and email address. "That's my answering service." she tells Ravn. "I will reply to you within forty-eight hours if you call. IF you need me sooner, well. You'll know where I am."

"I'll put you on HOPE's email list and on our list of contacts." Ravn nods and pockets Parvati's card with a gloved hand. "I'd give you mine but I don't have one -- just, well, HOPE's." He returns a card the other way -- equally simple, with Harbor Outreach for Partnership Employment (HOPE) printed above an email address and a phone number. "If you need me personally for something, well, I'm usually either at the centre or on the marina somewhere."

He smiles at her and Perdita alike and puts the coffee mug down. "I should be on my way as well. I need to see a man about a lobster, and a man about six thousand lobsters, and also, a Wildlife Protection Agent about a pond in which there is now a lot of lobsters. It sounds bizarre but trust me, for Gray Harbor this is all pretty normal. Just wanted to drop the paper off for Perdita on my way. I'll drop in later, maybe, we can look into converting that floor you were talking about?"

Parvati may still toil under the impression she's moved to some normal little PNW town with normal little problems. Ravn has six thousand recently rehomed lobsters who claim otherwise.