2022-02-22 - The Science of Laundry Detergents

Laundry does not do itself. This is a sad fact of life that many a young person just moving out for the first time has had to realise. No matter how many times you drop your shirts on the floor, once you live away from your parents, the only person to pick it up and wash it is you. It sucks. So does the fact that if you mix your new red bra with your white underoos, everything turns a weird kind of salmon. It's even worse when it's the green shirt -- unless you really like sickly lime green. Ish.

Some people work out a solution to that last problem at least. Ravn Abildgaard, for one, decided very early on in his life away from home that he would simply just own black clothing. Any new piece acquires bleeds a bit of fresh dye to the rest -- bonus as far as he is concerned. It's worked so far.

Sitting on one plastic chair in the colourful laundromat and resting his booted feet on another he skims a week-old copy of the Gazette while waiting on his load to finish. Every now and then he throws a glance around because Gray Harbor's laundromat is really something; the machines alternate in green and pink, and so do the walls, giving you the odd feeling that you're sitting inside a giant water melon. It's something Else.

More than two months into her tenure in Grey Harbor, and one would think Una Irving would be more or less used to the delightfully garish Suds'n'Duds-- but one would be wrong, and that's because, old though it is (was), Una's house had that delightful piece of equipment: its own personal washing machine.

Sadly, being not dissimilar in age to its previous owner (ie, positively ancient), aforementioned machine has now gone to appliance heaven, and its owner, distinctly moistened from the outdoors and with a garbage bag of laundry at her hip, takes her very first steps into the laundromat.

And stares.

"Oh," she begins. And: "My god. Oh my god."

It's not just the exterior.

"It's something," Ravn agrees from behind his newspaper. "Something worthy of photographs, and I suspect that once the tourist season begins, we'll see people taking pictures of the place. It only got this paint job this summer when somebody new took over."

He glances around. "Not that I have seen them since. But the place is still here. Gray Harbor, you do you."

Then he rests the paper in his lap and looks at Una properly. "Security here isn't great, though. I broke in through that window over there, once."

"It's amazing," and when Una says it, it really does sound like she means it genuinely. Then again, given her personal colour palette frequently works towards the bold end of the spectrum, she probably really does.

The shake of her head is probably no more than confirmation of the amazingness of this place, and having satisfied herself of it, the redhead weaves around towards the machines, dumping her garbage bag on a nearby chair. "I'm going to assume you had good reason to break in, and it wasn't just a bored afternoon's activity," she adds, then, turning her attention towards Ravn. "Using your criminality for good or something. I can't imagine this place would especially be worth robbing. By someone else, I mean. For actual profit."

The Dane laughs softly and crosses one leg over the other at the ankles, stretching long legs and making himself more comfortable on the plastic chair than anyone should ever have a right to. "I'd say I was just following orders. Truth of it? It was during the bloody hurricane. The shelter at the high school was full of kids, a lot of whom were diaper users. Can you imagine the pile of laundry that kind of place will accumulate? One of the Addington ladies decided to get bossy and tell us to do something about it -- so myself and a friend liberated the school bus and broke into a laundromat, to do something about it. We did leave payment and close the window after us when we left."

He grins slightly. "I think by now de la Vega isn't even pretending to look surprised any more when he hears about me involved in something weird like that. At least he seems to trust that I'm not actually -- you know, stealing things."

Una's, "Gross," is probably in relation to the amount of laundry (and its provenance), because she otherwise nods easily enough. "I think that counts as a pretty good reason. I mean, all bets are off during a hurricane, right? Except looting."

Some bets are off, then. Fine.

The redhead shovels the contents of her garbage bag into the nearest free machine, then feeds in her quarters. "Useful thing, having a police chief who... understands the occasional complexities of life. It's never just black and white, is it." That's not really a question.

"De la Vega is like us." Ravn nods and looks away -- he got yelled at, once or twice, in laundromats, for accidentally looking in the wrong direction just as someone was stuffing very private clothing into one of these things. "It really is a rather big deal. It helps to have someone on the Force who knows that sometimes, things aren't what they seem. It makes it harder for the Veil to just put us in an incriminating scenario and watch us suffer. If you ever end up in a situation like that, just tell him the truth. He's an empath -- he'll know if you're lying, and he actually is on our side."

Ravn chuckles. "I've spent a fair bit of my life on the street. I'm not a fan of cops in general. But in Gray Harbor at least, they're not the enemy. Nothing here is that black and white -- the mob isn't either, at least not all the way. When it all comes down, it's more a constellation of normal people, people like us, and things that want to eat all of us."

Ravn is a good citizen! Una, though, doesn't seem to notice (or for that matter, care): clothes are clothes, dirty or clean, and these dirty ones need to be in the washer stat.

She holds back on an answer until she's forcefully (one does often need to use force with these things) turned the machine on (though her slow nod confirms she's listening, and she does glance back over her shoulder to make a face at 'things that want to eat all of us', even if she seems otherwise resigned). Folding up her garbage bag, she moves back to the plastic seats to sit across from Ravn, cross-legged with her feet half-beneath her. "An empath," she says, thoughtfully. "Is that less common? It feels like mostly I've seen people do more... physical things. Or do I just not notice the emotive ones?"

"It's comforting, knowing the cops here are ok. I mean, I've always been lucky. But that's privilege, so."

"Yeah, white people like you and me who look like we can afford to call somebody aren't the ones who get the full party face of the cops." Ravn nods his agreement; it is a fact that he is not about to dispute, not after having travelled with Romas and others who didn't get born with skin the colour of a baby pig. He currently works with homeless people of all the colours, and even among those, there's a difference to the stories they tell.

"Gray Harbor is not exactly -- a cultural melting pot. Town's pretty white. But yeah -- at least you can trust that if your case looks weird, someone on the Force who's like us will hear you out." Ravn glances back at Una. "Which reminds me -- didn't we have half a date at some point, about picking locks? We shouldn't forget -- it's the kind of thing that can turn out to be a lifesaver when you find yourself in a dream's jail cell, waiting for the executioner. Literally has, for me."

Una makes a face, which is probably more for 'it genuinely sucks for people who aren't us' than 'yay, white privilege' (there is a subtle but distinct difference here).

"We did, and we shouldn't." It has Una straightening, balancing her palms upon her knees. "The more Dreams I experience, the more conscious I am of my own lack of skill in anything useful. I doubt there'll be much of a need to bake myself out... then again, you'd probably get some strong emotions out of me if you put me in a 'Great British Baking Show' type situation."

The tangent has her momentarily distracted, but she works her way back to the point: "But seriously - yes. I really would like to learn."

Ravn fixes eyes that alternate between blue and steel grey as the light wills it on the redhead. Something in that statement makes his lip twitch. "I know that feeling so very well. You're surrounded by these people who can throw fireballs or plant memories in the minds of others, or talk to animals. And all I can do is levitate a fountain pen or throw a hazelnut really hard. But it's no good thinking like that -- there is always something you can do. Having a wide set of skills certainly can't hurt -- but think about it, you've already done something in a dream I couldn't have. I couldn't have kissed Ariadne and made it look convincing."

He grins slightly. "Acting talent is no small thing, you realise? Fast talk is what gets us out sometimes, too."

All of those talents are so far beyond Una's experience that her expression turns genuinely impressed and a little overwhelmed-- which fades to ruefulness and a nod of acknowledgement.

Which, in turn, turns to outright laughter. "I never thought after school drama club would come in such handy," she allows. "Some of the kids used to use it as an excuse to actually make out with each other, but... never under-estimate the power of a well-executed stage-kiss. It's all in the thumb." There's a piece of wisdom for the ages.

"I take the point, though. It's all about finding the right skill for the right moment. The ability to actually ride a horse or wield a sword may have helped, but that's not actually the Dream we were in."

"I'd probably have frozen on the spot in some kind of anxiety attack if I had been playing the Zorro part and been put in a position to kiss some woman I barely know," Ravn acknowledges. "So good for us that you were, and not me, since you had the figurative balls to pull it off."

He glances at his machine; enope, sorry, going to be a while longer, cat hair takes a lot of detergent and an extra spin cycle, and we will not discuss what Kitty Pryde did on that shirt because breakfast was not prompt and the door was locked.

"I can ride -- sort of. I'm not good at it, but my fiancée was very much into horses, and before that, I went to a boarding school for a while where horse riding was mandatory. Fencing I always managed to dodge -- and I hope I can keep right on doing that, because I got hit with a meat cleaver once, and that hurt enough." Ravn chews on his lip, thinking back. "That was in the dream we were locked up in a cell. Picking the lock got us out, but the crazy guy doing 'body art' was still there."

"The whole thing was... a lot," says Una, which is not exactly a surprise: more a repetition of a previously stated fact. It's hard to argue with, really. Still, she seems at least a little mollified with this nugget of acknowledgement: she did good!

"So the one person who could actually ride... ends up riding the-- burro? Whatever it was. It figures." The redhead is amused by that, and less amused-- it would seem-- by that meat cleaver; she winces. "Ok, that sounds even more like a lot. Do not want. I'm grateful to get out with no more than bruises, and most of them in places that, thank you winter, I won't have to explain away to Della."

"This is a theory of mine -- and that's all it is because really, if anyone actually knows this stuff they're not sharing." Ravn makes a face; there are absolutely people in the know who aren't sharing, and he knows that they're not. "There are entities in there who keep doing things. Dreams like the one we were just in -- they tend to rip off some novel or movie, or at least a very familiar situation. They follow the course of the story, so if you can work out what's supposed to happen, you can kind of go with the flow. Like we did -- we worked out pretty quick that it was some kind of comedy, that it went with the rule of what's embarrassing and funny. That kind of dream is not usually all that dangerous -- as long as you're willing to get tossed into embarrassing and funny situations."

"Right," agrees Una. "End result, bruises of the physical and pride-related variety, but probably nothing too much more than that. More... light entertainment for the entity in question than an outright desire to fuck us over? I guess?" She makes a face: that doesn't make the bruises hurt less.

"I don't really get why people wouldn't share information, though. I mean, I get it, because people are assholes, but it just seems ridiculous."

"Several reasons." Ravn taps his lip with gloved fingers and then steeples them in front of his face. "Some benefit from arrangement with Veil entities, or hope to. They're the ones who might as well be monsters, because they're willing to do the dirty work in order to benefit or be spared."

He looks back at Una. "Not everyone subscribes to the whole Team Humanity thing. Some people go right on to bat for the other team. Other people -- know about it, and figure that if they just keep quiet and stay out of everything, they're not to blame, and no one will notice them. And some think that if they turn their back on it all, they can walk out -- they can leave, or declare themselves neutral, or somehow just go back pretending life is normal."

The folklorist nods. "I don't want to point at individuals but -- as a rule of thumb, people who came into town like you and me, and people who may be born here but aren't benefiting, we're the ones who tend to subscribe to the idea of being in this mess together. People who've lived here all their lives often think the reason they're still alive is that they know how to keep quiet."

Una spreads her fingers, letting them wrap around her knees and dig in to the aged denim of her jeans. Her expression is thoughtful but also perturbed: there's new information in this, and none of it is particularly comforting.

"So, as always," she concludes, "there's an element of the powerful keeping power and safety to themselves, and screw everyone else, and-- well. Power to the workers, I guess. We need a union."

At least that makes the corners of her mouth turn up, just ever so slightly. "I can't deny that it'd be-- hard, having grown up with all of this."

"Yeah." Ravn offers a weak smile. "It's like that, everywhere, always, I think. There are a few good sides to this place at least. Skin colour, gender, and money won't keep you safe. I'm as white a man as you can get, and I get pulled into things all the bloody time. Still, anyone who's been around here for a while can add up that the Addington family has benefited from this place -- and that their arch-enemies, the Baxters, have not."

He glances at the laundry machine and the red sock. There's always a red sock. Ravn knows that he does not own a red sock but sure enough, there's a red sock in his laundry.

"I don't usually tell people about these things right away, but it really doesn't take a genius to put together. It's a small town in the hicks. You got a local leading family that owns half the town, the mayor is one of them -- and you got one or two other prominent businessmen who seem surprisingly successful in spite of everything. Although the bloke everyone considers the local crime kingpin is not one of us. His right hand people are, though."

"Small towns are... weird," concludes Una.

"Well, no. I shouldn't say that. This is the only one I've experienced, and it's pretty clear this one is weirder than most. But the idea of there being that one family that has fingers in every pie? I mean, I know you get in places. There are always leading families. It just feels more... pronounced, here."

Her laundry is plainly a long way from being done, having only so very recently gone in, but she still glances at it; it's probably at least partially a distraction. "Sounds weird. Crime kingpin who isn't, surrounded by people who are... I'm so use to people seeming to separate themselves, I guess."

"Try to not think that way." Ravn nods; he gets it, definitely. "I don't have any hand in crime these days -- organised, or not. But I know a number of those people, and I know I'd be very happy to have them with me in a Dream that went south. I don't condone what they do in their day job -- but for me, what matters is that they are on board with fighting back. When push comes to shove? It's better to have a buddy who breaks kneecaps for the mob who's willing to break Veil kneecaps too -- than some law abiding, pristine citizen who will tell you it's every man for himself."

Then he can't resist a small laugh. "I grew up in a family like that. Larger town by far but, a couple of generations ago? That was us. Family kind of fell from grace after World War Two, when my great-grandfather could not prove that he did not trade with the Germans. He was not enough of a collaborator to end up executed but enough that people didn't want to be reminded he existed."

Una hesitates, chewing at her lower lip with her front teeth, but ultimately seems to accept what Ravn is saying-- and nods. "That's fair," she agrees. "I know nothing is ever as simple as it seems. And it comes back to the black and white we were talking about earlier, doesn't it? It never is."

That she's still mildly uncomfortable about the idea probably comes from her background: law breaking is plainly new to her, despite her recent desire to learn certain skills.

"I can't imagine anything resulting in the Addingtons falling from grace like that. I don't know. Maybe Nazism would do it, but even then... it's interesting, though, how it does happen, sometimes. I bet no one could imagine your family losing its prominence, before it happened."

The Dane shakes his head. "There'll always be people who are in key positions in society. Gray Harbor is really no different from anywhere else -- except that whole thin spot thing. Except that the Veil entities don't care what colour your skin is or what gender you identify as."

He chuckles. "I may be crazy for saying it, Una. A lot of people would tell me that I am, certainly. I like it here. I like how the measure of a man, in Gray Harbor, is not his father's money or name, or on what side of the railroad tracks he got born. It's not even how great you are at using this strange power -- it's literally, how good are you at having other people's backs so they'll have yours. Imagine if the whole world worked like that? There is some kind of twisted truth to the old adage that to unite a country, you need an external enemy."

Una opens her mouth to say something, and then stops herself; the quizzical furrow of her brow suggests deep though, though when she does finally speak, it comes after a wry laugh, and her tone is lighter. "It does feel like it'd be a better world," she admits. "I mean, terrible things would happen, and it would probably suck a lot for a lot of people, but... it's one of the things I've really come to like about this place. I spent seven years on my own in Seattle, and I don't think I made any connections as deep as the ones I've got here already. I lived with strangers who never became anything else."

She lets out another breathy laugh then. "So yeah, maybe you're on to something. External enemies are the way to go."

Ravn can't resist a grin of his own, tinged with relief that his neighbour appears to understand what it is he is trying to communicate. "I know. I travelled by myself for three years before I ended up here. Before that -- well, I've always been kind of deeply introvert, if not outright reclusive. Here? I don't know that I'd call myself a social butterfly, but I am part of the community. And I am not locking up in anxiety at the idea of talking to a stranger because this is Gray Harbor, and you don't go talk to that stranger fresh into town, they're probably going to be eaten by a grue. It puts things in perspective."

Has Una played the original Zork, despite it dating from well before her birth? Or has she simply been involved enough in pop-culture to know the reference (though perhaps not the actual source)? It's hard to know for sure, but what is certain is that the reference strikes a chord, and makes her laugh again. (Or maybe she's just extrapolating from context.)

"You seem to know just about everyone," she says. "Which-- ok, I won't say social butterfly. But you connect people. Which is interesting. I definitely pick up the introvert, but it's not that simple, is it? It's definitely... easier to talk to people when there's a shared experience. Like Ariadne: I probably wouldn't have sought her out or anything. But we had a shared experience, and we bonded."

And now they've been fake-married. It's a thing!

Ravn's lip curls into a small smile. "Yes. Connecting people is what I do. That's my role here. That's what I do, at HOPE and outside of it. I am -- the guy everyone can leave a message with. I'm not a fighter. I'm not a -- whatever the hell we call people with powers, sorcerer? I'm a bloke who knows people and stories. I'm -- the sage, I suppose."

He glances at his wash. It's done. He decides to pretend he has not noticed because this is not a conversation he is in any particular rush to leave. "I guess I have a somewhat unique starting position on this game board because I am both someone who knows the tropes and archetypes of the way we tell stories -- a writer I am fond of used to claim that we should not be called Homo sapiens, the thinking man, but Pan narrans, the story telling ape. Add to that, I've been on both ends of society -- up there with a silver spoon, and down on the street with those who have very little."

"Fitting all the pieces together. It's an important job," is Una's feelings on this particular subject. It doesn't seem to be intended as an ego boost: just facts.

"Pan narrans. I like that. It's what makes us human, isn't it? The ability to tell stories. I mean, maybe other animals do that and we just don't know, but... I imagine it's what attracts the Veil creatures to us, too, or part of it."

She drums her fingers upon her knees, rolling out her shoulders in an easy gesture, though her expression remains thoughtful rather than particularly relaxed. "No wonder you feel like you belong here, really. For me, it's just... finding the right people. I don't know if I can do good, but I can be here, and that's something."

"I think wanting to do good might be aiming too high." Ravn stretches his legs again, making himself look more comfortable than he feels. "I think we should aim for surviving -- but, I also feel like that anywhere else I have been. The difference is just that here, I am surviving with others, instead of on my own. I'm not optimistic about really making a difference to Gray Harbor. We won't be closing the thin spot and killing all the monsters."

He smiles all the same; a small, but determined, lopsided smile. "But we can live decent lives -- and it's really no different from living anywhere else, except that here, the enemy is easier to recognise. I think -- maybe it takes a certain kind of person to see it like that, and I'm honestly not sure it's a good thing, but it is how it works for me. I want to be here. I want to watch what happens when myriads of realities overlap, and people are at their finest."

"No," allows Una. "I don't imagine we'll be heroes, saving the world."

The corners of her mouth twist up again, a little rueful: wouldn't it be nice, though, to manage that.

"It's a nice thought, that we might be better versions of ourselves because of all the shit that comes our ways. I mean... it's not purpose, because that implies intent and a set destination, somehow, and that's not what I think. But it's something. Something I did not in any way imagine I would find here, but... go figure, right? That's the way of it."

"It's purpose." Ravn grins again. "A lot of us -- that's exactly what we went looking for, how we ended up here. We were looking for some kind of purpose. Or running away from something, and now that we're safe from whatever that was, we're looking around and thinking, now what? I know I did. The thing I was running from did find me in the end."

He half smirks, half grimaces. "It was almost -- I almost felt pity. That ghost was so far out of her league she didn't last twenty minutes. She went up against three of Gray Harbor's most powerful people, and what remained of her had to be mopped up with a rag and bucket. After that, I found myself wondering what to do, too. And then I realised I was already doing it. This is what I do. And maybe it is what you end up doing too -- people like us who don't have super powers that we know of, but we can pick a lock or fake kiss the heroine."

"'Purpose,'" quotes Una, who evidently went through a musical phase at some point in her life. "'It's that little flame, that lights a fire under your ass.'"

But that's an aside, really, little more than a murmur as with more consideration she listens to Ravn's story. "That's a hell of a story, when you put it like that. And maybe a hell of a moral, too. If picking a lock or fake-kissing the heroine is my purpose in life, well, that's not so bad. I'd prefer it if it keeps avoiding outright danger and possibility of dismemberment, but..."

She rolls out her shoulders. "There are definitely worse things."

Una and Ravn are sitting on some of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, waiting for their laundry.

"You'll get bad ones. Everyone does. But most of the time -- as long as people just keep their shit together and remember that everyone needs to look out for each other, it's not terrible." Ravn leans back on his chair, letting its front legs lift off the ground a little, balancing, in the fashion of a man who never was very good at sitting still and who probably has left a wake of twitchy teachers and professors. "It is funny, or ironic, or whatever you'd call it. I've been badly injured here. But most of that was not by Veil creatures at all -- that was ordinary human assholes with guns."

He makes a face. "The worst? Mob sniper trying to take out the Chief. Two men in black at a site -- surely the Chief can't be the short, Mexican guy. My luck someone with healing abilities was there, because that was not a bad shot."

The door is pulled open and there comes the denim rear of a short, blonde person. There is a large trash bag in her arms as she steps backwards. Actually, Gabriella hops on one foot backwards while the other foot is trying to hold the door open and not shut on her bag of stuff. "Comeon.. just a little bit... that's it." Yeah, she's cheering herself on. When the door closes she spins around and...

"Holy hell.. I feel like I should go put victory rolls in my hair, slap on some kitten heels and.. I mean I could rock that look." Oh right, there are others. The bag lowers so the woman can see over top of it. "Heya." It kills any flirty walks when one is waddling a large bag over to a large washing machine for large items. Bedding items.

By contrast, Una seems perfectly comfortable, pretzel-shaped in her sitting position. The significant different in height probably counts for something here.

"Yeah," she says. "That just goes to show that assholes are assholes, wherever you go." The words may make her seem relaxed about it, but her expression says otherwise: there is nothing relaxing about people trying to shoot other people.

Happily, there's a distraction: enter Gabriella, and her reaction, as similar to Una's as it was, draws a smile from the redhead. "Isn't it fantastic? Best way to bring some excitement to the most mundane of chores."

"As long as no one puts those things in my hair, we're good. Hello, Gabriella." Ravn raises a gloved hand in a lazy wave. "You and Una met yet? Gabriella's across the street from me -- Una's to the side. Oak Avenue is doing its laundry today."

He lets his head fall back to look at the ceiling (marvel of pink and green!) again. "Truth, though. Assholery is universal. A gang from out of town tried to make a move here -- and it culminated, apparently, in shooting up a garden expo which, unfortunately for me, I was shopping for a petunia at. And well, the sniper shot the wrong man. But the point I wanted to make was, I think that on some level, you are as likely to die in a freak traffic accident or a subway mugging in New York as you are getting killed here. It's just that it will be more dramatic here."

Gabriella is silent for a moment and then she smiles warmly. "Greetings. Granny said it would ruin her washing machine if I put my comforter in it. I totally did not spill hot chocolate on it. I was not watching serial killer dramas and then my own hair touched my shoulder. Those are lies and slander. Just in case she said anything."

There is a narrowing of her spring green eyes on Una for a few moments. "Damnit. I think I have, but I have the worst memory when I'm not trying to remember. I swear I have to write everything down." She turns to shove a hot chocolate stained comforter in the proper place and then looks around for detergent. "I mean, I tend to like things with lots of color. So I'm down with this. You know where these colors would be perfect?"

She looks between Ravn and Una. Her eyes linger on Ravn with a completely innocent smile before she looks at Una. "That house across the street from me. I think it's next to you. Don't you think this would be fabulous?"

Una's silent for a moment in consideration, but Gabriella's reference to her grandmother is what does it: "Yes, of course. Granny Leigh's granddaughter. I promise, I won't listen to anything she says."

The other woman's arrival has broken the seriousness of the mood, but the redhead doesn't seem concerned by this (if anything, she may be relieved: not all of the world's mysteries need to be solved over laundry). "Oh, that one next to me? I know it well. You know," she taps a finger to her mouth, which twitches in amusement, "You may be right. Perhaps we need to organise a painting party."

"I hope you two realise that I have talked my room mate out of painting the house in all the colours of the rainbow on at least two occasions, and I still expect to wake up one Pride month morning and find that he has anyway." Ravn smirks. "And when that happens? I'm not the one who needs to look at it, just saying."

Apparently, he's not very concerned about local real estate values plummeting. What the rest of Oak Avenue would think is anyone's guess.

He looks up at the ceiling again. "Honestly, though? We should have a Pride parade in town. I mean, when it rolls around. I don't think we had one last year."

"Of course we should!" Gabriella offers to Una. "I am nothing if not here for community volunteer wor--" The word trails off as rainbow hits her ears. She glances at Ravn and then back towards Una. "Change of plans. We make Aiden's dreams come true. We rainbow the shit out of that house. I mean if people see it, they will just be like oh the Dream is at it again. We will get off without anyone the wiser." Ignore they are discussing it in front of Ravn.

"I think my grandmother has gotten a cold, so she might not be out and about the same. I will tell her that you think she's the best though and I will put you on my list of food drop off places. How many people live in your house? Benji lives up the road as well." There is a smile to that as she looks back towards Ravn. "How is my kitty doing? I keep leaving salmon out on my window sill and it keeps disappearing. So I'm thinking it's her, but you know if not, she's missing out." There is a hitch of her hip as she leans against the closest surface. "I didn't mean to interrupt your discussion of shootouts and death though. Has something been going on late or you need help with anything?"

"Oh, we should definitely have a Pride parade. This isn't 'Gay Harbor' for nothing, damn it." Una's pleased with this idea; pleased, too, with Gabriella's enthusiasm.

"Rainbows for everyone. I'd be tempted to paint my house, though honestly, I'm not sure I have that kind of energy. It sounds like it'd be pretty exhausting? There's three of us," she adds, in response to Gabriella's question. "Though I promise, I'm keeping us well-fed. Pass on my best wishes to your grandmother: I hope she's well soon. We were mostly talking... generic terms, I guess? Nothing too specific. Though there's always stuff going on in this town."

Ravn laughs softly. "If you're not feeding Kitty Pryde you might be feeding the Uncat, or one of her kittens. Una had a run-in with one of those the other day, I think? It's not the season for the Yule Cats."

He nods, and steeples his gloved hands. "Pride parades are more fun than mob shoot-outs. The Gay Harbor joke needs to live on -- and heaven knows half or more of my friends are some kind of queer or other. It's as good an excuse for street food and loud music as any, I figure. Hell, somebody told me queer even includes demi and ace these days."

"I think we should just have one. We don't need to wait for Pride Month for a parade. Just like I can honor black history any part of the year. So let's plan it." She moves over to slink into a chair. "We can get businesses involved too and see if they will donate things. Perhaps have a silent auction and we can donate the funds to..." There is a pause to that and a furrow of her brows.

"Is there a family house in town? Or does the HOPE act in that area too?" There is a tip of her head as if she's about to add more support classes there. Then she smiles at Una. "If you really do want to paint your house rainbows, I'd be down for helping. I'm sure we could knock it out rather quickly. I suggest not feeding me alcohol though, or I might draw some smiley faces, some peaches, and some eggplants." A pause. "You know... because I like gardening."

Una shoots Ravn a look for that reference to the un-kitten, though it's more a look of horrified recollection than something targeted at the Dane specifically. "Those _teeth," she mutters, for all that it's a topic easily set aside to consider Gabriella's idea.

"Gardening." Beat. "Right. Of course. I'm-- well, I'm happy to help out," presumably with this Pride parade idea, rather than the painting, though it's not immediately obvious, "though I don't know much about organising anything. I like the idea of raising funds."

"HOPE is whatever HOPE needs to be. Sometimes, that means taking in people getting out of a bad place, kids or adults. There's a couple of rooms in the building that aren't open to the public for that reason -- though we're kind of working with someone about setting up a more permanent, proper shelter for domestic abuse victims somewhere else that doesn't need to go on public record. After all, the community centre's the first damn place some asshole will look if he wants to go on beating his wife." Ravn makes a face; one could get the impression he has actually had to deal with something along those lines a couple of times.

He cants his head and thinks. "I don't think that there is any help centre or place in town that caters specifically to the queer community. I also think that outside of the -- well, shining community, our community, there aren't as many who are open and out about it. When you can throw fireballs or open doors into the Veil, it's somehow not really a big deal whether you kiss boys, you know?"

Gabriella agrees with Una. "Teeth? I am a little jealous I have not seen one of these kittens. Can I adopt one?" Then she looks at Ravn and suddenly has the urge to go check on her laundry at that moment. "Let me know if they need someone to talk to, I'm sure we could find a way to pool resources too." Her breath pulled into her lungs as she looks back towards the two of them.

"They have more teeth than any cat should possibly have," explains Una. "Also, they're psychic."

More serious, she tips her head forward, acknowledging Ravn's reference to the domestic abuse shelter. "I'm sure there's all kinds of causes that could use the money. And the rest."

Also, wryly? "And anyway, the Veil may make you kiss boys-- or girls-- whether you intend to or not. It kind of makes a lot of things matter a whole lot less. But it's easy to forget that this is still a small, regional town. Outside of our little community... there's probably a fair amount of homophobia."

"Still pretty sure the one you told me about seeing at the motel is one of the Evergreen ones. The three that know they're not actually cats, but they're trying very hard to pretend because life as cats is actually kind of good." Ravn nods and then glances at Gabriella. "You'll know them if you see them. They're mackerel tabbies, with entirely too many teeth. You won't be in doubt if you spot the Uncat -- she's a black cat who looks exactly like Kitty Pryde except she's the size of a bobcat."

He nods at the comment about homophobia. "Well, you know how it is. People in prominent positions still can't just come out, even when it's really pretty obvious. Among us, the people who shine, this is -- just not a very big deal. To the rest of white Seattle suburbia, it can be."

"I think people should just be free to love who they want to love. It's not hurting anyone and it's no one's business. Although, I'll be signing up for the nunnery over here if you need me." Gabriella winks at both of them. There is a nod to that though. "So we are in agreement. A parade then and potentially painting a house or two rainbow colored." Her lips curve.

"I haven't seen them, but now I sort of want to. I mean I might be feeding one. It's only fair they come try to be my cat. I offer up salmon and live across the street from Kitty." Her head cants a bit to this for a few moments. Then she offers, "Una, what do you do in town? For funds I mean."

Una curls her fingers under her knees, and says, "That sounds about right. The not-cats, I mean. This one seemed to be rather play-acting at it, but enjoying the process. If it weren't for the teeth..." It could even be considered adorable.

"You're not alone in the nunnery, Gabriella, but I for one am perfectly content there. At the moment? Not much at all. I'm looking for a job, living off some inheritance and my lovely roommates whose rent helps keep the lights on. Sadly, I'm not qualified for all that much."

"Mm, well, you know me. I'm the abbot of the nunnery, or something." Ravn grins slightly. "Nothing wrong with that. That said, Una, you got some action last night, you don't get to complain. You got married."

He winks at Gabriella. "That was one fucked dream."

Gabriella blinks. "Congrats. Or was this like a marriage like Ravn is a prom queen?" She lets her eyes run over him thoughtfully. "I mean he might have the legs for it. I always wanted long legs." All five foot of her. Her lips curve up. "I mean, I hear marriage is the death of sex, so maybe she didn't get any."

"How is your spouse? Shouldnt they have you on a honeymoon?" There is a tip of her head as she thinks about it. "What do you want to do? I"m sure we can find you a job."

Una's eyes light with mirth. "Yeah," she says. "And Ravn officiated. It was very romantic." Clearly a joke of some kind.

A moment later, she takes pity on Gabriella in order to explain, "It was a capital-d Dream and I, as lady Zorro, managed to marry the heroine. I'm sure we made a beautiful couple, the bride taller than me by several inches."

Of jobs, she makes a face. "I worked in a thrift shop back in Seattle. I'm more the domestic goddess type than the professional."

"And what Gabriella is referring to is me freezing up when I had to kiss the Prom King -- who fortunately did not freeze up." Ravn makes a face. "That probably saved our tails but, I can't say I am of a mind to repeat the experience, no offence to him. It's the whole kissing people in public, that's -- a few miles across my personal boundaries."

Gabriella smiles towards that. "How romantic. I am certain that you shall be in love forever then. Your children will be beautiful. Wild. Crazy. Go Zorro." She pauses and looks at her hands. "I'm not sure I could swing a sword. Did you at least save her from someone? Also that um... what was her name.. Parvati? She was looking for someone in her clothing shop. Maybe she can give you something? I admit I'm all about cooking and baking and cleaning, but I'll deny it in court."

There is a curve of her lips towards Ravn. "Do you ever feel something you don't in those circumstances? I think we talked about it once. Like do you feel in love with someone, or are you still you but going through the motions?"

Una, caught between amusement and sympathy for Ravn, finds her expression stuck between the two: it makes for an odd look. "Oh fuck," she says. "That's-- yeah. Yikes. Sorry. I can't speak to everyone, but I know I... knew what the narrative wanted from me, even if I didn't feel it myself. So definitely still me, but me plus something else. If that makes sense?"

"I meant to go and see Parvati. It's a possibility."

"I've been in love," Ravn murmurs and gets off his chair at long last, to begin tipping out the contents of his laundry machine into the basket. "It's just not something that happens to me at the drop of a hat. And, well, to be fair, it's not something I've been very lucky with either. It all seems like a lot of effort and a lot of unnecessary complications."

He nods at Una. "That does sound like a good idea. She seems like a good person to me. And an interesting one -- travelled all over, works for the jet set, might have a lot of fun stories to tell in the back room."

Gabriella lowers her brows. "I meant... in love in the DREAM.. not in life. Like it's a faux emotion in that state." She has a look like one might have if they over-stayed their welcome. She smiles at Una. "I only met her for a short time and I was highly caffinated, soooo... but she seemed nice. Also clothing is good. Maybe one of you can help me with a more professional look." Since she looks all of young in her jeans and t-shirts.

Una glances down at her own jeans (which are striped, in purple, because why not), and laughs. "Won't be me. But Parvati-- I'm sure she can help. I'm sure she would be interesting to work for."

For now, however: laundry. How very mundane.

Ravn cants his head and thinks. "No," he says after a moment. "No, I've never had a Dream press emotions on me. I've had it press a narrative down over my head but what I felt was always more like an actor playing a part. I'm not actually a lecherous Catholic priest in 19th century California either, I just played one in a very silly Dream."

He might not be the first choice for a romantic lead anyhow. The whole touch thing. It doesn't make a very convincing romantic hero.

The basket goes up on his hip. "I'll be heading back before Kitty Pryde eats everything in the fridge. You two both look out for yourselves and don't be strangers, all right?"

Laundry day, successfully accomplished.