2022-02-24 - It's Debbie, oh dear. Or rather, oh Deer.

The time had come, Ariadne said, to talk of many things: Of space and rent and greenbelt views -- and hanging blinds with strings -- and why Samwise wants to lie right there and whether pigs have --

Well, no, that's been observed and confirmed. Sometimes, pigs do have wings.

Either way, that's the redhaired barista of Espresso Yourself standing off to one side of the main offices of the Broadleaf Apartments with her phone in-hand and Samwise on a leash at her side. The Windhound is eyeing anything and everything per his habit, but by the relaxed lift of his ears, he's not too concerned. After all, he's warm in his sighthound sweater. Ariadne herself is in her pink-and-grey peacoat, knitcap pulled down to her ears, standing with nonchalance while she waits.

After all, there might be ghosts here -- and who you gonna call? Darth Bathrobes!

Maybe it's the mild weather -- for the season -- that prompts Ravn to turn up on foot today. Maybe Kitty Pryde did not feel for a ride. Maybe he is actually serious about Coach Kelly's advice, to build up stamina by walking, walking, walking, and then, walking. Maybe it works. Maybe he carries his asthma inhaler on his body just to be on the safe side after all. Whatever the reason, "Darth Bathrobes" turns up on time -- though for once, not in his usual leather jacket. Today's choice is a wind breaker (also black), complimented by a deep purple scarf.

He trots up and unpockets a gloved hand long enough to wave hello. "Never actually been into these apartments but I know people who live here and they seem happy enough. I haven't heard of any ghosts here but -- that's never any guarantee."

Samwise is the first to spot the incoming Dane, though given the dog is a sighthound, this surprises no one, assuredly. His triangular-flopped ears lift and that plumed tail begins to sway back and forth. It's a person he recognizes! The guy from the bridge with the bird and the restless water! It's the movement of the dog's tail which gains Ariadne's attention and she looks from her phone to the dog first, then in the direction of his sighthound-nose.

Away the phone goes and the redheaded barista returns the wave before putting her own hand back into her coat pocket. "Not hearing of any ghosts is a good start. If there's one thing I'm learning at the café, it's that people gossip around here. Don't know why I'm surprised, but maybe it really is a cliché for smaller cities. Nobody at the café has mentioned anything so far and I've definitely mentioned this place enough times in turn."

She smiles faintly and looks up at the building again. "I figure we start by walking around the back and checking out the backyard -- whatever counts for one. Peering in through the sliding glass door surely isn't cheating," she adds drily. A tilt of her head and she gets to walking. "I can volunteer my tailbone's feeling better. Took a day or two and a few baths, but it really is."

"Funny thing is, in my country a town of eighteen people wouldn't be considered all that small. Sure, my home town has a hundred thousand or so, but that's considered the large city of the region. Eighteen thousand? Good-sized provincial city, railroad probably comes through." Ravn chuckles and glances back over his shoulder, at nothing and all of Gray Harbor in particular. "Small town mentality, though? Yes. I feel like I know everyone and everyone knows me. Obviously it's not true -- but everyone in our 'gifted' community? Yes, pretty much."

He smiles at the news of tailbone recovery, and nods. "I'm glad you and Una are hitting it off. I like her -- she is a bit like myself, a little awkward, and prone to backing up into a corner to look frantically for an escape if someone starts to flirt with her. Smart but introvert. I worry a little that I might come across to her like I'm trying a little too hard but I think she's figured out by now that I have in fact not done the math of oh hey, my neighbour is single and bakes delightful things."

"I like her too. She's...down to earth. Fun to tease, yeah, but there's a good heart in there, I think. I don't know her well enough to be completely certain she's good people, but I feel at this point? It's a solid chance of it." A firm nod to boot on the opinion regarding Una. Samwise sniffs along the bushes as they travel along the manicured low hedge separating sidewalk from outside wall. Rhododendrons, of course, easy keepers in the region. "I can't really see you hitting her up for baked goods on the premise of a one-night stand. You're a talker when you get going and you do like to talk to people."

Ariadne glances over at the much taller man, smiling to herself. "But then again, everybody's a talker when there's a favorite subject at hand. Maybe it's the accent which makes it more obvious, I dunno." Says the one who twangs now and then in her Midwestern lilt. "Eighteen people isn't a town though, that's camp site at Yosemite," the barista then adds in coy humor. How American of her.

"Gah. Eighteen thousand obviously." Ravn rolls his eyes at himself. "Gray Harbor has eighteen thousand people. And if I am to guess, about a hundred of us or so are like you and me. Maybe more, but if that's the case it's because a lot of people who were born here seem to adopt a strategy of keep quiet, keep your head down, and pretend it's not happening to you. So unless you meet them in some experience or other, you'll never know."

Then he laughs and falls into stride. "It's true. I do like people when people are the right kind of people. And I am a lecturer. I think I'm one of those people who either say very little or ends up giving a speech. Never was very good at finding the middle ground. Let's take a peek in between those rhododendrons, see if the yard looks like you'd expect."

"Hmm. Wise in a way, keeping your head down. Naivety or not wanting to be called crazy...I get it." Ariadne nods to herself. She turns around the corner and Samwise leads the way on his long-line by a light-footed trot out onto the green after they walk through a narrow gap in the rhododendron hedgerow. The barista nods to herself, looking around the small if well-kept greenspace.

"Betcha the deer graze here in the mornings, or at least walk through." She says this with a fondness for the creatures, having never had to deal with their ability to strip a garden in a night. "I think it's...this one." Two patios in, she crosses the grass to up on the second one. Samwise sniffs delicately at the step corners, nose twitching and short whiskers wrinkling while his own shades her brow and leans in close to the sliding glass door, peering inside. "I mean, it looks like empty space to me. I can't see any monster stains or anything. Kitchen looks good, there's some counter space. Maybe a TV there at one point," she muses, looking at the opposite wall.

"I wonder why these apartments did not appeal to me," Ravn agrees, looking around. To him, the idea of deer in the yard seems attractive as well -- and like Ariadne, he's never had to clean up the mess and repair the damage, either. "I could see the attraction of coffee and tossing half a roll to some enterprising doe looking for a treat. Think they feel safe here? I don't imagine they get hunted in somebody's backyard."

He walks up to glance in through the window pane, too, trying to get a look inside the apartment. "Tell you the truth, I am still trying to work out what the hell made me buy a house. I used to live in a backpack. Firm believer in staying transient, not getting tied to a place. Buying a property goes against everything I've done most of my life."

The tall Dane moves to the next window for a better angle. He falls quiet a moment and then says, as casually as he can manage, "Looks like some previous tenant is still pottering around a little. Do you see her?"

After all, it's so rare to see women with 1985s style big hair and denim shirts with glittery flower motifs sit around in empty apartments, chewing gum and watching a TV that isn't there.

"I guess I'd huck some bread to them if they got close enough, sure, or an apple." The deer, Ariadne means, her breath fogging on the glass as she continues peering inside. Okay, so the microwave would go there... She pulls her head back to glance over at Ravn. Samwise has his ears perked, apparently watching his own expression in the glass -- or is he.

Something like a manner of organized color and pattern seems to reflect in the glass too -- or, no, the barista decides as she glances back into the semi-dark interior of the unrented apartment unit. Well, maybe, it must have been some ambient play of light, she decides as she thinks about why a professed drifter like the Dane would indeed buy a house.

Maybe his wandering days were over. Maybe those Veil entities want to eat him like a biscotti pastry while they drink their coffee.

Either way, what Ravn says makes Ariadne slowly straighten up and stare at him, honestly wide-eyed, non-leash-holding hand fisted before her chest. "What." Oh no, she'd heard him correctly: a previous tenant. "WHAT."

The Dane glances back at Ariadne, and at Samwise. "Not to worry. I don't think anyone's actually here. Most ghosts are like this -- they're just images in time. Or windows into another time, I don't know -- whatever they are, they don't see you and usually, you don't see them. All this means is, if we go check the place's records, there was at some point a tenant who looked like her name should be Debbie and she's from Texas. For all we know, Debbie ended up marrying her high school sweetheart and moved back to Texas."

He glances back at the -- well, scene is a big word for what's basically a woman watching TV in her own living room, only she did so forty years ago. "When I was a kid, people told me I was shy. I wasn't. I just figured out that half the time I went up to say hello to somebody they weren't actually there, and everyone else accused me of making things up. This is like that. There's no one actually here, it's just a memory. Buildings have memories too."

Ariande finds herself drawn back to staring into the unit's unoccupied interior. Samwise hasn't wagged his tail at all this entire time; the Windhound's ears turn about, back and forward, and his is a contemplative canine look within. If he's seeing something, it's not enough to bother him -- or it's not his place, so he doesn't care. He hasn't marked the stairs anyways.

"So...okay. You can see ghosts." It's the scientific manner of speaking from the barista, one which outlines her thoughts clearly and at a deliberate speed. "You can see things I can't. I'll bite. You're saying there's a memory there because buildings have memories too. Or this is some repeating case of somebody stuck in a loop here. She's somebody who looks like a Debbie. Let's just say I decide to rent this unit here. If I do, is this memory going to do more than be a memory?"

Ravn looks back at Ariadne, rather than at 'Debbie'. "Honestly? I don't think you'll ever notice her at all. Maybe sometimes, a flicker of a shadow somewhere. And in 1985, there's a woman thinking it's odd how sometimes, the light plays tricks on her eyes and she almost imagines someone else is here -- but what the hell, it's an older building, and her eyes are probably just tired. Most ghosts are not actually -- they are not actual entities who are there, with an agenda or a mind of their own. They're just memories. Sometimes, they are interactive memories -- there's a woman at the local thrift shop who asks me every damn morning if I've seen her kid, he ran off a moment ago, it's just that moment happened in nineteen seventy something. She's not real, either -- the shop just remembers that a woman panicked there once, because she lost sight of her kid."

He looks back into the living room where, to his vision, 'Debbie' siiiighs and stretches her legs. "At a guess, whoever this woman is, she went through some kind of emotional experience, and for some reason, it was 'recorded' in time. It will fade, eventually. Or be rewritten with something else."

Ariadne radiates 'dubious' like a fire log might heat. When Ravn looks back into the living room, she does the same thing, frowning, dealing with many things at once: frustration at not seeing something there, concern that she just might have seen something, nervous excitement at some unknown. Samwise continues to stare directly in the direction of this Debbie, his tail held neutrally.

"Look...I can handle a memory. I don't want Sam to be uncomfortable. He doesn't have the thumbs or the higher processing like we do. He's a smart cookie, but he's also my very good boy." Reaching down, she runs fingernails gently down his skull until she finds his ear-tuck; cue content groan from the Sighthound who leans heavily into the massaging. "He doesn't deserve any bullshit I accidentally bring down onto the both of us."

Ravn gets another look, this one plainly concerned. "You're sure it's not going to turn into something more?" A plaintive note wends through her words.

The folklorist sticks his hands in his pockets and offers a wry little smile. "Nothing ever comes with a guarantee in this life. But I don't think it's very likely that it turns into something else. And I do think it is very likely that most places will have some kind of echoes and memories -- if we were to tour the other apartments, I'm positive we would come across more. And yet I've never heard anyone claim that these apartments are haunted -- a place isn't really considered haunted until the thing there either reaches out and wants to be seen, or it's so powerful that everybody sees it."

He looks down at Sam and the smile widens, loses the twist. "He is a good boy. I am not really a dog person -- I don't hate or dislike dogs, most of them just seem no more interested in me than I am in them. But even I can tell that he's a sensitive and friendly boy. I get the feeling he scares easy but he's got a giant heart. Am I right?"

Sighing to herself (and the weather isn't cold enough to show her breath), Ariadne nods to the Dane's thought process. It's true. A place is never haunted until shit's really gone sideways Her lashes, darkened by mascara, down-sweep as she looks at the red-brindled Windhound leaning against her leg.

Ravn earns himself a little snort for his observation. "Yeah, you're right. Sam's a goose sometimes. Loud noises scare him and sometimes he doesn't like what he sees in the dark at dusk, but it's silhouettes. Things he can't figure out. His heart's five sizes too big though, yeah. I taught him how to lure course back in Seattle. We've got a few ribbons floating around in packing boxes somewhere." She glances up now, her mien more relaxed for discussion involving a familiar known dear to her. "He's never killed anything he's brought to me. One time, rabbit, boom: dropped right in my lap while I was visiting my parent's house. Ruined my nice sundress because the rabbit peed all over me."

Samwise looks up at his person, ears lifted. "Yes, I said rabbit, I'm sorry, there's none of those. All gone." This seems to be the special word for 'cut off', no more of whatever's being discussed. A doggy sigh. Alas. No buns. "He'd let a burglar steal the silver if they were quiet about it. Quieter people are his jam. You two would probably get along," she estimates.

"Well, speaking as someone who did a brief stint in that business, he's certainly the kind of dog I'd appreciate running into in someone's living room at night, then." Ravn smiles down at the windhound and holds out his hand -- leaving it up to Sam whether he wants to present his head for a scritch or not. "Although on the whole, I'd never have gone in somewhere that had a dog I knew of. Even the friendliest of dog is prone to raising the alarm if only by means of 'yay, people!' Most people sleep very lightly when it comes to unexpected noises, and Old Yeller isn't supposed to be thumping his tail in friendly happy at three am."

He looks back at the window; Texas Debbie is not doing Dallas but a tub of chocolate ice cream. Crystal tears sparkle on cheekbones dabbed in sparkly pink -- the make-up trends of the mid-80s were, shall we say, colourful. "I'm going to venture a guess and say that the girl in there went through some kind of heartbreak one day while she lived here. It does tend to be strong emotions that end up impressed on a house or a place. But for all we know, you met her aged sixty at the Safeway this morning, with two grand children in tow, having completely forgotten the jerk who dumped her some afternoon forty years ago. She may not even be dead."

Barista-brows lift. "Whoa," she says quietly of that previous stint of business. Burglary. Well. Sam, on the other hand, gives the gloved Danish hand one of those exceedingly-delicate sniff-overs. He's got a canine nose all but arrowed and it means his damp black nose visibly twitches up a storm as he takes Ravn's measure.

Male. European. Medicinal. Leather. Coffee. Paper. Pencils. Cat. By the appearance of the Sighthound then leaning his forehead against Ravn's thumb, the academic passes muster -- and is forgiven for having a cat. A huge heart, Sam has.

"And wait, wait." Ariadne holds up a pointer finger. "May not even be dead? And yet she's somehow chilling there, dealing with a break-up?" Again, the interior of the apartment unit is given a long, judgmental look. "Memory imprint on the building, right," she then mutters.

"Memory imprint, yes." Ravn smiles and walks on to look in through the next window. He appreciates Sam's forgiveness. He also suspects that when Sam meets Kitty Pryde, Sam will agree with him that you don't have Kitty Pryde -- she has you, and you don't really get a say in the matter. A huge temper, Kitty Pryde has. "I can't say for sure that it's a break-up, obviously. All I can say is that at some point, a young woman who looks like she belongs in 1985, sat in there with a tub of chocolate ice cream and felt very sad and hurt. But given that her head is attached to her shoulders, her wrists aren't slashed, there is no rope around her neck, or any other obvious cause of death -- I am going to say that that's all it is. She did not kill herself and found herself obliged to stay around until no one remembers her. She did not die of grief, and now sits waiting for her false lover to call. She probably just ate the ice cream and swore a lot before going to bed."

"I relate to this ice cream eating to soothe hurt feelings. Word, gurl." This last part is aimed in the general direction of the apartment. It likely doesn't even bypass the walls or glass, much less disturb Debbie at her dessert. Sam lifts his ears -- oh no, scritchies have departed, sad d--SQUIRREL?! He stares at the wood line and ultimately dismisses it. Not squirrel, okay, whew.

"But alright. Yeah," sighs Ariadne, looking over at Ravn again. "I'm convinced. No Ouija boards, no seances, no bothering the memory and we'll all be fine. I'll let the office know I've got dibs on this one. I just like how it looks across the back yard too. Great view of the woods. I might even put up a bird feeder if management will let me, you never know," she muses, smirking to herself.

"You're going to get a lot of seagulls if you do. Besides the normal garden birds, I mean." Ravn glances in the direction of the Bay; like any other town by the coast, offerings made to birds often end up in the maws of seagulls. Seagulls are smart. And seagulls are not afraid of people in the slightest. At least this coast is not a rocky mountainside, and Gray Harbor does not appeal much to the large silverbacks. Those are the size of chickens with very large wings and a right pain in the arse -- thinks the man who grew up in a building with turrets tall enough to attract, you guessed it, the large silverbacks.

He glances in through a small, partially frosted window. "The bathroom looks nice. Bit old fashioned -- you can probably use that if you want to kick the rent down a little. Older kitchen, older bathroom -- I remember someone telling me that if either is more than three years old, it's considered a large minus when you want to sell a house. Not because of energy efficiency or anything reasonable like that -- but because fashion changes that quick in work room design. Apparently, being able to afford renovating your bathroom every two years is one way to demonstrate your surplus."

Interrupted from imagining one of the local California gulls attempting to perch on a sunflower seed feeder, Ariadne quirks brows and lips both. She watches Ravn with his height peer into the bathroom and nods.

"Good point, about the rent. I'm not going to mind saving a few hundred bucks each month. Hell, that's groceries and more good stuff for us. Right, Sam?" The Sighthound perks his ears and wags his plumed tail -- yes, my lady, good stuff! "But I'm also not...how to put it. A house is a house. An apartment is an apartment. If I'm comfortable with what's already around, I'll just change what I need to be optimally comfortable and the rest can stay. Renovation can be for the landlord. Also, nobody's going to get seagulls on a sunflower seed feeder."

She can't help the little laugh. "Seriously. I know they're seditious flying black holes, I know, I grew up in Seattle, but no gull is going to hang around and look for half-hulled sunflower seeds in the grass when there are tourists to rob of french fries. It'll be fine. Also, you know what's nice about the jays? They're mean too. They'll pick a fight with a seagull. It'll be fine," she reiterates with a shrug of one shoulder.

"I don't actually know a lot about your bluejays," Ravn admits. "We have blue jays in Denmark, but they're another bird entirely -- a shy and avoidant forest bird. Which, incidentally, is not blue, except for a few wing feathers."

He takes his face off the window and the view and turns back to look at Ariadne, folding his arms across his chest. "And there is something to be said for deer grazing on the lawn in the morning. I might come over for that."

Blink. And then a sudden onset of mild panic the kind you'd expect from someone introvert with not too great social skill: "I meant, I would come over. In the morning, for the deer. Oh for fuck's sake. The deer. Not hitting on you."

Speaking of jays. Samwise lifts his head and ears both towards the tree-line to hear the jeering of that very species in the boughs of the evergreens. Ariadne, recognizing it, glances over her shoulder and grins to herself. Give her a a week or two, birds, she's got your back. Her golden-hazel eyes swing back to Ravn and her grin falters right about the time he blinks.

Wait, was -- oh, it wasn't. Or was it? Or maybe not.

Either way, Ariadne is of a portion of society who has the capacity to blush. Samwise looks between her and the far-taller Dane, ears perked. Are we being awkward? Why are we being awkward? Raising a hand to her cheek, she rubs at it like this will remove the heat there and ends up huffing a laugh.

"Look...you want to come over in the morning and see the deer, that's fine, Ravn. Just remember that they're grazers around dawn and dawn's awfully early around here and I'm not a morning person. I'm a night owl and slug-a-bed," she shares, pulling a wry smirk. "Dusk might be a better time if you want to see them."

"Yes. I think that might be better. I'm sorry. I get enthusiastic and I talk before I think." Ravn looks a tad sheepish, and reaches down to scritch Samwise's ears; so much safer. "I am a morning person in the sense that I am often up very late because of the timezone difference between myself and my students -- some of the very late appointments on their end, I might as well not go to bed."

He shakes his head. "Sorry about that. I'm not really on the market -- and you've not come across like you were hoping to get asked out, either. Can we rewind about two minutes and then I suggest that actually, I'm a bit of a deer expert, and I could come over in the evening sometime, and watch them graze while I mansplain to you that actually, deer are shy herbivores but they tend to acclimatise quickly to urbanisation if they are not hunted."

"Understandable," the barista nods of his scholastic schedule. Time zones are a bear. She's heard her parents grouse about it often enough. Samwise lifts his head into the head scritchies and blink-squints, plumed tail slowly wagging -- mmm, head scritchies. His owner continues to listen and slowly, it becomes apparent she's unable to help smiling quite wryly, mostly to herself.

"It's a good thing I meant the offer as a friendly thing too then. Consider that for a second: new chick in town, immediately wanting to hook up with somebody? Not exactly a great first impression to make," Ariadne notes, head tilted slightly, golden-hazel regard level. "I'm of the belief that a gal and a guy can be friends without it coming to anything else because hey, who knows? The future's a weird place unpredictable. And if it comes to nothing else but friendship, who's to say that's terrible? Friends are important. So, like I said before: you can come over if you want and I'll pretend to ignore the mansplaining while I laugh inside because while my specialty is marine biology, I know enough to fact-check you in the process. I'm merciless too, I'll warn you," she then grins. "You'll get a bunch of shit if you're wrong about stuff. Actually, you're just going to get shit in general. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't give it to you. Poor bastard."

The Dane laughs softly. "Most of my friends happen to be women. And given that none of them are seeing me in a romantic capacity, I dare say you're quite right. Sorry -- I tend to forget that this whole who's hitting on who thing is in fact a thing for most people. Anyhow -- deer, pizza, a cold beer, sounds like the kind of date I'd be up for; the kind of date that is in fact just deer, pizza, and a good time. I'd offer to return the favour but a similar deer and pizza date at my place comes with my room mate -- this is not a bad thing -- and the faerie ring in my backyard, which can be. Don't be too surprised if you see things out of Celtic mythology flitting in and out, and for that matter, trying to steal your pizza when you're not looking."

He makes a face. "I've caught my cat eating very large butterflies a few times. In winter. That's all I'm saying."

"I get the impression you mean something other than large butterflies," the barista notes, brows quirked. "It's okay, you don't need to tell me. In fact, please don't. I believe you about Kitty Pryde and putting things in her mouth. She's a cat. I have a dog, he's just better at it." Samwise looks not a whit offended as he glances up with a twig sticking from his lips. "But..."

She then sighs, giving Ravn a more measuring look. "Look, since we're friends officially now, even without the bracelets, I'll give my ten cents. You're handsome, Ravn, and that's a thing. I'm not going to stand here and deny it. You're a smart-ass and you're funny for it. You know a lot, so you're not just tall and empty-headed. I'm pretty good at reading body language, it comes with the territory as retail -- you need your personal space and for good reason. I remember about your nerves. That right there?" More gently, she continues, "That puts the ball in your court, bud. If you want to be something more than friends, it's on you. I'm not going to force anybody to change for me, especially when I'm all about physical touch. That being said? The deer date? -- is just a deer date. Nothing more than deer and pizza and your commentary. I look forward to it," Ariadne insists with good-natured honesty, smiling.

"Deer date it is." Ravn chuckles and sticks his hands in the pockets of his wind breaker. "Don't take it as a -- letdown. I'm sure you'll have singles of both genders sniffing at your heels in no time -- good looking woman who looks like she's got her situation sorted out, not a broken bird or a disaster waiting to happen, you'll draw attention aplenty. But I am -- not really a relationship kind of bloke. I was in a very bad relationship that ended even worse. When I did feel I was ready to maybe sniff at the idea, I misread a situation and ended up heartbroken a second time. So at least at the time being -- I'm kind of actually, just living with my cat sounds good, at least I don't need to wine and dine her to convince her to jump into my bed."

He shrugs a little, sheepish. "Which is a hell of a lot of life story to lay on you unasked for but, I don't want you to think I'm leading you on, or trying to grab at something you haven't offered. I don't really tend to think of people in that regard unless they get in my face, and when they do -- well, you'll meet the lady across the street from me soon enough, and she certainly seems to think I owe her a date. On May 1 because I told her I don't date people unless I've known them for at least half a year."

Even if to some it might be a lot of personal information to share, Ariadne still winces at the appropriate places and ends up looking appropriately, honestly sympathetic in the end. "Geez, Ravn, I'm so sorry it's been like that for you. Damn. No wonder you're not looking. I wouldn't be looking either -- and you're not bothering me by sharing this. It helps keep things simple, y'know? Draws the lines which can't be crossed and informs about others that might be. I'm all for open communication. Science major." Sage nod. "I don't think I'm looking right now either, but I'm keeping an open mind. I've got to get settled first and really? Your idea about knowing somebody half a year first?"

She shrugs. "It's a wisdom. In theory, knowing somebody for over three months lets you see the majority of how they're going to react to various situations. Less surprise, more understanding of who they are, it all makes sense to me."

"Pretty much. I'm told the proper term is demisexual. To me, it's called don't waste your time making things complicated if you don't think it's worth the effort." Ravn manages a small, wry smile at that. "It does mean I'm running out of excuses for that particular lady in a couple of months and I suppose I may have to agree to taking her out for dinner. On the other hand, as many women through-out time have testified, going on a date does not mean you agree to signing over your bodily autonomy for the evening."

He glances back at the window. "Did we get our hands on a pair of keys for a look inside?"

"It sure as hell doesn't," the redhead agrees with a steely undertone. She approves nonetheless of the Dane's logic. He asks of the keys and after reaching into her coat pocket, Ariadne then reveals...

"Oh wait, those are my car keys, derp." Mutter-mutter to herself and then a pair of proper keys, front door and back sliding glass door, appear in her hand, sporting a yellow identifier tag with the unit number in sharpie pen. "Here we go. Ready, Sam?" The Sighthound spits out the twig and walks up the single step to the glass door, tail wagging, looking back at his owner expectantly. Key number two turns in the outside lock to the sliding door and it opens horizontally as it should with just a little catch midway. Inside, the place smells...well...like a sterile, unrented unit should. Cleaner's underlay mingles with carpeting and what was probably a fresh coat of paint here and there at one point. Ariadne meanders in and stands at the verge of living room carpet to tiled kitchen flooring, just...listening, looking at nothing while she lets her other senses tell her things.

"If it's any comfort I am not seeing Debbie here now," Ravn observes, looking around. It's easy for him to get a good look -- over Ariadne's head, the rude bastard. "She really is just a memory. I hope that whatever made her cry hard enough to leave an imprint like that got sorted out. I also reiterate my vow that if I ever become a ghost, I will haunt people properly. There's not even a bloody stain on the floor for a ghost to try to scrub away every night. It's really quite substandard as haunting go. Remind me to tell you about my family's hellhound sometime."

Ariadne still looks towards the living room where she'd been told Debbie had sat, woefully lamenting her lack of suitor and burying these woes in ice cream. There's no furniture, no sign, and the barista doesn't feel anything funny about the place as a whole when she assesses again. Samwise seems equally lacking concern, merely twitching his nose and looking around, brown eyes thoughtful.

"You can't say 'my family's hellhound' and tack on 'sometime' to it when we're doing nothing but standing in an empty apartment room," she observes, giving Ravn a wry smirk. "Fess."

The Dane laughs softly. "I suppose that's only fair. I'm a folklorist -- surely it cannot surprise you that I come from somewhere with a lot of folklore, to spawn my interest in the subject? My family's home was built in the 15th century. The builder still hangs around to look after the place -- though considering that on the whole, he was not a very charming bloke, he does so in the form of a large black hound who must be kept appeased. The good news is that the house will stand until he destroys it -- nothing and no one else can, or so the story goes. There is a bed that must be made for him every morning, or he will do so -- and a record from the middle of the twentieth century about that time they forgot to do so, and a wall cracked. I've only actually seen him once, though."

"It cannot surprise me," Ariadne confirms, grinning, before shifting into hips-akilter as she listens. Samwise continues sniffing the air and glances over at Ravn a few times, probably wondering why the tall man is still hanging around -- oh well, he's fine, even if he smells like cat.

Tale told, the barista's eyebrows remain high. "Cracked a wall. Damn. And you've see the builder? As a guy or as the large black hound? And this isn't a...hmm. Probably not a Barghest, that's an English thing. I'm not savvy enough in the Scandinavian lore to name something else." She shrugs. "Makes me wonder if your family ever moved out, what would happen to the place. Nobody to make the bed. That ghost has enough temper tantrums and enough walls crack, the place is going to come down. Maybe that's how it goes."

"That might be the end of the old buildings, I figure." Ravn nods his agreement. "Or maybe it would just sit there and fall a bit more apart every year until finally the whole thing collapses and the hell hound is free to, uh, go back to Hell. I don't think he's in any rush, honestly. Bloke was obviously not all hugs and sunshine given he ended up there in the first place, but to my family he's more of a guardian spirit, really. An old familiar legend and sometimes, just sometimes, someone claims to have seen a shadow or the tip of a tail vanishing around a building, or a pair of red eyes in the dark."

He offers a smile, though, in the fashion of someone pleased to have at least part of their wild story actually recognised. "They're called hell hounds in continental Europe -- and usually, they are very large black poodles rather than wolfhounds. But it's the same myth, essentially, as the barghest, yes."

"Scariest poodles this side of Spokane." Ariadne lifts her brows and then seems to consider this again. Hell...hounds. Hell poodles. There's potential there for -- if she suddenly seems like she's giving the general atmosphere a quick, seriously-warning frown, she might be. No giving Grey Habor's entities ideas. "I only know about the Barghest because I played tabletop for a long time. Faced off against them in a few skirmishes. Now, I'll tell you something: Greymalkin are terrifying. Tommy-Cat reminded me of one, now that I think about it."

Samwise walks to the end of his leash towards the hallway leading to a bedroom and what appears to be a bathroom and his owner takes a hint. They haven't gone back in here anyways and there's an older bathroom to account for. "Man, you've got all this...old bloodlines and haunted castle-houses and stuff. And you even have a family ghost." This conclusion makes Ariadne pause in the hallway and turn to face Ravn, smiling to herself in clearly-growing amusement. "Waaaaaaaaaait a second here," she then drawls. "You've got a title, don't you."

"Dr. Phil." Ravn laughs softly. "That is, a PhD in the philosophies. Haunted houses aren't all that uncommon in Europe, though -- old places accumulate memories and ghosts, and, well, most European cities are pretty old. My home town of Vejle dates to about the 12th century, I think. My family's house is from the 15th century, though the current buildings are newer. I don't mean this in a condescending fashion, but Americans don't entirely always understand what old means. The main road through my town dates back to before Christ. There is a place a bit south where you can stand on a stretch of road and see twenty-one Bronze Age burial mounds in the fields. And that's not even all that big a deal."

Time to change the subject, yes. Ravn heads over to open a door and looks inside. "The cat sidhe and their kin are kind of terrifying. They are very -- feral, very fear of nature's powers. The poodles are poodles for another reason -- back in the late middle ages, poodles were larger than the toy poodles you think of today, and they were the hunting dogs and companions of lords. So a poodle, a large black poodle, is a power symbol. The mythical founder of a house dating that far back can't just be some ragged beagle, he has to be the most majestic breed his contemparies could imagine."

Behind Ravn's door! A spare smaller bedroom or maybe an office pending on what its eventual use becomes. There's no window on any wall, but its space is still somehow snug and inviting rather than claustrophobic -- at least, in Ariadne's estimation. Samwise wanders over at the end of his lead and sniffs at the air here, triangle-tipped ears lifted. Nothing funky, just an empty room.

"That's interesting to consider though, how poodles were hunting dogs and status markers. People slap them with froo-froo and bows and yet, they were a hunting breed first." She sounds thoughtful. "Makes sense though, how it'd be the form of a status marker. A black beagle isn't scary. Soooooo..."

Yet another drawl, no doubt forewarning in itself: "Do I call you, what...not 'your majesty', you'd have secret service around you. Not 'your highness' either. Hmm...not 'your excellency'. 'Sir' isn't formal enough." Ariadne's grin continues to grow as each title leaves her mouth. "You're not a duke, are you?"

"Denmark doesn't have dukes," Ravn supplies helpfully and looks around. He likes windows -- in the fashion of the thief at heart that he is, he feels safer when there is more than one way out of a room. It's still comfortable, though, and he can see the room's cave qualities -- a safe place, a place to hide under a warm blanket with a pot of tea and a pile of good books; it has potential.

He looks back at Ariadne and hitches a shoulder. "It's Mr Abildgaard if you want to be speaking legalese, and my first name otherwise. Majesty and Highness is for royalty. So is Excellency, though that also includes bishops and cardinals, as well as ambassadors and for some bizarre reason, the FIFA president. The British use lordship and similar, but I am not British and neither are you. Your people literally fought a revolutionary war to be rid of all that." There is a quality of learning by rote to the statement -- as if it is something Ravn has explained, patiently, many a time before in his life.

"Duly noted," replies Ariadne as to Danish lack of dukes. Samwise steps back and to his owner's side, yawning once in canine boredom. Alright, place sussed, can we go now? She reaches down without looking at him to fondle one soft-furred ear gently, making him lean and groan softly again. Yes, right there.

Ravn continues in his blasé, patient manner, and the barista cannot hide her smile to save her life. It doesn't quite reach 'Cheshire' proportions by the time he finishes explaining (and sassing historically), but oh look: she has dimples.

And then she laughs a few times quietly, waving a hand. "God, I can't tease you about that, you're too serious about it. It'd be just mean of me. But I'll have you know something, Mister Abildgaard. I am a very, very patient person and eventually? Someone else -- maybe even you -- are going to spill the beans about it. And then I'll know," she explains with a friendly hitch of her own shoulder. "For now? You're 'mister'."

Ravn blinks. The idea that this might be some kind of teasing issue obviously had not occurred to him. He was just busy trying to avoid putting himself into one of those awkward moments where somebody thinks he's trying to impress them -- and more so given the fact that if he was to try to impress somebody, he'd like to do it on basis of something he's actually achieved, rather than just inherited.

Then he has to laugh, too, because somehow, a casual question borne out of curiosity became a far greater deal than it ought. "Actually, a lot of people in this town use last names for some reason or other. I kind of adopted the habit for a while, because English has very complex rules for forms of address that I can't always quite make out -- when to call someone sir or son, mister or by first name, that sort of thing. If you want to just call me Abildgaard, you certainly won't be the only one. But the proper form of address, if you want to be a stickler for propriety, is mister or first name, unless you're being exceedingly, bootlickingly formal."

"I think maybe I'll stick with Ravn. Or 'Ravn, my dude'. Or Darth Bathrobes. That one has kind of limerick-al ring to it." Lim-air-ickle, Ariadne pronounces it, still grinning. "There once was a Dane named Darth Bathrobes, who decided to bet both his earlobes. When he then lost his bet, his demise, it was met, and he..."

She pauses. "Goddamnit, I need an easy word than bathrobes," the barista then laughs, shrugging again. Samwise wants back out in the living room now by the manner of his gentle lean into the leash. His owner murmurs, "Almost, bud, we need to see the master bedroom." He turns and takes up position at her hip, comfortable there, as she travels down the hallway. Another door opens and it must be the master bedroom by its size. "I like it. It has a window," Ariadne notes, meandering over to the slat-blinds. A glance over at the bathroom is cause for a soft thoughtful sound. "Bathroom doesn't look half-bad."

Ravn wanders over to turn on the tap in the bathroom sink. He feels it with a gloved fingertip -- which is a little funny but it still works -- to tell how fast the hot water comes through, and listens to the pipes as it does. "Looks like the plumbing is not a disaster in the making either," he observes when the water does in fact turn hot pretty quick. Make certain to ask what kind of heating system it is -- a hot water boiler, district heating, what have you. If the hot water boiler is too small, showers can be decidedly -- fast."

He leans over and looks behind the toilet as well. It's usually where the mold is, back where no one sees. There is no mold.

"I'm not really Mr Screwdriver," the Dane confesses. "If you're thinking to rent or buy in here, you should have someone who is come give the place a checkover too. But it looks pretty sound. Heaven knows I've seen places that were in a lot worse condition. And you might be able to get them to lower the price a little if you ask about the blond woman in the denim jacket who was in here -- if they know the place has a memory, they may want to get it handed off to somebody without admitting it's technically haunted. Worth a shot to save a bit on rent I figure."

One of the slats, plucked down by Ariadne's finger, pops back up into place as she glances over. The water's running? Oh, it's Ravn checking on something. A last look outside upon the green back lawn they'd crossed getting to the concrete porch and she wanders over, Samwise leading the way with perked ears. Leaning in the doorway, she glances from sink to the Dane, listening.

"Logical," she agrees about inquiring as to heating systems. Whatever he sees (or does not see) behind the toilet makes her tilt her head and then shrug to herself. "That's a wise idea, having somebody else look over it. I mean, I'm sure no one's attempting to screw me over here and I'll find a few things here and there that won't be heartbreakers." A soft sound of thought as to Debbie. "Sure, I guess, good point. I'll see if the ground keeper and or the manager's ever seen her around here. Or maybe someone's reported her in the past, yeah."

Ravn is then given a look a bit more reserved and open in the same instant. "So...not half bad, right? As a whole?" He is a friend, his opinion matters.

"It looks more to me like the kind of place I could have seen myself setting up in than a large house on Oak Avenue, to be honest." Ravn can't help a chuckle, directed mostly at himself. "Small and cosy, but not so small that you can't put up a friend overnight if you need to. Not too far away from everything, and not one of those 'needs a little love' projects that will keep you busy with a tool box for five years. If the rent is reasonable, I'd say you can definitely do worse."

He reaches up to scratch his neck with gloved fingers. "Heaven knows I'll never figure out why we settled on Oak. It happened during a kind of time skip -- twelve weeks passed, and I have no memory of it. Life seems to have gone on as normal, though, and sometime during those twelve weeks, Aidan and I decided to turn our casual talk about maybe rooming together into more than talk. And for some reason, we decided that two single guys need a house designed for a family with three children. I'm sure it makes sense somewhere, but what the hell, at least we're not short on guest rooms."

For a man who claims to be quiet and introvert, the folklorist does get talkative when he gets started. It's anyone's question whether he realises -- he probably does, though. One of those people who are either monosyllabic or giving a speech.

Then he bends at the knees to give Samwise another headscritch. "For all things supernatural, though, I think you have the expert right here. Dogs and cats are extremely sensitive to these things. Remind to tell you sometime what happened to the water gremlins that tried to sink my boat while Kitty Pryde was on it -- let's just say that she is now revered as the Goddess of Death in certain circles."

Yet another one of those instances Ariadne files away under 'Grey Harbor Whatthefuckery'. How Ravn rolled with twelve weeks of missing time and a sudden roomie in a house too big for them is something she isn't sure she'd be able to compartmentalize on her better days. She blinks, watching him kneel to offer more affection to Samwise. The dog leans into the blunt nails to an extent, quite content to accept what he feels to be his laud -- indeed, very good human, that's the spot.

"I'm pretty sure all cats, at heart, are Gods and Goddesses of Death. It doesn't surprise me to hear she earned a reputation. I know a few barn cats who could hold their own against large dogs. But water gremlins? What the fuck." She's blunt. It's yet another instance. "Sure, I'll remember to ask you about it because you're making me think twice about snorkeling around out in the bay now. I need to go though, so c'mon, the front desk is holding my drivers license captive in return for the keys. I kind of need the license to drive back to the motel and think about why on earth I chose to room there."

Samwise, falling into place beside her as they depart the apartment unit, gets another ear-smushing. He's pleased. "And this good boy? He needs to be fed and given a cookie because he says there's nothing to worry about here."

If Ariadne notices the Sighthound giving the living room corner one last look, she doesn't mention it. Perhaps she doesn't notice. It's probably a good thing. Debbie is left alone with her ice cream after all.