2022-02-26 - New (Old) Faces

Is there wifi on Oak Avenue? Of course there is. There's a Keurig and a filter coffee machine in 3, Oak Avenue too. Neither fact stops Ravn Abildgaard from sticking to his habit of claiming a table at Espresso Yourself many an afternoon, bringing his sleek little black laptop and doing his grading and emailing from there. He always orders a black coffee. He almost always gets some sugary nightmare full of sprinkles, syrup and whipped cream, which he then proceeds to not drink. And why he picked this place for an away-from-home office is anyone's guess.

He's got his reasons. And today, at least, he's quietly working his way through a rather helpless essay on the Illiad, absentmindedly letting a packet of sugar dance on his gloved knuckles while reading the screen -- a tall man in black, with a black laptop and a super extra grand sticky sweet vanilla pudding in a coffee cup. It looks positively evil.

You'd think the sleety rain would be reason enough to stay at home (there is, indeed, coffee at 5 Oak as well, not to mention generally an assortment of baked goods, and yes, wifi), but no: the lure of someplace-that-isn't-home is strong, weather be damned. Una's got a bounce to her step as she comes in from the damp, unwinding her over-long emerald green scarf as she joins the mercifully short queue (the afternoon rush is, it seems, not yet upon them).

"Just coffee, thanks Della," she says to the day manager, exchanging her dollars for dark roast; as she turns, she finds Ravn, his grading, and the monstrosity that is today's drink. "Afternoon, neighbour."

Does Roman only appear in coffee shops? Is he some kind of supernatural coffee monster? It is a curious concept, because here he is again, entering the Espresso Yourself in a relaxed fit of jeans, a hoodie, and a black baseball cap. "Double shot of espresso," he tells the barista, his voice huskier than normal, perhaps hinting at a recent wakeup or an oncoming cold. It takes only a few minutes for the exchange of goods, and then he's turning to survey the room.

Una is a familiar face, but the stranger she is speaking to gives him pause. Ultimately, he makes his way over to the table nearest the one Ravn sits, and on the way he gives a polite nod paired with a "good morning" to the redhead and her friend.

"Hey there. Come to keep me company in my usual watch for unfortunate suckers taking a wrong turn out of Seattle and ending up here?" Ravn smiles up at Una and kicks a chair out with one booted foot.

He returns Roman's nod with a smile that's friendly enough -- and steals a second glance, perhaps, because this is indeed not a familiar face. In a town of eighteen thousand, not every unfamiliar face is a newcomer to town. Surprisingly many are. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in a -- I think Della called it a 'triple vanilla praline caramel macchiato'?"

If that's what that dessert is called, it's not quite appropriate. It looks like it should be called Saccharine Suicide.

"They should consider themselves lucky: at least the coffee here is good," is Una's opinion on those unfortunate suckers, made as she drops herself into the chair Ravn has so helpfully kicked out for her. "They could end up with nothing better than stale diner coffee, and then have to get back on the road and go back the way they came." Truly, a fate worse than death.

Roman's greeting results in her turning her head to identify the newcomer, and an immediate smile follows-- as well as a gesture that seems to encourage the other man to come and join them. "Roman-- come and meet my neighbour, Ravn. Ravn, this is Roman, newly returned to town. And no, I 100% do not want your fake dessert in a cup; that sounds vile. Do you want me to go and get you something else?"

There is a distinctly deer in the headlights look on Roman's face when his presence is acknowledged and he is encouraged to join their table - so much for his non-existent reclusive newcomer bit. "Nice to meet you," he tells the other man as he slowly moves from one table to the other, hesitating about pulling out the chair next to Una's.

"Roman Scott," he identifies himself further, "I just came back to help take care of some family business. I'm from Gray Harbor originally, but I've been in California." It's a short introduction, but helpfully provided to translate his newcomer-ish presence in their town.

"Ravn Abildgaard. New to town as of since July '20, originally from Denmark." That explains the accent -- the tall Dane has the kind of accent that tries very hard to sound like it went to an expensive boarding school in the United Kingdom, but it's actually more likely that whoever taught him the language did; a kind of second-hand accent, if you will.

He cants his head a bit and then flips the lid of his laptop shut; not so much for privacy as to indicate, perhaps, that whatever he was doing on it can be resumed later. "So it's still true what they say -- you can check out but you can never leave." There must be some kind of private joke there because he offers a lopsided smile and adds, "Sorry, we keep saying that no one ever truly leaves Gray Harbor, and when they do, they inevitably come back."

Una's smile is encouraging, friendly without being... forward? Though perhaps even that's not true, given how she keeps shamelessly drawing Roman into conversation. "I ran into Roman in here a few days ago," she explains from Ravn's benefit. "I'm sure he now thinks I'm the resident weirdo, but-- even new-old people need the welcome wagon."

And at least today she has fresh coffee, coffee that she currently warms her hands on but will surely be able to drink shortly. "How're you settling back in?"

"I would say welcome, but you've been here longer than me," with the 'this time' unsaid. Hesitation melts with the conversational lilt of their words and maybe the other man's closing of his laptop; it would be rude to continue standing, so he pulls out that chair and sits resolutely. "Ravn Abildgaard of Denmark." It's more of a point in saying it to himself, than pronouncing it, for memorization purposes.

For Gray Harbor's pull, it's allure to those who have touched that secret part of it, there is a subtle shift in expression that hints at knowing. "Is that so? Have you known many who-- left and came back?" he asks Ravn, but own curiosity for the new face adds, "What brought you to here?"

Roman glances from Ravn to Una, her smile infecting his own mood and his own lips curve in response. "I haven't had time to explore yet. I've been busy at the house. I keep escaping here to get away from.. yeah," and he takes a sip of coffee to cover the remainder of that sentence. A tad awkward.

"I thought I was the resident weirdo," Ravn observes with a small chuckle to Una. "I am after all the man who keeps ordering coffee and keeps getting dessert. I can't ask you to order for me, because Della'd only decide that you too must die from diabetes, and I would not inflict this curse on my worst enemy."

Then he stops the sugar packet from spinning on his knuckles and looks at it, a little as if he is wondering where that came from. "I have not, no -- because very few people actually leave. Unless it's like myself -- they take off to see if they can, and find out that they can't. I went home, that first Christmas. I'd barely touched down for my overnight in Reykjavik before I was itching to get back. The outside world starts to feel -- irrelevant, doesn't it?"

Another glance at the sugar packet, and he returns it to the little basket at the centre of the table. "I came through from Seattle, heading towards Portland. I was hitch-hiking -- kind of heading south, seeing where my feet would take me. Got into an argument with the driver and got tossed out in Main Street. I kept telling myself I'd move on soon, though, until I realised I'd gotten a job and a boat. I quit the job since but now I've got a house so I'm probably not going anywhere."

"Unfortunately, I think the reality is that most of us are resident weirdos, and that means we're all normal... or what passes for normal in a completely abnormal kind of place," decides Una. "Though I think continuing to order coffee you know you're never going to receive may be an indication of something. Have you ever tried ordering a monstrosity just to see what would happen?"

She draws her mug-- Ravn's right that losing the right to order and receive exactly what she wants would be a tragedy (and a travesty, at that)-- closer, considering the thread of conversation between the two men. Lightly; "Here-- the coffee shop here, not Grey Harbor itself-- is a good place to escape to. Grey Harbor is possibly just Stockholm Syndrome; I'm not sure. You'd think we'd want to escape, but sometimes... we change our minds."

"You can't send it back?" Roman queries, clearly lost. "It sounds like a managerial issue." And, if Della the day manager is the one making the coffee, it is indeed. For some time after the questioning, he simply listens aptly, lifting the coffee to his mouth here and there, pausing it just below his lips to take in a particularly interesting part.

"Less irrelevant in my case as.. far away, even farther than the actual distance." It's a thought that, when spoken aloud, causes his brow to furrow and him to slouch back in his seat, scratching the back of his head where the ball cap doesn't touch. "Some people might call it fate," but his tone implies that he would not call it that. What about them?

"I ordered the worst drink I could think of once, and Della just smiled -- and made it." Ravn smirks. "But then you know why I go here -- it's not for the coffee. Except when Chief de la Vega is here -- then I'm absolutely all about stealing his. Apart from that, though, it's a nice enough place to do my work, and there are a lot of people coming through that I often need to talk to."

Roman's comment prompts another smile, though. "I suppose I could raise a fuss. I do know the owner of the place -- and she knows Della's antics. But it's kind of my own fault -- I am the living example of why it's a bad idea for a non-American to walk into an American coffee shop and try to lecture the staff on what an American coffee is exactly. It's become a kind of running joke. Della would probably stop if I actually made a fuss about it. But that'd also mean I would have to stop trying to steal de la Vega's coffee. Has Una given you the Hotel California speech, then, or are you exempt on basis of being an actual native?"

"Disconnected from the rest of the world," muses Una. "I feel that. My life back in Seattle feels-- not quite a distant memory, but definitely not something that was only a few months ago. Life changed."

She has a smirk of her own for Ravn's coffee travails, but her nod allows that, yes, visiting Espresso Yourself is generally not about the coffee per se. "Weirdly, my roommate Della-- who is not this Della-- has served me raspberry k-cup coffee, which she has voluntarily bought." The redhead makes a face, over-dramatic and with a hint of a smile. "Must be something in the name. I mentioned the Hotel California speech, but I didn't get into specifics, because it did feel a little... weird, when I'm the real newcomer."

"Disconnected is the word," Roman confirms, turning his head towards Una and giving a deft nod that lends further agreement with her statements. "It almost feels like it isn't real, but my work load and the phone calls that don't stop are the link." Link to the real present, and not the false sense that Gray Harbor's isolation provides.

"Ahh," he responds, "I can see how that might offend them. People get defensive about their coffee." And that's with no hint of which side he's taken, if any. "Una mentioned Hotel California but I think she's spared me?" with him half-turning towards the woman, brows lifted for clarification.

"Disconnected in the emotional sense more than the physical, I think." Ravn taps the lid of his laptop, closed. "I still work for Copenhagen U. I obviously telecommute. But as far as I am concerned, Copenhagen or Mars, eh, equally distant."

One might admittedly require less assistance from Elon Musk.

"It's the song -- The Eagles. Hotel California -- you can check out but you can never leave. More or less spotting people who come into town lost and confused, letting them know that around here, the bizarre is not as strange as it is everywhere else." Ravn studies Roman's face a moment; possibly to see whether the other man recognises the idea that things here could be a tad weird -- or whether he is one of the many for whom such a statement slides off like water off a duck because they have no shine of their own. Life would be easier if he was one of those Mentalists who can just look at people to tell.

Who doesn't love that sweet sweet wifi, and coffee? It's already been a busy morning, to the point that Ava is already needing a break. The doctor has bee-lined it to Espresso Yourself and she even made a call in advance to have her coffee ready to go when she got there. Clever girl. Pushing through the doors in a pea coat rather than her lab coat, the brunette looks as haggard as many of the other patrons as she approaches the counter.

Instead of waiting, though, her cup is already ready, so all she has to do is slide over her card. She passes it over immediately and takes the drink, grasping it between her hands like a life line. "Oh, thank you," she sighs happily before taking a long sip of happy bean juice as her eyes scan the crowd and people gathered.

"'We're all just prisoners here, of our own device'," quotes Una blithely, bypassing most further commentary except to add, "The strange is certainly infinitely more strange in this town over any other I've ever been to. That's the gist of it all, really, Roman, but none of that is new to you, is it?" The redhead tips her chin towards Roman, and lets the corners of her mouth tilt upwards.

From this position, she's facing the counter, and though her attention is mostly on Roman, movement out of the corner of her eye-- Ava, her eye scanning-- captures her attention anyway. The smile might have been intended for Roman, but it could easily be mistaken as intended for elsewhere, too.

"I--" Roman is suddenly at the center of attention, and he is aware of both the feeling and the expectation. He tries to meet the expectation, but this is all new to him, speaking about the strange undercurrent of Gray Harbor. He falters at least one more time in getting the words out, then flicks the bill of his baseball cap. "It's not new to me. It's new to meet people who want to talk about it. It's not something that's ever been spoken about in my life," he finally says, glancing between the two.

It's just then that his pocket starts buzzing, or more correctly the phone in his pocket. He pulls out the battered smart phone and stares at the screen, noting the number and name that pops up on the screen. "I'm sorry, but I need to take this," he tells his table-mates, before distractedly standing and walking in the direction of the door.

After pressing the screen, he puts the phone to his ear, "Hello." His eyes flick up out of habit, to navigate before he manages to bump into anything, and he spots Ava. He frowns at first, confusion evident, but the light of recognition dawns shortly and he opens his mouth-- except, he's on the phone already. "Yeah, I can hear you," he mutters, and ducks back out of the coffee shop, his voice muffled as he disappears into the dreary day outside.

Ravn glances after the man as he quickly absconds. Then he shakes his head (and a lock of copper brown hair promptly falls into his eyes). "Poor bloke. A lot of the people who lived here all their lives take that stance -- if they don't acknowledge it or talk about it, it has to leave them alone. I doubt it really works as well as intended."

Oh, look, there's a lady by the counter, scanning the room in that particular way that might mean 'new in town and confused as hell' or 'where is Jake, I told him to be here at one quarter past, not sooner and not later, damn jackass is always late'. It's anyone's guess which, so he returns a friendly nod just in case.

As Una smiles over in what she thinks is her direction, Ava returns it with a little smile of her own. It's bright and friendly even though the two have never met before. "Hi Roma-- Bye Roman," she calls as the man walks past her and right through the door on his phone. She ducks her head with a more sheepish smile at that before reclaiming her card from the barista and tucking it in her purse. A moment later, those heels are clicking across the floor as she makes towards the remaining pair from the trio that was.

Ravn's head bob is returned. "Hi! I don't think I've seen you guys around before, but I've been out of town for a while now. Are you guys semi-new? Or am I just way more out of touch than I thought I was?"

"My mom's like that too," agrees Una, following Roman out the door with her gaze. "I hope it doesn't chew him up and spit him back out, now that he's back." Poor Roman.

Ava's approach flicks her attention back from the door, and that smile returns: polite, but also friendly in a warm, laid-back kind of way. "If you've been out of town a while," she says by way of answer, "You've probably not seen me at any rate. Una Irving, relatively recent transplant from Seattle. And this is Ravn. Join us?"

It is, after all, a Grey Harbor tradition to invite strangers to drink coffee with you.

Ravn raises a hand gloved in black kidskin in a friendly wave; whatever that syrupy concoction he has in front of him is called, it is not worthy of the name 'coffee'. "Please do. I've been in town for about a year and a half so I don't think I qualify as an oldtimer, either. Score one for Hotel California though -- sounds like the adage about never leaving for real is still holding."

"Well then welcome to town!" Ave lifts her cup in cheers towards Una for her recent joining. "I'm Ava. It's a pleasure to meet you both." She slips next to them and settles one leg over the other, the coffee still pressed into her hands. "Why would you want to leave? This place is amazing. I mean, I left here to go to school, but I came back. Because it's worth it!"

"And when you say 'worth it'," Una hazards, after a moment's pause. "Which one of this town's... unique selling points are you referring to? The way of life? The water?" The fucked up way in which the Veil doles out horror to its (not all that un-)suspecting residents?

Beat. "I mean, welcome back. It is a good place to live."

Ravn on the other hand cannot resist a wide, lopsided grin. "Usually, I'm the one saying that, while everyone looks at me like I have not only lost my last marble but flung it at a passing car."

He leans back a little on his chair and chuckles. "So, indulge our curiosity -- what brought you back to Gray Harbor? And have you found a place to stay? I hear there are free rooms at the murder motel, but most people don't quite feel like staying there once they hear about the place's reputation."

"Oh, well, the people more than anything. They're the best selling point you can get. Though, the water is pretty good. Can't make my coffee without it." There's a brief chuckle from Ava as her eyes drift for a moment to glance out of the window. "Once you're here, there's just a charm about it that that doesn't let go."

She props her chin in a hand, glancing between Una and Ravn, offering a half smile. "Well, you see, all those murders at murder motel need someone looking after the bodies. And that's what I do. Murder is my business! Half of my business. A third? Some. It's some of my business. It doesn't happen as much as you might actually think," she assures. "But I'm a Coroner as well as an MD. I just left for a year to get some extra licensing taken care of. I was always planning on coming back. I just had to be on sight elsewhere to get the license."

In blows another customer on this miserable, blustery day. Jules, bundled in hat, coat, and gloves, has her backpack with her when she stomps the slush off her feet at the door. Before heading to the counter, she glances around, spots Una and Ravn, and heads straight over. "Yo." Yes, she did in fact say 'yo.'

'The people' is a good answer; Una nods by way of confirmation, pausing to sip at her coffee while Ariadne continues her explanation. Red-hued brows lift in surprise, and with a hint of being impressed, too.

"So... dead bodies, and also slightly-less-than-dead bodies? Or rather, hopefully-not-going-to-be-dead bodies. Useful skills. -- Oh, hi Jules. Meet Ava. Ava, Jules."

"Hello, Jules. How's life?" Ravn smiles at the newest arrival; this guy either knows every other person who comes in or he's one of those guys. "Pull up a chair, order some coffee that I can steal from you."

He steeples his gloved fingers under his chin. "A medical doctor, you say? I have a feeling this town might keep one very busy. Someone told me once that surgeons don't last a year at the local hospital before they start questioning just how many shaving related accidents one town can have in a year. And then the headaches begin."

Ava fingerguns at Una with a laugh. "Dead bodies and bodies I keep from ending up dead. Exactly. Or that's the hope. Let's just keep our fingers crossed that I never reverse the two and cross the line into necromancy. Because that will be a big mess, and this place doesn't sell enough coffee to keep me awake enough to fix that kind of fiasco."

A little salute is given towards Jules. "Heya." Ravn's comment earns a quick, knowing nod. "I tend to keep to my own office as much as possible to avoid too many questions just like that one. Why do people have to be so nosy. Maybe Mr. Johnson is just really bad with a razor, you know? But really likes giving out free shaves all over town. It's possible." It's not.

"Busy." Jules drops the backpack to the floor. It thuds; there's some heavy textbooks in there. "Hey." She acknowledges Ava with a little tip of the chin while she starts unbundling, dumping hat and gloves on top of the bag. "Got a couple tests coming up." Her eyebrows quirk at the mention of dead bodies, but it passes without comment. Instead, before going off to order, she asks, "Anybody need anything?"

"Necromancy's not actually a thing, right?" Una has to ask the question. "Healing, make fire... but not raise the dead. Right?" RIGHT?

She gives her roommate a quick little smile, but shakes her head: she's good.

"Everything is real somewhere," Ravn murmurs, a little too quickly to sound entirely convincing, and quickly sips his disaster of a dessert coffee (a hint, if one ever existed, that he doesn't really want to answer that question).

Then he realises what he just did, and the expression on his face is near-comical. That's vanilla praline extra whipped cream caramel macchiato with soy skim, hoss. It's torture, but in a nice, clean cup.

"Everything is real somewhere. But for what it's worth in all of my time as a coroner here, and as a doctor, and as a person just living here, I have never seen any signs of necromancy. Or zombies in general. So we should be fine in that regard." A hand raises as Ava's eyes narrow. "I say should, because you never ever know." Especially in this town.

"But I can promise to start tying the dead's shoelaces together if it makes you feel better? That way they can't get very far if they do get up and walk? Eh?" She shakes her head at Jules' offer with a thankful smile.

"Thank God for that," Jules mutters, looking just a little unsettled at the idea of necromancy in this small, strange town. She goes off to collect her own beverage: coffee with a large splash of milk. Plus one large chocolate chip cookie. Ordering normal coffee (no praline lattes for her, not today) means she's back right quick, plopping down in the seat she's reserved. "So what's up? Why exactly are you all talking about dark shit that has to do with the dead?"

For Una's money, Ravn is not all reassuring, and Ava-- well, a little, maybe. Also, the redhead is distracted from her thoughts by the look on Ravn's face, which really is comical, if you happen to know what's in that coffee cup. She lets out a spurt of laughter, then hastily covers her mouth with one hand.

"Would you, please? Tie the shoelaces together. And if you do, and those are the ones that start rising up... I'll know."

Her mouth's open, but does she have an answer for Jules' question? No, no she does not. How did they get down this tangent anyway? She's forgotten.

"I think that our good doctor and coroner here was promising us that the dead do in fact tend to lie quite still, even in Gray Harbor." Except when they don't, he wants to say -- but really, who here wants to hear about that time he literally did face down a horde of zombies right down there on the town beach, near the Marina? That's right -- no one. Another time, maybe.

He slides the cup far away enough from himself that even an accidental, careless motion of habit will not bring it into his hands a second time, and makes a grimace. "I swear, I will be tasting this in my sleep tonight no matter how many times I brush my teeth."

Ava gasps and presses a hand over her heart. "Well, I'm not going to tie their laces now, Una, if that's going to be used as an identifier against me. Poor little me, caught up in a zombie uprising, accused of necromancy because some of my shoelace tied zombies were some of the ones to riiiiise." The last word is emphasized like a horror movie necromancer might say it. She playfully scoffs into her coffee before taking a sip. "I tell ya."

Jules gets a look, her head tilting. "Yes." Her finger points to Ravn. "But it was because he was talking about murder motels. So we started talking about the dead, and how I work with both and don't want to get them mixed up. Boom zombies." It took her a minute. Her head swivels, eying Ravn's cup. "Next time try some coffee with your sugar. It might help."

Jules rolls her eyes at Ravn, asking, "Why don't you just order something else?" Apparently she hasn't caught on to the whole Della-Ravn dynamic. With an exaggerated sigh, she offers up her own nice, milky, no sugar added coffee. "Here, I'll trade you." Jules will drink a praline latte today after all. "What the hell, we have murder motels in town now?"

Despite herself, Una grins, pleased and amused by Ava's reply. "Ok, well, you just see that they don't rise, that's all I'm saying. I'm putting my faith in you."

Ava has drawn out the connections between the conversational threads, and Una gives a quick nod: it tallies, even if she's forgotten half those steps in the conversation.

"I think we've always had a murder motel. I don't know how many murders it has actually been host to, but the last time I was there, I met a cat with too many teeth that is not, it turns out, actually a cat. So I'm sticking with murder motel."

"The Seaview," Ravn agrees. "Its reputation seems to be a lot worse than its actual bite. The locals call it the murder motel and I actually have no idea why -- as far as I am aware, the place is haunted as all hell but it's not particularly prone to violence. Pit stop type hotels are always disproportionately haunted because it's people in trouble who come through."

Then he flashes a small smile at Ava. "Also -- that's Ravn, as in 'round' but without the d sound at the end. It's a fairly common Danish boy's name -- I'm not actually some kind of overripe, thirty-one-year old emo Goth who never grew out of weeping over his lost mascara."

And meanwhile, his hands certainly swap that Saccharine Sonato for Jules' cup -- he doesn't usually take milk, but at this time? He'll take it.

"I will do everything within my capabilities to see that they don't rise. But since I have no capabilities having to do with zombies, we're going to have to take this one by ear. I may end up calling you for back up," Ava tells Una with a wink.

Ravn gets a little squint, his face and eyes studied thoroughly for a moment. "I don't know. I think you could pull off mascara if you wanted to. Perhaps a little eyeliner. A little Dutch emo? No?" She glances towards Jules with a 'back me up' sort of expression on her face.

Oh, Ava, Jules is here for that. She can't help but take a swipe when Ravn offers up the alternative take on his name: "You sure about that?" She tries her new coffee creation, then. Her lips skew to the side for a second while she considers it, but then she just shrugs and takes another sip. "Don't go to the Seaview, check. I like not ending up dead." For one reason or another, her gaze lands on Una when she says that, and it lingers.

Una lets out a snort of laughter. "Given I barely," is that a side-long, awkwardly averted at the last minute, glance in Jules' direction? "Know how to shoot a gun, I'm probably not your best bet," she tells Ava. "Call me, and I'll lead the way in running away."

It does mean she's very much not looking at Jules when the other woman looks at her. It's that deliberate 'I'm not going to look at you, watch me not looking at you' kind of thing.

"I absolutely buy goth Ravn," she decides.

"I don't. I had an emo phase when I was seventeen but barring that, it's entirely too much effort." Ravn chuckles and sips Jules' coffee. If he catches that look between the two women he decides to not comment on it. "The Seaview really is quite harmless. Most ghosts are quite harmless."

He shrugs and then looks at Ava. "This town must keep a coroner busy, though. Someone told me once that the death ratio in Gray Harbor is higher than the rest of the state put together. I know that you and I will likely meet in a professional capacity on a regular basis -- because most of the homeless folks who end up dead don't have any family or contact address, and it always falls to the community centre to try to sort of help them get on their way in a somewhat dignified fashion, try to find any contacts they may have somewhere else."

Eyes dart between Una and Jules as that pointed look is both given and deliberately ignored. Of course she wants to know what that's about, but it's a little early in the getting to know you stage for that just yet.

"I'm sure we'll find some excuse to see goth Ravn for ourselves. Halloween or otherwise." Ava polishes off her coffee, already looking far more awake than she was before. "Oh, believe me, I'm up to my elbows in work both literally and non-literally. It's rare to have a dull day. But that's one of the things I love about this town. It keeps things exciting." She pushes the empty cup to the side, brows furrowed. "What is it that you do, exactly? That question extends to all of you, really."

"Too bad. You've been overruled," Jules declares lightly, that heavy attention on Una now lifting. "Emo-goth Ravn it is." She grins at him across the table, then volunteers herself to answer Ava's question first. "Taking classes at Bayside. The community college. Still working up at one of the hatcheries, but it's not so busy right now. And I'm her roommate." Head tilts to Una.

With that, Jules' phone rings. She leans down and digs in her coat pocket for the phone (it's been shed along with the backpack), takes a look at the caller ID, and gets up, grabbing her jacket as she does. "Sorry, gotta take this. It's my grandfather. Don't eat my cookie." Which means they most likely will. She saunters off to a quieter spot while answering the call. "Hey, Pops--"

This time, Una will glance in Jules' direction, so it's clearly not a we're-never-interacting-again kind of thing, whatever the thing between them is. (On the other hand, the other woman is stepping away, so maybe it doesn't count.) "I'm an unemployed layabout living off my roommates and my inheritance," is her answer to Ava's question, her expression wry. "Working on hunting down a job but without much luck as yet. Maybe once tourist season starts."

"I'm a lecturer for Copenhagen University," Ravn volunteers. "I work with veterans with PTSD -- online work, helping them to get their bachelors. Hand-holding, in a sense, though I figure that after putting those blokes through Afghanistan paying me to help them is the bloody least the government can do. And in my off time, I volunteer at the local community centre."

Ava watches Jules go for a moment before glances back to Una with a lifted brow. "Hey, layabout is a good job if you can get it. What kind of job are you on the hunt for? I can always keep an eye out for you, if you'd like." A shoulder gives a small shrug.

Ravn gets a blink of mild surprise. "Oh wow. That's pretty amazing. I can imagine that it's also pretty tough work. Hard on the mind, at the very least. And the spirit." She leans on her elbows. "Do they have clinicians that help out down there at the community centre?"

"Anything that a person with no college and not much by way of marketable experience can do," Una replies, promptly. "I'm willing to learn, but I've mostly been in retail thus far." She puts on a brave face, but there's something in her expression, and in the way her gaze ducks down towards her coffee, that suggests she finds this lack of career prospects and experience somewhat shameful. Perhaps it's just the company she's keeping.

The look Una gets from Ravn at her little -- being a little too brave there -- is speculative. And after a moment the Dane says, "Most people who get a degree don't actually end up using it. It's just a nice piece of paper to hang on your wall -- at least for the humanities, like mine. A medical doctor obviously uses his or her PhD. Me? The work I do does not require one. It requires being able to deal with someone yelling obscenities at you at 3am because they think their neighbour has put roadside bombs in the driveway or the man in the TV is going to order them back into the burning tank. It's rough sometimes. But not as rough as it would be if I was actually there. I'm mostly just someone they write at, and I grade their academic work and help them find the material they need, and I don't get pissed off when they get verbally abusive. A degree in psychiatry might have made a difference. One in early industrial history folklore does not."

"He's right," offers Ava with a sympathetic smile for Una's ducked look. "Lots of places these days are asking for all these degrees that aren't really needed. Like, receptionists, for example. Lots of people are expecting degrees, when really, it's an easily trainable position. All someone really needs is basic computer skills, a tolerance for people, and the ability to multi-task. A college degree just means you went to school. It doesn't prove you can actually do the job. Just that you can pass the classes."

Una, a little uncomfortable by this conversational thread however self-inflicted, hesitates-- and then nods. "I mean, logically that's true. I'd probably be an excellent receptionist, or office manager, or whatever. But everyone wants the piece of paper, because it's one more way to weed people out when lots of people want jobs. So--" She shrugs. "Retail it is."

"Unfortunately, that is true." Ravn nods his agreement with Ava. "However, this is Gray Harbor. People like us might value someone with the -- gift -- more than a piece of academic paper that will not save anyone's tail. Did you see Parvati about that job? I think you might actually have a chance there -- because knowing the locals will be more valuable to her than presenting a front. She said as much -- her work is for the rich and famous who seek her out. She needs someone stable more than she needs someone with a degree, and in this town? Stable means people like us who understand what is actually going on."

Ava nods her agreement with that sentiment, fingers folding in front of her. "Again, that's true. Depending on your gift specialties and understanding, certain people might really be interested in your help, despite the lack of any formal training." Her eyes slide around the room for the moment, making sure that nobody is too close to overhear the conversation. But they're safe enough. "Let me know if things don't work out with the other job. We can talk more about your receptionist skills. I happen to be in the market for my medical office, once I get up and running again. I only just got back, so it'll be a few days."

"I meant to," says Una, of Parvati, well aware that she's making excuses for herself. "And I will. I don't know if she's filled it yet, but I'll definitely talk to her."

Helpfully, the encouragement from both Ava and Ravn has eased some of the tension in her shoulders, and when she nods it seems a little more certain. "There are definitely other skills I can bring. I-- do you--" Una's first reaction might be to doubt Ava's offer, but she stops herself. Chin up, Una! "Thank you. I'll get in touch, depending on how things go. You'd better give me your number."

At least there's Jules, with no more schooling than Una. Maybe it will make her feel better when the decidedly un-degreed young woman reappears at the table. "Sorry about that. He was in a talking mood."

"Welcome back," Ravn tells Jules, raising a gloved hand in a lazy salute.

Then he glances back at Ava. "Have you rented a place? For a consulting office, I mean? I think Perdita Leontes still has offices for rent downtown in the Bauer Building. Place is somewhat haunted but what the hell, it's Gray Harbor, it's all haunted. At least you'd get a landlady with a brain and a heart."

"I had a place. But I think the building got bought out while I was gone. So I need to look for a new place. As long as the offices have a backdoor for people to get in without being spotted in case of hard to explain injuries, then a downtown building should be okay. That's my only concern about a building so public." Ava chews her bottom lip for a moment as she ponders it. "I'll discuss it with her. Luckily for me, I can't see ghosts, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem for me."

She upnods to Jules as she returns. A card is pulled from her bag and slid across the table towards Una. "My cell is on there."

This time, Una does look at Jules, and even smiles. Maybe it really is helpful, having an equally under-educated companion in this conversation (even if Jules is actively studying towards a qualification).

"I bet most of the spaces in the Bauer Building are going to end up being taken by... people like us. Which makes it easier, I think."

"Thanks." And look! The cookie is waiting for her! Jules opts for that over the dessert drink. "Just because there's a ghost doesn't mean you'll see it," she points out, oh so helpful. "We have a ghost." 'We' being her and Una, included with a nod. "It just throws books around and slams doors."

"It's Gray Harbor. It's all haunted." Ravn reiterates his previous comment with a smile. "Hell, my room mate has his own ghost -- a poltergeist who likes throwing soda cans at his head. My childhood home had about a dozen. Any place accumulates them if people live there long enough -- particularly in a town like this where things are already screwy as hell."

Then he nods at Una. "And you're right -- I know a couple of the other renters at least, and they are like us. After all, it's people like us who end up going to Perdita."

"If a ghost starts throwing my stuff around, it's going to wish it was haunting somewhere else, because I will find a way to light it's ass on fire," Ava declares with a decidedly haughty air. She seems rather sure of herself, even if she's not entirely sure that's even actually possible. "My books and things are not to be thrown. Especially not in a doctor's office."

"The others renter's being like us is great. But there's still the concern of all the people in the surrounding area who can see people coming in the front door. Which is why I like back doors in my clinics. Gaping claw wounds and the like are hard to explain. Especially if they come out looking just fine a day or two later. It leads to questions that I like to avoid."

Belatedly, Una picks up the card Ava has slid towards her, and after a smile for the other woman, tucks it carefully into the battered clear plastic phone case that protects her phone from (further) damage.

"I've still yet to experience ghosts other than-- actually, no, that's not even true. There was that little girl at the pond when we were skating. And based on that, maybe there have been others, too." She seems amused by Ava's threats of violence against possible ghosts, and adds, "Mm, I can see the need for a back door, though I'm trying not to think too hard about... gaping claw wounds. I've been lucky, so far. In Dreams, and otherwise."

Oh look, now she's studiously not looking at Jules again.

"Sometimes ghosts throw stuff for a reason," Jules points out, but she leaves it at that and contents herself with finishing off her cookie. That's what she's concentrating on (not Una), that and bussing her little plate to the dirty dishes bin.

"I'd be surprised if Perdita cannot help sort out some kind of discreet entrance and exit." Ravn speaks with a certainty that seems to imply he knows this land lady quite well. "If nothing else, I know there is a backdoor exit from the Bauer Building's basement to somewhere down the beach -- from back in the speakeasy days, smugglers must have used it. We got lost down there once."

He toys with the coffee cup, nearly empty as it is. "But there's also the whole -- revision aspect. If someone was in fact walking down Main Street with large claw marks and signs of having had to put down a rabid komodo dragon? It would end up in the Gazette as Cujo. I guarantee it -- after the Gazette and the public opinion somehow managed to turn sixteen tons of very angry dragon into a buffalo escaped from the Zoo and made a mess in the park, I believe in the Veil's ability to revise anything."

"I know that ghosts are here. I've heard all the stories, but in all my time here I have yet to see one. I don't know if they just avoid me or I just haven't run into one yet somehow. I've just always kind of assumed I can't see them. It seemed to make the most sense." Ava considers it and then frowns. "Reason or not, I'm still not sure I want a ghost throwing my stuff around my office. A lot of that can be dangerous. Or expensive."

Propping her cheek in a hand, Ava's head tilts to Ravn, a brow arching. "So, this Perdita. Do you get a cut of her profit if you bring her new business?" she wonders, a sly smile curving the corners of her lips.

Una pushes her (now empty) mug away from her. "The revision stuff is pretty cool," she admits. "People's ability to rationalise away the most crazy of shit. Jules and I, we have another roommate who isn't aware of it yet, and it's just... so interesting."

"Uh huh." Jules seems to have very little to add to this, though. She doesn't sit again when she comes back to the table, dish now spirited away. Instead, she reaches for her bag, declaring, "Sorry, guys. I really do need to study. I'm, like, the world's slowest reader, and I haven't taken a test in approximately five million years."

"Call out if you need anything I can help with, Jules." Ravn nods. "I take tutoring payment in black coffee."

Then he grins at Ava and shakes his head. "Perdita's a friend. Not my girlfriend, and not my employer. Just someone who's good to spend an evening with, whether it's drinking ridiculous fruity drinks with paper umbrellas or having your back when the Veil decides to throw a full technicolor show. I have a feeling you'll like her, she's very much her own woman."

"I mean, I know that there's a reason that they have to rationalize everything. They don't really have a choice in the matter. But there's a lot of people who would want to rationalize it all away if given a choice. That's the part I don't understand. If I had a choice? I wouldn't change a thing. About my knowledge , anyway. I can't speak for others. There's plenty of people who have had it worse."

Ava waves to Jules as she takes off. "Nice to meet you. Try to have fun."

Tongue touching her canine tooth for a moment, Ava squints at Ravn. "See, I was just wondering if you were getting a cut of the profits for referrals. The girlfriend stuff you volunteered all on your own. Are you always so rakish, sir? In the presence of such ladies?" She gestures between herself and Una as they are the only two ladies remaining. She can't fight the grin, however, as it dimples her cheeks. "Well, I love fruity drinks with paper umbrellas, so I'm already in for spending an evening with her."

"Good luck," Una calls after Jules. "There are cookies at home, if you need them. Brain food!" There are always cookies at home, though, so this is nothing new.

"I wouldn't want to rationalise it, either. In fact... I think I'd be really upset if there were things I was rationalising and I found out, later. I'm definitely not a head-in-the-sand kind of person... it weirded me out a bit, earlier, talking to Roman? That he'd never talked about this stuff before, despite growing up here. That's nuts."

Ravn upends his ill-traded coffee and then laughs softly. "Yes. I am particularly popular with ladies named Kitty and Lola Bianca, and the joke here is that one is a cat and the other is a motorcycle."

Then, a little more seriously, he nods at Una's observation. "It's not the first time I hear that. The idea for a lot of people who were born here seems to be that if you just keep your mouth shut and your head down it can't affect you. The Veil does not upkeep its end of that bargain, unfortunately. And then you have people who think they can somehow take advantage, or that pooling information will take something away from them, and you get the same result. I firmly believe that the more we learn, and the more we stand together, the better we're off."

Ava clicks her tongue, but looks amused. "Well, at least you're honest about it. Nothing wrong with a rake, as long as he knows he's one. A kitty and a bike, I feel like the joke is on the tip of my tongue, but I'm still missing it somehow." A manicured nail taps her lips, but she shrugs. "It'll come to me later when I blurt it out at random to some poor stranger, I'm sure."

"Keep in mind, Una, a lot of locals are also trained to keep their mouths shut to keep the attention off of themselves from the other locals. Some families are more strict about that than others are." Her hand against her cheek flexes. "I've done a lot of research. I'm still doing a lot of research. Some theoretical, some biological. But I think Ravn's right. We're stronger together. Alone, I am fairly powerful. As a healer. Most of what I can do would draw Their attention. I would need others around to protect me from that, because, while I can heal people like crazy, that's it. I can't fight. At all. Sitting duck. "

"Apes together strong."

Una's crooked smile is for Ravn and his girls, not to mention Ava's reply to it, but she's more focused on the other thread of the conversation. "Yeah," she says, because this is a conversation that's been had before; having the conversation does not, it seems, really relieve the frustration of it. Una: a sharer by nature.

"I can't fight either, just for the record, so definitely not the girl to have your back. But-- yes, I agree. It's been pointed out to me a few times lately that we all bring different skills to the table, and that's important, even when we think we're not bringing anything."

Ravn manages to not laugh; a smile flits across his face as he puts the coffee cup down, though. "Well, there's a first for everything. First time somebody's called me a rake. I'll make a note of the date. Usually I get called Rosencrantz' straight boyfriend."

Then, a little more seriously, he taps his fingers on the lid of his closed laptop, producing a little rhythm. "You're not wrong about the need to have one another's back though, Ava. I am not a scrapper, either -- and unfortunately, I am also not a healer. But if anyone needs a lock picked, I suppose I'm their man. Not everyone in town is highly gifted -- a number of us have just enough of the gift or art that the Veil doesn't jumble our minds, but not enough to do anything impressive. I'm definitely in that last category. Fortunately, fighting is not always the answer, and when it is, I'll join Una in, uh, watching the rear."

"A straight boyfriend? What's the fun in that?" Ava wonders with a flitter of amusement flashing in her eyes. Her face never leaves that palm cupping it as she glances between the two. "Right?" She looks pointedly at Una to back her up. "No? Just me?" Another laugh before she's straightening in her seat to lean back into a more professional looking sitting style that suits the second topic a little better.

"Trust me, there's a lot of benefits to that fact," she assures Ravn. "Gifted, but not overly so is a blessing. Survivable, without a target on your back." Again, Ava chews her bottom lip. "It's a dangerous balance. Also, I'm going to be keeping in mind that lock picking thing. I'm betting that's going to come in handy at some point."

"I suppose that depends on your personal sexual preferences," suggests Una, not without a smile, though it's not a topic she seems to particularly warm to.

"I'm a little bit of a healer. I seem to be a little bit of a lot of things-- nothing strong. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, since it adds up. But it's what I've got." Una presses her hands flat upon the table, fingers outstretched, and then abruptly pulls them back again. "Just enough to cause trouble, probably. I should get going. I promised myself I'd go for a jog."

The prospect seems to thrill her, a dark glance aimed towards the miserable outdoors. Joy. So much joy.

"The joke is that Rosencrantz is not straight and neither is his real boyfriend. We just hang out together enough that people sometimes think I am the boyfriend." Ravn chuckles. "As it happens, the boyfriend started the joke so I figure he doesn't exactly feel threatened."

Then he glances at Una. "Screw that. The weather is miserable. We can walk home together, and if anyone asks, we definitely jogged. There has to be some perks to being neighbours. Let me just get my laptop into its bag so it doesn't get wet -- somebody really should invent a weather proof laptop considering the weather both here and back in my home country. And while they're at it, acquiring a pair of gills would be nice."

He glances back at Ava even as he gets up to tug his wind breaker on (surprise! it's black like the rest of his attire). "If you need anything, the HOPE Community Centre is on Spruce -- in what must have been a butcher shop when you were in town last. Una and I live in 3 and 5, Oak respectively -- don't hesitate to call if something comes up and you need a hand, all right? I wasn't joking about the having each other's backs thing."

"Ooooh, I see! That's much more fun, then." As Ravn and Una both stand up, Ava does as well, though she's shifting to move back up towards the counter for more coffee. "If you ever want to learn more about healing, either medically or otherwise, let me know. And let me know about the job thing." Una gets a warm smile. Ravn gets one a moment later as her head bobs. "I won't hesitate, promise. If any of the folks you're helping out need medical care and you can't take them to the hospital, let me know, I'll help out."

She raises a hand to wave them out. "It was great meeting you guys. Stay warm."