2022-02-27 - The Number One Body Dump

Some people walk around at night because they are looking to get away from trouble -- whether it takes the form of arguing with a partner or getting away from the noisy tenants next door, or just plain boredom and frustration with sitting alone at home. Ravn Abildgaard walks around town at all kinds of strange hours because to him, there is no such thing as 'normal hours' -- his students live nine hours into the future, and people call with all kinds of problems pertaining to the community centre without looking at the time, either. Add to that, the Veil does like screwing with him and, well, by now he just tries to remember what week it is most of the time.

Tonight his feet are taking him up the gravel path around Gray Pond. It's a lovely little pond with overhanging greens the kind you'd expect to find attached to a town park in a small, pleasant community the kind that Gray Harbor used to be, before the lumber industry fell into decline. It's still lovely -- sort of. There's a certain atmosphere, a bit too much fog sometimes, and a hell of a lot of local stories about strange sightings and bodies found floating face down. Most of those died from perfectly natural causes -- a bullet through the chest will cause cardiac arrest, and cardiac arrest is a natural cause.

He's sitting on a bench overlooking the still water and lighting a cigarette with a battered old zippo. Whatever he's thinking about, it's probably not whether all the ducks are asleep.

It's good to be home, but there's a lot of work to do. Ava had spent a good chunk of the day going through old case files for the past year, reviewing all the deaths that she'd missed and mapping the locations. The focal point for most of them? Gray Pond. Not a surprise there, it's been the Pond quite a few years before this one, too. Bundled up in an oversized sweater, black leggings, and a pair of warm boots with a toasty scarf to polish off the look, she grabbed her bag and a clipboard with her notes to wander off towards the pond.

The woman is quiet as she moves around the few stragglers that are around at this hour, pulling out little flags from her purse every now and then, checking her notes and then plunking them into the ground in a precise area. She double checks, nods, then moves on to the next spot. Her next flag in hand she ends up circling around towards the bench that Ravn is seated on, giving him a flag wave in greeting. "Fancy meeting you here. Having trouble sleeping? Or are you up at all hours like me?"

Ravn looks up -- perhaps a little surprised to see anyone else here, at this hour. "Time lost its meaning when I started tutoring for Copenhagen U," he agrees with a lopsided smile. "And more so when every time you wake up you have to feel around a bit to see which reality you're in, and whether this is one of the good ones. I was just taking a walk since I didn't have time to do so earlier today. You seem to be working, though?"

Or placing flags in the ground for some other reason. There are all kinds of reasons somebody could be placing flags. Maybe Ava just wants to have a very small garden party.

The ember of the cigarette flares in the dark; the light posts are a while in between and if this was Central Park, the muggers would be taking numbers for the good spots. It's Gray Harbor, though, where -- at least according to local legend -- it's more likely the bogeymen take numbers to get at the muggers, and it's probably as safe to walk here in the dark as anywhere else. The Dane straightens up a little and cants his head. "Did someone actually turn up dead again, or is this more of an all round research thing?"

"Ah yes, the reality reach around. Dreams really are a harsh Mistress, aren't they?" Ava sighs, knowing all too well exactly what he means. "I'm up at all hours. Nature of my work, honestly. Death doesn't sleep, and I rarely do either. I believe there may be more caffeine than blood in my blood stream at this point." Her smile is easy before it drops to the clipboard. "It's not really anything official. Kind of a hobby slash research thing I'm doing on my own. I like trying to see if there's a pattern to things. You never know where the smallest detail might help with something."

She wiggles a small flag in the air. "A flag for where each body was discovered. The ice makes it easy, because I can plant them where the floaters were found, too. Couldn't do that in the Spring. So I lucked out." That's a weird way to look at it. But at least it's chipper.

"I'm hoping if I can see it all, maybe something will jump out at me. Figuratively, of course."

Ravn taps a gloved finger against his lip. "I've heard worse ideas. And heavens know that the better we understand the workings of this place, the more likely that we may some day be able to negotiate some kind of peace with it. There are monsters out there, but the things that are not monsters are sometimes just as dangerous -- because we do not understand them and they don't understand us. My first look into the Other Side stays with me even a year later, I can tell you that. Hummingspiders."

Maybe he wanted to say more. Maybe he figured this was a great time to dump some adventurous tale of alien reality adventure on some unfortunate stranger who did not ask for the story. Maybe he was not intending to elaborate at all. We'll never know, because this is the exact moment, that perfect narrative moment, when a loud scream rings out just behind the two -- Raaaaaaa!

Ravn startles and spins, as most people would. And finds himself face to face with a grinning eight to ten year old girl in a red peacoat. "Scared ya!"

"Monsters can be found in both man and beast. Here, there's just a lot of overlap. But I have different color flags to help with that. Obviously human crime is white. Non is red. Inconclusive is yellow. Patterns." Ava chews her bottom lip again, eyes drifting towards the many flags that are already placed. "I've lived here for pretty much all of my life, and I don't know if peace is an option. But if it is, I'm down for it. Culling these numbers would be great."

There is no startled spinning from her, but rather her head simply turns towards the girl as she jumps out behind them. At least she's not actively laughing at poor Ravn. That was quite possibly the worst time to be scared like that. "Why are you out by yourself out this hour, young lady?" Ava wonders with a lift of a brow. "It isn't safe for you to be wandering around alone during the day, much less right now." Uh oh, Doctor Voice.

"I'm bored," the girl returns to Ava's inquiry. She is a pretty little thing, porcelain-like in the way of so many very young girls, still a bit baby-cheeked, and quite adorable.

"Hello, Cynthia." Ravn sits back down, and looks a bit sheepish. For a moment there he was very obviously expecting something dramatic -- teeth, fangs, and claws, maybe? -- and all that turns out to be a remarkably non-terrifying little girl. Yes, you're looking at six foot three of feeling very silly. "Have you met Ava? She is a doctor."

The little girl looks Ava up and down. Then she nods. "Why are you putting flags on the ice? It is very pretty. Can I help?"

"Bored doesn't mean you should be wandering around where it's not safe. You should be bored at home." Ava gives the lovely little girl a look of concern that shows that she isn't mad, just concerned.

"We haven't met yet," Ave informs Ravn as she keeps her eyes on the girl for a moment. "It's nice to meet you, Cynthia. Are you at least out here with one of your guardians?" Her head lifts as she scans the area for other signs of people nearby that might be looking for a runaway kid. Not spotting anything just yet. "Ravn, do you know where she lives? Or have her parent's number so one of them can come get her?" In the meantime she can distract her with flags.

"They have to go in very specific spots. I can let you help me with the ones that go in the ground. But the ice ones are dangerous. I was going to try to trick Ravn into helping me with those. Maybe you can use those big, very pretty eyes of yours to help me convince him!" she laughs.

"Awesome." Don't tempt a bored kid with a good time. Cynthia cheerfully pretends to not have heard anything at all besides 'help the lady with the pretty flags'. She holds her mittened little hands out. "I want to help! I don't weigh very much, I can go on the ice."

Ravn's smile thins a little. "Cynthia's parents live in a house on Elm Street," he replies. "It is a somewhat -- troubled family. They lost a daughter some years back. She fell through the ice here, under the bridge." The look he gives Cynthia is pointed.

"I want to put the flags on the ice," Cynthia says, pretending to not hear him either. "The year is nearly gone. I want to have some fun."

"I don't weigh very much either, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous. So I'm still going to have to say that's a no go on the ice help." Her eyes lift to catch Ravn's when he explains the family situation, her jaw tightening a little. There's an almost imperceptible nod. "The Masons. I remember." It's never easy when it's a kid. They tend to stick with you no matter how many people pass through the morgue.

"You can have fun without risking getting hurt, I promise. So I'll let you pick which color flag you want to plant, and then I'll show you where it has to go based on which one you pick. There's white, red, and yellow." Another glance is shot towards Ravn. "Do you have their number? Or know someone who does? If not, we can swing by and drop her off after this?"

"I want a white one." Cynthia reaches out with her mitten. "I can put it on the ice. But you should put them on the bridge instead, or up under the weeping willow. That's where they put them in. The current takes them down to the bridge and the rocks." All said in a voice as cheerful as if the girl was discussing her favourite cartoon characters' latest antics on morning TV.

Ravn, on his end, shakes his head. "Cynthia, you can help the nice lady. I'm sure she doesn't mind. But stop playing pretend with her, you know it scares people." He settles back on the bench and draws on the cigarette.

"That's the point," Cynthia pouts. Then she kicks at the ground. "Fiiine. Hi, I'm Cynthia Mason."

Ava's head tilts. But she doesn't look scared. She actually sits down next to Ravn for a moment and pulls out the clip board to pull a file out from the stack. "She's fine, she doesn't scare me," she assures. "She's actually a very very smart girl. Thank you, Ms. Cynthia Mason." Ava gives her a big grin, passing her a white flag.

"You're still not going on the ice. But hold onto that for a minute. Because I think you might be right." The folder is moved so that the little girl can't see the pictures or notes from the folder. Indications of post mortem bruising and where the blood had settled in the body. How the water logging had settled. Ava reviews all of it and then squints back at the water, then towards the bridge and past it. "She's right. I shouldn't be putting them where they were found in the water. I should be trying to figure out exactly where they were dumped and marking that spot instead."

From the mouths of babes.

Cynthia beams. Adult acknowledgement! Woot! "Down by the weeping willow," she says, again, and points with the hand that is not holding a white flag. It's hard to see if she points with just one finger or the entire hand, given she is wearing mittens, but it will do. "They always drive up there because no one notices a car because of the tree. And then the current makes everything end up under the bridge."

Maybe she has had a lot of time to watch that happen.

"I suspect that if anyone does see a car kind of parked down by the willow in the middle of the night they probably keep right on walking," Ravn suggests and glances in that direction. "I think I would, at least -- and maybe call the police when I had some distance. The kind of people who drop a body into Gray Pond are probably not somebody you want to get ideas about unwanted witnesses."

"Have you seen this happen a lot? You shouldn't be out here that much. If they catch you seeing what's happening--" Ava doesn't even want to finish that thought. Cynthia's is not a body she wants to have to find on her slab one morning. "You need to top coming out here all by yourself, even if you are bored. It's not safe." Still, she takes out all the flags that are needed for the water deaths and gestures with her chin towards the water. "Lead the way, mystery solver."

She'll follow Cynthia towards the Willow Tree.

"Hopefully there's not a car there tonight. I haven't seen any movement, so finger's crossed. If there is, we go the other way. It's not worth the danger. Understood?" Of course, that was to Cynthia, she knows Ravn already knows since he's the one who brought it up. "I'm not looking to be an unwanted witness, myself." She has a lot of flags in that hand. Too many. That's a lot of bodies dumped into the water. She glances back towards Ravn with a concerned look, eyes darting back to Cynthia as she leads the way. Unspoken concern.

Ravn gets up and falls into stride, cigarette dangling from his lip. A part of his mind helpfully supplies that if there is a car he probably knows the driver, and that actually doesn't help. He has friends in strange places. Sometimes he wishes some of them were less strange.

"I don't know if I mentioned yesterday at the coffee shop," he says instead. "I'm a folklorist -- a historian who specialises in local legends and tales in a cultural context. Gray Pond has a lot of stories. It's been speculated that what's really wrong with the place is that the fabric between realities is full of holes. Things bleed through. People get lost. And of course the local mob does seem to think it's a good as place to dump bodies as any, but I'm pretty certain that a lot of that is actually rationalisation of stranger happenings."

"There's a crocodile," Cynthia supplies, beaming brightly in the fashion of a kid who knows things the adults don't. "And there's a creature we call the ugly Naiad. It's actually some kind of bug thing. It has tadpoles as big as cats. And there is a bug who lives under the ice and pulls people under, too."

She tries to sneak her free hand into Ava's. "I like scaring people. Do you like scaring people too?"

"You didn't mention that. I'm going to have to pick your brain at some point then, if you don't mind. Most of my research into things is more on a biological level. But I'm always open to learning more. The more I learn, the more it helps, honestly. I love a good puzzle." Ava's hand wraps around Cynthia's without any flicker of hesitation, keeping the girl close to her, just in case there is any chance of trouble. "How are you with hole and doors and stuff? Are you able to feel them out?" She wonders of Ravn with a glance towards him. "That might be an interesting thing to map as well. If it is full of holes. See how it correlates with the bodies."

"Ugly Naiad? /And/ a bug that pulls people under the ice. Yeah, definitely don't go out on that ice then," she says, not indicating in her tone whether or not she genuinely believes the story. But her concern for the girl's safety is real, and that's as good of an excuse as any.

"I like helping people, actually. Sometimes it's funny when people get scared, but only if they're okay with it, and it doesn't put them in danger. But me? I'm a doctor. So I fix people up. I accidentally scare people sometimes, though. But I don't think that counts."

"Ask a nerd if he wants to talk about his favourite subject. You may have to remember to ask me to stop talking." Ravn offers a lopsided smile; it's a fair guess that every so often, people do in fact wish he'd give it a break. "Practical application, though? Not very good. I am one of those people who can float a lighter or bend a teaspoon and think that's pretty cool. Then you end up here, where people open doors into other realities, or throw fireballs, or send cars flying, and you find yourself just sitting back down because bloody hell, compared to all of that you're an embarrassing amateur."

He pauses, thinking for a moment -- and then dismisses the thought. Something has been weird lately, almost a little too easy. It's probably just the Veil screwing with him again.

"I think the local Historical Society was trying something like that -- create some kind of map, or at least compile the information available. I say was because the Historical Society still officially exists and is on the town hall budget, but no one actually seems to know anyone who's a member. I think maybe they did in fact get close enough that something silenced them, somehow. Maybe they tried to go public -- we seem to be able to get away with quite a bit as long as we play by the rules, don't tell the rest of the world."

All of that may be too adult for Cynthia. She trots along and when Ravn pauses for breath (see above, give it a break) she inserts: "I just fell through because the ice was not thick enough. My dad said it was but my mom says my dad is an idiot."

Ava laughs, her cheeks dimpling. "I don't know. I love listening to people talk about things that they are passionate about. So I might not. I may let you drone on and one. But you'll have to bare with me taking notes on the subject." There's a little shift in her gaze at the mention of the things people can do. "Fireballs? Whaaaat?" She rubs the back of her neck, the clipboard shifting in her arms. "There is no amateur. There is just stages of growth. Some of us have just been closer to the source for longer."

"I'm going to have to hit up the Historical Society and get all their intel somehow. Hopefully, even if people were silenced, there are still records of somethin--"

There's a faltering in her step, head shifting to take a better look at Cynthia for a moment. What was the name of the Mason girl who fell through the ice? She can only remember the last name. She assumed this was her sister the whole time. Her head tilts as she leans down for a moment to study her face, pushing a strand of hair away. "I'm an idiot," she murmurs, eyes closing as she straightens. "Well, that makes a lot more sense, I guess." She starts to move again, giving Cynthia's hand a gentle squeeze. "I hope it wasn't too scary."

"I'm not scared of anything," Cynthia declares proudly. "But I only get to talk to people when there is ice."

Ravn winces; what do you say to that? Sorry that it's not winter all year round? He decides to leave it be, and nods at Ava's statement instead. "And there are bloodlines, for some strange reason. A lot of people from here have these abilities -- also when it's their parents or grandparents who were from here. They get drawn back, and find out that doing these things is normal if you've got a little Baxter blood, that sort of thing. To the best of my knowledge I don't have any distant relatives here, but I did grow up near another thin spot back home -- not as dramatic as this one, but enough to qualify as haunted house, at least."

He circles around to the coroner's indirect inquiry. "I have looked up the names of people who were affiliated with the Historical Society. Figured I'd go ask some questions -- maybe join. Turns out I do know one of them, but she has not been in town for a while. The others are people I have never heard of. It's like that a lot here -- everything seems normal enough on the surface but when you start to dig you realise that things are revised, retconned, silenced. I suppose it's why the FBI isn't locking the place down like Area 51, but even if you know why it's still kind of disturbing."

"When there's ice on the water? Or can I bring some ice with me and still be able to talk to you?" You know, sometimes there are some loopholes that can be worked through. Poor Cynthia having to be alone for so long without people to talk to. Well, that's assuming she's alone. "Are there others here that can keep you company when folks like us aren't here for you?" Ava wonders, scanning the area again as they get closer to the willow tree.

"Growing up around a Thinny might just do it," Ava offers with a nod. "Though bloodlines are tricky. You never know when someone might have strayed without someone else's knowledge." It's pointed out with a wink. Bloodlines go back for so long, who knows who could be related to who any more, honestly.

The answers about the Historical Society get a disappointed click of tongue. "Well, I handle a lot of the bureaucratic running around for the town. At least when it comes to the death reports and the CDC, and all that sort of paperwork. I might be able to pull some strings and get some people to talk. Plus, chances are that I'll know some of the names that you might not have recognized. Two heads are better than one, yeah? By our powers combined, we are Captain--Investigator? I don't know, it was more clever in my head."

Ravn laughs softly. "Why not? I'm on board. But then, I am pretty much always on board for trying to work out the mechanics here. The more we know -- the less people may end up injured. It's as I said -- there are hostile things out there but a lot of the damage we see seems more coincidental. As we do not understand them, and they don't understand us."

And then he can't resist adding, "I am fairly certain I'm not related to anyone here. My family tree goes quite a while back. It probably does rule out me being related directly to any of the old Gray Harbor families. One of my ancestors could still have gone to the USA and left DNA in his wake off the record, I suppose. Someone here could be related to me, even if it is statistically implausible."

"My dad is a Baxter," Cynthia supplies. "They say all the Baxters become crazy axe murderers."

Ravn glances at the girl and then shakes his head. "That's not true. I know several. Some of them are a bit eccentric, sure. But they are not crazy axe murderers."

"Then it sounds like a plan. You show me what names you got so far and I'll do a little digging from there and see if I can get a deeper into our little mystery." Ava's face is starting to brighten at the thought of not just being able to do more research, but having another nerd around to help her with it. "Normally it's just me holed up in my office surrounded by coffee cups and digging through info. It'll be nice having an accomplice this time." She breaks into a big grin.

She laughs, giving Cynthia's hand another squeeze. "That's super unlikely, I promise. The town would run out of axes." The girl gets a wink and an encouraging smile before she offers some more flags over as they reach the base of the willow tree finally. "We you care to do the honors. You can do all of them if you'd like. Or however many you want." With the flags passed over, her now free hand rests against the trunk of the willow tree, eyes lifting up along it. "My favorite kind of tree. They're so majestic looking, so protective, but they always seem so sad, too." Maybe it's that intense Spirit connection within her, but some parts of nature have always called more than others.

"You don't have to look at them twice to see how they got the name weeping willow," Ravn agrees and tilts his head back to look up at the tall, beautiful tree with its hanging vines, looking nothing as much as some ancient of spirit of Nature, sinking to its knees in despair. "In my native we call them sorrow's willows -- which is the same thing, I figure. They do seem inherently sad."

"They're good for hiding in," Cynthia points out the obvious; because yes, those long curtains of leaves do form an effective shield from curious eyes. The flat lawn of the park meets with the gravel of Gray Pond's shallows, and a car could easily park here for a while, unseen and without leaving a whole lot of tire tracks too. If there is a local mob hitman needing to dispose of a body now and then, this would not be a bad location -- at least not if you want that body to actually be found, to send a message. (If you don't, it'd really be easier to toss them them into the Pacific beyond the bay, there's a hell of a lot of it, and a hell of a lot of things in it that would thank you for the free lunch).

The girl happily begins to stick flags -- mostly white ones -- into the gravel. Whether each flag actually corresponds to a dumped body or she's just being dramatic is anyone's guess.

Ravn finishes his cigarette and puts it out against his boot; the butt goes into a pocket, he is no litter bug. "The only member whose name I can put a face on is Hyacinth Addington, and she hasn't been around since sometime last fall. She used to talk about breaking free of this place's influence and not having to deal with it all -- but of course, we do keep telling people you can check out but you can never leave, so she might be back some day. What might be more useful is if we can get into the Historical Society's records, somehow. See if there are maps and records. Bestiaries, even."

Ava takes in a deep breath and releases it before she pulls her hand away. "Sorrow's Willows. That's pretty. Same thing, but different verbiage. I like it." Her eyes drift up into the branches. "Do you see people hiding in them often, or is it you that likes to hide in it?" Ava wonders, her tone thoughtful as she considers climbing it herself for a moment to get a view of how the flags are laid out from a higher vantage point. It's not a bad idea, actually, so she starts to study the trees branches and footholds, looking for the easiest way up.

"You're doing a good job, Cynthia." Those flags don't have to be precise, since the bodies were technically dumped into the water. They're just for display.

"Ah yes, the Hotel California joke from last night," she laughs. "That's a fair guess, that she'll be bag. Even if only for a little bit, everyone tends to wander through again at some point. It's like a magnet in their soul. They can't fight the draw for too long before they have to come back." She starts to push her foot into a hold and shimmy her way up, trying to climb. "Oooh, a Bestiary. That would be amazing. Having an idea of what we're up against, creature wise."

Cynthia beams. These are the cool adults. Doctor lady is awesome. "Last year there were many," she replies and chews on her lip as she places pins. "The bad men spoke Spanish. They put people in the lake a lot."

Ravn glances at her. "There was a bit of a -- turf war, last year, as I understand it. A Puerto Rican gang tried to make a move on taking over the underworld here, heaven only knows why. Not like Gray Harbor is a big deal, unless you count the Casino. It culminated in a rather dramatic gunfight at a garden expo." He scratches at his chest as he mentions that, in the fashion of someone absentmindedly touching an old injury.

Then Ava is up the tree like she's done nothing else all her life, and he looks up. Maybe in Ravn World, a tree is not where you look first if you're in need of a doctor -- or a coroner. But why not? It's not like she's in her office, white labcoat and all, on the clock.

Cynthia looks up too. Ava earns another cool adult silver star. "I climb up there sometimes," she informs them both. "It's boring here a lot. I play with the other kids but they get mad at me a lot."

"You do tell them awful stories about haunted dolls and bodies under the ice." Ravn, not a diplomatic parent figure. "Maybe you could talk to them about things that are a little bit less creepy?"

"That explains all the white flags, I guess. But really? A turf war, here? That's one of the dumbest things I've ever heard. I mean, the Casino is great and all, but it's not that big of a deal. Something else had to have been going on. When did that all end? Has it ended?" Ava notices the absentminded scratching with a slight frown. Seems like she missed quite a few things being out of town for a whole year. "Man, I leave and I miss all the good stuff. Not that gun fights are good." There's a pause. "You know what I mean!" With a little huffing she makes it to the branch she was aiming for, looking both pleased and surprised. "Heeeey, I didn't fall! Go me!"

There's genuine surprise in her tone. Clearly she was expecting to fail her tree climbing endeavor. It didn't stop her though. She stays standing, angling herself to get the best view she can from this angle, trying to see all of her planted flags.

"A lot of kids aren't as brave as you are, Cynthia. Stuff like that scares them, but not in the fun kind of way."

"I don't think anyone ever found out what they really wanted here. The old harbour is usual for trafficking goods for Seattle and Spokane, sure, but, it's not like there aren't other ports, closer to either town." Ravn shakes his head. "It was -- honestly, it was pretty bad. I've seen some weird things in this town, but the truly horrible things were not Gray Harbor being Gray Harbor. Those were all people. They put away the gang leader for a couple of lifetimes but I don't think they ever managed to wring much of a confession out of him -- or maybe they did but it's something strange and weird, and the Veil did its suppressing thing."

He steps a little closer to the tree. Maybe he thinks he should at least try to help if it suddenly starts to rain coroners.

"Most kids are wimps," Cynthia declares and reaches for the red flags. Well, she's out of the white ones. She does seem to think, though -- where exactly to put them gives her a bit more pause.

Then she looks up into the dark, up into the branches. "Where do I put the flag for the lady who fell out of the dream?"

Who takes nice long walks to the local murder pond at night, in winter? Aside, it seems, from Ravn and Ava.

Apparently the answer is Una Irving, who is audible-- she's not exactly trying to be subtle-- long before she's actually visible. She's rugged up against the cold, and there's a bundle of something tucked under her arm, and once she comes into view, she's clearly looking for something (or possibly someone)... but whatever it is, it is definitely not a coroner in a tree, or a tall Dane standing beneath it. (Cynthia, though, flags notwithstanding, seems to elicit no surprise.)

"Uh," she says, intelligently.

Ava frowns. "There has to be something up with that, right? The fact that we don't know what it was leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But maybe that's just because I don't like loose ends. It makes me feel like something can come back and bite the town later on." There's a little huff from the coroner, but there's not really anything she can do about it. She wasn't even here for it, after all. As Ravn steps closer to the tree, she grins down. "If I fall, are you going to try to catch me? I promise to heal you up if I crush any organs or anything." Another grin. But the risk of falling isn't keeping her from peeking through the branches to see if she can spot any sort of pattern to the pins. Her phone comes out, as she uses a grin with one hand on the branch, trying to snap some pictures from this angle.

"Fell out of -- do you remember exactly where she fell from? If so, that's where we would want the pin."

The phone is waved to Una. "Hey!" Then it's back to trying to balance with one hand while taking pictures.

"Mrs Irving!" Cynthia beams -- and drops her little red flag to run over. Somebody knows who their supplier of sugary and home baked things are, and just because one is dead, one can still like their treats. The little red flag rolls around a few times around its own axis, and then settles. Maybe it's in the right place. Maybe it's not.

Ravn's eyes widen as he realises that up there, among the branches, Ava's foot is not hitting solidity the way she seems to think it is. "Look out!"

Would he try to catch her? Heaven only knows. Maybe if reality had decided to give him a chance to answer that question with words.

Una's attention shifts from Ava-in-a-tree to Ravn-below-a-tree, but is ultimately distracted by the approaching Cynthia. "Hey, squirt," she says, dropping into a crouch so that she can offer the ghost girl the package under her arm: fresh cookies, just for Cynthia, because Una is demonstrably soft-hearted to even (especially?) the creepiest of children.

It's once the cookies are handed over that she glances back up again, and though she's not seen what Ravn's seen, she's definitely heard his shout. "Please don't fall! Cynthia doesn't want company that badly, right Cynthia?"

"What?" That's all that Ava really has time to say after Ravn's warning before her foot slips out from under her. There's a moment where her eyes goes wide and a hand clamors to get a grip of the branch, phone dropping from her other hand to try for a second grip, but she's less than graceful and it's too late.

"Move! Ravn, move!" she squeals as she starts to fall. She doesn't actually want to hurt him by having him get crushed under her. Being underneath someone who has just fallen from high up is going to hurt. Surely they can feel that flash of Glimmer from her for a moment before her power sparks. The tree doesn't move, but the vines and bush beneath it suddenly arch upward to wrap and curl around her in mid air. She comes to a sudden stop, flinching as it jars her body. That's going to leave a mark, but it's better than broken bones or a broken neck.

Hand extended, her finger slowly gestures down, and the plants begin to move, lowering her until she reaches the ground. She touches the plant and it curls back up on itself with a little shiver and returns to normal.

"Ow." Ava rubs her arms where the plants grabbed. "Oh no! My phone!" Priorities.

It's probably a good thing that Cynthia's mouth is already full of chocolate chip cookie. Otherwise, someone might have been able to translate the muffled response. It might not have been what they wanted to hear.

Suddenly, moving leaves and branches and debris and a fair bit of shriek from above -- and then there is Ava, on the ground, not hurt, but clearly on very good terms with Grandma Willow Tree. And there is Ravn, offering the cell phone over -- he must have damn good reflexes to have caught it in the air like that.

He looks at Ava. He looks at Una. Then he shakes his head, and then laughter begins to bubble up -- in that relieved fashion when it's over and no one actually got hurt. Even Cynthia is laughing -- peals of muffled, cookie-filled giggle.

For all that she's been in town a few months, now, and for all that it's been a good seven years since her first interaction with Glimmer, this may well be the first time she's seen real power in action; certainly, her expression, shifting from horror to awe over the course of the seconds it takes for Ava to get to the ground, suggests this is not quite everyday in her world.

Ravn's laughter, though it draws her attention for a moment, is not contagious enough to result in her own, nor is Cynthia's contribution: Una shakes her head, and finally says, simply, "Holy shit."

Ava gasps as Ravn hands her the phone. She clutches it to her chest with a beaming, thankful look. "My hero. Thank you. That would have sucked to have to replace." Back into her back pocket, safe and sound, it goes. It gets a little pat to make sure it's safe as she nods. Then the laughter is starting. She gives his shoulder a gentle push. "Are you laughing at me?!" she says with exasperation. "You're mean."

Still, she can't help but join it, it's contagious enough for her, it seems. "Alright, I'm not athletic. Next time you climb the tree! Ass." Her laughter fades out after a few moments, hands shoving through her hair to tussle it back into shape. Eyes drift to Una, brows arching in concern. "I'm okay," she assures. Assuming that's what the holy shit was about. "I promise."

Ravn shakes his head, and continues to laugh. "I have exactly the amount of athletic fortitude you'd expect from a bookish nerd who is happiest when he's in bed with a good book and a bottle of high end whiskey. I probably couldn't even get up there."

Cynthia looks up. "Bet I could." And with the attitude and indeed, the agility of a child she's making her way up. Because if the cool doctor lady can do it so can she! One might of course argue that she's got less to lose, all things considered -- and she's apparently possessed of the skill to climb without letting go of her newly acquired cookie stash, too.

Ravn glances at Una. "You all right? That was something. Next we'll be painting with all the colours of the wind and falling love with strange, blond Englishmen."

"Oh, I believe you're fine all right. I just--" Una breaks off, and this time she does laugh, because Ravn's reference is one she gets, and maybe it does help sum up her feelings, though the passionate gesturing of her hands suggests there's more. "I've never seen someone do that before, so. That's a thing."

She takes a breath, then manages to smile. "I think I'll leave the tree climbing to Cynthia, too. If I fell, I definitely couldn't save myself like that, not so far as I know. What are all the flags for?"

"You're already dead, though! That's cheating!" Ava calls up after Cynthia with a laugh. "But it's clever cheating, so you get away with it." A smile is offered up to the girl in the tree. She's clearly already fond of the girl.

"Hey. If you know any strange, blond Englishmen looking to fall in love that can paint with the wind, point them my way. I'll give them a shot. Or at least a coffee date." Ava offers. "At the very least I'll get coffee out of it. "Though, if he tries to colonize me, I'm out." A smirk follows.

Una earns an easy smile. "Ahh, I understand. It's one of the things that goes hand in hand with more advanced healing skills as well. Your connection with nature grows as well. Plants, fire, life. Just, the spirit, the essence of the things around you. Eventually you may very well reach that point. Eventually you may very well be tossing fireballs around." She glances around at the flags. "Each flag indicates a dead body from last year. They're all around the lake. I'm looking for a pattern. White is killed by normal means. Red is non-normal means. Yellow is inconclusive on the method."

Ravn glances down at the veritable parade of white flags. "I'm not sure Cynthia understood that you meant in the last year," he says, softly enough that maybe Cynthia will not hear. "I know of a few cases. This is -- "

Well, it's more like twenty cases. Surely that would draw some kind of attention. Or maybe it wouldn't.

"The white flags are normal deaths. The red are supernatural ones -- and I know of at least one of those. The yellow flags are undetermined." He looks down and puts the one red flag in place. "This is for the poor Serbian girl who was found in the pond a month or two ago, when she should have been in Serbia. We know that was supernatural because several of us watched her die."

Una sucks her lower lip in between her teeth, apparently chewing over (literally, in this case) Ariadne's explanation, first of those fairly dramatic skills, and then, with a pained look, the meaning of those flags. She casts a glance around the area, perhaps doing a rough count of the individual flags, and for the second time: "Holy shit."

Ravn's addition makes the redhead shake her head. "That's a lot. A lot even if it's not just this year. I remember reading about the Serbian girl. Do that many people really die right here? Because that starts to feel less... like normal deaths."

Ava picks up her clipboard from the ground and shows the list with the numbers. "Nope, I have her the flags. She had the right amount. Those mobster guys were busy. On top of whoever else might have been using this area." Her lips press thin as she stares at the water. "If it makes you feel any better, the numbers are decreased this year?" That's something, right?

She looks for the red flag that Cynthia placed for the girl that fell from the Dream. Her hand moves around in that space, brushing through the air as if she could physically touch the door even though she has no access to anything that allows her to do that. A girl can dream.

"It kind of breaks your heart, doesn't it?" Ava asks Una with a sigh. "But you mean in the town? Yes. We have a higher death rate than many large cities. That's why they need people like me to fudge numbers and keep things from looking suspicious in official channels."

"A lot of those deaths and disappearances we never hear about," Ravn murmurs and reaches into his pocket for another cigarette. There is some old coat-of-arms engraved on his battered zippo. "That is -- one of the reasons we got the community centre up and running. This place draws a lot of people like you and me but we are not the ones who end up in the statistics like that."

He looks at Una. "You and me? We might get unlucky some day, sure. Or we might get lost and disappear into some alternate reality. But the people who seem like meat for the grinder? That's the homeless guys, the hobos and the drifters. The people who live under the boardwalk, the nobodies no one keeps track of. They're Veil fodder. And then we get gangs and criminals from the region thinking that there's so much weird in Gray Harbor that dumping a few bodies here won't matter -- because nothing ever comes out of Gray Harbor, right?"

The Dane shakes his head. "It's one of those things I don't usually include in the welcome wagon speech because it can't not sound like moving here is volunteering to be monster chow. In a way it is, but I'd argue that so is moving to Manhattan."

It is a cold night. In one way, this explains the big fluffy lavender thigh-length faux-fur coat Aidan is wearing as he heads up toward the pond. In another it absolutely does not, but so it goes. Under it there's a white fleece hoodie with a polar bear hood, but it's apparently not cold enough for that hood to be up, or for it to be zipped up over the t-shirt that looks like a cloudy sky. White jeans are a dangerous choice for somewhere currently as slippery as a pondside, not to mention definitely against certain people's sartorial rules, but the tread on the worn black Docs probably helps out. He's got a beat-up black leather (or maybe just leatherette) satchel hanging over one shoulder, and light glints periodically off the plastic-crystal tiara half-hidden in his curls as he approaches.

He blinks in surprise at the sheer population here right now, gaze moving over both the people and the tiny flags for a beat before the former get a bright smile. "Oh, hey. People! What are we doing tonight? It kinda... are you having a tiny boat race?" This would not explain the positioning of most of the flags, unless they're tiny amphibious boats, but. Never know. And he probably hasn't spotted Cynthia up in the tree, yet.

Una opens her mouth, ready to jump in and say something, but apparently has second thoughts and closes it again. Sure, not all of this is news, but putting it together like that... it's definitely something. She tucks her hands behind her back, looking faintly awkward and concerned, but not, at least, outright unhappy.

Whatever her response might be, she postpones it-- Aidan's arrival has her whole body turning to see who it is, mouth twisting up into a rueful smile that doesn't even try to be genuine. "A tiny boat race sounds much better than the reality," she declares.

"Yeah." Ava hisses through her teeth. "A few bodies." She looks down at the flags again. Seeing them all so close together really makes it hit home. Still, she moves back from the crowded section of them to get a distant shot to take a photo from different angles. You never know which might be the one to give you what you need.

"Sorry Una. We're being very buzzkill-ish right now. All doom and gloom." But everything Ravn said is right, earning a little head bob from the coroner as she returns to the group and tucks her phone back away and the clipboard back to the ground. It's just in time for a new voice that she does recognize. "That might be fun. But I imagine the water would have to be a little more watery for that to work at the moment. Unless it were ice races."

"Hey Aidan," says Ravn who is apparently no more surprised at the other man's attire than he is at seeing him here this late in the night. "You've met Una next door? And Ava, our newly returned doctor slash coroner? And the skylark up there in the tree is Cynthia."

"Hi," says the willow tree, or something up the willow tree that's definitely very young to be out this late.

The folklorist smiles a little. "Aidan probably knows what goes on in this town better than I do, if push comes to shove. He's certainly been around here longer, and no one ever stops talking in front of a street performer."

"Oh! You're the magic man!" exclaims the tree.

"Hey, Una next door," Aidan greets her, and in turn, "Hey, Ava," and brightly up to the voice in the tree, "Hi!" He has not met this neighbour yet, having been mostly out of town for a bit, and there's a look of definite curiosity both regarding her and the doctor-slash-coroner. "Nice to meet you. And is it ice races? Like you could have tiny little slalom ski-things..."

He makes a 'eh' face when Ravn tries to claim he (or possibly anyone) knows more about what goes on around here, but it's interrupted by the exclamation from the tree. He beams up at it and declares dramatically, "That is correct, I am Aidan the Amazing!" with a broad flourish of arms and what probably even to the strangers here seems like maybe not quite his natural demeanor. He gives the talking spot in the tree a decidedly thoughtful look, and one arm bends back in, hand hovering near his shoulder, as the other lifts upward and, with a twist, a 4 of hearts appears in it. "Was this your card?"

The odds that he's either guessing right or remembering on a card a voice the source of which he can't even see ever chose are exceedingly low. But getting one to appear out of nowhere like that when he isn't even in the middle of a performance isn't too shabby. And hey, one-in-fifty-two is still a chance.

Una rolls her shoulders in answer to Ava: buzzkill or no, this is the reality of Gray Harbor.

Most of her attention is still on Aidan, both because Ravn's identification of the man likely draws a few disparate pieces of information together... and because Aidan's coat really is that eye-catching (she approves). "Oh, you're the infamous other-person-who-lives-next-door," she concludes, with a smile that's brighter, now, despite her earlier pseudo-angst. His card trick certainly doesn't hurt either. "Nice to meet you."

"Not bad. What do we think, Cynthia? Is he right? Does he earn a cookie?"

Ava offers a little curtsy as she's introduced, tugging the side of her oversized sweatshirt to the side. "Pleasure to meet you, Aidan. I'm afraid it's nothing as exciting as ice races. It's far more dreary than all that. They are dead body markers." She lifts one of the spare flags and waves it near her head with a flinching smile. "Weeeee?" Nope. Coroner humor probably doesn't fit here.

"I'm loving your tiara, by the way. You really pull it off. It suits the curls."

She leans against the tree as he watches the card trick go down, and then looks up towards Cynthia to see if it worked on the little girl. "What say ye, my dear?" she wonders, seconding Una's question. Ravn's suggestion that people talk in front of Aidan has her eyes drifting back for a moment, considering. "That makes sense. Honestly, a lot of people tend to get into their own bubbles when they're walking around. Street performers, wait staff, hospitality workers of any kind. They talk pretty openly because they don't think they're paying attention."

"My room mate who goes to another school, in Canada." Ravn beams. Then he nods at Ava. "Exactly. I remember being told that on many an occasion -- wait staff in particular is all but invisible. The maid is just part of the furniture."

"No! That's not my card!" declares the tree, or rather, Cynthia with cookies, up in the tree. She clearly has no intention of sharing those cookies -- or coming down within reach of adults who might try to make her. Maybe that's one perk of being dead -- you stop listening to the adults. Maybe you never did, and that's why you're dead in the first place.

Ravn shakes his head and chuckles. Maybe he is not all that sorry that the discussion has wandered away from dead and dying people -- it is a depressing statistic, and it is surprisingly easy to end up sounding like some kind of doom sayer and tinfoil hat wearing prophet of bad omens. "Knowing Una, there's more where they came from. Our faerie ring in the yard is becoming all but a secret interdimensional hub of cookie smuggling these days. I caught Kitty Pryde eating a pixie the other day."

Aidan cocks his head at the tree like this seems a totally unexpected result, then turns the card to look at it more closely. "Oh! Yeah, sorry, that was my card, I wondered where I left that," he declares, and the hand closes almost as though crumpling it and promptly reopens as though flicking it away -- but there's already nothing in the hand, when it does. Poof, gone! "You should still gimme a cookie though. I really like cookies and I don't have any." Oh, the big puppy-eyes. Una gets a little spillover too, as the official bearer of said cookies.

He can't (or at least doesn't) keep it up, though, blinking at Ravn. "No s--kidding? Are we still leaving milk out? 'cause if Kitty Pryde's eating the fair folk they're gonna get pissed." Wait, is that swearing too? Well, too late now. "And it's true that people kinda forget you're not scenery if they get you slotted as some kinda staff they don't need right now, but I'm pretty sure most stuff I hear that Ravn doesn't is, like, who's," a flicker of a treeward glance, "hanging out with people they aren't supposed to be when they said they were working or whatever. Not the what goes on stuff." Most of the people who pass him probably don't even have the Glimmer to know the rest of it exists. "And thanks!" Ava gets a bright smile for the tiara compliment. "Not enough things sparkle."

Another headtilt, this one at the flags. "What're you marking them for? I mean I'm assuming it's where they were and not where they're going to be." And yet it sounds as though he thinks the alternative is still a possiblity. And apparently, it reminds him. "Oh, right." The satchel's pulled around so he can get into it, and what he extracts is a tub of what looks like mealworms.

"I'm baking cookies every couple of days," agrees Una. "And I know my roommates don't eat nearly that many of them. I'd stop, but I'm afraid what would happen if I took away what I assume they've now decided is their due. Unfortunately," and she holds up both hands, palms down, completely empty, "I've no more with me. Cynthia's got the lot."

And nor does she sound particularly disapproving: dead girls deserve cookies while they can get them. It's only fair.

"But there's more at home. Standing invitation to all: Una's kitchen has cookies." And cinnamon rolls. And often pancakes. Unemployed girl has to find something to fill her time.

"Are those... worms?"

"They are invisible. But a lot of them use it to their advantage. They are the eyes and ears of any house or business. If you want information, that's who you go to." This might have to do with the whole 'hiding things for the town' that she does. You have to know who to talk to.

"Well, can I have a cookie?" Ava wonders of Cynthia, looking up into the tree. Even if she won't share with Aidan, maybe she'll share with the cool Doctor lady?

"I'm marking them to try and see if there's a pattern of some kind. I do a lot of research and investigation into this sort of thing. You never know when there's some kind of clue lingering in the strangest details. I like trying to to figure out those details." Her head tilts as Aidan pulls out mealworms, the same question in her eyes that Una asks outloud.

"What -- exactly are you doing with -- meal worms?" Ravn looks at his roomie, puzzled. He's seen Aidan do a lot of strange things. He did not realise Aidan was raising meal worms.

"Catch!" declares the willow tree. A cookie falls out from the darkness up there, in the general direction of Ava. It is soon followed by the scrabbling sounds of a kid making her way down the tree, slowed down a little by stash of cookies. Soon, Cynthia is back on the ground, covered in bark bits and leaves -- not that she seems to mind at all.

The girl beams up at Aidan. "Can you make them do tricks?"

There is no doubt that she is enjoying the attention. But then, maybe not a whole lot happens here to entertain her most of the time. It's certainly established, at least to Ravn and Una, that the more attention Cynthia gets, the less time she spends trying to gain it by being a very creepy kid.

"I mean." Aidan looks down at the plastic tub in his hands, then back up at the others, as if it's just occurred to him this might be weird, and then a bit more specifically at Ravn, "....feeding the lobsters?" Maybe that is weird. "I was just thinking, it's been all cold, they might be hungry." It's possible he may not actually know that much about lobsters. But he does remember the scavenger omnivore thing that got mentioned, at least. And mealworms are definitely part of omni, right?

He moves toward the edge of the pond, noting, "But speaking of hungry I will definitely come eat your cookies. Actually maybe I should make some cookies too? I think I've barely cooked anything for a month. Only, I dunno I want the fair folk ending up expecting them from me too. What kind of patterns?" It would possibly be a better time to randomly switch over on topics if there weren't a cookie bomb being delivered right around then.

No cookie for him. But he is getting beamed up at. "What, tricks? I dunnoooo," he replies, undoing the lid and flipping it over beside the tub. Several of the worms promptly tumble all over each other climbing up out of their fellows and onto the flat surface, where they move around in a little pattern like a dance, culminating in arranging themselves into a pyramid like a group of tiny cylindrical cheerleaders, the one at the very top managing to sort of hop up and do something very vaguely approximating a flip. It almost falls off, but the pyramid just barely holds for a moment before they all drop and tumble back into the tub.

Aidan looks both pleased and faintly proud for a moment, then more chagrined as he looks at the tub. He sets the lid back on, though he doesn't quite push it closed yet. "...now I feel kinda bad about letting things eat them," he murmurs.

There may, indeed, be a very good reason why Una-- presumably-- comes out here with cookies often enough for Cynthia to expect them. More attention, less creepy kid: everyone wins. Certainly, the glance she sends Cynthia-wards, as the child scrambles down the tree, is fond enough. "Maybe... we should hand cookies to people, squirt, instead of throwing them. Do you like ground cookies? 'cause I don't."

"That's... kind of adorable, actually," she tells Aidan, and that probably encompasses feeding the lobsters and the pretty impressive cheerleading mealworms. "And we all got to eat. Cookies or otherwise."

"You mean the crayfish?" Ava looks very confused towards the water. "Lobsters are salt water... are there lobsters in the pond?" If so something isn't right. But then, what's right here in the first place. But ecosystem wise, that would need some looking into. There's concern on that face as she glances from the pond to the tub of mealworms. "You should see how clever maggots can get!" Ah, coroners.

But it's raining cookies! "Oh!" Ava looks up, and with just as much grace as she displayed in the tree, she reaches up for that cookie, and it bounces right off of her forehead and lands on the ground. "Oh no!" A quick scoop and it's up off the ground in a second and dusted off. "That was only, what? Two seconds? Right? Yeah? Two seconds was it?" She checks around for verification from the others. "Thanks Cynthia!"

"Any kind of patterns, honestly. I just wanted to see if something jumped out at me. Again, figuratively. A certain number of yards between each non-natural body. Or and actual pattern, like a zig zag or a circle. Something that might predict future body drops so that we could be ready for them. Or even figure out where thinnies are."

Ravn glances at the pond and at the meal worms and for some reason he -- looks almost embarrassed? "Crayfish, yes. They are crayfish, technically. Lobsters are salt water. We call them ghost lobsters though -- they are very large, white lobsters that seem to breed through parthogenesis, they're all females. And they are, uh -- " he draws on it a moment as if realising how silly it sounds. "They are definitely above average crayfish smart."

With a glance to his roommate he adds, "If you're telling me they don't hibernate in winter, I mean, I am not going to tell the lobster fighters that if you don't. They'll only insist we expand the season to last all year and I am enjoying not having to do that shit in winter."

Meanwhile, Cynthia seems to have done the not too complex math; Keep Una happy = more cookies. It is better to surrender one cookie to Aidan now and get ten more tomorrow, than to eat one more cookie today and get none later on. Be happy, Aidan; thou art cookie'd.

Aidan has a cookie, hooray! And a verdict of kind-of-adorableness on probably at least the mealworms. Both of these are pleasing. "Thanks!" And Una has a point about everyone needing to eat... as do the others. "...crayfish," he agrees easily enough, possibly making note of 'salt water = lobster, fresh water = crayfish' and possibly just going with it. The pond gets eyed. "I. Dunno if they hibernate. I didn't think of that. I mean I know you guys don't do the thing in winter but I figured it was just like... they could play football whenever but they all decided it should be in the fall or whatever." And probably the other guys need to breed their lobsters at some point. Why not winter?

Perhaps as an experiment, he sticks the cookie into his mouth, opens the tub and picks out a few of the mealworms from a definitely non-dancing area (though he nonetheless looks torn about this already) and rather reluctantly tosses them into the water. Maybe the crayfish will come for them! Maybe they won't. For the moment, though, he closes the tub properly. Hand comes up to get the cookie, all but one bite, which stays in his mouth to be chewed and swallowed. "Really good cookie," he notes, with a glance both to Cynthia and to Una, provider and creator. On that front, indeed, he is happy.

"So... are you making note of the times too then? If you're trying to predict?"

Una's little snort of laughter is for the lobster/crayfish debacle; clearly a story she's heard before, and still finds amusing. "Given how ridiculously unlikely the lobsters-- crayfish-- are in the first place, surely they can do whatever they want. And I vote they deserve a long rest in between seasons, and... well, if any of them are awake and want to eat, fine. Everything has a season." Even Cynthia has a season, depressing though that thought is.

"Definitely no more than two seconds," she confirms for Ava, all smiles. "And thank you," she tells Aidan, distinctly pleased.

"'Thinnies' is a good term. Is it standard, or have I just not heard it before?"

"Above average smart? I believe it. Though, that would make me way less inclined to eat them. Assuming you guys eat them? I'm not entirely sure what you guys do with them." A brow arches as Ava glances between the two men, looking faintly amused. Maybe a little worried. "Are they being bred for a specific purpose?"

Between questions, Ava takes a bite of her cookie after being assured that it was no more than two seconds, groaning at the taste and looking over at Una. "Oh, these are great. You're really good. Cynthia's hair gets a ruffle. "Thank you for sharing. I appreciate it."

"Thinnies? Just my little nickname. But you are welcome to it, if you'd like. Spread it like wildfire. Seemed like an appropriate term to me."

"I have notes of the times, the injury types, the ages, the nationality, a bunch of random details charted to see where things might correlate. There's little lines here and there, but nothing solid enough for me to really sink my teeth into. Not yet, anyway. But if there's something, I'll find it eventually." She takes another bite of cookie before her phone goes off. "Dr. Brennon," she murmurs into the phone, trying to make it sound like she doesn't have food in her mouth. She forces the bite down fast. "Mm, mhhm. I'll be right there. Yup. I'm on my way."

Pushing away from the tree, Ava gathers up as much of her stuff as she can. "Guess I'll have to come back for the other flags later. Duty calls. I'll see you guys again soon. Cynthia, I'll come visit soon," she promises before hurrying off.

Ravn watches the coroner go. And only when she is out of earshot does he manage a small, relieved sigh. "Thank you, Lord, for not making me explain lobster fighting. She might think me sane for another day at least."

He shakes his head and chuckles, probably mostly at himself. "This town, right? There was a time when I lead a pretty normal life for a backpacking grifter. When I had no idea what thin spots or lobster fighting or dolorphages were. I'm almost nostalgic for it, though once I remind myself that it was also a very lonely life, that does help."

"The lobsters are fine," Cynthia says in the tone of one who should know (and all things considered, she might well be). "They sleep in the mud now. But they wake up and make sure they are not disturbed sometimes. I don't think it is a very good idea to catch them."

Aidan promptly shakes his head at the 'assuming you guys eat them'. Nope! No. No eating the weirdly smart strange white lady crayfish here. He doesn't even try to answer anything about breeding lobsters, or whether it's these not-lobsters, or... any of that, really. More than happy to just go on to the answer to his question, which is interesting. The flags get a considering look, but any further questions are aborted by her call-and-flee. "Nice meeting you!" takes their place, along with the cookie-holding hand coming up in a bit of a wave before he takes another bite.

"Mnf," is probably a comment on the cookie itself, and still a good one. "I never heard someone call them Thinnies before, just... that some places the walls are thinner than others. And everything's easier." Or for many Glimmerers, less 'easier' and more 'possible'. "Thin spots." A nod. "Anyway. Less lonely is better than lonelier, even if there's lobster fighting."

And these ones are, Cynthia assures, fine. Aidan watches the pond for a moment more, and does not reopen the tub o' grubs. That particular can of worms can stay closed for the time being. "We were trying to tell people not to catch 'em. I dunno if it worked, though." Ravn gets glanced at. If anyone would know, right?

Una, too, watches after the departing coroner-- and promptly laughs, merrily, in answer to Ravn's remark. "How things change," she says, wrinkling her nose afterwards: okay, yes, that was ridiculously trite. "Though I agree: less lonely is definitely better than lonelier, lobster fighting or no lobster fighting. I really do like her."

Una shifts on her toes, perhaps from cold but perhaps simply from restless energy, her attention now circled back to her remaining companions (both the living and the dead). "No catching the lobsters. That seems... smart. But," she dips her chin towards Aidan, "people often don't listen. It'll be warmer, soon, and then..."

"And then I suspect we might end up with a few more red flags in the gravel here, indicating supernatural deaths." Ravn sounds almost pragmatic. He glances at Aidan. "These things have a kind of -- hive mind. We promised to spread the rumour that they taste awful. But they are big and strong and of course someone's going to try -- both putting them in a fight and eating them. I hope they are lousy fighters and taste awful, and I hope it doesn't take too many lumber mill workers face down in the pond to get the story out there."

He hitches a shoulder. "I can't do anything about it besides tell people to leave them the hell alone. I wish I could but, they're already a protected species. Which means I should call Fish & Wildlife if someone turns up with one, but the Veil wants lobster fighting rings to be a thing, and I have a feeling I'd only be doing a few wildlife officers a very bad service."

Aidan makes sure the lid is on right, and then slides the tub o' worms back into his bag. One does not make that mistake twice. Preferably, not once. A puff of a sigh has a couple of those curls bouncing in its wake. "I dunno if maybe I could..." he trails off, teeth briefly worrying his bottom lip. "Would it be, I dunno, unethical to try and convince people you think're gonna try it that they know that stuff to be true and don't want to bother? 'cause I kinda don't want anyone else ending up face down in the pond." In the long run he is definitely not getting what he wants. But possibly at least on the lobster-fighter front something could be done...

"Oh! Oh. Can you put in the rules that they're not allowed? I mean, there's other rules and restrictions, right? If it's official that, No Crayfish, or No Ghost Lobsters, or... something... then they wouldn't bother, right?" So hopeful. Una and Cynthia get looked at for that too; it makes sense, right? Last bite of cookie gets eaten.

Una's wince is her immediate reaction, her expression remaining troubled even once the immediate scrunching of features relaxes. "I hate that. That people might end up dead because of something they don't, can't, understand. It fucking sucks."

Language, Una. There's a child! The redhead seems to realise this only belatedly, and casts a wary glance towards Cynthia.

"You could try spreading the rumour-- we could try, I guess-- that someone ended up in hospital after eating one of them. So it's not even just, they taste bad, but they're actually bad for you. Or some of them are, and it's enough that... you just shouldn't bother. Though," and Una's sigh is clearly audible, "People don't really listen, do they?"

"Putting it in the rules is worth a try. Instant disqualification."

"Fucking sucks," Cynthia beams, with the eagerness of a kid who is absolutely old enough to know exactly what she's doing. And then, because she is, she says, "I could scare them. I get to come out if someone comes into the water."

Ravn quirks an eyebrow. "What makes you think I didn't try to prohibit white crayfish? I get as much say in this as I get in the whole affair. I never asked to be the illegal crimelord of animal abuse." Then he pauses and glances at Cynthia, almost speculatively. "I thought you said you only get to come out when there is ice?"

"Out of the water," Cynthia says patiently. Adults are slow.

A firm nod; Aidan hates that too. Okay, fair to guess Ravn does too, what with none of them being monsters, but it still bears expressing. And agreeing. Team Human's gotta stay united on this kind of thing, yo.

Possibly less united on children swearing, though in this case Aidan also flicks a wary glance kid-ward at Una's accurate but censorable assessment, and smothers most of a grin at the inevitable echo. "...well, it does." He may have been trying to police his own language, but really, the kid's going to be nineish forever... she might as well at least get to curse a bit.

The look he gives Ravn is almost apologetic, and comes with a shrug. "Seems like if it's gonna make you run sh-tuff," nope, still gonna try apparently, "it oughta at least let you do it." The glance he gives Cynthia is also verging on speculative. "I mean. If people get immediately told to quit it if they're trying to catch one, I guess that might..." Glances to the other adults, checking how that sounds to them.

Is Una surprised that Cynthia picks up on the swearing? No, of course not. Does she wince, anyway? Yes, yes of course she does.

She also starts, and then stares. "Oh fu-- goodness. Please don't become a child-sized Rusalka and drag men-- ok, no. Not going there. A little scaring might be okay, if you can manage it."

If anything, Una seems pleased by the idea: resolution! A plan forward! A plan that does not involve a small child dragging men to their deaths!

Ravn can't help a wince and a smile at once: A smince?

Then he too nods. "You might be saving lives that way, Cynthia. If someone wades out into the pond with a lobster trap, pop up and make faces at them? That ought to scare most men good. Everyone already knows this pond is haunted -- it's local folklore. A few people more claiming to have seen a ghost child won't make enough of a difference that the Veil shuts it down, I think."

He winks at the kid. "After all, there might be cookies in it."

It's probably not cookies that Cynthia really wants. It's the company that brings them. People to talk to, a connection to the living world. But as a stand-in currency for that -- cookies will do. After all, cookies don't walk down here on their own.

Some ghost stories have strange, pragmatic beginnings.