2022-02-28 - What a Place to Have a Kid

With Ravn (bless him) taking one for the team, Una scoops up Ava and leads the way to Espresso Yourself, because if there's one thing required after a moment of drama, it's coffee (except later in the day, when it's probably hard liquor instead).

"I can't believe you got to touch a dinosaur," the redhead says, her delight audible, as the door swings open and she steps inside the warm coffee shop. "Though now I'm going to have to take another trip to pick up my book. Grab a table, and I'll get the coffees? What do you want?"

"I know! That was all kinds of amazing! Not something I thought I'd ever actually be able to say unless I was Dreaming. Not just touch it, but fix its boo boo." Ava has the biggest grin as she steps inside and starts to peel off her jacket. "Man, if I could go back and tell ten year old me that, she would be stoked."

"Can you please grab me a latte with a triple shot of espresso? I'll grab us a booth, yeah." She starts to meander towards the back corner of the place, away from the prying ears of other customers in the place. Granted they'll 'mishear' and misremember later, but still. It's just easier this way. "I have to go back for what I was working on, too. We can make a trip of it."

"Right?!" Una grins enthusiastically after Ava. "Twenty-five-year-old me would still be stoked."

She makes quick work of the coffee ordering, and with no Ravn in sight it's easy to obtain two black coffees and a triple shot latte from Della to bring back to the booth (on a tray, because carrying three mugs without is probably a bad plan, destined to fail).

"As cool as dinosaurs are, hopefully the return trip," she says, continuing the conversation quite as if there weren't a several minute gap in the middle there, "is less eventful. I hope there's not a kid who is going to talk about the dinosaur that came to life, today, and whose parents are just going to... not remember."

Ava hangs her coat and settles her bag in the booth before moving herself in after it. She waits for Una to come over, grinning and making eager grabby hands towards her own cup. She makes sure it doesn't unbalance the tray, however. "As much s I hate to say it, there might be one. They'll be dismissed as a kid with an overactive imagination. The parents will remind them it was just a dog, or whatever the cover story ends up actually being."

She sighs.

It's not long before the doors to the coffee shop open again, admitting one tall copper blond in black. Ravn makes a face as he heads for the counter -- and then changes course for the table as he catches Una's look, and more importantly, gets a look at Una's tray. Small mercies!

Behind the counter, Della scowls. Foiled. This time.

Ravn walks over and pulls out a chair. He turns it around and flops down on it so that he's using the backrest as an armrest and makes another face. "Apparently, the lady who was about to try to fight a dinosaur with a book told the patrol officer that this was some homeless man's large dog that got loose in there. So now I have to put up a notice on the HOPE Centre billboard that dogs need to be on leashes, and to please respect the facilities."

Una helpfully puts the empty tray away before pulling off her coat, scarf and hat, and dumping them in the corner of the booth. She makes a face, echoing Ava's sigh with one of her own, and decides, "That sucks. The poor kid." Whoever the kid is.

She makes a face as Ravn shares his news, sliding into her seat and then nudging his coffee towards him, before wrapping her hands about her own. "Ugh. It always gets blamed on the homeless, doesn't it? That's so unfair."

But at least there is coffee. The good kind, without hideous additives.

"When memory gets played with, it's always easy to pick on the people who can't do anything about it." Ava doesn't seem terrible happy about it. Her own face screws up in displeasure at the news. "Does the Centre have the funds to at least provide everyone with leashes and harnesses for their dogs? Or do they need some help with that?" she wonders. "I can't imagine that was in the last budget meeting."

Her latte is lifted in both hands and sipped slowly. She lets the heat warm her body, and the caffeine slowly fuel her.

"Not a chance. The regulars? We can help those. Once the weather gets a little warmer and the tourist season begins, though, there's going to be a lot of people camped under the boardwalk and on the outskirts, and we have no way of reaching them all. The Veil pulls in a lot of vulnerable people." Ravn's tone is almost pragmatic -- he doesn't like it, but it's a fact.

He curls long, gloved fingers around the coffee cup (take that, Della!). "HOPE is community funded. We make do with donations and whatever help people can and will provide. It's not ever going to be enough. Imagine if we somehow managed to feed and shelter all the vulnerable people in town? We'd have Portland, Seattle, and Spokane exporting theirs before we knew what hit us. But it does suck how quick some people are to throw the buskers, vagabonds, and drifters under the bus, not going to lie."

Una chews at her lip, uncomfortable with the reality presented in this conversation though surely none of it is news: perhaps she's just simply not yet willing to be resigned to it. "There but for the grace of god," she agrees, finally. "It's not like people are born destined for the streets. Life happens, and sometimes that means being spit out into a shitty situation.

Her bleeding heart is well and truly activated. HOPE can expect a cookie delivery imminently, as little as that is to offer.

Ava nods as though she isn't surprised. "That's about what I was expecting you to say. I'll stop by the pet shop today and pick up some extra leashes and harnesses. Having some on hand will hopefully help out a little. If you have anyone there that needs a one over while I'm there, that you're really worried about, I have some free time tonight. Two birds and all that."

"I don't like the idea of anyone being thrown under the bus, honestly. But doing it to people who are already down on their luck to the point that they don't even have a roof over their head just makes me nauseas."

"Most of these people I'll never manage to convince to go see a doctor," Ravn says earnestly. "They've been fucked by the system too many times. Some of them will think you're going to give them 5G and inject them with radio transmitters. Others, that you'll slap them with a bill they have no chance of paying. But if you're interested in dropping by the Centre now and then, maybe let it drop ever so casually that you know a thing or two about a rash or a cough, you might make a lot of new friends in very short time."

He sips his coffee (ha!). "Truth is? People here are helpful as hell. I've lived on the street too -- and there are definitely some towns that are kinder than others. Small things matter, a lot. It's one of the things I've come to like about Gray Harbor. Most people like us understand how important it is that we've got one another's backs. But of course we're always going to have people who set out in life to be the biggest dick."

Una is uncharacteristically silent, sipping her coffee thoughtfully as she listens to the other two. It's only as Ravn concludes, and on a slightly more positive note, that she seems to break herself out of her funk (if that's what it is), and straighten her shoulders. "There's that," she agrees. "As long as the good people outnumber the dicks, I guess-- or at least make themselves louder wherever possible."

It takes a moment of consideration before Ava nods. "That's fair. The way the medical world is set up isn't kind to the folks on the street. I can understand why they'd be hesitant. I can't say that I'd blame them. I'll forgo the coat, then." She take another sip from her drink, head bobbing. "I can do subtle drop ins. I'll try to stop by once a week, make a habit of it. Drop some suggestions in casual conversation."

She glances towards Una, head bobbing. "Should the love from the rooftops and drown out the hate. That's the best thing we can do, right?"

"Think of it this way," Ravn murmurs and looks furtive for a moment. "If you do that in New York, someone's going to throw a shoe at you and tell you to keep the damned racket down. If you do it in Gray Harbor, some entity on the Other Side is going to feel like you just punched him in the face. Some of those things feed on misery and suffering. Professing kindness? Helping others? Altruism is literally anathema to them. It makes a difference."

Then he chuckles. "Bloody hell, though. I'm suddenly very glad I don't have kids. You think a kid screaming all night is bad, imagine what it's like to have a gifted child like that? Imagine what happens when little Veronica has a nightmare? Or if she figures out that lighting the pram on fire is the quickest way to get mum's attention?"

"And so we choose altruism, to say a big 'fuck you' to all the big nasties." That, at least, makes Una smile. "And also because it's just generally the right thing-- but bonus points is never a bad thing. Shouting love; I can't argue."

Her head dips forward, eagerly acknowledging Ravn's latter comment. "We were saying, before you came in. That there was probably a kid there today who saw and will remember, and whose parents won't. And even kids whose parents do; fuck, there's so many ways it could go wrong, with kids. Has gone wrong. Did go wrong. Kids can be little shits even without power to back it up."

"Punching faces with love and kindness is my favorite pastimes. Plus, I'm terrible at punching with my fists, so it's much easier this way. And far more effective." There's a small laugh from Ava as she rolls her mug between her hands. "I'm all for big fuck you to the nasties."

"Oh my god. If I ever have a child that has a power other than my own, I don't know how I'm going to handle it. I don't. I'm going to be screwed. Illusions? Mental powers? Telekinesis?" She lets out a whistle. "I mean, I am sure I would figure something out, somehow. But, my ability to decrease other people's power levels does not last long enough to defuse temper tantrums, I don't think. So it'd be a real problem. Kailey handled that like a champ."

"Kailey is the kind of person who has one foot in another reality." Ravn smiles a little; the artist is a good friend. "I don't mean that in a bad way. She lives in a world where this is all normal. Big dragon appearing out of nowhere? Tell it to behave and send it home with a scolding. Faerie coven turns up to eat people? Bribe them with ice cream. She solves problems, a lot of the time she solves them by treating them like they're not problems. I kind of admire her for it."

"Fuck," says Una, who apparently doesn't have anything more coherent to say. Her eyebrows have risen towards her hairline, and she shakes her head. "I mean... that's impressive, that she can deal like that. That that's just the way it works for her. I could probably stand to learn a few lessons in being that... calm and composed is not what I mean. That easy? Adaptable?"

None of those words seem to really sum up what the redhead means, and she shakes her head to dismiss the thought.

"Mmm, shiny objects would also work," Ava says of the Faerie coven. "But they have to be of some value. Not just shiny crap. Or that's what all my fantasy books said when I was growing up." Ava chuckles. "I think I'd probably lose it at a dragon. Not because I couldn't fathom it, but because I'd be fighting the urge to try to ride it. And that's how you die. Like, immediately die." Atleast she is aware of the flaw in her plan.

"She seems like good people. Hopefully I get a chance to talk to her more. I admire that kind of mindset, myself. My feet are firmly planted in reality, but I often let my mind wander outside of it. It'd be fun to learn to straddle the line a little more. Una, to be fair, you could have bolted the second you came in the door, but you didn't. I think you're more adaptable and stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"Going to have to agree with Ava on that." Ravn reaches over to swipe a few packets of sugar. And as is his habit he does not open them to add them to his coffee -- instead, they dance on his knuckles like a magician with a coin. It seems to be a habit, a twitch -- much like the guy who can't stop clicking his pen. "The easy choice is to just turn around and walk right back out, pretend you didn't see a thing. Some people here are very powerful. The rest of us make do as we can. We all contribute something -- I mean, you keep Cynthia the creepy ghost kid from scaring other kids with cookies. I couldn't do that -- I'm a disaster in a kitchen."

Hastily, "Oh, that wasn't an attempt to denigrate myself. Yes, I could've, and no, I didn't. I mean, I might've-- but I figured maybe I could help. I think the point is more... taking things in one's stride, and having good immediate answers for how to deal with them. I don't freak out, but I don't necessarily know what to do."

Una's mouth curves up at the edges. "The cookies were a master stroke, I have to say, though. I wasn't sure it would work, but... turns out ghost kids like cookies, too. Who knew."

"Ah! But you immediately figured out the rhyming thing when you saw us doing it and helped put the dinosaur to sleep. A lot of stuff is instinctual. You go with an instinct. You get put into a situation and you just let yourself react and hope that it's right. Which make seem like silly advice but it's how I've survived as long as I have." Ava grins to Ravn. "I don't know if that works for you, or if you have a different method to offer up." She looks to Una again. "I'm sure you'll have opportunities to learn. Believe me."

Ravn shakes his head and chuckles. "No, that's -- it, pretty much. Do something. Even if you don't know what the right thing to do is -- do something. Sometimes you're right. Sometimes you're not. Sometimes you just confuse the hell out of things and that's okay because while the monster tries to work out what you're doing, you run the hell away."

He cants his head a little, thoughtfully. "I think the longer you've been here, the more used you get -- to thinking out of the box. But there's no tested and true method that works every time. The only thing that's almost guaranteed is that if you say something like 'I have never seen a ghost!' you're almost bound to bump into one within the day."

The Dane winks at Ava. "As you may have noticed. There are a few other ghosts that hang around pretty predictably, like Cynthia -- ones that don't mind striking up a conversation but don't really seem to have something they need help with. There's a dapper gentleman from the 1920s , at the cemetery -- I keep meaning to drag Perdita over to meet him, actually, she loves all things from that time frame."

Una's smile broadens, and she leans back, resting her shoulders upon the backrest of her seat as she picks up her coffee again. "Okay," she agrees. "All good points. I-- yes, I was going to say! Doctor 'I've never seen a ghost' and then..." Evidently this vastly amuses her, the way she grins at Ava. "I haven't met the 1920s dude. Just Cynthia, and the one in my house, though he's not visible as such, and I don't know if 'met' is the right word."

Ava laughs, blushing a little at the pair. "Yes. That is what I get for opening my big mouth. And of course the first ghost I met would be one that I had to prepare way back when. I still can't believe I didn't recognize her. But she looks far better as a ghost than she did on the table. As horrible as that is to say out loud." She grins at Una. "Ravn is right. The longer you're here, more it becomes second nature. It's just something you do."

The timer on her watch beeps and Ava glances down at it. "Wow, is that really the time? I guess hours in the books and then rampaging dinosaurs really eat up the time, huh?" The rest of her latte is finished off in no time flat. "My shift starts in an hour, so I have to go get ready. It was great seeing you guys again. It's starting to feel a little Three Musketeery with us and our adventures." She slips out of her seat and pulls her coat back on. "I'll catch you guys around. Ravn, I'll message you at some point about when is the best time to stop by the Centre, okay?"

With a wave, she's off.

Ravn pauses his sugar packet contact juggling a moment to look after the doctor slash coroner as she goes. He manages to suppress a shudder at least until she is out of sight and hearing range. "Brr. I'm not sure I could cope with remembering what a child looked like on the slab during an autopsy -- and then have a conversation with that kid later on. That might be where my brain breaks."

Here's to hoping the Veil is not paying attention.

He looks back at Una and, with another shudder, lets the little paper packets resume their ballet. "I need you and Aidan to sit down and compare notes sometime. He's got a ghost of his own, not entirely unlike yours. An invisible presence that moves things and lets its displeasure be known. His is a bit of an asshole -- it likes to bounce soda cans off his head and whisper awful things to him. But I think that maybe his and yours are real ghosts -- while apparitions like Cynthia are perhaps more manifestations of the Veil, somehow. I'm sure Cynthia thinks she is Cynthia, but I am not convinced she actually is."

Una lifts a hand to wave after Ava, watching her go with a thoughtful expression. When she glances back at Ravn, it's to laugh-- and then make a face. "Me either. It kind of does my head in to know that someone I know dealt with her body. It makes it feel-- real isn't the right word. But. You know?"

Except that, if Ravn's correct, Cynthia isn't even 'real' at all, and this draws Una's brows into a frown. "I'll have to talk to Aidan, definitely; you're right, there's similarity there. It feels..." Her coffee cup gets turned in her hand, idly. "I'm not sure if that's more or less sad, though. Cynthia, I mean. Bad enough being a ghost, but... not even being a real one. But believing you are."

"We may never work out how that works." Ravn makes a little shrug -- not borne out of indifference as much as the fact that this is an ocean to explore, and he has barely scratched the surface, never mind the Mariano Trench. "It makes my head spin, trying to work through it. So I go with -- if it says hello and clearly wants to talk, then I'm just going to be a good neighbour and say hello right back. Imagine being a ghost but no one will listen to you because they insist you're not real."

He toys with the sugar packets. "Aidan and Kailey are both Baxters, by the way. Since we were talking about the town curse the other day. They're both people who came into town only to find out their parents were probably from here. It's the sort of thing that makes me want to ask other people from out of town whether they're sure they're not affiliated, somehow."

Una's quick little nod prefaces her, "No, absolutely. I'd rather treat everything as real-- because, anyway, what counts as real in this place? It's so variable."

Her mug gets set down again, fingers splayed idly upon the tabletop. "Oh, that is interesting. The town, drawing its own back. I wonder how many hidden connections there actually are. More than we know about, most likely. I want to say you told me at some point that Aidan was a healer, too. But obviously not just that, given the..." Card tricks. Mealworms. Etc.

"He's also a stage magician. Magic tricks -- the real kind, sleight of hand, not the supernatural kind. He performs on Main Street during the tourist season, and he's pretty damn good at it." Ravn smiles a little -- he can do a few tricks of his own along that alley but Aidan is a showman. That's one thing the Dane never will be, and he knows it.

"He is a healer, yes. And a very good one, at that. If it's alive -- Aidan has a kind of connection to it. The healers apparently often do -- August Røn shapes trees into living cages for his birds, by asking them to grow that way. It kind of blows your mind to think about. I'd be terrified of all the times I'd forgotten to water my potted petunia." Ravn laughs softly. "I'll admit, the meal worms gave me pause. I'm going to need to ask him if he actually trained the little blighters, or he used some kind of influence on them, to make them do that."

"I... can picture that, yes." Una's laugh is a light one. "He's got that quality."

Her fingertips curl, ever so slightly, against the (mostly) flat surface of the table; it's an idle, fidgety kind of gesture. "That's... interesting. And what Ava did, too, with the vines. That much power; it's something to see. Though if he trained those mealworms, and was willing to feed them to the crayfish, I'm... well." Impressed? Surprised?

"Creeped out a little. They'd be pets." Ravn's look says it all. Please, Aidan, don't have a secret meal worm training facility in the spare room upstairs. And if you do, don't expect him to be a guest tutor.

He shakes his head and laughs a little before sipping his coffee. "What about you? You obviously have some kind of shine -- you don't forget things, or revise your memories into something more believable. I don't recall offhand ever seeing you use it, though."

"Creeped out-- yes, exactly." Una makes a face.

Of her own abilities, she's either less certain, or less comfortable. "I-- don't, much. Use them. I don't think I've even really tested the limits of what I can do, except that I know I can't do some of the things I've seen." Particularly in the last day or two. "I can heal, a little, and move things, a little. Most of the time it doesn't even seem all that useful, but maybe that's because of the situations I'm in? Nothing seems like a nail that needs that particular hammer."

"I can relate to that feeling. And maybe a little -- well, feeling a bit like an amateur in a room full of pros. I came into town thinking I was special. That there are two people on this planet who bends spoons with their mind -- and they declared Uri Geller a fraud so that leaves me. I didn't realise there are people here who could tie a station car into a pretzel with their minds, without working up much of a sweat. It's a little humbling, isn't it?" Ravn can't help a small chuckle.

He toys with the packets. "I remember one of the first strange experiences I had here. I didn't really realise how dangerous it all was, until later, either. I was in a dream where we were turned into mermen -- sea people, fish tails and all. So there I was, I had the body of a tuna -- I was just zooming around and having a party because tuna are remarkably fast swimmers, you know?"

A packet is flipped back in the basket. "After a while I realised that the other three people there were communicating. Up here, in their minds." He taps his temple. "But not me, because I can't do something like that. And then for some reason we ended up having to swim through a kelp forest to fight some kind of sea monster. The others swam through -- but I can't manipulate plants so I got stuck there. Woke up with kelp burns all over my body. I'm not even sure that poison ivy kelp is a thing outside of Gray Harbor but there you go."

"Humbling-- yes. I don't know if I really thought myself particularly special, because I knew my mom had some kind of power, and if she did, and I did, then probably other people did too. But I had no idea how much power some people had. And, don't get me wrong, I'm not sitting here feeling sorry for myself, because I don't know if I want that kind of power. But--"

Una stops herself, opens her mouth, closes her mouth, then finally opens it again. "But that situation you're describing, that Dream? What that tells me is that I need to be ready and able to use what power I do have, because it may become very relevant, and sometimes the nail I can't hit at all is going to be a problem."

"It was also a case of me being inexperienced and naive. I thought it was just a wild dream. Nothing real, no danger. Obviously that was not the case. If it were to happen to me today? I can't read minds, this is true -- but I sure as hell would have managed at least very basic communication through charades or something. And I would have paid more attention instead of just high-tailing along like the sexiest tuna in the Pacific." Ravn grins a little, sheepishly.

"But you're right. It's good to learn things. Never know what we need, so learn all the things. We never got started on picking locks and pockets -- we should. Are you still serious about learning?"

The mental imagery is-- forgive her-- hilarious, and Una can't help herself but laugh. "I'm grateful that I was warned about Dreams ahead of time," she agrees. "I can see how easily that could go badly wrong."

She's still smiling, but she's straightening again, shoulders drawn back and posture tight. "Yes," is quick confirmation. "If you're still serious about teaching. Otherwise I'm convinced I'm going to end up in a Dream where it would really, really help, before I've actually learned, just because we've talked about it."

"Picking a lock is mostly a matter of having the right tools for the job, and knowing the lock." Ravn nods. "It's pretty simple when it's simple -- and impossible when it's not. What you see in movies is both wrong and not wrong. A guy steals a bobby pin from his girl's hair and opens the door in a minute? Easy as cake if that movie is taking place in the first half of the twentieth century. Not a go nowadays. Electronic locks, no go -- unless you can somehow short circuit them. Larger mechanisms such as chunky jail cell doors or the bathroom door or similar? They're not hard, you just need to get the feel for it. I can definitely show you that, and hiding a couple of small lock picks on your body is not difficult."

He glances at his sleeve, and then taps it. "Always got a pair on me. Mostly habit -- I don't actually go around breaking and entering these days, except when Perdita dares me to open her door myself."

Then he leans forward on the chair that's still facing the wrong way. "Picking pockets is the same -- it's very easy and very hard. If you can divert someone's attention, you can do almost anything and they won't notice. That's why thieves tend to work in pairs -- one man is putting on a show or a distraction, and the other is rifling through bags and pockets. A light touch is good but the most important thing is diversion. You don't think about some stranger bumping into you on the bus, or someone craning their neck from behind you, to see a street performer."

Dryly, "Why am I not surprised that picking locks is not always as simple as the movies tell us? Next thing you know, you'll tell me that computer hacking doesn't look like Hollywood tells us it does, either."

Una's interested, though, angling her body forward just slightly, her eyes dropping to Ravn's sleeve, then back to his face. "Right. That makes sense. Any crowded space... you expect people aren't going to be able-- or bother to-- maintain their personal space. And, what, you just grab and go? Try and size up where they've kept their wallet before diving in?"

"Always go for the most accessible mark. If there is a rich guy with his wallet in his jacket and a slightly less rich guy who just tucked a few bills in his pocket, go for the bills. Better to get a little, many times -- people take better care about their wallet than their pocket change since their wallet also contains their ID, the pictures of their wife and kids, the dog, and the mistress, not to mention their credit cards. It sucks losing a fifty to some nimble-fingered asshole, but not nearly as much as it sucks to have to spend three days cancelling everything, getting a new driver's license, and so on."

Ravn puts the other sugar packet back in the basket too and leans forward. "A lot of it is learning to identify the careless ones -- the overconfident and the lazy. Tourists always get warned to keep their money close to their body because of the pickpockets at tourist attractions. They do. So it's often a better idea to turn to the marks who don't think about it -- the locals who are out for a day of fun, the drunks, and our very best friends, the blokes who are trying to impress some girl or each other. And once again -- keep it simple. Don't try to steal a man's gold watch off his wrist if it's safer and easier to empty ten pockets of spare change. You'll only need to fence the damn watch anyway, and if there's one truth in the criminal world? The fence and the pawn shop do not pay you what an item is really worth. Also, a man who owns a Rolex won't hesitate to call the cops on you."

"And," Una supposes, "Anything that's too individualised is going to cause you problems. Harder to fence. Hard to prove that the bills came from someone specific, since no one keeps tabs on serial numbers or anything unless they're doing something dodgy." Her head is quick and tight; there's a hint of satisfaction there.

"How did you practice, the first time? Did someone teach you specifically, or was it trial and error and you just managed not to get caught?"

Ravn looks a little sheepish. "Okay, now you're going to think I'm pulling your leg. I learned from kids in a circus."

He sips his coffee and chuckles. "I was eight or nine years old and I already had a habit of running away from home -- usually to come home when I got hungry. This time? My dad had yelled something about selling me to a circus as a threat, and I took off with the idea. There was a small carnie circus in town that week so I ran off and hung out. I think I figured they'd have to take me along if I just stayed there. Of course my father came down later that evening and picked me up for one hell of a stern talking to, but not until some of the kids there had taught me how they lifted change from the patrons in the stands."

Una gives Ravn a look. "Dinosaurs in the library, ghosts at the pond, a fairy ring in the yard... and you think that is what I'm going to say 'nope, I don't believe it' on?" Her grin is broad, eyes glinting with amusement.

"I've never actually been to a carnival or circus, but I can absolutely believe that those kids would know a thing or two, and be willing to teach it. And clearly it came in handy a time or two, so."

"Well, it got me started. Later on, when I was older, I ran off for longer periods of time -- usually until somebody called CPS on me. And I hung out with carnies, grifters, and thieves. I never made it into proper organised crime -- there's a saying about that, you need to go to jail to learn to be a proper thief. I never even went to juvenile because you know how it is -- the law only applies to people whose daddy can't afford a good lawyer." Ravn chuckles. "But I learned enough, and I do seem to have a knack for it. I thought it was a poltergeist helping me -- until I left home proper and it started to dawn on me that it had to be, well, me. If I could make a window latch open or a door key turn by wanting it enough, maybe that's also how come things stick to my hands easier when I brush up against someone, you know?"

He rests his chin on his elbow. "It's not something I'd want to brag about, under normal circumstances. But here, it's the kind of skill that may in fact come in useful. It is like you said -- learn all the things, because you never know what you need to know."

That chuckle, and what Ravn says before it, makes Una roll her eyes, though she nods, too: privilege. "So you had just enough power to... do what you needed to do to get by," she concludes. "Hammer and nail. Even if it wasn't consciously done."

Her empty mug gets nudged away with one fingertip, and she nods again. "Here, given everything, all skills are potentially useful, and not necessarily... well. There are no bad skills. It's all about intent. Using them for survival, or at least self-preservation."

"That is why I do not make it a secret." Ravn offers a grin that's still somewhat tinged with sheepishness. Nothing like telling your neighbour about your criminal career. Make her feel really safe with you next door, why don't you?

"The truth is going to come out anyhow if people know me long enough. And this is the kind of truth that is easy to use against a man, too. But if folks already know -- then it's a resource that can be used if necessary. If your house gets broken into tomorrow, you might call me over, ask my opinion. But you won't be thinking you heard someone hint that the Danish guy used to be involved with some things, and maybe times are hard for him, because I'd have to be bloody stupid to tell people I used to be a thief and still go stealing."

"Or be a criminal mastermind putting us all off the scent," counters Una, with a laugh. "'Oh no, I told you I was retired, it couldn't possibly be me, Una. I'm innocent!'"

"More seriously, though: absolutely. It helps build trust, when people know. And then people know you're a person to ask about these things, when they want a professional opinion. That's why it just makes sense, to me, for people to share what they know in general here, though I know we've talked about why sometimes people don't, or won't."

"Still go stealing?"

Oh look, it's the newest barista, drifting in to her work place on her day off. What madness is this? Maybe it was the knitcap pulled over her hair or the change of coat -- a teal-blue windbreaker today rather than thigh-long peacoat -- and she's got a mug of some steaming deliciousness in-hand, accompanied by a plate with a croissant on the other. Ariadne pulls a chair over at the table and, quite frankly, makes herself at home.

"And a criminal mastermind," she continues, brows lifted, clearly intrigued. "Miss Zorro, m'am, why are you consorting with such troublesome troublemakers?"

By her grin, she includes herself in this category. Her halo is somewhere, surely. "Darth Bathrobes, how'd you manage to get black coffee?" A glance at Una, suspected purveyor.

"And depending on what you're confessing, I suppose." Ravn's sheepishness lingers. "There's a difference from nicking stuff and grifting people in the street, to being a hardened criminal. I was just a bored, unhappy kid."

He looks up, interrupted, and a little startled; where the bloody hell did she come from?

Then he holds up the now almost empty coffee cup. "I got smart. I released a dinosaur during kiddy story hour at the library, and then Una and Kailey escaped here, and ordered coffee for three. Ten slash ten, will do again."

Una is startled enough to let out a little yelp, and promptly looks horribly embarrassed for having done so, pink cheeks at all. "He earned it," she promises, faithfully. "He let Ava and I escape while he dealt with the cops, and frankly that good deed earned another. But if Della asks, I was just feeling in desperate need of extra caffeination, and Ravn just stumbled along..."

A moment's pause. "There really was a dinosaur."

Courier purse hung over the back of the chair, Ariadne now pauses in shucking her windbreaker. She's in a cream-colored turtleneck seen before at the pizza place (limited supply of clothing, must unpack more when moved into unit at Broadleaf Apartments) and gives a dubious amused look to her tablemates.

"I heard dinosaur and kiddy story hour and then I heard dinosaur again, so...I guess the important question is, since nobody mentioned anybody getting eaten: what kind of dinosaur and where was I?"

Trick question, that last part. She was doing laundry at the laundromat, far less entertaining than story time gone Cretaceous, even if that color scheme makes her think of Austin Powers and wonder about roller skates.

"Hell if I know," Ravn admits. "It was -- I don't think it was actually a real dinosaur. It was more what a two year old kid thinks a dinosaur looks like. Hairy? Pink? Like a bison had a baby with a gorilla, and some scales thrown in for good measure? Which makes sense, I suppose, they were reading something about a dinosaur going to the doctor. Kind of Doctor Seuss style, it all rhymed."

He chuckles. "So, as it happens, Kailey Holt's toddler is as powerful a mentalist as anyone. And two years old. And for all we know, she's not the only one either."

"The toddler has more power than all three of us combined, I'm pretty sure," confirms Una, with a laugh of her own. "I went in to the library to pick up an book I'd reserved and... yep. Dinosaur. Happily, a few impromptu rhyming couplets, and the rampage stopped."

She grins at Ariadne. "I imagine your morning has been less eventful."

"Like a bison had a baby with a gorilla and it was pink." Ariadne takes up her mug of coffee, by scent something involving chocolate, and leans back in her chair, comfortable in company and still sporting her knitcap over her deeply-auburn hair. Lazy buns for the win. "I'm glad all it took was a little bit of poetry to deal with it and not some...candy grenades or something. Imagine trying to explain to a toddler why the candy isn't actually there."

Chaos.

"But yeah, quieter morning for me. I'm here to pick up a paycheck. Whoo, paycheck," she says with the wry amusement of a working adult. "Rent and groceries and maybe something good for me and Sam, we'll see. How... I mean, look, back to the toddler. Kid's okay? Like...who's going to be helping her with that?"

"At a guess -- the baby's father, and other wife, and other baby." Ravn chuckles. "It's a complicated family. But it seems to work well enough for the three of them -- they're on Oak too, in number 6," he adds, with a glance to Una. "Kailey's an artist -- she's done some of the murals at the HOPE Centre. She is -- really very powerful. The kind of powerful that doesn't always realise or remember that the rest of us live in a much smaller world. At least Morganna will grow up with a family that understands her issues -- Everett has some kind of power too, and I think Bean does as well."

He looks up at Ariadne. "We were kind of talking about that, though. That, and life skills in general. Which is what lead to me sharing the sordid and extravagant details of my misspent teenage years. I think I forgot to add that a bit of grifting, and a bit of pocket picking paid my way the last three years before I ended up here too."

"Yay, paycheck!" says Una, enthusiasm genuine enough: she may be unemployed and living off a fancy inheritance now, but her paycheck-to-paycheck days are not more than a few months behind her (and this inheritance is definitely only a temporary balm to the need for a paycheck).

The complexity of baby Morganna's family draws only a blip of a reaction from Una, who otherwise nods. "Well, hopefully with three of them they'll do just fine. I knew I'd seen that hair around."

"And look at you now: positively law-abiding, an upstanding citizen. How things change."

Ariadne nods. There's a quiet relief to hearing the toddler is in the best hands possible. Sometimes, that's all one can wish for the unknown and the young. She's heard it from the mouths of her own parents: they did the best they knew how to do. Sipping at her coffee again, she glances over at Una. Another inclination of head and wry grin; indeed, paycheck, party hearty! Little Penguin wine bottle!

The commentary towards Ravn does make her grin twist cheeky for the flash of a second. "I can't tease about being law-abiding and upstanding either because it's true. I know about your little pea-and-shell game, so I guess I'm not terribly surprised to hear picking pockets happened along the way too," she shares. "I don't think I could pick a pocket to save my life. Or a lock either, though I've always been interested in that way of, like...just wanting to say and prove I can do it. I've never been in an instance where I needed to know.

"Mm-hmm." Ravn grins slightly. "Well, that's kind of what we were talking about -- the basics. The mind set, if you will. Una wants to learn -- because it's the kind of thing that has come in handy a few times in Dreams. We were talking about misdirection when you walked in, I think. About how thieves tend to work in pairs, and how it's not always a good idea to go for the one high profile mark when it's a lot safer to pluck ten small birds instead."

"Learn with me," prompts Una, following on quickly from Ravn's explanation. "Ravn was mentioned pickpocketing is best done in pairs, anyway. I for one have no intention of actually using the skill in real life, of course, but... this is Gray Harbor. Knowledge and skill is important."

Ariadne blinks, looking between her two companions. "Well, gosh, who am I to turn down an offer like this, especially if someone's able to teach it and someone else thinks it's a good idea? I've got piano hands," and she lifts one off of her coffee mug to twiddle fingers in a one-handed jazz-twinkling. "And I do play the piano, extra pun points there, bah-dum-pssht, whatever, it's morning, let me have more coffee first, I think I'm hilarious."

Deep sip of coffee as she seems to shake her head at herself and pink just a little at her cheeks.

"Anyways," ahems the barista. "I guess I see the logic in going after multiple less threatening targets rather than one big fish. It's tempting, but...yeah, I guess." Realizing she's hedging, Ariadne laughs quietly. "I'm romanticizing it, I think. Robin Hood. Zorro." A significant lift of brows. "Grand attempts with grand results, y'know?"

"What thief doesn't?" Ravn grins and empties his cup. It was good while it lasted. His odds of acquiring one more like it depends on Della needing to step out back for a moment and on his ability to charm the pants off, make that, charm the coffee beans out of Ariadne. In other words, he's at her mercy.

He shifts on his turned-around chair a bit. "That's what makes the good story, after all. Tom Cruise, the Mission Impossible theme, the grand heist, the one in a million getaway. It's a great story. Reality is a little different because if someone catches you trying to ease their Rolex off, two things are going to happen in rapid succession: You're going to get punched in the face, and you're going to get arrested."

Una seems to find Ariadne funny enough, given her little snort of laughter.

Still, what she actually responds to is the latter thread: "I'm generally against being punched in the voice, and being arrested, because as far as I know, I don't have a wealthy, well-connected father to get me out of trouble. I agree, though: I love the idea of the big score. It's much more fun to imagine than... ending up with a few spare quarters someone had in their pocket, or whatever."

"Way more fun to imagine making off with a diamond the size of a billiard ball than a handful of quarters," Ariadne agrees, she who is Judge, Jury, and Executioner of the Additional Black Coffee Requests. Executioner as in, to execute its creation. "But I also like not being punched and then slapped into handcuffs. I'd know nothing about either -- well, no, I do kickboxing. So I know about being punched, but not on the street by someone with no gloves and a grudge because they want their watch back."

Ravn is given a contemplative look. "Watches seem hard though. Una's got it right with the quarters. Or bills, yeah?" A glance at her fellow redhead. "Pockets sometimes have bills in them too. It's like finding a twenty in your coat except it's not your own coat."

"Yep. Don't go for the watches and the wallets, or the cameras and the phones. Go for pocket change -- bills, coins -- in pockets. You bump into a man and rifle through his coat pocket a few times, you can afford a diner meal. If he does notice? Apologise and help him pick up the coins that fell out of his pocket, crack a joke about how he's lucky he didn't carry anything fragile like a pair of glasses."

Ravn toys with his empty (EMPTY! ARIADNE! IT IS EMPTY!) cup. "Thing is -- a lot of grifting isn't mechanical skill. That's part of it, of course -- it takes a bit of practise to go through someone's pockets without them noticing. But the real trick is learning to keep a straight face and talk shit when things go south -- and they will. If a guy bumps into you and acts all shifty and evasive, you know he's up to something. If he's acting like, oh, my bad, here, let me give you a hand with that -- not so much. Or you can be the one glaring indignantly at the other person, like, what the hell are you doing walking so close to me, are you trying to rob me or something? Audacity is your friend."

Not a statement one might expect from the somewhat subdued (if often very talkative) Dane, but hey.

Una plants her right elbow upon the table, and moves to rest her chin upon her open palm, a position that is unlikely to be comfortable for very long. "Bills are better than quarters," she agrees, cracking a smile. "And quarters are better than pennies. So--"

She pauses, trailing off from that thought seemingly to gather her thoughts together into a different arrangement. "So a big part is about the act. That's... that makes sense, and is sensible. Almost more terrifying than the physical lifting, though. Did you have a standard schtick, Ravn, or did you change it up a lot?"

The cup is empty. Ariadne also isn't paying attention to this because she's not on shift. It doesn't occur to her to ask based on this alone, not idle cruel intent. Another glance between her companions while she sports a wry little smile.

"I do want to hear about this, yeah. Lots of fronting going on in this gig. Makes me wonder if you could have also been an actor at one point, Ravn," she muses. One of her coworkers notices her and waves from behind the counter; the barista off-duty waves back, shrugging silent agreement as to the irony of being at work on her day off. It's like she enjoys coffee or something.

"You always have to tailor your act to the audience." Ravn chuckles. "But obviously, some acts work better for some people than others. I can't do a convincing Adorable and Harmless on most people simply because I'm six foot three. I can do Charming Guy Who's Just Going to the Library. My preference runs towards acting a little apologetic, a little Nice Guy, a dash of Your Mum's Dream of a Nice Son-In-Law because that's what I've got the face for. I can do Charming Stealer of Hearts but I don't much like it -- I have the face but not the bravado."

Maybe that counts as an answer to what Ariadne suggests. At least the ex-thief shakes his head. "To be an actor you have to like attention, I think. I don't like attention. I'd rather swallow a live grenade than get on a stage and have everyone staring at me. I actually gave up teaching for that reason -- face to face, I mean. Fifty people in an auditorium, all focused on me? Some people would consider that a moment of glory. To me, it's hell."

From the back office comes the unmistakable form of the shop's owner, Eleanor Roen. Unmistakable, because she's very close to her due date, and her belly enters a room well before the rest of her. The pregnant redhead shuffles behind the counter to murmur to Della. She's wrapped up in a thick cardigan sweater over a cute maternity jumpsuit, and Keds on her feet, because cheap shoes in a larger size became necessary for her swollen boats a few months back. She's got her hair in braided pigtails and her dark-framed glasses on, and she looks as tired as one might expect with her body working on making a whole other human.

She glances around the room and spots some familiar faces. Noting Ravn among them, she plucks up a mug and fills it with plain black coffee, before heading to his table. She sets it down in front of the Dane with a little wink. She knows his suffering and occasionally rescues him from it. "How are folks today?" she asks.

Una's snort of laughter is coincidentally timed for Eleanor's approach. "I'll grant you, the height makes 'adorable and harmless' a little more difficult to pull-- oh!" There's Eleanor, Una's exclamation likely more for the size of that belly than for the woman herself. "Well, you've just made Ravn's day, anyway," she says, recovering, with a smile. "How long to go... or is that completely impolite to ask?"

Somehow, approaching pregnant lady takes precedence over hypothetical pickpocketing.

Mostly hypothetical.

Maybe.

Approaching boss lady takes precedence over lock picking and mark-fooling in Ariadne's book. She's listening, smirking, until Eleanor shows up. Then it's brows lifted, her interest echoed in her attention upon the burgeoning belly briefly.

"Look at that, somebody else has mercy on you around here," she comments to Ravn as to the additional mug of black coffee. Her golden-hazel eyes slide to the recent arrival to their table. "He's going to vibrate into the next dimension, boss, I'll have to give you credit if he blinks out of existence. You holding up?" There's a sympathetic note in the question aimed at Eleanor for the sheer amount of 'tired' she can see.

Ravn's grin is a million miles wide and he absolutely makes certain that Della sees it. This, if nothing else, must be testimony to the friendly-after-all nature of their feud -- Eleanor is Della's employer, and if Della really worried that the boss would disapprove, surely Della would stop getting between the poor man and his quest for a decent cup of coffee. It's definitely established that the boss knows.

"How's your feet holding up?" he asks of Eleanor. Ravn doesn't know a whole damned lot about pregnancy but he's not blind. "You must be about ready to grab a knife and get that kid sent off to pre-school."

"Any day now. Hopefully within the next two weeks," Eleanor mutters in reply to Una. She pats her belly and grunts at it, "You hear me, August spawn? Your momma would like to see her feet again sometime soon. But make sure you're done cooking first." She smiles at Ariadne and Ravn and shrugs a little. "It's actually not so bad. Kind of amazing in a lot of ways. I'm just really, absolutely, incredibly tired of having to pee every fifteen minutes." She taps at her temple. "Being who I am, and what I can do, some of it has been really weird. Like...REALLY weird." When one shines like a Glimmer beacon the way Eleanor does, and can both sense her child's feelings and know instantly the state of their health, it is a whole different ballgame.

"Oh," says Una. "Oh. Is this going to be another Morganna situation?" Now she's staring at Eleanor's belly. "We literally just dealt with a toddler making a dinosaur in the library-- is your unborn child already all shiny?" She may have jumped from point (a) to point (z) here with this train of thought.

"I've heard things about this having to go to the bathroom every fifteen minutes business and I can't say I'd be a fan of it either," Ariadne gently jokes. She listens, glancing around the table and then at her phone plucked from her pocket. A grimace and muttered, "Damnit" under her breath. "Having the kid be shiny reminds me of a video game." A small laugh to herself and she then sighs. "Alright, I have to go be an adult, see about my paycheck and then go call my parents back. I guess there's something going on with the project I left behind in Seattle and they need my input on it."

Rising to her feet, she temporarily abandons her cup to slide back on her coat. "I'll be here tomorrow, bright and not-so-early." Evening shifter, this one. "Stop by. Good to see you, boss, rest those feet!" Eleanor gets a gentle smile. Una and Ravn get a fingergun while the barista's other hand is occupied with the mug. She's going to put it in the sink herself. "Catch you later, you two." And there she goes, off to be a responsible adult. Ugh. Adulting.

Ravn raises his full (FULL! DID YOU SEE THAT, ARIADNE) cup in salute to the barista as she absconds for reasons of having to act like a responsible adult, something he personally has never been all that great at.

Then he nods his agreement with Una, and asides to Eleanor, "Kailey Holt's little Morganna did a number on the library earlier, summoned a veritable plush dinosaur by accident during toddler story hour. You're in for some interesting years ahead, I suspect."

"No idea of the kidlet will have Glimmer. It usually doesn't manifest til puberty, so if Morganna is already using it, I pray for her parents," Eleanor murmurs. "It's just with my Glimmer I can sense things, kind of communicate, you know? Understand what's going on in there." She points at her belly. "It's BIZARRE. But yes, I expect being me, and August being August, this kid will require a serious amount of battening down the hatches to protect them."

Una's cup is empty, and so she raises an empty hand after Ariadne, letting it hang loosely in the air for a few seconds before it drops back to the tabletop. "Puberty is a much better time for it to happen," she decides, firmly. "Aside I guess from the rampaging hormones. So I hope you have more luck than Kailey does. It must still be something to be able to sense things like that, though."

She pauses, then adds, "At least, I suppose, you'll know what to expect, when-- he or she or they?-- starts manifesting power. If he/she/they does."

"It's hard to guess," Ravn agrees. "I manifested what little juice I have very early. I remember being told that I drove my nanny insane -- always tossing things further away than a baby should be able to, getting my hands on things that should be outside of a toddler's reach. I guess I -- and they -- were lucky to not have serious power. I mean, there's a hell of a difference between being the kid who somehow always gets into the cookie jar, and being the kid who accidentally burns down the house."

"I was a tween. Preteen. Some people don't manifest until later in life even. Some event sparks it for them," Eleanor explains. "And mine was traumatic. My parents were from here, they didn't Glimmer, they had no idea what was happening to me. So yeah, I'm glad this baby will have parents who KNOW and understand." She smiles warmly at that, a little wistfully. "But if in the next two weeks something REALLY CRAZY happens in town? It's probably time to congratulate us."

"I was eighteen," agrees Una. "So older than average. And one of my roommates, I think she still hasn't manifested though," a quick glance at Ravn, "I think she's going to. She's in her thirties."

She turns her attention back to Eleanor, looking abruptly thoughtful. "That must have been so hard for your parents-- and for you. So, yes: I'm so glad your child won't have that kind of experience. Here's hoping, too, there's nothing crazy coming. Just a normal baby, coming in a perfectly normal way." Her smile is warm, by the time she finishes talking.

"I think you're right." Ravn nods at his neighbour. "I don't know Della very well but everything about her says 'penny is about to drop'."

He glances at Eleanor. "That's Della next door, not your Della. I have contemplated introducing nicknames to keep them apart. There will be Della Everything Is Fine and Della No Coffee For You. Think it'd take?"

"Yes please, normal all around would be ideal," Eleanor sighs. She snorts at Ravn. "That works. You know my Della loves you, right? She just loves the verbal fencing." She grunts then. "And I guess it's been fifteen minutes since I last peed. I'm gonna head back to my office. You guys have a wonderful day!" She beams at both, then waddles back through the employees only door.

Una chortles, quietly, for Ravn's descriptors of the two Dellas, though her first remark is to Eleanor: "Good luck!"

She's silent for a few seconds after that, watching the other redhead leave before finally turning her attention back to Ravn. "'Della Everything Is Fine' is eerily appropriate, actually. And 'Jules Dreams are From The Spirit World and Therefore Too Sacred To Talk About', though I guess she doesn't actually need the nickname."

Ravn curls his fingers around the fresh coffee mug and its delicious contents. Una gets a bit of a side glance even as he nods goodbye to the retreating woman -- never argue with a pregnant woman's need for a bathroom if you want to keep those parts of your anatomy that go into getting someone pregnant in the first place.

"I did kind of wonder," he admits. "You two -- exchanged some looks, the other day. I got the feeling that it's not as easy as it sounds, dealing with all Asshole Irving's shit. Jules has a lot of penned-up resentment for very good reasons, and it must be difficult on your end."

That look? That makes Una smile-- not quite a smirk, but definitely a little smugly amused.

"Yeah," she allows, after. "Or-- didn't exchange some looks, maybe more to the point. I mean, we're fine. But we're also not fine." Her fingers fidget atop the table, and she glances back down at them, rather as if she wishes they were beneath the table instead, but isn't quite willing or able to move them. "I get how personal this all is for her. But when Della... it's hard, because I want to talk about things, and it's like there's this wall. Probably why I talk so much with you, and now Ariadne, and Ava, and just about anyone. But I don't like feeling like some topics are forbidden in my own home."

Ravn winces. "I can see how that's problematic. And you can't quite just say whatever the hell you want and let the Veil sort out how it wants Della to hear it, because you know it'd twist things around and throw them back in your face. Before you know it, Della thinks you actually are cooking meth in that kitchen when no one else is looking and then you get to explain to the cops -- both that you're not, and that the evidence planted by the Veil is not real."

He cants his head. "Talking to the rest of us is a good idea. For all of us. The more we actually get along, form bonds, the better we cope as a team. Some will say it makes you vulnerable to loss, and that is true. But one might also argue that at least the time you have with people is worth your while."

"Right-- exactly. The last thing I want is to cause issues. With Della, with Jules, with _anyone. No meth."

Her mug is empty, but her fingers find it now anyway, twisting the handle around between her hands in a gesture that's not quite awkward and uncomfortable, but suggests she's channeling some feelings into it anyway. "The people are definitely what make things worthwhile. I think, too... Jules is wrapped up in school and work, and I don't have either of those things right now, so I'm a lot deeper into everything than she is. And when I think of it like that, it's no wonder she can choose not to engage; at the moment, she's attracted less attention, so has less to engage with."

Ravn nods his agreement. "In this, the Veil is like a beehive. If you poke it with a stick, the bees come out."

He cants his head and thinks. "I'm trying to remember what that was like. When I first came into town I had a couple of experiences, convinced me of the reality of the thing. And then not a lot really happened for a long time -- nothing Veil related, I mean. I had a lot going on with some personal issues. I was making friends. Hell, I even nurtured a massive crush on someone whom I was pretty damned certain had a crush in turn on someone else. But it wasn't until we got HOPE up and running that the Veil suddenly decided that I was interesting. I don't have juice enough of my own to exciting that way."

A sip of coffee (holy magic bean juice). "Maybe we should try to drag Della out of her shell a bit, expose her a bit more. It's a bit of an ungrateful favour to do for her because growing aware also means exposing her to risk. On the other hand living here exposes her, and she might be better equipped to deal with it."

The beehive is a good analogy, though Una is quick to express her frustration: "I don't even feel like I poked it that much!"

Except: "Well, maybe a little. All the questions. Bringing cookies to dead girls." So, ok, maybe a little poking.

"I'm still aware that I'm of less interest to the Veil than many, but I'm still... definitely more in the thick of it than Jules is. And Della... you may be right. She strikes me as the kind of person who'd rather know than not. I think. I still don't know her that well, and some of it just comes down to the fact that I feel like I'm lying to her. Hiding bruises. Missing cookies. What happens if I actually wake up hurt one morning, and have to explain it away?"

"I think -- we may do Della a favour if we can convince her that something is up. Maybe we can ease her into it. Talk about things that aren't quite as bizarre, or which at least are more acceptable. The ghost, for instance -- haunted houses are not unique to Gray Harbor. A quarter of the western world believes in ghosts. That's a lot of people who either have seen something or know someone who has, or have just had a weird feeling, or dreamt something -- you know those stories. There's a cold spot by the window. Some people say there is a black dog that guards the house and warns its owners against future disasters. I dreamed that my grandfather was at the footend of my bed, waving goodbye to me, and then the phone rang that he had died."

Ravn pauses. "The black dog one is real, my family's got one. Anyway. It's a back door to this kind of thinking. Maybe we can convince her to believe that your house is haunted. It is, after all, bloody well true."

Una presses her hand over the top of her mug, palm pushed down into the depths of the empty ceramic. "That... that could work. At worst she laughs; silly superstition. But maybe it makes her think. She's helping me to look through some boxes in the attic, and maybe that will spur the thought on. There's clearly so much history in there, you know?"

A pause; a wry smile. "Relative history. Not 800 years worth, granted. Have you seen the black dog your family has? Felt its warnings?"

"I saw him once. In a Dream, in 1940. Never while I actually lived there. But the story is known enough to be on official record so if I am imagining it, so are a lot of other people." Ravn grins slightly. "It's a story that you find in several old houses of the sort. The man who built the original house haunts it to protect it -- but he wasn't actually too great a person, and that's why he has to do so in the form of a black poodle from hell, with eyes of fire and so on. As the story goes, he will be the one to tear the place down some day, too."

"Oh, not even a big dog, a black poodle?!" Evidently, Una finds this somewhat amusing. "Sucks to be him. But-- makes for a great story, anyway. Creepy, too. I kind of like the idea that he's the one that will tear it all down eventually, too. Full circle, all that."

"That's the idea. Ghost stories do love that sensation of closing the case." Ravn sips his coffee and savours the taste; he has coffee at home but it's not the same. Then he hitches a shoulder. "The poodle thing is not as abstract as it sounds. Back when the story was first told, large poodles were a status symbol -- they were the intelligent, high bred hunting dogs of lords and kings. So it's a power symbol -- this man is powerful enough to haunt the place not as your neighbour's shepherd mutt but as a poodle. You'll find that curious detail in most North European legends of the sort. And then, if you cross over to England and the Celtic regions, it becomes a large black wolfhound instead, heaven only knows why."

Una drops her hands away from the mug-- even drops her hands away from the table, letting them disappear below into her lap. "I kind of love that, too," she admits. "And the way it all connects. All these myths and legends... and they're actually, truly, based on something real. And we get to know that, when most people," she turns her head, glancing around the coffee shop at all the unsuspecting patrons. "Most people just dismiss them without knowing."

Ravn leans in. The grin on his face is perhaps a little too boyish for a man who claims to be thirty-one. "I know, right? Love it or hate it, this town is a folklorist's candy store."

He glances around and straightens up, perhaps a little embarrassed. "I was going around saying that at least we don't have black carriages out of Hell, pulled by black horses breathing fire, but then Petra walked in, and well, we might very well have literal night-mares. Sometimes, the stories and the cultures get mixed together here like it'd all been tossed into a piñata and we're hitting it with sticks to see what falls out, and in what combination."

That grin. It makes Una's smile broaden; it makes her outright laugh. "I believe it," she confirms. "And maybe what's more... I get it."

Mention of Petra does draw a brief furrow of her brow, as if she's just been reminded that, yes, she's still holding on to a 'rope' made of virgin's hair, just to be ready. Even so, "Or waiting to see what some otherworldly creature beats out with a stick. But you're right; it's fascinating. I can't read a novel, now, without wondering whether some part of it is going to show up for real."

"Or watch a movie, or even daydream." Ravn nods, and chuckles. He knows this feeling so very well. "You and I are -- alike in some respects. We both have that feeling of not really having connected a lot where we came from. That it's easier here, because there is a reason for people to need to talk to each other. I don't mean that in a 'look, we're soulmates' kind of way -- more that I think something like this applies to more of us than we really think. People who for some reason or other felt like there was something missing. That's how the Veil baited us."

He steeples his fingers. "I often feel like I am walking a very fine balance. On one hand I want people to know what kind of Venus flytrap they've landed in. I want them to be ready for the weird, ready to survive. On the other, I don't want to send them spiraling into paranoid despair because there is no escape. Odds are that most of us will not grow to a ripe old age and die surrounded by grandkids. Most seem to -- disappear. I'm just not convinced that that's always a bad thing, either. Have you considered that there could be realities out there so awesome that if you stumble into one, you actually just don't want to come back?"

Una's short little nod, just a single bob of her chin, acknowledges Ravn's conclusion: they are alike in this, and no, they're not likely to be alone in that feeling. She's silent, though, listening intently to the rest of what the Dane has to say-- though her brows lift, visible and intent, for that last remark.

"I-- hadn't. But when you say it, it makes sense. It's hard to imagine now, but that's because I don't know what's out there, yet. Much like, I suppose, I couldn't imagine this before I came to Gray Harbor, but once I was here, it was like I'd been waiting for it."

"I know of some people who have been lost and come back. One came back after being trapped in some kind of jungle world, hunted by dinosaurs -- all Jumanji style, popping up in a skirt of leaves and yelling about what year is it." Ravn smirks; he still worked at the Two If By Sea when its owner returned like that. He's not sorry it wasn't his shift at the bar. "Alexander Clayton was lost for some time -- and doesn't remember anything. He blinked and it was half a year later. And we had the big shift where all of Gray Harbor seemed to -- blink -- and then it was twelve weeks later. We never figured out what that was about, either. Some people obviously went on doing whatever they were doing and just don't remember -- I bought a house, for instance. Others seem to have done nothing at all, as if time just froze for them. We may never know what the hell that was all about. Might just have been the backlash of the hurricane last summer."

"And somewhere in there, my grandmother died and left me everything, despite me never even knowing she existed." Una's been in Gray Harbor long enough to be aware of that time skip, and the timing involved. It's a mystery-- and maybe not a wholly pleasant one.

"But the point is made. There are other worlds, other places out there. Nothing is as simple as just... this, and this doesn't even seem all that simple all the time. But it caught us, and we're here."

And leaving? That seems improbable... if not outright impossible.

You can, as they've established, check out... but you can never leave.