2022-03-01 - What a Place to Be a Doctor

It's only the morning and it has already been a day. Which means that the first thing that needs to be done is to prepare for that day with sweets. Nothing too much, just a little extravagance to get started. And maybe some cinnamon sticks to sweeten up the fancy coffees hidden away in her apartment. Ava is probably among the first customer's of the day, fighting the fog and the bitter cold in order wander into the pastry shop. Pausing in the doorway once it's closed behind her, the doctor lets her eyes close, inhaling that sweet fragrance with a dreamy half-smile. That's very nice.

Heels click against the flooring a, echoing as she makes her way around the room, inspecting all the glass sealed items with eager eyes. This is going to be a tougher choice than she thought. She must be on her way to work, dressed up in dress slacks, sharp heels, and a black pea coat that's buttoned tightly around her to fight against the chill. In one hand is a very large thermos that steams with the smell of what some might recognize as very expensive coffee. To others, it just smells like coffee.

Kailey is here early enough that it is likely there will still be her favorite pastries available. She is alone and looking thoughtful and distracted as she comes in. Phone in hand and typing something out with the speed of someone who grew up with miniaturized electronic screens. Taptaptaptap goes her phone with each finger press until she presses one with emphasis. That seems to finish it and the phone is put away as she focuses on the displays with a smile. "Oh there you are, my precious, come to mommy!" She says to herself as she makes eyes at the chocolate croissants. It is only when she looks away from the treats does she spots Ava. "Oh. Hey doc!" Her voice cheerful and bright for this time of the morning.

Ravn Abildgaard is making his way through the morning lured not so much by the smell of coffee -- though divine it is! -- as by the need to drop off a resumé. He is not looking for a job -- but he's got half a dozen people who do need to get some formal work experience on their C.V., and for all the acidic reputation of its owner, Pâtisserie Vydal is on the list of Gray Harbor businesses that sometimes lends a helping hand.

It doesn't hurt that they have damned good coffee. And damned good coffee cake. And he doesn't even need to fight the day manager for either.

He strolls in three heartbeats behind the ladies and raises a gloved hand in a lazy wave greeting. "Are we about to find out whether Vydal keeps a civet in a cage out back, then?"

There's a soft gasp coming from Ava's direction as she closes in on one of the glass cases. "Sfogliatella. They actually have it here. Thank god this place opened up," she murmurs. Of course, she's pulled out of her prayer a moment later by Kailey's voice, face brightening as she spots the other woman. "Good morning, Kailey. I see I'm not the only one who needed a pick me up this morning. How's Morganna after her adventure yesterday? Any exhaustion or other side effects?"

There's a glance back to the door as Ravn enters, coffee hand raising in greeting. "Gross." She's still smiling, however.

Kailey glances at the case and then back to Ava, "What's Sfol...Sfolawatta?" She inquires as the name piques her interest. She moves closer to peer at what the good doctor was looking at. "Oh. I haven't tried those before," She muses with a hungry eye. "Hmm? Oh, Morganna was a little sleepy. But she played with her brother and wore herself out. I...think her brother didn't inherit much. Heh...Ev and Lil don't Glimmer very brightly," She replies though her eyes are mostly on the case.

"I do NOT want to know if he has a civet, ew Ravn!" Kailey tells the Dane, glancing at him and wrinkling her nose. Turning to Ava she says gravely, "If you like tea, I recommend the London Fog, by the way. I love getting it and a chocolate croissant, and not asking about civets," She pronounces the pastries name the French way, with a soft ending.

Ravn laughs softly. "He does not have a civet. Think about it -- we're in Gray Harbor. The shop would have been burned to the ground by angry dream civets if he did. Several times over."

He strolls up to the counter because unlike everyone else, the Dane knows exactly what he wants. He always orders the same thing -- in fact, the handsome young fellow doesn't even ask. He just makes eye contact and quirks an eyebrow, which Ravn returns with a nod and a small smile. Talk about being a regular. But then, he does eat his lunch in here several times a week.

"Are you folks eating in? I suppose we could share a table. I'll see if I can tolerate the blow to my reputation, being seen with young ladies like you." He grins and pulls out a chair at the corner table. It's the one that doesn't have a nameplate reading 'R. C. A.' on the back -- but maybe it should have.

Were Vyv working this morning, he would almost certainly already be back in the kitchen, in his whites, making the deliciousness happen. He would most likely have been there for multiple hours, already. But the nice thing -- one of the nice things -- of this being his kitchen rather than any of the myriad he's apprenticed in over the years is that he only has to work the prep and open shift if he wants to, and whenever he sorted out the last schedule he decided that today, he would not want to. As it turns out, he was correct. One of his favourite things to be! So that's a good start to any given day.

For him, at least. Because it means he isn't expected, and that means that when the melodious chime of the bell announces the door opening again and the young woman at the counter glances over to take in the new arrival, her eyes widen before she brightly calls over, "Good morning, Chef!" The (frankly unreasonably attractive) young man currently working with her, who'd been doing something with the label on one of the tins of tea, suddenly straightens up as if he were being caught doing something wrong, and whacks his skull against the bottom of the tea-shelf he'd been leaning under. "...ow," he murmurs plaintively, a hand coming up to rub the top of his head, and he finishes the straightening and turn with a more sheepish look, "Morning, Chef."

There is a small but definite upward twitch at one corner of Vyv's lips as he watches this, and a faint quirk of one brow. "Good morning, Carmen," he replies lightly to the woman, in a nigh-prototypically English accent, "...Daniel. I'd ask how things were going, but that rather looks like 'as usual', doesn't it." Presumably-Daniel manages to look at least two degrees more sheepish before a little 'go on' wave of one hand has both workers refocusing on customers and tea, repectively.

Vyv pulls off one chocolate-brown leather glove and then the other, sliding them into a pocket of a cashmere coat in a small tan-and-brown check. Beneath that is a chocolate brown wool suit -- at first glance a three-piece, though a sharper eye shows that the vest today is in fact a cashmere knit in precisely the same shade. A crisp white shirt and a silk paisley tie rest beneath that, the latter incorporating each of the outfit's shades of brown, including multiple stops on the natural gradient of the lightly brogued leather Derby shoes. The odds seem high that there are probably cufflinks and a nice watch hiding under the overlayers, given that it all looks precisely tailored to his frame. "Hello, Ravn," he greets the now-seated folklorist while joining the rear of the little line, giving the slightly taller man a small inclination of the head, with another for, "Kailey," and an appraising look for Ava, taking in each aspect of her presentation from hair to sharp, clicking heels, "and you I don't know. Hello." A hand is offered; this may suggest she's passed the initial review. "Vyvyan Vydal. Vyv, generally. How do you do." It isn't a question.

"Oh, it's filled with ricotta cheese and candied orange. Sometimes lemon as well. It's to die for, believe me." It's clear from Ava's expression that she takes this recommendation very seriously, clearly. Though her face lightens into a warm smile as she hears that Morganna is doing well after yesterday. "I'm very glad to hear it. I was worried last night. Though, just because the others aren't glimmering very brightly yet, doesn't mean they won't grow into it. I was mid-levelish when I first bloomed. But I'm certainly not any more." No, she glimmers quite brightly. Not as brightly as Kailey, but who does?

Ravn gets a smirk. "I suppose I could be convinced to share a table," she acquiesces. "Seen with young ladies like us? So -- women well out of your league? I'm sure it must be terrible for you." She offers him a little wink before gesturing towards one of the counter workers. "Three of the sfogliatella and a box of the London Fog to go please. One of the sfogliatella on a plate." Stocking up and eating here, it seems.

Her attention pivots as Vyv enters. Chef. So he's the one responsible for the menu. Excellent. Once his hand comes out she accepts it, offering a firm, polite shake in response. "Doctor Ava Brennon. It's a pleasure. Your menu is divine. I've been out of town for so long, that coming back to find a place like this was a real treasure." The how do you do wasn't a question, so she doesn't respond to it as one.

In contrast to Vyv, Kailey is wearing paint-splattered old t-shirt and ripped blue jeans. Her coat is warm, though, and covers most of that. Falling to mid-thigh in it's thick layers or cozy comfort. She turns to grin brightly at Vyv as he enters, "Hey Chef!" She says cheerfully. "What do you recommend today? I am definitely trying the...thing there," She was going to try to pronounce it, but looking at the label made her decide against.

As she turns to Ravn she plays hands on hips and gives him a look and a smirk. "You know I gladly make your reputation writhe like a snake with a flute," She tells him, lifting a hand to shake a playful finger. "If you didn't, you know, I would come over there, sit on your lap, and kiss you just to put the town atwitter," Oh the threats and batted eyelashes are out.

"I don't think the town wants to see me scream and thrash about like a piglet in a bassin full of sharks," Ravn agrees with a small laugh. "I also think the town's response might largely be very non-existent -- girl kisses boy is not exactly world headlines."

He doesn't push his chair back as if to invite it, though.

"How's life, Vydal? I brought you a resumé for a kid who came into town and promptly got himself arrested for car jacking. I don't think he's one of us -- but he's got the usual bouquet of abusive parents, bad in school, good head on his shoulders, and he's creative, which is what made me think of you. I'll drop it off, you can read it later." The Dane slides an envelope across the counter to land among other things back there; maybe this kid will find a chance to prove his worth to himself here at the Pâtisserie, and maybe he won't. One thing is for sure: He's going to learn what it means to be responsible or he's going to get tossed out on his arse.

"Dr. Brennon. Charmed," Vyv replies, filing that identity away, and 'firm and polite' is apparently exactly the flavour of shake on offer today. "And thank you." She even gets a faint smile for the compliment, which is taken without even a hint of demurral. His menu is divine. Why insult her discernment? "Pleased to make your return a more appealing one. What brings you back? Beyond the general gravity-well effect." It's hard for a fellow Glimmerer to miss the way Ava shines without putting in actual effort, after all.

Kailey gets a little arch of a brow and an echo. "'The.... thing there.'" A pause, as he follows the gaze. "Ah, the sfogliatelle." The accent shifts Italianate, though someone with an appropriately trained ear might note it's shaded a bit further toward French than it ideally ought to be. "Yes, that's a good choice. And," the light flurries outside the windows get a glance, then the counter as he taps one nail very lightly against the glass above an item, "today I'd say the Mont-Blanc Marron Cassis ought to be pleasant, if you're thinking sweet rather than savoury. Sponge base, chestnut cream, blackcurrant compote, whipped cream, a touch of meringue. And chocolate, of course." That part's obvious from looking, as it's enrobed. "With tea." Coffee might also suffice.

Kailey's threat gets a faint smirk out of him, and Ravn's agreement quirks the corner of it farther up. "Oh, I don't know. I suspect a fair part might rather enjoy it, in a nothing-personal sort of way. People do like a good scream and thrash. But not in here, please. Espresso Yourself, perhaps, somewhere people could use the distraction from the crescent rolls." He will not dignify theirs with the label 'croissant'. "Life is decidedly preferable to the alternative, thank you. Car jacking, mm?" A touch dubious on that one, but, "I'll take a look. Any examples of the creativity in there? Did he threaten the driver with plastic clogs, or existential angst?"

Behind the counter, tea is being arranged which has not yet been ordered.

Ava raises a hand. "I would like to see you scream and thrash like a piglet, please. I think it would be a highlight of my day. Though, if we could do it in the park so that Cynthia could enjoy it as well, that'd be amazing. I think she'd get a kick out of it." See, Vyv was right, some people would enjoy it. As the workers prepare her food, the good doctor begins to unfasten her coat and move towards the table. She hangs the coat up and turns to reveal the rest of the suit that was underneath, very clearly not purchased from anywhere around here. Vyv, at least, would recognize a designer label.

She settles into a seat and settles her mug down next to her large bag to the side. There will be other drinks, so the coffee for the office can wait. "Gravity-well not withstanding, I was only gone in order to pursue certain certifications that I couldn't achieve while I was here. I love it here, it's home. But the collegiate choices aren't exactly what I needed in order to be the best I could for the town."

Kailey turns to grin at Vyv as he supports her in his own way. "Then I shall have one of each, and half a dozen chocolate croissants to go. And a london fog latter for her. I'll have the...uh...Marron Cassis the Chef suggested and the sfogliatelle," And despite her hesitation it comes out perfect. She always forgets that little perk of her abilities. "Oh! And two ham, cheese and spinach croissants," She adds, "To go." Turning to Vyv she beams at him suddenly.

"Morganna absolutely LOVES those. She asks for one nearly every day. She calls it Vyvy bread," Kailey tells the Chef with all the delight a mother can have. "But she also likes the macarons...hmmm..." She turns back to the counter. "And 7 macarons of assorted colors," Again turning to the last person in the place who probably cares, "We're potty training. They are great rewards for success." At this point the delight is a little sadistic as the playful gleam sparks in her green eyes.

"Apparently the jacked cars were given some quite neat new paint jobs," Ravn murmurs. "Maybe try him on cake decoration, he may have hidden talents."

Then he smirk-winces (sminces?) at Ava's comment. "Believe me, you don't want to see that. If you enjoyed watching toddler tantrums you'd have become a paediatrician, not a coroner."

What really has the Dane staring, though, is the sheer amount that Kailey orders. It's not until he reminds himself how many people are in that household he stops internally going wow -- here's Ravn, notoriously unable to eat even one slice of Vyv's excellent coffee cake, and here's Kailey, ordering enough food to feed a small batallion. Morganna must be feeding a lot of imaginary friends.

Then again. It's Gray Harbor. She might very well be feeding a lot of imaginary friends.

Vyv glances toward Ava again at the upward movement of her hand, and it elicits another little upward movement at that corner of his mouth, slight but there, particularly when he looks back to Ravn, brows lifting in a clear albeit silent, You see? The good doctor is earning points -- for at least two aspects of proving him right, and likely for the suit as well. Designer in and of itself is no guarantee of taste, but at least it holds an inherent implication of caring. And at a glance, the fit looks good, the style unobjectionable at worst. The signs are subtle, but the perceptive might catch the impression of at the least a preliminary verdict that she can stay. (Of course that's up to him. What's annoying is how the people who fail to make that cut still so rarely seem to get around to leaving.)

"Cynthia?" he inquires, not placing that name, "But yes, the community college isn't precisely renowned for its medical department. Low marks for the law school, I hear, as well." So often true of that which doesn't exist. Though around here, maybe less safe to take for granted. Daniel sets a plate with one of the plain croissants and a small pot each of jam and butters on it onto the counter, and Vyv picks it up; as the younger man moves to set a cup and saucer and small teapot there, the chef points toward the table Ravn's chosen and begins to head that way himself.

"One sfogliatella, two sfogliatelle," he notes to Kailey as he goes; there's no look of surprise at the amount she orders, nor the choices of order made. They're choices here, so they're inevitably good ones. The mention of 'Vyvvy bread', though, gets a sidelong look that can probably best be represented by the 'unamused' emoji, though he does allow, "Well, good, perhaps they'll be prophylactic against worse influences." Like her father. "I suppose it bodes well for her eventual emergence from larval form." So eventual. Potty training? Ugh, god. So eventual. He lets that exact detail pass unacknowledged, as one might a guest's fart at the dinner table, and claims himself a seat.

Daniel comes over a moment or two later, as Carmen deals with Kailey's order, and presents Ava with the neatly boxed to-go portion of her order before setting the little teapot and appropriate accoutrements out in front of Vyv, who this time acknowledges it with a, "Ta." A cup is poured, and his expression goes a bit dubious. "Cakes and cars do have considerable differences despite the coincidence in initial sound," he notes. "But we'll see. Have you considered asking Itzhak to take a look as well? Though I suppose Bax may have the creative paint job situation handled there already." Not, of course, that cakes are lacking in their decor here, either.

Training her eyes on Ravn, Ava looks bemused. "I think you'd be rather surprised at how many grown men have temper tantrums when it comes to needles. It's astonishing. I had a black eye for two weeks once because a gentleman couldn't control his reflexes. But, he did feel so bad that he dropped off a cooler of steaks the next day. Completely worth it." She chuckles, leaning back in her seat. "I can force someone else's cancer to go into remission, but I can heal my own black eyes. It's a trade off. If that trade off is deliciously prepared red meats, I suppose it's worth it in the end." Is it though?

"Cynthia. Ten years old. Cute as a button. Very mischievous. Hangs out in the park" Pause. "Dead." That might help.

There's a warm smile for Carmen as her things are delivered. "Thank you," she offers, setting the to-go boxes with the rest of her things so that she can focus on her plate instead. "Oh goodness. It's been far too long since I've had this. I bet it's delicious. Did you learn in Italy?" That question was for Vyv, of course.

"Potty training already? Good for her!"

Kailey pays for her massive amounts of food. "Hold my to go stuff behind the counter?" No reason to clutter the small table in the back with her large order. Instead she takes her plate with the Italian treat and the one recommended by Vyv to the table. Settling down next to Ravn she leans over in a way to very gently rest her shoulder against his. Instead of giving him an outright bump which would hurt. "You know, anytime I say I'm heading out to hang with you Ev asks how my boyfriend is?" She smirks at the Dane, clearly eager for his reaction to the revelation.

But it is quickly distracted by Ava's comment about the ghost girl. A blink and she stars for a second. "There's a new ghost or is this an old ghost? Do I need to help her pass on?" Because ghosts and their residue is something she can take care of now. And has before. The community center being the most well known of these endeavors. And painful...

"Mm-hmm," Ravn murmurs, looking amused. "And the Chief still refers to me as Rosencrantz' straight boyfriend. Apparently I get around a great deal."

Then he curls long, gloved fingers around his coffee cup as Daniel delivers his usual: Coffee, black, and a slice of the house's quite excellent coffee cake. "I did consider talking to Itzhak about this kid. I ended up deciding against it because frankly? They're too alike. They'd end up punching each other's lights out in an hour. Although maybe that is what this kid needs -- to meet someone bigger and scarier than themselves. I'm not sure. Talk to him, and if you get the feeling he wouldn't work out here, Vyv, send him back to me. Learning to accept rejection is also a thing."

He toys with the spoon, unaware (probably?) of how much his habit of dissecting a slice of cake and only actually eating very little frustrates the chef. And then, as an afterthought towards Ava, "You know, you're right about that. I don't flail and tantrum when someone comes at me with a needle. I take it like a real man and faint."

"Unmitigated tart," Vyv declares in apparent agreement with Ravn's observation of getting around a lot. It's far too conversational to qualify as an accusation, and followed by a sip of his tea. Yes, that will do. Though it could probably use a few more minutes cooling, and he sets the cup back down to allow it to do so. "Absolutely wanton; something ought to be done. Or at least someone. Ought to be ashamed of yourself." A piece of the croissant is ripped off, revealing the perfect layers within, and he picks up his knife to apply a bit of the jam.

Does 'dead' help? Well, causes a faint nose-wrinkle. "Ah. So we can't even hope for the eventual onset of maturity. I wish I could say that at least ghosts aren't sticky, but they will keep somehow managing it." Which is frankly just unfair. How and whether she's to be exorcised is something he's quite happy to have be someone else's problem, so Kailey's free to claim it with no interference on his part. "I studied mainly in France, with sojourns in Switzerland and Japan. Only shorter visits to Italy, I'm afraid." But it does appear to be a good and authentic sfogliatella. Perhaps they were focused visits. A portion of his attention does remain on her, perhaps waiting to see her try it. Perhaps avoiding focus on Ravn's eternal desecration of cake. Probably both.

"Mn. Well, we'll see, I suppose. Certainly worse places to send someone who may require a proper rejection. As long as you're fairly sure he's unlikely to attempt to punch anyone here, or anything that isn't bread dough in the appropriate stage, that should be fine. But I doubt I'm more solicitous of his lights than Itzhak." Less capable of punching them out, without question. But he's a creative thinker.

Glancing up towards Kailey, Ava's expression grows more serious. "Considering that I prepped her body for burial a few years back, I'd say she isn't new. Although, I had never seen her before the other day. Ravn and Una have a much deeper bond with her. She doesn't seem to be harming anyone. Just lonely." The question of whether or not she needs help moving on seems to be passed on to Ravn with a look.

Ravn's words bring back up a lighter subject which brightens her expression some. "Oh yes. That's far manlier. It's a wonder that women aren't swooning into your arms as you wander down the street. Truly," she quips before peeling off a delicate bite of her pastry, careful not to get any on her suit.

Feeling the eyes on her, Ava lifts a brow toward Vyv. "I have half a mind to offer no reaction at all with you watching me like that," is warned with a little wave of pastry in his direction. "But that would rob us both of the pleasure, and I am far too magnanimous for that." Amusement drifts across her features before she finally takes that first bite. "Oh." It was a good oh. Bordering sinful. Eyes closed and everything. "Perfect."

Kailey is watching Ravn intently as he talks about the kids. But also keeps her ears on talk of the girl in the park. "I keep offering to help him out with the doing, but he keeps turning me down," She says to Vyv with soulful eyes and a put-upon sigh full of drama and not one wit of seriousness. One hand, the one nearest the Dane, lays in wait upon the tabletop. Kailey already scooted herself closer when she did the lean. But for the moment she is hiding her mischief well. She has made a dent into her own treats already, so that has kept her quiet. A feat only attainable by good food or ball gags. And probably not even the later...unless she wanted to wear it. Best not to think too much on it.

When he hand flashes out it is as Ravn is raising a piece of coffee cake goodness to his mouth hole. Fingers reaching out to try and snatch it from spoon with two fingers. Alas for her the Dane is quicker this morning and all she gets it a corner of the bite. Which she doesn't waste, but instead pops in her mouth. With a smug and playful smile of course. "Yummy," She says before sipping her tea to prevent the case of the giggles trying to take her.

Her phone rings then. Or rather, a song starts playing. It's obviously a rock song with plenty of drums and some synth in the background. It goes for a few seconds before a voice starts sings, "My cinnamon girl!" Kailey is distracted by pulling out the phone and answering it.

"Hi baby! I'm just over here at your rival everlastings enjoying the best stuff ev-," The young mother pauses as a loud wail comes through the phone. Making her pull it a bit from her ear in surprise. "What is...oh...what? She did what?" In a second she is on her feet. The sfogliatelle is shoved into her mouth, the other treat having been gobbled up in three bites. "Sorry! Gotta run!" She tells the table with a wild-eyed look. She is booking it for the door when Daniel calls out. She detours to grab her bag then is bursting back out into the cold. "Now just calm down. Tell her not to make her imaginary friends real and distract her till I get there!"

"I wouldn't suggest the kid to you if I think he'd wreck your kitchen. You'd only toss me out next time I slipped you a resumé if I did." Ravn smirks lightly at the Chef -- and cuts another little bit of cake off his slice with the spoon. Maybe he harbours a secret dream of becoming a sculptor -- though most sculptors might choose a more permanent medium for their efforts than coffee cake. Marble, for example, marble is good.

Ava's quip prompts a reaction, though maybe not the one intended. The proper thing to do when one is called out on acting not very manly at all is -- what? Whatever it is, Ravn responds with a shudder. "Now that sounds like my nightmare made manifest. Veil, please do not be taking notes. I do not need women swooning on me. It's bad enough that Ariadne fell on me the other day. Bloody sharp tailbone on that girl."

And then Kailey has to say that. Excuse Ravn a moment, he'll be coughing into his coffee and wishing he was someplace else. Like Antarctica. Now sounds like a great time for a guided tour of McMurdo Base. The penguins may crack similar jokes for all he knows, but at least he won't understand them.

"Right, uh." Sharp wit has had better days. "Well, as far as the Veil is concerned I'm secretly a Catholic priest. I think that gets me off the hook, more or less. I did find myself cast as the Catholic priest coming out of the local town brothel while tying his belt last time so maybe not."

"Mn," Vyv murmurs with a nod to Ava, "Shocking, yes. But probably for the best. All that catching's terribly inconvenient, and you wouldn't believe the cost of smelling salts these days. Not to mention people get so unreasonable when you go with the traditional slap across the face instead." He eats his own prepared bite, and arches a brow at her warning. It's an expression that suggests but you won't even as she says just that, and any lingering pretense of not observing is entirely abandoned. There's no concern in the regard, but there is curiosity -- and then satisfaction. "Good."

He picks his tea back up, sipping it while failing to even pretend not to be 100% listening to Kailey's phone call, particularly once 'rival everlasting' comes into things. There's a faint scoff at the label, but it certainly maintains his attention. A touch of a wince at that referred wail, but the indications of panic on the other end elicit the ghost of a smile behind the cup. "Good luck," he says by way of farewell to Kailey, and the ghost manifests a fraction more clearly at the remark that floats back to them from the open door. "Not the best morning for Everett, sounds like. Shame." The tone is calm, if insincere, but the amused little glint in the eyes borders on gleeful for a moment there.

"In any case. I wouldn't only toss you out next time if you recommended people you thought might wreck my kitchen, Ravn. And my experience of Catholic priests suggests it's more likely you've just got a bit of play on the line."

Ava watches with wide eyes as Kailey hurries out on the phone with that specific problem. "Here's hoping none of those invisible friends are dinosaurs. Because I left my lab coat at the office last night. " The statement seems to make sense in her head. Another slice of her pastry is taken and greedily savored as she watches Ravn's reaction to her earlier comments. There's a soft laugh and an apologetic hand raised. "Alright alright. Men swooning? Would that be more amenable? We've run into each other a lot, but haven't really had a chance to get to know each other, so I was guessing."

She leans back for a moment, eyeing him. "A Catholic priest? I can't picture it. But the Veil does crazy things sometimes."

"Smelling salts?" A hand waves, almost dismissive of the thought. "That's a little old school for me. "And slapping someone risks damaging my hands, which I need for my work. No, I find that a healthy dose of Epinephrine plunged straight into the heart will usually get the job done! Very effective. Fast too. Nothing better than straight adrenalin," the doctor offers coyly.

Ravn glances after Kailey as she breezes out, and chuckles. "Poor Everett. I think he's got his hands quite full with all those kids in the house. Better him than me. That said -- I have very little experience with Catholic priests which will be no surprise given that I'm from a Lutheran country with only two Catholic churches. I suppose that as far as the Veil goes, though? It's about making me cringe, not about achieving historical accuracy."

Ava's question prompts another chuckle from the folklorist and he shakes his head. "No, I am -- not really active on the dating scene as a whole. But if I do decide to go looking, I will probably prefer the swooning to be done in the traditional constellation. It's more that I have a neuropathic condition, and having someone fall into my lap is a rather painful experience."

"Well, quite," Vyv agrees regarding the hands, his own rather elegant one retaining hold of the cup of tea. "But needs must. Is that sort of Epinephine and delivery system available to the general public? Asking for the proverbial friend." A pause, and a tilt of his head to indicate Ravn, "Though not that one, obviously. We've already established his lack of need." This is priority one on the inquiries list. Number two is, "Why is a lab coat required for dealing with imaginary dinosaur friends? Do they respect only scientists? Have they some sort of disturbing fetish? Or just questionable taste in outerwear?"

That, he's just intrigued by; 'all those kids in the house,' on the other hand, is a source of distaste. "Yes. Children ought to be seen and not heard. By somebody else. Somewhere else. As far away from me as possible. So he seems as good a 'somebody' as anyone. As far as priests, though... as with many things, there is theory and there is practice. I find theory often does poorly where it comes in contact with actual humanity. So worry not, it can likely make you cringe to whatever extent necessary without sacrificing historical accuracy. "

"It tends to be limited to those who have a medical license. Though I suppose if the general public had a key and sticky finger, they might find a way to get access. The delivery system takes a bit of practice to learn how to properly use, however. So I wouldn't suggest trying it without a little of that first. Unless you're very skilled with needles and anatomy." Ava continues to work on the pastry, nearly done. "The lab coat is required for the dinosaurs because they're going to see the doctor. Clearly. Was that not obvious?" Her shoulders square just a touch more, chin lifting, cheeks sucked in with mock offense. As if those cheekbones could get any sharper. "Are you saying that doctors are a disturbing fetish, sir?"

Oh, but then there's medical talk and her attention quickly shifts back towards Ravn. "Oh. I could imagine that would be extremely painful, yes." Her hands fold on the table as she studies him for a moment. "Is there a reason you haven't asked someone like myself to help you with it? Or is this a 'it makes me stronger, it's a part of me' kind of deal?" she wonders.

"Well, if we want to look at it that way, the last priest Dream came with a perk: I got to officiate the wedding of the two people appointed to be Zorro and the love interest, at least I got a front row seat to watching two lovely redheads snogging." Ravn hitches a shoulder; there's always a silver lining.

He neatly dissects another tiny peel of cake -- and this time, the fork actually makes it to his lips. Ava's explanation about saurian medicine makes perfect sense -- to anyone who was there. He nods as if it is the most normal thing in the world, in part because the idea strikes him as funny.

Then he puts the fork back down and shakes his head. "What doesn't kill me makes me stronger? No, not at all. I've consulted various doctors about it over time. There are medications, but they make me feel like my head is wrapped in wool and I'm walking in a bubble -- which is worse than having to be a little careful in the supermarket queue. I've experimented a bit here in town as well, of course -- it's possible for some people with mind powers to shut my central nerve system up for a while, but it doesn't stick."

Cheekbone-wise, the table as a whole could probably be classified as some sort of danger to shipping. Like a shoal of icebergs. Ava's expression of mock-offense improves this situation not at all, but Vyv seems unworried, perhaps due to his complete lack of metaphorical barges. Or indeed real ones.

"Yes, well, call me a fuddy-duddy traditionalist, but I believe if God had intended dinosaur/human-physician relations, the one wouldn't have been extinct before the other came into being. Star-crossed loves are one thing, but existence-crossed is really pushing the concept." Vyv tears another bit off his croissant, applying jam . "I find that tends to interfere with making more standard medical appointments as well, generally speaking. Non-existent beings have a dreadful time getting seen."

He takes the opportunity to eat when more serious discussion of Ravn's issues -- well, ONE of them, anyway -- takes focus, and actually gets through another bite or two of the croissant as well. He is not in a hurry this morning. There is a pointed glance at the cake on Ravn's plate, but he knows how this is going to go. The way it always goes. And somehow Ravn yet lives. "Hm. I wonder if I could do that," he muses regarding the nerve-silencing, "but I don't expect it would stick any better for me than anyone else."

"Well of course mind powers aren't going to help for long, that would only act as a buffer. A lot of the treatment for it involve antidepressants and the like, so often people jump to the mind, of course. But the damage is to your somatosensory nervous system, and your body treats it like a disease. You don't need someone who works in the mind magic, you need someone who works with healing magic. Someone very powerful in healing magic. Someone who can cure diseases and things like nerve damage through more powerful spiritual magic." All that very clear hinting as her hand rolls at the wrist. It's obvious that Ava is speaking about herself.

"I'm still getting my paperwork sorted out for my personal clinic, and I don't want you coming by the morgue for this, but of you want to meet somewhere or stop by my apartment to talk more, then reach out to me. I'm happy to help with this. You shouldn't suffer any longer than you have to. It's worth a shot, right?" She can't remember if she ever actually gave him her card before. She takes two out of her bag. They're made on nice cardstock with elegant gold lettering. There's two sides, one with doctor information, the other with personal. "Both of you take one. You never know when you might need healing or know someone that does. Don't hesitate the call, that's what I'm here for. Non-Veil emergencies as well. Someone broken an arm, I can help with that, too." Ava is moving to gather her things after that, resting them on the chair before she grabs her coat and starts to slide it on and button it back up. "I do believe this is going to be my new breakfast choice, though. It's perfect."

"As for the dinosaur. I'll have you know that I saw to one's wounds yesterday and it went very well. One bandaid and he was good as new. Then he took a very nice nap and disappeared like a nice dinosaur should. Though, I must say that I agree with you on the traditionalism of human/dinosaur relations. Those should remain star-crossed for all time." The doctor is finished preparing herself to go. "I have to be getting to work. It was lovely dining with you gentlemen. I'm sure I'll be seeing you both again. The food was perfect," she tells Vyv with a nod of thanks. Ravn gets a gentler look. "Come talk to me," she tells him like a fretting mother. Or, well, a doctor. Her purchases in hand, she moves back towards the door and out into the cold.