2022-03-01 - Yardwork In Faerieland

March 1. It is officially spring. Spring has come. All herald the spring. Now begins the gardening season.

Which is absolutely fantastic if you're Ravn Abildgaard and your knowledge of gardening boils down to 'sun make green grow, is gud'. The tall Dane has found an array of tools in the garage of the house he purchased during the missing twelve weeks last fall -- and he has little to no idea of how to use them. What he has got is a headache, a yard and front lawn full of weeds, and a faerie circle.

He is eyeing the latter with some wariness. The way you would with a gate to another world in your literal backyard. Never know what might come out of that thing. Also, there's an empty plate sitting on the edge of it, and he's pretty damned certain it's not one of his.

Over the boundary and into number 5, there's the bang of a door as someone exits the kitchen, heavy boots clomping across the yard. They say 'dress for the job you want', but either Una's latest ambition is to be a particularly colourful gardener or she's putting her own eclectic spin on appropriate gardening wear; her workboots may be sensible, but her corduroy overalls are purple, and so's the (largely unnecessary, thanks Washington in the 'spring') sun hat she's tucked onto her head.

The Irving place has a little shed down the side, not far from the boundary between 3 and 5, and that's where she's apparently headed, though not with enough intention that she doesn't, on catching sight of Ravn, slow her steps. "Afternoon, Ravn."

By that logic, Ravn wants to be either a lead designer for Apple, an avant garde artist, or a casualwear fashion model. That he is wearing black is no surprise; jeans, turtleneck and all. The baseball cap -- you guessed it, black -- is a little out of character. He wears it backwards -- which hints that he might be thinking to use it for its original purpose, namely shielding his neck from a bad spring sunburn. It does not have a print, not even Make Lawns Great Again.

"You too," he comisserates. "You'd think there would be a warning somewhere. Buy house with yard and lawn, you need to budget with a gardener. There probably was. I probably figured it would be good for my health to get more sunlight. Autumn me clearly hates spring me."

Then he glances towards the plate and the mushroom circle. "Is that yours, or has the pixie mafia started robbing other houses as well?"

"I get the excuse I didn't even buy the place," answers Una, cheerfully. "I'm all right with the idea of planting some things, but mowing is, well. Definitely not a thing I'm busting to do. My grandmother must have had a service to do it; I wonder if I should just give in to that."

She's talking as she walks, though her steps have diverted straight past the shed in order to approach Ravn and his (definitely his) fairy ring. "Mmm, I think that's one of ours. My grandmother," the terminology is unwieldy, but what do you call a grandparent you've never met? Familiar shortenings and pet phrases are complicated. "seems to have collected plates, so it's hard to know for sure, but it looks about right. That's new; they usually just take the cookies."

Beat. "Though it was brownies, this time. Cynthia cleaned me out of cookies."

Mowing. Ravn stares for a second. He had not considered this.

Then he throws his hands up, exasperated. "I give up. I want to be just the guy down the street. But this is too much. I'm hiring a bloody garden service no matter how much it makes me look like a rich asshole."

He's still grumbling as he goes to pick up the plate and walks back with it, offering it over. "I'm sorry. Anything that isn't nailed down, apparently. I had a box of chocolate chip cookies -- store bought, I confess -- that I was going to sinfully eat in bed last night, but they were gone too. I have this feeling that if we ever spot these things in action, we'll be asking ourselves if they're like the bumble bees: They're actually too heavy to fly, but no one managed to tell them."

The look on Ravn's face, that reaction? It makes Una laugh unashamedly.

"I've never had a yard before," she admits, "And I think I remember why, now, though maybe I'll change my tune come summer when we're drinking beer in the sunshine at 9pm."

She accepts the plate with a quirked smile, turning it over in her hands as if to confirm that this is one she's seen before (evidently she's sure enough not to change her mind). "Store bought; I'm ashamed of you. I expect you're right, though, unless there are thousands of the things in there." Her gaze drops towards the fairy ring appraisingly, as if she's trying to work out how it, well, works. "I probably didn't need to eat the brownies, anyway, and maybe it's kind of appropriate; brownies are a kind of fairy too, aren't they?"

"Both," Ravn murmurs because ask a folklorist a question like that and you get an answer almost as if you'd pressed a button to start a tape recording. "It's technically a slur -- for the original inhabitants of the British Isles, who were perceived as brown haired and brown skinned by the Celtic settlers -- the Romans record it. From there, it passed into legend and it became a small fae creature. Ironically, there's a fair bit of DNA reconstruction going on now which reveals that the first humans in Northern Europe were in fact very dark skinned -- and blue-eyed."

He blinks and hits the pause button. "Sorry. Academic damage. Anyway. Seriously, are we assholes if we find some kid to pay to mow those lawns? I really don't see myself mowing lawns. I definitely see myself having a cold one in the evening sun in summer, but not mowing lawns. Suddenly I understand this strange new urban trend of cementing the yard."

Una, at least, seems genuinely interested in the answer (may, indeed, have asked the question with intent and not just as an idle throwaway). "I didn't know that, about the origins of it, or about the DNA reconstruction-- that's cool. Where did the whole pale skin come from, then? Migration for elsewhere, or natural selection?"

For an allegedly under-educated person, Una's clearly not under-read... or under-thought.

"I vote no, not assholes at all. Besides, isn't it helping the local economy by giving some kid a paying gig? Keeping them out of trouble? As long as he-- or she, I guess, no need to be sexist, Una-- stays clear of the circle."

Ravn leans on the (hoe, but he has no idea what it's called) garden implement he's holding. "Later waves of immigrations. To the best of my knowledge, white skin originated in the Caucasus, or at least east of Northern Europe -- the Don River, that area. There are some theories that were considered controversial in the sixties but which this new research actually lends credit to -- that a lot of our faerie legends and stories are actually very distant memories of an older people that was suppressed when farmers took over from the hunter-gatherers. It's speculated that in remote areas at least, some of these 'nature people' may actually have survived well up in the Iron Age and possibly even later."

He shakes his head. "Sorry, again. You can take the academic out of the university but you can't take the university out of the academic. I'm deeply fascinated by these things."

Then he gives Oak Avenue a long look. "The main problem here is that we have a lot of young people in this street and not enough kids. Number six is full of kids but the oldest is just two. Maybe in a few years, her dinosaurs will graze our lawns. I might talk to some professional service, maybe. It does feel kind of... weak? But really, I suck at these things. I have never in my life mowed a lawn, I have no idea how."

"I asked," points out Una, who listens with every indication of genuine interest. "And-- actually, that's really interesting. It seems logical, in a way, that all of this came from something in particular; something in reality, not just people making shit up wholesale. But it's just... how you put it all together. I can see why you find it fascinating."

The idea of young Morganna's dinosaurs grazing the lawn makes her smile. "I think... we get to decide what we spend our time on, within reason. I mean, I probably need to get a job before I hire too many people to do shit here, because I'm really not independently wealthy. But even with all the time in the world... this is not my jam. Pretty flowers, maybe, but not so much lawns."

"Have to admit that I think it might kind of show if it's not a labour of love." Ravn looks around. Some of the lawns and gardens on Oak Avenue and the surrounding neighbourhood are really nice. Some of them are -- very obviously not labours of love. Mow the damn lawn, paint the picket fence, for heaven's sake don't plant anything that requires special care. "I love the idea of a pleasant garden. I do not love the idea of keeping a pleasant garden."

He glances at the faerie circle again. "Have to warn some hired kid or service to not mess with that though. And to not pick the mushrooms. Kailey tells me one of them is the kind you eat if you want to see funny things. Don't spread the word about that because I really don't want a yard full of teenagers trying to wrestle mushrooms out of the hands of angry faeries."

Another glance. "I wonder if you can bribe faeries into keeping a yard."

Una makes a face, but nods. "You're probably right there," she agrees. "It's not like you can one-and-done it; it all requires maintenance, and that means not putting it off when you don't feel like it. I'm not sure I'm really up for that kind of commitment."

Her gaze follows Ravn's towards the circle, lingering on the mushrooms (but not, promise, in a way that suggests she's considering harvesting them for her own use). "I'll keep quiet," she promises. "Not that I particularly run with the teenage crowd-- old before my time, that's me."

"The amount of baked goods they're getting, you'd think they'd be willing to offer something in return."

"I turn thirty-two soon," Ravn points out. "I think I'm contractually obligated to think of anyone under thirty as teenagers."

He plonks the hoe down (which is not a big loss given that it isn't really suited for dandelions anyway, you need to get the root up too). "Let's think about this. You hear us, in there? We'd like to negotiate an agreement. How many cookies and gallons of milk is it going to take to make you take care of the lawns?"

Enterprising, if nothing else.

"Does that mean I'm too young to be your friend?" Una wants to know, mouth turning up at the corners. "Given how positively ancient you are, compared to my sprightly, youthful, teenage twenty-five?"

This is secondary, really, though, to the important business: negotiating with... well, cookie terrorists. "I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement," she offers. "Cookie variety. Frequency. Delivery location."

Is it ridiculous? Maybe. But no more so than... whatever, dinosaurs in the library.

"Yes. I'm a millennial, and you are -- whatever the next lot is called." Ravn looks very mock serious. "I am too busy crying into my biodynamic carrot juice about the price of avocados. Was that too mean? That was probably too mean."

He squats down in front of the faerie circle, still quite visible from the avenue -- down past the house. "We could try to drop subtle hints. Put out a bottle of milk and a garden implement. If yardwork has happened overnight, two bottles of milk the day after. Although maybe this requires ceramic yard implements or something -- is this cold iron, you think?" The folklorist glances at the hoe. It's metal. Of some kind. Hi, not a metallurgy expert, either.

Una puts a hand to her heart, and gasps. "No, no, now you're destroying my identity. I'm sure 1996 still counts as a millennial. Please don't make me gen-z. The shock might kill me."

Not enough to stop her from thoughtfully watching her (old, so old) companion as he squats down in front of the mushrooms. "I... have no idea. What counts as cold iron? Just... iron? What about steel? Do they make ceramic whatevers?"

Ravn can't help grin to himself. He's on a roll today when it comes to weird stuff, knowing about. "It's a nonsense term, if you want to get technical about it. Iron is cold -- so the poetic term, in medieval writing, is cold iron, as compared to the warm flesh. A lot of romance writers turned it into a thing -- meteorite metal, or iron forged in a special way. Cold forging is a thing, but not limited to iron. So basically -- iron and later on, steel."

He glances at the hoe. "Does Magneto do yardwork? If he does, somebody probably thought of ceramic garden implements. We probably shouldn't count on it. Maybe we can leave a dandelion iron as a hint of what we want done, and they can use their own tools? Do faerie actually use garden implements anyway, or do they just -- I don't know, snap their fingers, or tell the dandelions to grow somewhere else?"

"In that case, I want some warm iron, because you can't-- oh, look, whatever. I see what the point was, even if it seems completely redundant."

Una still has a plate in her hand. She should probably set that down and get her hands back, but... no, not yet. "I like to imagine they have their own implements, perfectly sized for them, and probably made of some fancy non-metal substance that we'd be super impressed by."

"Though..." and here's the kicker, "when I think about it, even metal is impressive. We make that shit out of random raw materials. That's cool, right?"

"And absolutely beyond me. Hi, I slept through chemistry classes -- in school, in high school, and anywhere else. Humanities boy, all the way." Ravn can't help laugh as he squats there and looks up at his neighbour. "It's worth a shot, don't you think? Let's leave the dandelion iron here. See if they take the hint. Reward them for getting it right, much like when you train an animal by rewarding the behaviour that you want and ignoring the behaviour you don't want."

That, of course, is the right moment for a certain cat to make her appearance. Kitty Pryde, elegant in all her furry blackness, trots up, tail arched over her back in greeting -- and plops herself down next to her owner as if to say, are we fishing for pixies today?

"Baking is the only chemistry I really ever understood, and when you think about it... how cool is it that you can mix a few basic ingredients together and make something wholly different?" That this describes chemistry in general is, clearly, either beside the point or wholly irrelevant to Una's worldview.

"Look-- if it means free yardwork, I'm willing to try anything. We can hope. I'll leave some cookies out, too-- here, even, so they don't need to come and steal them. Oh, hey Kitty."

"Mrrp," says Kitty Pryde and coughs. Hairball?

No. There is a piece of sparkly crimson something in that hairball at least. Ravn sighs and looks at his cat. "You realise that at this rate, the faerie kingdom is going to declare war on you."

"Mew," says Kitty Pryde who no longer has a pixie wing stuck in her throat.

Ravn sighs again. "I don't know what to do about that. I tried putting a little bell on a collar, but she let me know in no uncertain terms that if somebody in this household has to wear a collar, it's going to be me, not her."

Una positively winces, because although she may not immediately know a pixie wing from a piece of... something that is sparkly crimson in general, it's pretty easy to pick it up from context. "Ouch," she says. "That's really not helping our cause, is it? Though-- I don't know I'd be willing to wear a collar, either, so maybe I can't blame her."

A pause. "Does this happen... often?"

Ravn scratches his chin, with its two day stubble (he probably goes to a lot of effort to maintain that careless look). "It's happened once before. Not with the faeries -- I've seen her do this a few times too, but."

He sighs. "She's already the goddess of death of a small water gremlin tribe. We don't need a war with the faeries too. Help me out here? When I tell her to do something, she inevitably does the opposite."

Una repeats, slowly, as if this will help make sense of the statement: "Goddess of death of a small water gremlin tribe."

Because that's a thing.

Slowly, she turns her dark-eyed gaze back on the cat. "Hey, so," she begins. "Kitty Pryde. Cat in need of scritches, and salmon. Think we can come to some kind of agreement? I know you could take them all down, but..."

Her imagination falters. She pauses.

"... but I kind of need them alive. Do I need to reward you, too?" Possibly not with cookies.

The black cat does what cats do very well: She plops herself down, sticks one paw in the air, and licks her arse. Whether that translates to 'kiss my ass, two-legs' is anyone's guess.

Kidding. It's Kitty Pryde. It probably does.

Ravn shakes his head. "At least she didn't make scratching movements. She does that at me -- insinuating that I am shit and my opinion doesn't matter. She actually doesn't like people very much. Fortunately for me and my boat she likes water gremlins even less. One tried to sink the boat while she was on it. She ate it."

Una may not be especially familiar with cats (and she's not), but clearly she doesn't read that as 'why yes, your deal is acceptable'-- and so she laughs. "Oh well; I tried. Does she really?" That's not really a question, not as such.

Nope, Una is still going to keep holding on to that plate. "I didn't think cats coped well with boats, or is that just... myth? I guess it's water that's allegedly the big thing, and clearly she has defences against the worst parts of water. I guess you'll be back on your boat this summer, or...?"

"That's the idea. Though given my boat doesn't have a shower, and all my books are here -- I mean, it's not like you won't see me for eight months." Ravn grins slightly. "Hell, we need to have a boat party sometime, go sailing, something."

He looks back at the cat. She ignores him. Nothing new there.

"I think Kitty is a little... overconfident, maybe. I met her on the pier when I was just cleaning up my boat and painting it. When I rented her -- the boat -- she was a nightmare in pink, mint, and grey. Like the laundromat, only -- worse. I tossed a sandwich to a stray cat and she ate it, then walked on board. I had to get used to the idea of being a cat owner because that's how you become a cat owner."

"And you'll inevitably end up coming ashore for coffee," Una teases. "Even if it is one of Della's monstrosities. But yes-- I vote boat party. It's kind of strange moving to a town by the water and not really seeing the water for the first few months, but it's just too cold and windy down there at the moment."

Even now. 'Spring' only goes so far.

"I didn't think you meant you rented the cat. I'm not sure cats work that way," the redhead laughs. "I'm not sure you became the owner, either, come to think of it. Does he own you, Kitty?"

That last is, obviously, towards Kitty Pryde herself.

Never before has a pair of green eyes contained that much contempt. Una just asked

the

single-most

stupid

question in the history of mankind.

It's definitely beneath the cat's dignity to even consider an answer. Be grateful, mortal. That last exclamation that fell out of your face, surely by accident, has been wiped from the records of history.

Ravn cants his head and looks at his cat. "She is smarter than your average cat. She's been -- influenced by the Veil, a lot. The cat you met at the motel? I think I told you, that's one of her kittens."

That? Una can definitely, definitely pick up the subtext on that - and she laughs. "Okay, I deserved that," is cheerful enough. "I apologise. It never happened."

To Ravn, at least, she can aim a grin.

"Right-- I remember you saying that. Clearly the Veil does a number on all kinds of creatures. At least she trusts you enough to stick around."

Ravn straightens up -- unfolds all of his six foot three from squatting down might be a better term for it and looks at the cat. "Honestly? The day I picked her up and stuffed her in a crate to have her neutered, I did wonder if I was going to have some kind of unpleasant experience."

He scratches his chin. "Maybe -- don't mention this everywhere but her previous owner ended up a little bit dead. As in, chewed to death by kittens and folded up in a dumpster. Aidan found the body. Of course we didn't know at the time that there was a connection."

The proto-smirk hinted at in Una's expression unravels into dismay as Ravn's story moves from 'neutering' to 'chewed to death'. "I, um," she begins. "Nope, not going to spread that one around. That's-- kind of horrific, and makes me extra impressed you, and the vet, got away with neutering, even knowing that she's not one of the kittens in question."

It does mean she gives Kitty Pryde a slightly more wary glance. "How the hell did they end up in a dumpster, though?"

"I have no idea. I mean, I have literally no idea. It's one of those -- welcome to Gray Harbor, we do weird here things." Ravn nods and fishes in a pocket for a cigarette; there are perks to yardwork.

Okay, there are perks to being outdoors. Neither person is actually doing any yardwork. He lights it with that ancient zippo of his, and nods. "She's just a cat. But, the Veil did do -- whatever it did. Somehow created a copy of her, the Uncat. And given that the Uncat often turns up and takes her along on some wacked Veil adventure, I suppose it's no wonder Kitty is a little weird too. That said, don't be surprised if you see the Uncat -- she lives with Kailey Holt in number six. Those kids of theirs, their conjured dinosaurs, and their lynx-sized demon cat."

He chuckles. "You're never bored here, right?"

Una is so much not-doing-yardwork that she's holding a ceramic plate (empty, alas, with not even leftover brownie crumbs) in both hands, though she's otherwise dressed appropriately for the yardwork she's not doing, in overalls and heavy boots, and a sunhat that probably isn't strictly necessary.

"Kailey sounds more and more... fascinating the more I hear about her. I guess it's just a side effect of having that much power. Gray Harbor, man."

Exercise is a good way to walk off pastries. Especially when you ate three. A jog was in order, so Ava took to the streets in her jogging gear and headphones. She's turning the bend and minding her own business when she sees the familiar glimmers of the pair in the yard nearby.

Pulling the headphones out of her ears and tucking them into her single pocket on her yoga pants, she shuffles over to the pair with a lifted hand. "Hey you guys!" Her body slows, both hands now moving to her waist as she tries to catch her breath. Stupid, delicious pastries. "What are you working on?"

"She is. I like her, she's a good friend." Ravn nods -- and then looks over his shoulder and half-turns as Ava strolls up. "Hey there. Yard work. In theory."

He looks down at the circle of mushrooms on the lawn. "I think we are kind of discussing how to bribe the local faeries into doing it for us. And contemplating how to keep my cat from eating the pixies."

Said cat is a small, black thing who is sitting right there, licking her butt. There's a crimson, sparkly thing that may or may not be some kind of pixie's wing lying on the ground next to her. Hairballs, man.

Una turns to glance over her shoulder at Ava's approach, and gives the doctor a cheerful grin and a waggle of a few fingers from against the plate's ceramic surface. "All the yardwork. You can see how much we've gotten done, by--" She gestures towards the two yards with a tip of her head.

Clearly, the answer is 'not much if anything'.

"I'm still hopeful that the bribe will work. It beats paying for it."

"Oooh, important things, I see." Ava can't help but laugh. "Well, if all the young adult novels I read as a kid have any weight behind them, then it's a matter of sweets, shiny important things, and what are you willing to do for them in return?" Ava counts those off of her fingers. As for the cat, she looks down, grinning a bit. "I'd say you might want to get rid of the evidence of what happened to the last one." Her finger waggles towards the thing that may or may not be a wing. "Then make sure she's well fed and give her something else fun to distract her for awhile? Different prey?" She shrugs. "I have no idea."

"Not people," Ravn tells his cat. And sounds like he means it.

Kitty Pryde ignores him. It seems to be the cat's default response to most things out of Ravn.

He shrugs and pockets his lighter, taking a step to the side so that the smoke from his cigarette does not blow into anyone's face. "I just hope that the faerie understand that it's a bit beyond the ability of most mortals to control a cat. They do what they want. That is -- sort of the embodiment of cat. More so, cats who have friends on the Other Side, like this one."

With great (and also terrible; she's not selling it well) mock-affront, Una insists, "Very important!" The twitch of her mouth is a giveaway, even if the rest weren't. "We've offered milk and cookies; they've been stealing the cookies, and brownies, for a while now, so making the welcome explicit seems like a good step, right?"

Kitty, clearly cannot be controlled however. "Well, given the faeries are also linked to the Veil somehow, maybe they'll understand. It's all circle of life stuff, right?"

A brow arches when Ravn tell the cat not to eat people. She's going to have to remember that in case of any strange seemingly cat related deaths. "Milk and cookies is good! Have you tried liquor?" It doesn't look like Ava is joking as she suggests it. "They might take to that more than milk. Just a thought. They seem like the kind of creatures that would. Assuming they're anything like the tales." They could be completely different from what she knows, but the faerie circles are real, so there must be some footholds in the old tales.

She looks between Una and Ravn before pointing to the cat. "Have you tried... offerings to the cat? How many faerie has she eaten? They could be waiting for you to 'take care of the problem' before helping."

"This is the second time I've caught her coughing up wings." Ravn does look a bit worried.

"Mew," says Kitty Pryde and rises to her feet -- only to walk over to wind herself around Ava's legs like a pretzel, purring loudly.

The Dane face palms. "She will pretend she doesn't understand a word of what you say. What are you, stupid? She's a cat. And then do things like that."

He shrugs, a little helplessly. "Still, if we can bribe the faeries to taking care of the yards and lawns, good. If not? Hiring landscaping. Today has made me realise that I was not made to be a gardener. And I say that having yet to pick up a single dandelion. I was not made to be a gardener. Not a gardener. Know any kids that need a job?"

"Ooh, booze," says Una, brightly: this is a better topic than death-by-cat. "I'll bring some of that out later, too. I'm going to need to bake more cookies." Finally, she sets down the empty plate at her feet, wiping non-existent crumbs off of her hands.

"See, I try to bribe the cat, and she snubs me, but Ava-- well there's a question. You have plant control power, Ava. Can you convince the lawn not to grow too tall, clean things up a bit?"

Ava laughs, stooping down as Kitty Pryde winds herself around and purrs. She offers a hand, and if she's allowed to, she'll offer pets "Oh, is that how you see it? I think she didn't come over to me until I suggest that we make her offerings. I think this might just be her way of agreeing with me. Perhaps if I bring a delicious enough offering for her tonight, she might be magnanimous enough to allow the faeries to work without eating any of them. Just for the night." Nature, animals, the spirit of all things, it's just a part of her. So she seems more than happy to spend her time just petting kitties for as long as kitties allow it to happen.

Ava's idea has her tilting her head. "I mean, I can control plantlife within this space easily enough, though I've never tried to use my abilities for that sort of thing before. I can certainly try, if you'd like?"

Ravn glances at Una and grins slightly. "I had not considered that option." Una, tactical genius.

Then he looks back at Ava (plus purring traitor cat). "Well, if you're considering taking up landscape gardening on top of being a doctor and a coroner, we got plenty lawn for you to practise on. Worst case scenario I'm going to hide some company to deal with the mess because this? No. That's where I draw the line. Rich asshole attitude, I'm sure, but this is one of those places. I'm not breaking my back and my hands on bloody weeds."

The folklorist pauses. And then adds, "Also, I will come see you sometime like you said, Doctor. Can't hurt, I figure. Bit silly to not give it a shot."

Una waves an easy hand towards her lawn and says, "Have at, if you feel like it. No pressure, but-- I'd be interested to see if it works. If it does, maybe then it's something I can learn how to do, too, to some degree. Though," she lets out a little huff of a breath, just short of a laugh. "Hiring someone is probably easier, in some ways."

She casts a thoughtful, interested-but-not-probing glance towards Ravn for his last comment, but she's polite enough not to ask.

"Well, I'm not going to go around doing everyone's lawn. But I'll take care of Una's. I'd take care of yours, too. You guys have been really great to me since I got back to town, and I appreciate it. I expected it to be really lonely when I got back, and you've made it so that it wasn't so bad. It's the least I can do." Ava gestures them both off of the grass and onto the road or onto something more solid nearby. She brushes a hand along Kitty Pryde. "Hop up onto something safe," she tells her before guiding her up onto something safe, just in case.

Stepping forward, that green, druidic glow begins to appear around her again, bright and shining as she shift her hands around like a composer. All around the grass and shrugs begin to shift and change, pulling back on themselves, shivering and shrinking into place. They grow neat and tidy, little buds appearing on the flowers. It's going to take a bit because it's a lot of space, but for the moment it's almost like watching a Disney movie come to life around you.

Bippity boppity.

Normally, Ravn would admire this view. He'd probably whip out his phone, try to take pictures or a video. Or at the very least gape in an undignified manner, and then crack bad jokes about Disney princesses.

Normally. Because Kitty Pryde's response to that suggestion from Ava involves walking over and walking up his leg like a perfectly normal thing, as one does when one has eighteen sharp claws.

The resulting dance is little short of comical. Ravn yelps. And then holds on to his belt because there are two kilos of cat pulling at his trouser leg. And then yelps some more because eighteen claws are not great when you have a touch issue of the hurty kind.

Who wants to bet a half-eaten pixie that the cat knows?

Una's pleased smile (and this, before Ava has even done her magic!) accompanies a hasty downwards lean to reclaim her plate, and then sidestep off the lawn and onto the street where there are unlikely to be too many cars to get in the way.

Ravn's yelp(s) diminish(es) some of the brilliant, enthusiastic joy she expresses at the sight of the lawn, doing the thing; "Are you okay?" she asks, though the impact of the genuine concern is a little diminished by the: "Holy shit, Ava, that was--is-- amazing."

Look. Priorities, okay?

Is there a white picket fence? It has pretty little flowering vines wrapped perfectly around it in ways that the landscape artists spend summers trying to cultivate. That finishing little touch before everything is finished. Ava shifts for a moment, barely moving, and suddenly a small rip tears itself through the side of her running shirt. She glances down without surprise and purses her lips. "That was to be expected," she sighs before Ravn's yelp has her suddenly jerking her head up.

She bolts over towards him and reaches out for the cat. "Sorry for this," she says to Kitty Pryde as she scoops her up. "I know you don't know me like this, but you're hurting him. I promise I'll bring you extra offerings tonight for my picking you up." Hopefully that will assuage the cat, and free Ravn from pain. "Are you okay?" she asks with concern etched over her features. She can only imagine how that felt.

Una gets a smile a moment later. "That was pretty cool. I didn't even know that was a thing I could do! I am supposed to sign the lease to my apartment soon, but I kind of thing I want a cottage instead, just so I can do that all the time."

"I'll probably live," Ravn murmurs through gritted teeth and makes no move whatsoever to prevent the coroner from yoinking his cat. Keep the little git for now. The little git knew exactly what she was doing.

Then he picks up his cigarette -- which it's not really any surprise that he let go of, holding on to his belt suddenly became a priority. "There's plenty properties. Here on Oak, and -- pretty much everywhere, really. This town has known better times, that's for sure. I think it might actually be harder to find a proper apartment downtown than a proper house. I thought about an apartment, maybe some kind of studio loft but -- well, here we go. Two single guys and a bungalow for a family with three kids."

Una tears her eyes away from the lawn with the flowers and the everything in order to-- a little guiltily-- glance back at Ravn, though she seems relieved that the damage is... less rather than more. She makes a face, dropping her gaze towards the point at which the lawn meets the street.

"If you do get an apartment," she supposes, "you could try and get one with a balcony, and have a pot plant garden. There's options. Though-- yeah. It feels like most people live in houses, that I've seen. I wasn't sure I'd take to it, but it's been kind of nice, really."

The fingers of her free hand flex and twist, almost as if she's imaginging using them to perform a feat not unlike Ava's, though there's no indication that she's actively trying to do anything, glimmer-wise.

Ava sets the cat back on the ground now that it's safe. "Do you want me to look at it and clean up the marks, or are you actually okay?" she wonders of Raven.

"I spoke with Perdita and got the clinic all sorted out. I was trying to get a place close to it. But I don't know. It might be nice to be out here." She glances around, looking along the street. "It's very sweet."

Her eyes drift towards Una, studying her for a moment. "You're almost to the point where you can do that yourself. If you'd like, I can briefly give you the power to do it, so you can shape it a little more to your liking?" Yes, she saw those hand flexes.

"Oh, I think I'm fine. It always feels a lot worse than it is," Ravn replies earnestly. "I don't think Kitty would do something like that if she thought it actually hurt me. I suspect she just thinks I'm a big damn sissy, but she does like having me around -- she can't open her tuna cans herself."

He finally has a chance to look around and take in the impromptu landscaping. A low whistle escapes him at the sight. "I wonder if it lasts. But even if it doesn't -- it's still one hell of an impressive trick. If you ever get a chance, August Roen is the man to see about plants, he runs the botany shop. And, well, he knows this stuff." Ava or Una? Both, probably.

It's subtle, but definitely present: the shift in Una's stance that happens when Ava speaks of her-- of Una's-- power, the faint flush. "You can do that?" is the follow-up question, those fingers drawn back into a fist as if to hide what has already been caught.

It probably means the answer to Ava's question is 'yes please', though the redhead doesn't say it outright.

"Whether it lasts or not," she agrees, "I love it. I had no idea this kind of thing was even possible; it's amazing."

"Alright. But keep an eye on those claw marks in your skin. Anything weird, and you call me, immediately. Do you understand? You said she plays on the Other side. That could have effects on her claws we don't know about. Effects she doesn't even know about." Ava points out. "So keep an eye on them, if there are puncture wounds."

Glancing to Una, she nods. "Oh yes. That's something I can do," she assures. "The stronger you get in this type of magic, the more in tune with other's spirits you get. You can do all sorts of things, including increasing and decreasing their power levels. Though it only lasts for a short burst. So imagine what you want and make it happen quickly. You ready?" There's that green glow again before she lets the magic flood from her to Una, swirling around the redhead and flooding her with more power.

Ava? She shifts on her feet as her legs wobble, and another rip can be heard somewhere on her clothes. She's doing too much. "I have to stop there, though. I'm going to start drawing attention to myself if I do much more," she offers in a shaky voice.

Ravn winces and nods. He has seen this before -- the backlash. He hasn't often experienced it -- but that's mostly to do with the fact that he uses his power for very, very little. Floating a teaspoon or landscape gardening a yard? Kind of level one scrub versus level twenty experienced adventurer there.

He rubs at his thigh; it does kind of hurt. "Maybe I should go find some disinfectant just in case. And you need to not turn yourself green, Doctor. Maybe we should -- plan this a little more. Get together, think up some smaller things to practise on, than the whole yard at once?"

Another worried glance Ava's way, and then Una's. "How about -- I go find that disinfectant, and you two go have a talk about green thumbs and home baked cookies?"

Una, distracted by the power she abruptly has, is a little too focused on attempting to sprout a new plant to register Ava's overuse. She doesn't succeed in the sprouting, but the grass definitely ripples and flows, adjusting ever so slightly under the wave of her fingers. It's... enough. (It's not enough, but it is incentive for more.)

When she glances back, she does seem to register more of it-- and then, quickly, "Come inside and have cookies," she says, quickly, with a slight wobble of her own as the power goes again. "And a seat, before you overdo it. Ravn, you too. After you disinfect, if you prefer, though I'm sure I have a first aid kit, too."

Because cookies are, as always, important. And more need to be baked for the little garden faeries anyway.