2022-03-04 - Theme Hour: Laundry Day

Laundry day? Laundry day. In fact -- lots of very small laundry day where Ravn is concerned. A machine rumbles happily as he sits on a plastic chair, glancing through a glossy magazine -- cars, looks like -- and waiting. The washing looks colourful -- shades of pastel and emerald. A picture of domestic bliss: A tall, copper blond bloke in black jeans and ditto shirt, doing the washing for -- some kids, probably, because on second glance, it's all very small. Maybe he works in a kindergarten. Maybe he has seven toddlers at home.

Whatever the cause, the man looks content enough to look at bikini babes draped on sports cars in ways that makes you wonder which is being offered up for sale. Maybe he's into that sort of thing. Maybe it was the only option (the other magazine seems to be about hunting rifles, maybe he picked the lesser evil).

One of the machines has an 'out of order' sign on it, but fear not! Jimmy Fixes is here, marching into the place with all the trappings of the typical repair-guy; utilitarian clothes, a jacket with the logo of the company on the back, trousers with enough pockets to make anyone get jealous, a heavy tool-box carried. He squints from behind wire-framed glasses, frames that look like he have dropped them, ran over them by a lawn-mower and then shaped them back to still work and hold the glass. Why is it that repair-men often walk around with broken things? It's just how it is.

He makes some vague nods around the place and steps up to the broken washing machine. "Afraid I'm going to have to pull this one out to take a look, I'll try not to be in the way too much," he warns.

It appears it's laundry day for a few folks. A good chunk of Ava's things have to be dry cleaned, but for what doesn't need to be, it's time to him up SnD's. Thankfully it's a pretty small basket, so it's not a terribly rough trip from the car into the building as she balances it on a hip and shuffles inside. "Oh, the snow needs to stop," she shivers, shaking the flakes off of her as soon as she steps inside. Feet are stopped on the mat just inside as she bee-lines it for a machine.

She's sporting a long, dark sweater, black leggings, and tall, leather boots. Seems like she can't even dress down for laundry day. Ravn gets a little waggle of fingers in greeting, and a smirk at the magazine he's reading, her face a picture of 'Really?'

"How much is too much?" she wonders of Jimmy, shuffling around him to get to a washer out of his way. "Remember that time you came over to fix my stove and you said that, and then I couldn't use my kitchen for like three days?" she teases.

"Really," Ravn says by means of greeting and tosses the magazine back on the little table. "Because hunting rifles are even less interesting."

He glances over with a twinge of curiosity at the repair guy's announcement. Unlike Ava, he's not an old face in town and doesn't know the fellow from some previous engagement -- but this is Gray Harbor, and enough weird things happen to Ravn on a regular basis that the next question that pops into his mind is obvious: Is this just a broken laundry machine? Is anything ever just a broken laundry machine?

Funny how people who live here for some time often develop that slightly nervous twitch; it's almost if very often, things are in fact not what they seem to be.

Then he glances back at Ava. "So, this morning there was a bag of laundry sitting on the step to my back door. It's all very small and colourful, and looks like it fell out of Peter Pan. I figure a bargain made is a bargain met, and all I really wish I knew is whether faeries want green apples or lemon scented detergent."

"Ava, hey," Jimmy says and perks up seeing her, up-nodding with a grin that lights up his otherwise blandly handsome face - he's the sort of guy that most wouldn't give a second glance and he doesn't even care. "That's cause I swear your stove was possessed by an evil spirit or something. I think it literally /ran/ the stove - but then it got tired and moved, and everything in it malfunctioned, cause I swear, it shouldn't have been working as long as it did," he counters jokingly. Or IS he joking? He turns to stare at Ravn with a few slow blinks, then eyes the broken machine with a wary look. He gives it a poke with a finger - his finger remains where it is, and that seems to give him the confidence to HUG the machine, so he can pull it out from the wall with small wriggle-motions, practiced at moving heavy appliances without hurting his back. "Just need to open up the back, take a look, if I can fix it quick I will do so now, otherwise, I need to get the right parts."

Ava laughs loudly, covering her mouth with the back of a hand as she stares at Ravn. "The faeries left you their laundry. Oh, you had better make sure to dry that with cool air and not hot. If you shrink their things there is going to be a problem and we both know it. Also, I'd go half green apple, half lemon. Or switch it up each time. Keep it fresh. Oh, I absolutely love that." The laughter turns to giggles as she opens the machine and starts to toss her things in.

"If it was keeping my stove running, it couldn't have been that evil, because it was keeping me fed! It only turned evil when it abandoned me. If that was the case." Clothes in, she adds detergent and quarters and turns the machine on, closing the lid. She watches Jimmy shimmying out the washer. "You should wear a brace when you're working, skilled and strong or not. Or one of these days you're going to end up in my office with a bad back."

"There's an idea," the folklorist muses. "Trapping evil spirits, forcing them to work as stoves and furnaces. I'm amazed early Christianity did not come up with this concept during cold, European winters."

He looks away as Ava puts her things in -- in that way of laundromat patrons everywhere, don't look at someone else's stuff, it's kind of private, thank you very much, if I want you to see my socks and underoos I'll invite you over sometime. Instead, his eyes wander to Jimmy, a face which he feels ought to be familiar but which isn't. "I'd offer to help but, I have ten thumbs and a penchant for attracting bad luck. You'd probably be looking at a nuclear meltdown in short time. Let me know if you want me to get you a coffee from the vending machine, though. I think I can manage that much without causing a second Tunguska explosion."

Jimmy curses, as the machine gets stuck on something for a second or two. The curses are most definitely NOT English, but very colorful Swedish ones (even if an English speaker would definitely recognize the word 'Satan', if they pay attention.) "If I avoid lifting heavy things, I wouldn't have a job. The trick, of course, is to lift RIGHT," he explains - and voila, the machine 'breaks free' and is pulled out entirely from its spot between the others, allowing Jimmy to squeeze in behind it and start removing the plating there to have a look inside. "Well," he muses, "back in Sweden, my grandparents used to set out food and drinks for the 'farm gnome', so it would help them out around the place."

"Oh, we do that!" That's Una, brightly, lugging a big garbage bag full of something bulky into the laundromat. "I mean, cookies and milk and booze for the faeries, but it's basically the same thing, right?" She doesn't have a hand free to wave, but her smile gets aimed at one familiar face after another, as she hefts the bag onto the floor in front of one of the unoccupied (but also still operational) machines.

"Morning, guys."

"I'm not telling you to avoid lifting heavy things, I'm telling you to wear a brace when you do it so you don't put your back out and put yourself out of a job." It sounds like an argument that's probably been had before. Probably more than once. A nagging doctor? Or a nagging friend? It's hard to say. Ava's expression shifts into concern when he tugs and it breaks free like that. See? He could have thrown out his back!

"Hey Una! Look what the faeries left for Ravn to take care of!" She gestures to Ravn's washer with all of the bright, tiny clothes inside of it.

"Tomten, eh?" Ravn glances at Jimmy with a bit more interest. "Or I suppose I should say, nissen, since I'm from the other side of the border. I haven't seen one of those around here yet. I say yet because there's bound to be one somewhere -- and more so if there are at least two Scandinavians in town."

Then he raises a gloved hand in a lazy wave at Una. "Think about it. We just need to keep training them and letting them tell us what they want in return and we'll never have to do yardwork again. It's a perfect deal."

Tall guy day? Another one, lanky and walking with a swagger passes by on the sidewalk outside. Then he comes back, sticks his head inside (the door jingles) and frowns at Ravn. "Whatsamatta, ya machine broke?"

"Yes yes, brace," Jimmy is heard from behind the machine as he's now on his knees there, poking around inside the mysterious innards of a washing machine. There's dust motes glittering in the air, cause no matter how clean someone keeps a place, behind the machines dust will gather. "Yeah!" he calls out, sounding surprised - he peeks up above it for a moment. "Gĺrdstomten - the farm gnome, best translation I can make," he says and sounds more than surprised someone knows. "Jimmy Gustavsson," he introduces himself. "Grew up with some of those stories, people still put food out in some parts." He disappears again, and is heard tinkering and making murmurs and little 'hmm' sounds and '..I wonder if... nope, not that...' - typical talk from a repair guy that is looking for the problem.

"... they want us," okay, Ravn, "to do laundry now?" The glance Una aims towards Ravn's washing machine is a little surprised, perhaps even a little wary, but after a moment's consideration she shrugs her shoulders: who is she to argue. "I mean, laundry beats yardwork any day, so I think I'm okay with that. Just as long as they don't start expecting something that's too onerous."

The redhead yanks open the door to her machine and begins to pile in the big, down-filled duvet from her garbage bag, one fluffy corner at a time. "I guess we'll see, right?"

"Hey, hey. Let's be fair now. I'm the one who did your yard work this time. Let's not give the credit to the faeries on that one. That Disney wonderland was all me, baby." Which one is baby? All of them, probably. A general baby for the room. "The upkeep is what will be all on them, though. I'd say laundry for yardwork is a good deal, Una Like a little faerie marriage." Ava chuckles at the thought. She lifts up a finger. "Don't actually marry any of them!" she warns.

As Itzhak pokes his head in, her eyes shift towards Ravn, then back gesturing for him to come all the way in. Half in invitation and half because it's snowing and the door is open.

"Hey, better laundry than mowing lawns." Ravn raises his gloved hand in a wave to Itzhak. "The damn thing keeps breaking. I think Aidan's poltergeist has some kind of romantic relationship with it, and they hate it when I disturb them."

Then he flashes a smile at the repairman. "Ravn Abildgaard -- grew up with a lot of those stories, or well, into them. I'm a folklorist, it's literally my field of work to track stories of that nature. Very strongly recommending not marrying anyone from the faerie realm even if they are typically described as actually being better and more loyal husbands than most mortal men. The deal does tend to come with that whole time passes at a rate of a year for a day in the outside world and before you know it, everyone you cared about is gone. Also, it's supposedly a one way ticket to Hell, if you believe in that sort of thing. Itzhak -- jazz tonight?"

Itzhak makes a face and comes in. He dusts out the fresh snow in his black curls and on his ancient woolen peacoat. The second thing anybody might notice about him is he practically glows with the glimmer, stuffed full of it, almost overpoweringly so. It's quiescent, dozing at the moment, coil upon coil cool and quiet like an enormous snake. "Yeah, we talking Benny Goodman or Dave Brubeck?"

He's interested in what Jimmy is doing, coming over to stick his nose in it. First, though, he hitches his eyebrows at the women. "Hey, youse sticking around, huh."

"Ravn Abildgaard - Danish?" Jimmy queries, his voice echoing oddly as it is surrounded by thin sheets of metal, almost inside the machine at this point. "Got it," he says triumphantly and there's some more tinkering with some tools, something in there found broken and about to be fixed. He peers at Itzhak as he pokes his head in to look, but says nothing - he looks back to his work and focuses on that. "There's some wires that are just lose enough so that it works sometimes, and then not the next time. An absolutely mundane sort of problem," he says and sounds near relieved, as if he would NOT be surprised to learn this was less than normal. "But, just in case, if you notice this machine in particular seem to 'lose' socks... Gimme a call," he says, dead pan.

Una glances back over her shoulder to grin at Ava. "True, true. Della made a delighted comment about micro-climates and how wonderful a gardener my grandmother must have had-- your work has been noted, even by the non-shiny!"

She manages to shove the last of her duvet into the machine and closes the door with a thud. "But yeah. Laundry is definitely superior to yard work."

For Itzhak, a quick bob of a nod, as she settles back upon her feet and sets the machine to go-- apparently something she can do without paying it much attention. "Still here. 'morning."

"Those faeries, with their tallness and their cheekbones and their pointy ears, and all that loyalty. Damn them." Ava shakes a dramatic fist heavenward. "Oh, what if you got the faerie to live here with you, instead of you going and living there? Eh? Now that's a young adult romance book in the making. If only I could write something better than death certificates." Her head shakes in amusement.

"Oh! Micro-climates. I*like* that. That's a great excuse. Della is so smart."

The room is glowing like a light house now, Itz's power studied quietly through curious eyes. Her own glimmer is dazzling, green, almost druidic in nature, but it's clear that she goes through motions to keep some of it contained so that it isn't shining as brightly as it could be. "Oh, of course. This is my home. Grew up here. Had to come back to make sure you guys had enough folks around to patch you up. And to keep people from realizing how many dead people we dole out in a year as a town." A hand is offered out to Itz. "I'm Ava Brennon. Pleasure."

Ravn blinks and then chuckles. "I may be tall and have sharp cheekbones, but I promise, I am in fact not a fairy." Maybe he feels singled out a little because he does in fact have slightly pointy ears. Not in a supernatural or eerie fashion -- just in the fashion that some people do in fact have ears that tend to taper a little towards the pointy, and his ears probably stuck out adorably when he was a kid. "I'm pretty certain faeries aren't supposed to grow beards anyway, and I certainly do." He runs a gloved finger along his jaw; yep, perfect two day stubble.

Then he nods to Jimmy first and Itzhak second. "Yep, from Vejle -- that's the southern end of Jutland, about an hour and a half from the German border. And Benny Goodman -- let's look into some swing and cheer, the weather is fucking depressing this time of year. Except in our yard. You'll laugh your ass off, we somehow managed to achieve summer four months early because the local faerie ring and Doctor Brennon here are competing on who's boss of the local plant life."

Itzhak fingerguns at Una. "You got guts." He wraps a giant knuckly paw around Ava's hand when she offers it, almost smiling, though he seems wired with exhaustion and maybe like he just doesn't smile that much in the first place. "How's by ya. Itzhak Rosencrantz." He glances at Ravn, "Oh yeah?" apparently taking the whole fairy thing in stride, then back to Ava. "New coroner?"

Jimmy crawls out from behind the machine and stands up, putting the back-plate back on. He slaps it on top. "You gonna be fine now," he tells it, and then squeezes out. He's smart enough NOT to push it back in before making sure it works, checking the display that is now all lit up again. "Nice," he comments to Ravn. "Only ever visited Copenhagen myself. Lived too far north to conveniently visit Denmark more regularly," he explains, then puts his leg-strength into pushing the machine in place, making sure the water hoses are back in place as well. It'd be so awkward if he fixes it, and then caused a flooding problem instead. "I'm pretty good at gardening," he says, "mind if I come have a look at your wonder one? Maybe I should make a deal with the fairies as well." He studies Ravn more closely, smirking when he sees the ears, then shakes his head in bemusement. "This town..." he murmurs, as if he's stopped being surprised by now. "You telling me there ISN'T a book like that already?" he asks Ava. "I mean, since I know you read ALL of them..."

Ava studies Itzhak as he almost smiles and offers a big, dimpled one of her own. "Anyone ever told you you'd look great with elf ears?" she wonders. "Previous coroner. I have my own clinic, too, for the live patients. I've just been out of town for quite a while to work on some extra certifications that I needed but couldn't get in town. Left me out of the game a little too long, I'm afraid."

Her attention darts to Ravn as she glances him over for a second, squinting at his ears. "You do! How did I miss that before? You're lucky I can't touch you, I'd be trying to play with them all the time. I would be all up in your personal space. It'd be exhausting, I have no doubt." It's very likely that she's kidding from the twinkle in her eyes.

She reaches over to whack Jimmy on the chest and point an accusing finger at him. "I don't need your truthful accusations, sir," she offers at him remark about her reading all of the faerie romance books. It's probably true. Just then her phone is going off. "Oh. Give me a few guys. I have to take this."

Una hops up from the ground, now, and leans up against the rumbling washing machine, arms braced against it. "Guts? Maybe. Disney-tastic garden, and a new collection of friends? Yes, very much. Priorities." 'You can check out, but you can never leave'.

"I begin to think we may need to host a garden party or something, to make the most of... well, all of it. Ava did the initial work, but I'm pretty sure there have been faerie-additions, thanks to the faerie ring and our so-far unwritten bargain."

Of Ravn's fae qualities, or Ava's reading habits, she-- perhaps very deliberately-- holds her tongue.

Ravn glances at Itzhak as Jimmy speaks. Then he leans in and stage whispers, "There's an idea. Want to help a single bloke out, trap a fairy princess in the human realm? Only, let's make sure she's not Thumbelina-sized."

Did he hear Ava's observations about climbing into his lap? Of course not. Look at him, he's busy reading the ingredients on the bottle of lemon scented laundry detergent. You have to read those things very carefully, there could be all kinds of allergy inducing additives in that kind of product. Do you want to see faeries flitting about, scratching their little butts off and sneezing little puffs of sparkle everywhere? This is very important business.

The folklorist doesn't manage to ignore everything though. "Actually -- well, akshually! -- those stories do exist. Typically on the theme of some farmer who spots beautiful girls bathing in the ocean or in a pond, only to find their swan or seal skins lying near by. He steals one and the girl can't change back, so she stays and marries him. Until some day, of course, he stupidly takes out the skin to show the kids where mum came from, she grabs it and off she is, never to be seen again."

"Okay, I gotta see this garden," Itzhak says to Una, sounding impressed.

He does manage to smile back at Ava. She's just beaming at him like that and he can't not. But then she's talking about playing with Ravn's ears and Itzhak holds a straight face until she's off taking her call. At which point Itzhak starts laughing.

"Obsessed, that's the word. Didn't you even have a club with some others in school? And what about that fairy-taled theme masquerade, you made me go as a... I think I was a vampire-elf-king or something. Never felt more awkward in my entire life, and contrary to what you assured me, I did NOT hook up with anyone that night," Jimmy calls after Ada as she steps aside to answer that call. "I did get a bad rash from the fake ears though, so that was fun," he reminisces somewhat nostalgic of days that were simpler. "A garden party - in a garden where it is already summer - sounds better. Long as I don't have to come dressed as a vampire-elf-king. I'll bring a gift to the fairies though. Think they'd enjoy some good ole schnaps?"

Una taps a finger to her lips, ready to respond in all seriousness to... well, something. But Itzhak starts to laugh, and then Una can't help herself either, and laughter it is.

Finally: "Sorry, Ravn. When Ava comes back, we're going to need to tease her some more about her... vampire-elf-king thing?" She glances back at Jimmy for clarification, clearly vastly amused. "That's adorable. I promise we won't make you repeat the costume at our garden party that we're apparently now definitely having. Because... yes. You definitely need to see this garden." 'You' being both Itzhak and Jimmy, and probably the rest of the glimmering population of Gray Harbor, too.

"I heard that!" Ava says, coming up behind Una and settling her head on her shoulder with a grin. "There is no need to tease me! Jimmy looked wonderful! He totally couldn't have gotten any of the chicks at that party if he'd had any swag at the time," she assures. "I think he was too busy trying to help my dad fix the cassette player to care about the girls, though. -I- for one, made a gorgeous faerie princess. But then, I've had these cheekbones since I grew out of my baby face, so is it any wonder?"

Ava grins at Jimmy. "I think we used super glue to get those ears on, didn't we?" She flinches at the thought. "That was a terrible idea. But, it's a wonder what people could do with illusions these days." Her eyes slide slyly towards Itz at that, a brow arching, face full of mischief. She's gone from teasing Ravn and teasing Itz, it seems. But then her phone is going off again. "Oh come on! Work won't even let me flirt in peace. Damnit." She stomps off again.

"As long as I don't need to dress up in Lincoln green with little bells on," Ravn murmurs. He's very obviously heard jokes about himself and fey looks before -- or maybe those were fairy jokes, handsome bloke who doesn't seem all that interested at girls, at least not at first glance. "I am all in favour of a garden party but on two conditions: Costumes are optional and we get someone in town to do the catering because I'm not eating anything that came out of the faerie realm. Pretty certain these faerie will happily trade for schnapps, all things considered -- they seem willing to trade for milk and cookies and laundry, might as well add strong spirits to the list. Maybe we should try putting out a switch controller, see what they make of that."

He shoots Itzhak a glance. It's a definite 'don't you even start' glance, the kind you'd expect between friends who absolutely, definitely will rib each other every chance they get. It's also a little late, given that Itzhak started laughing like that several moments ago. "Asshole."

Another blast of cold air announces the arrival of another tall guy, another shock of dark snow-dusted curls, and another ridiculous beacon of condensed Glimmer, this time all in the form of Aidan Kinney and, apparently, his coat of many colours. It's a calf-length quilted thing of myriad colours and patternsin apparently random-sized patches, except for the white stars appliqued equally randomly over things, with a thick brown velvet rope-like trim capped by a fluffier golden one attempting to bring everything together by limning the hem, cuffs, and collar. He's wearing it over red jeans and brown boots, with a honey-coloured sweater covered in crushed golden sequins that end up looking a bit like shiny crinkled paper. The neckline says it's a woman's sweater; Aidan apparently says it isn't.

He's also wearing an expression of worry and dismay as he glances around, the door falling shut behind him; it lessens just a fraction when he spots his roommate, as though the Dane were precisely whom he was looking for, and the only one who immediately registers. "Ravn! I think the faeries stole my clothes!" Totally a normal thing to go around exclaiming in a laundromat. "Well, took them, I mean they can have 'em if they want but is that gonna be a... thing? I mean it's not like milk. I only remember them doing stuff with clothes and shoes if they were fixing them, or, I think if you give brownies clothes they get insulted or something..."

A blink, as he catches how busy it actually is in there, and a more (faux-)relaxed, "....ohhh, hey," to the group at large.

"It was just cause you wanted to bring a vampire-elf-king. I /wanted/ to go as a werewolf," Jimmy grumps, as if one of his teen-age dreams was killed. Still, the gleam of amusement behind his glasses suggest he is joking. Mostly. "Super glued elf ears... See what I had to put up with, back in the days?" he says and hikes a thumb at Ava who scoots off again to talk more on the phone. "I did fix the casette player though." Important foot-note.

He turns to watch the new-comer and is dazzled by the COAT. The FAIRY coat - surely that must be. His mouth is slightly open and he blinks slowly. "I don't wanna alarm anyone here but if we all gather, in this fairy garden, what are the chances something weird is going to happen? And how much do we care if it does?" He upnods, and introduces himself again in case some missed it earlier; "Jimmy Gustavsson. You ever need something fixed, call Jimmy Fixes. Don't call me to have people fixed though - not into that business."

Itzhak grins at Una, and just wheezes when Ravn calls him an asshole. His whole weathered face is transformed by it.

"Aight, aight. I gotta go open the shop before Grant freezes his little beytzim off." He upnods at Aidan as they pass each other, Itzhak telling him, "I'll fix ya machine," before he's sauntering off down the sidewalk.

There's a furrow of Una's brow and finally a determined confirmation: "No food that looks anything like faerie food. I don't want to take the risk that they'll take advantage. Hamburgers and hotdogs, maybe; that doesn't seem very fae. I'm with you on the costumes, though--"

Though there's Aidan, and Una's eyes widen with what is definite admiration, if not outright joy. "-- thought coats like that are definitely welcome. Hi, Aidan." Of his laundry situation she makes no comment, just a flick of her attention back towards Ravn, subject of her other neighbour's exclamation.

"I absolutely want to hear all about teen Ava," she tells Jimmy. "I'm Una - sorry, didn't introduce myself earlier. I'll definitely keep you in mind if I need things fixed. I inherited my house on Oak and it's... pretty old."

"These are your clothes?" Ravn quirks an eyebrow at the new coat and its owner (let's be honest here, which one did you notice first?). "I thought they belonged to our resident faerie circle, they're size, uh, a hell of a lot smaller than you are. Excuse me."

And then the Dane is off his chair and to the door, just in time to stick his head out and call after Itzhak: "Asshole! Beer's on you tonight!"

Merrick strides into the laundry mat with a large army-style duffle bag over his shoulder. It is a green bag that is packed to the brim it seems, heavy enough to do some real damage in a pillow fight. Swinging it back and forth as he walks as he looks around, his shades are glinting in the light. The sunglasses are cheaper than cheap. A leather jacket is zipped up with the hood pulled upwards to help hide the feature combined with the glasses. A pair of tight simple black jeans and a pair of doc martins with a hand-painted anarchy signs along the heels. The paint is cheap lacking off, as he stands there deep in thought for a moment. As if a switch is flicked in his mind he is moving swiftly with no that devil may care motions of someone trying to get in and out of a chore that is much hated. Heading for the washer as he drops the bag down, as his covered eyes move back and forth trying to find an empty machine. His right hand reaching into his back pocket to produce a plastic baggie packed with coins. That jingle and jangle against each other as he frowns not seeing an open machine. With a deep rumble of frustration, that voice is filled with a heavy bass of pure undulated woe.

Aidan returns the upnod, because being worried about human/fae relations is no excuse, and even that isn't enough to keep the wheezing amusement from being contagious enough to pull out a quick little grin. And he doesn't even know what triggered it! "Tell him hi?" he requests, with a little nod for machine fixing.

Ravn gets a blink at the question, and they essentially trade places as the Dane goes to yell out the door, the magician heading over to where he'd been and then a bit farther to peer into the washing machine through its window-door, shoulders dropping with a sigh as he recognizes what comes whizzing by. "...okay. 'Kay, that's good, I mean the stories I remember if you insult brownies they pretty much just go away but, I mean, fair folk..." 'Equanimity' is not the first word that comes to mind.

Definitely more relaxed now, he takes another deep breath, lets it out, and grins a little sheepishly at Una. "Hey," he replies, "and thanks." The coat gets glanced at, the grin brightening a level. Happy coat. "Aidan," he replies to Jimmy's introduction, "Um, Kinney. Sometimes the Amazing Aidan?" 'Sometimes' mostly being when he's on the boardwalk, busking as a magician, which is fairly often the last couple years, at least when it's warmer. "What are we talking about with fairy garden gathering?"

Merrick's sound of woe has him looking more properly that way, and then looking around. "...that one, maybe?" he suggests, pointing to one near the end. Is it empty? It doesn't seem to be running, at least... Merrick may end up facing the eternal dilemma: do you empty someone else's finished machine so you can use it? Or do you just wait?

"Try this one. I just fixed it," Jimmy suggests, confident that the washing machine he just repaired is as good as new, as he steps more to the side to leave room - although it's getting quite busy in here now, indeed. "Nice to meet you, Una, Aidan, Ravn - you know, your names together sounds a bit like a Scandinavian folk metal group..." He pauses, blinking and looking a little sheepish, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Now I almost regret not having been named what my dad wanted to name me: Ragnar. My mother, bless her heart, refused wisely."

"Anyway, I'll bring the schnaps, we can even have some of it for ourselves."

Una hastily steps out of the way of the machines, though the one she's been leaning against is definitely taken: swish, swish, swish, goes the laundry within. As she passes, on her way to the nearby cluster of chairs, she gives Merrick a cheerful enough smile.

"We're making the most of our combined yards being Disney-fied and unexpectedly summery to have a party," she explains for Aidan, as she folds herself (not that there's much to fold) into a chair.

"You haven't heard me sing: we are definitely, definitely not a Scandinavian folk metal group... but please do bring the schnapps. Ragnar." Is that an indication that she's going to call Jimmy by that from now on, or is she just trying it on for size? Time will tell.

"I refuse to recognise a Ragnar whose pants aren't fuzzy." Ravn sticks his head back into the shop and returns towards any horisontal surface to sit on that wasn't claimed in the interrim. "There's Ragner and Ejner, and hell, even Ravn -- though it's not the same etymology. Ravn would have been Regna at the time Ragnar Lothbrok lived -- and female. Raven is a female term in Old Norse. Which says a lot about female intelligence given that Odin's ravens are named Huginn and Munin, Mind and Thought. Aaaand that's me off on a tangent again, Aidan, why don't you ever stop me?"

Una's comment gives him pause, though. "I suppose that given I play the violin a bit, I could provide some of the high shrieking I tend to associate with Scandinavian death metal but it's not really a genre I have a lot of experience with. And I don't really want to try the whole face paint thing. Can we be the mildly conservative garden party edgelords instead, maybe? Aidan plays the uke!"

Merrick has deleted their pose: Merrick looks at Aidan with a slight nod of his head, as he makes his way to the washer. There is a quick motion of his hand reaching to open it, as he does it. Those glasses staring forward, his hand is waiting for a moment a soft pray to the gods of the wash. As he opens it, is locked as he reads the sign on it out of order. Bad maintenance strikes again, with a little sigh he brings out of his pocket a black card with silver neat handwriting along it placing it in the door of the broken machine. With that he walks over to the wall leaning against it duffle drop once more to his feet as he starts the waiting game.

The card reading in silver pretty handwriting. Fix it all.

Get it done quick and right.

With a phone number and adress.

Looks over at Jimmy."I see...." His voice is gruff as he looks at the Jimmy for a moment, his shades moving up and down as he walks over to the machine that is repaired."Well, I claim that one for fixing. Dudes got to make some scratch ya know. Ya do it for a living or a hobby bro?" His voice is filled with the same bass as the sigh as he moves over opening it as he starts to dig into his bag loading into it the laundry, with a little displeased sigh of annoyance, as he then starts to shove the clothing into it roughly. Everything is black, it seems he likes to wear it all on black. As he slams the door shut, as he starts to pour in the laundry soap one of those little travel-sized ones at the bottom of the duffle. Next, he is digging for his coins, feeding them in with quick fingers as he stares right ahead now, nothing in his world but the task.

"That wasn't even an emergency," Ava declares in a frustrated tone as she returns to the group and puts the phone on vibrate before sliding it into her bag. No more bothering her. She puts a hand on her hip, leaning against the machine. There's a slow blink, eyes cast around the room for a moment. "Wait. How long was I gone?"

"Where did my next elf king go? I was done teasing him yet, this only leave Jimmy and Ravn for me to tease." There's a scoff. "Stupid work. Nobody was even dead. It was just a paperwork thing." Oh well. At least there's an Aidan. And quite a coat along with him. "Looking great, Aidan. It's nice to see you again. You always have the best coats, you know that?" Of course he does, they're his. But still, he should know they are appreciated.

Spotting Merrick, Ava lifts a hand in greeting.

"'kay but... does Ragnar rock?" Aidan is way too pleased with that question. One may be able to blame the MCU for that one. "I don't stop you 'cause number one I don't know until you get going and number two it's interesting," he tells Ravn, adding to the others at the mention of the uke(lele), "I play the drums, too, so I maybe could folk metal?" He looks less than entirely sure what folk metal actually entails, but the metal part pretty much has to need drums, right?

Una's explanation re: gathering has him brightening with understanding. "Oh! Got it. I really shoulda thought of trying that; I could've done some of the stuff I was planning out there for when it stopped being so snowy..." Ava's compliment turns the smile up to briefly brilliant, and he makes a little bow that gives the coat a flourish, as though it might appreciate it as well. "Thanks. Nice seeing you again too! Kickass boots."

Merrick's claiming of repair rights (can you do that?) on the far washer has Aidan glancing there, then to Jimmy, then back and back again. Do... do repair dudes have turf wars?

"Not very long. We're still in fairy tale land," Jimmy replies to Ava, "still waiting for the real fairy king." There's a shrug to Merrick. "Claim all you want, plenty of work to go around. I do it for a living, run my own one-man company." If there is a turf-war, he doesn't seem interested in joining it, at least - but maybe he will be forced into it. Maybe there will be a duel at dawn, with eletrical hand-tools and spanner wrenches.

Una's amusement, in general, twitches into something more serious (maybe; it's hard to tell sometimes) as she points out to Jimmy, "I'd rather not invoke the real king of faerie right now. Oberon or... well, whoever. Whomever? Anyway. Let's stick with you fakes, and your need for stick-on ears and superglue."

"'Mildly conservative garden party edgelords'. It has a certain ring to it. And Aidan's right: it is interesting, tangent or no tangent. Someone get out the auto-tune, because if we have drums and violin, you're going to leave me no choice."

Ravn groans at Aidan's pun. Groans. "I'll have you know I've heard a folk music group called Ragnarock and I've been to a dive bar named Ragnarock and yes, actually, Danes are just as god-awful proud of that pun as you are." Then he winks at Una. "It's David Bowie, of course. And considering that he's a few years dead -- maybe it's better we leave him where he is, yes."

He can't resist a laugh, though. "The Mildly Conservative Garden Party Edgelords it is. Who knows? We might even be able to get Itzhak on lead violin and helping with the vocals. He performs at Sitka, he's pretty damned good as it happens. I'm more of a classical player but I suppose that'll be the Mildly Conservative part, then."

It's a good thing he's not a mind reader because he would absolutely have voted in favour of duels at dawn, craftsman style. Probably because no one who's known him for half an hour would expect him to participate. Those slender, gloved hands of his do seem far more suited for a delicate instrument than for a power tool -- and anyone who has seen him trying to use one will agree with that very much, please don't, for the sake of all that good's in this world, keep the academic away from the power tools.

Merrick nods towards Jimmy with a grin as his hand is offered with those leather gloves on the studs on the hands shining glinting in the light."Cool. Man, all good no bad. Just wanted to make sure ya ain't mad about the card and stuff." His voice is friendly now, as he looks over the others."Name is Merrick." As he watches the washer eyes not moving from it now, as he looks over the repair job."Did good work. If I get a big job again, I might call ya in on it and cause shit breaks a lot around here. Anyways I focus on gadgets, phones, and the like. But business has been slow as all get out lately, so branching out ya know." As he notices Ava now, he waves towards her and dipping his head in greeting, as he once more is quiet.

"That is a terribly long name for a band, you know. But I'll still support you," Ava assures. "Should I have t-shirts made up? Does it have to be t-shirts? I don't wear those very often." Her nose wrinkles a little bit at that.

Her eyes are flickering between Merrick and Jimmy for a moment, keeping an eye on the pair until they seem to peacefully work it out. "Hell, the way things are around here, business could pick up at any minute for either of you. Might be a great idea to keep each other on speed dial, right? Just in case. Never hurts to have someone else handy for those big jobs."

"Mildly Conservative Garden Party Edgelords. I like it," Aidan declares, continuing to fail to look even mildly conservative in any way. Garden party, maybe. It might help if it's edgy. "You could make... sweatshirts?" That isn't going to help. "Oh, or, bags maybe? Banners. ...a cake." Possibly not quite in the same class. But a cake sounds pretty good about now. "Big foam hands!"

This helps to distract him from the potential repairmageddon while the principles sort things out, at least. So does Ravn's reaction to his stupid joke, which he fails to look less pleased about for the knowledge that the Danes somehow got there before him. "I was the Goblin King one Halloween," he volunteers as far as Bowie, and eyes one of those newer washing machines in the center of the room, behind him, before moving to hop up and sit on one. It's not the most elegant move a man ever made, but it works.

Merrick gets a thoughtful look, the magician's head tilting. It's the man's hands he seems to watch a moment, with the studs catching the light and all. "Maybe weird question, do you have really sensitive nerves?"

"I wish I could claim almost being named Ragnar was because my dad felt it was a viking thing - but it was just cause my great grandfather was called Ragnar, and I doubt either of them knew a thing about Ragnar Lodbrok," Jimmy admits with a lopsided smile. "As for the fairy king... you're right, Una. Probably best we don't provoke things," he murmurs, glancing around as if expecting the king of fairies to walk through a portal any second. He pushes his glasses up again. "I do everything between building that porch to fixing that leak under the sink, but I don't do much small electronics work, and no cars - so yeah, we seem to be on different ends of the spectrum," he nods at Merrick, but there's a little stiffness in how he says it, just polite. No offering of sharing details, but he does shake the hand firmly. "Jackets?" he suggests helpfully to Ava.

Una is young enough (so incredibly young, her own mother was probably at a good age for 'Labyrinth' when it came out) that Bowie references may make sense, vaguely, but don't have any personal relevance; she cracks a smile, but it's a brief one.

"Cashmere scarves," she offers, with a glance towards Ava; it's probably the first thing that comes to mind that the doctor might actually consent to wearing. "With 'MCGPE' embroidered into them. Cake, though. Cake is always the answer to these questions. Can I be band baker instead of performer? Much more my speed."

Her glance shifts between Jimmy and Merrick, expression thoughtful for their exchange, but she bypasses that particular part of the conversation.

A quiet nod and mental high-five to Jimmy -- the other man present who can pronounce Lodbrog. That's Lo-D-brog, you English speaking plebes, soft Scandinavian D, not TH.

Then the Dane grins slightly at his diminutive neighbour. "You can't have a band without somebody feeding the musicians. I'm told we need lots of baked goods and white powder in neat lines. I'm sure we can make those lines be potato flour -- I'd suggest powdered sugar but I've seen Aidan on a sugar rush and believe me, we're not equipped to contain that."

If the idea of Ava in a shirt is what causes him to offer a lopsided smile is anyone's guess; maybe it's Aidan's question about Merrick's gloves, or just the conversation at large. There are no metal studs on his black kidskin gloves -- they're almost embarrassingly mundane in comparison.

Merrick nods towards Aidan."Sure, that works. I'll go with that answer. It's a good one. I just don't like touching stuff is all, if it can be avoided." His voice is friendly enough, but his eyes not moving towards Aidan. His fingers tracing along his jacket now idly, toying with a stray thread. As he look at Jimmy, before he too is ignored once more."Gotcha Gotcha. Well, best of luck in ya working and stuff." With that, he takes out his phone to open up his emails, as he starts to scroll through the void. "What's all this fairy talk?" His voice is directed at no-one at all, he slides the phone away again as he stares into the laundry as it spins with a little sigh.

Ava reaches a hand out towards Jimmy, laying in on his shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. It's reassuring, for some reason. Something about his current stance must be causing it. "They make this stuff now, it's called Spirit Gum. It's like super glue, but it works for your skin, and it comes off much easier." This isn't going to be fun for him. But it will be for her. Poor Jimmy. Her smile glints evilly in the fluorescents from above.

"Yes!" It's a sudden shift, her expression. "Una, that's brilliant, cashmere scarves! Though jackets is a nice idea too, if they are nice enough." Her hands clap twice at that. These are ideas she can get behind. "Also cake. Aidan, brilliant. Party in the faerie garden, Merrick," she explains, still smiling."

Of course, Ravn is also smiling, but it's a little lopsided, so he's getting a side eye. "What?" she wonders with a hint of suspicion.

Aidan was also not yet born when Labyrinth came out. In his case this did not prevent people almost 30 years later insisting he watch it. And dressing him up as Jareth. That's just how these things go in Aidanworld.

"Cashmere band scarves?" Aidan has not seen such a thing. He's willing to go with it, though, why not? "I definitely vote band baker though. Why don't more bands have bakers? And prolly I wouldn't recommend snorting either of those though I'm prolly only licking the sugar, too." A little nose wrinkle thinking about flour on the tongue. Better inside the cake, definitely.

He doesn't try to defend himself vis a vis sugar rush, though.

Merrick's answer is apparently good enough; he nods at this as if it explains things, and leans back a bit on the washer, setting his hands behind him for support. "...I think we've only got maybe two violins and either a ukelele OR drums, though." Now that he's thinking about it. "And maybe singing. But I guess if we're a brand new genre we can be whatever we want. Yeah?"

"Hang on a second, did I agree to dress up? When did that happen? I am so confused right now. If my ears start itching again, you will have to fix it right there and then," Jimmy tells Ava, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at her. "She's been doing this for like fifteen years, and more. I just want to live a quiet, unassuming life, tinkering with things. I end up at parties with elf ears." He throws his hands out as if he has given up by now, and just goes along with it. "Maybe you should make a company out of it, Una. Band-Baker."

"Cake it is," declares Una: it is confirmed. All bands should have bakers. "Ooh, that would be one way out of unemployment: band-baking. I'm sure it'd catch on."

And cashmere scarves, too, but only her smile comments on that.

"I won't insist on elf ears... unless Ava does. I mean. She's the fan, right? It might need to be an important part of our fandom."

"I've seen pieces performed for violin and drums alone," Ravn observes and leans casually against a washing machine, rumble rumble. "Let me amend that. I've seen them and sent the links to Itzhak, just to make him cry."

Then Jimmy's comment prompts a small laugh in conjunction with Merrick's inquiry. "All I wanted was work and that's why I'm at a party wearing elf ears. If that sentence does not sum up the Gray Harbor experience I don't know what does. The deal, if you will, is that somehow the yards of Oak Avenue 3 and 5 have progressed four months into the year. It's now summer there, and a very pleasant one to boot. Don't be too surprised at the deer and the rabbits and the birds that want to sit on your finger and sing a duet, either. We have a local faerie ring there, and we are, uh, trying to negotiate some kind of neighbourly co-existence deal with them."

Gray Harbor, nothing here is ever just normal. Maybe that's normal. "At least it makes the lawn nice and comfortable to face plant on," he adds with a strange little smile. "I have half a mind to take kick boxing lessons on that lawn. Face planting will definitely be a thing."

Merrick looks at Ravn with a nod of his head."Just cause it's weird, ain't mean ya should mess with it. Always my motto." His hand is brushing along the back of his jacket as he smooths it out."But yeah, town has always been weird." His eyes still locked onto his clothing, after the brief look over at Ravn. His hand is pushing against the jacket again, as he tries to get it to set right with a frustrated sigh."Have fun man, sounds like a good time." His head moves towards Jimmy, as he seems to try to will the chucking to go faster. His eyes studying it, as he bites his lower lip. He seems to be trying to get away, but doesn't know how!

"Of course you agreed to it! It was a silent agreement. Our minds and souls reached out to each other and yours said, yes. Yes Ava, for leaving you without a kitchen for three days six years ago I will dress up as an elf for you. And my soul said, then you are forgiven, Jimmy. Then we hugged. It was beautiful. You should have been there." Ava's face is kept perfect serene for the whole commentary before she gives his arm another squeeze. He's had to deal with so much in fifteen years.

"Insist on elf ears, Una. You know you want to. Listen to your heart." Now the smile is starting to crack. Of course it can only grow as Ravn talks about face planting. One of the plants beside him begins to shiver and shift, it's leaves shifting in place until it's sculpted like a shrubbery. It looks like a face. A Ravn face. "Face Plant," she laughs.

Aidan looks fairly amused by the whole elf-ear situation, though a bit less at the 'neighbourly coexistence', murmuring something about the Good Neighbours. And then Ava's creating a Ravn-face Plant, and he eyes it a moment before his skin tone loses a level. "Oh, shit," he says suddenly, "I left the stove on." Do not ask why that connection was made now. If there's any logical reason can it be anything anyone truly wants to know? He pushes off the washer and drops down to the floor, starting immediately for the door. "Don't worry, it's okay so far!" he assures them, though it might be more comforting if he didn't apparently feel the need to go deal with it that fast even so. Another blast of the cold winter air, the coat swirling behind him, and then he's gone. Hopefully when they get home Oak Street will still not be.

"I thought I was screaming internally, and you were sure to hear this in your mind, but apparently it translated to total agreement, for you," Jimmy says with a lopsided grin. He seems to accept his fate, laid back and easy-going. His eyes widen as the plant shifts and changes into a face and then he laughs quietly. "The puns... they hurt." He blinks at Aidan as he rushes off. "If it's broken, I can come fix it! It might mean you're without a kitchen for three days!" he hollars.

Between the Murder Motel's options and the local laundromat's teeth-tingling fluorescence , Ariadne chooses...teeth tingling. As such, with a gust of cold wind laden with snowflakes, she enters with a grey mesh hamper two-thirds full of clothing in the interim of Aidan's departure.

"Brr, good lord, this weather," the young woman mutters to herself and stomps her boots off once before glancing up. "Whoa. It's a party." Some familiar faces, some not, and hopefully an open washer (and eventually a dryer). In her plaid peacoat and pink knitcap, she meanders in the general direction of the clumping. No hands to wave, given they're holding a collapsible hamper, so an up-nod and grin must do. "The place is already decorated, did anybody bring the glow sticks and the black lights? Seriously, who chose this theme?" she adds, glancing around dubiously as she claims a washer not terribly far from the cluster of locals and outsiders alike.

"The real trick will be if it stays summer, or if we end up in fall when everyone else is in summer," muses Una, picking up the thread of Ravn's explanation. "I'm hoping not. Eternal summer! I mean it makes sense. Faeries have the summerlands, don't they? In some mythologies? Or maybe that's just modern pagan tradition." She wrinkles her nose, evidently electing not to think too hard about it all.

Aidan's departure draws a less-than-delighted twitch (look, if number 3 burns down, number 5 is right there), but aside from straightening in her seat, Una does not pursue it. It's fine. Aidan says it is fine.

"... Ava, I'm clearly not close enough to see. Did you give that plant elf ears? Because if not, you should. Ariadne! Good morning. Isn't it fabulous?"

And here is Ravn opening his mouth to say something to Aidan, but then he's gone. The Dane shuts his mouth and blinks and then just says, "Well, here's hoping he didn't burn down out our house while I was apparently washing his faerie-sized clothes. Remind me to ask what he's doing with tiny faerie costumes sometime."

Suspicious look. Aside to Una, "Think Aidan is making his own bargains?"

Then his attention is caught by the face plant. Live here for a year and a half and you still don't get used to the things people do. He's looking at a mirror image he could shave by, but in begonia. It's more than a little eerie. Maybe this is why the Dane barely notices Ariadne's arrival: He's busy plucking a few leaves off, the hair isn't quite unruly enough. "I think the Summerlands is kind of a poetic representation," he murmurs. "But yes -- the Celtic faerie courts in poetic tradition do have distinctions like that, winter and summer, seelie and unseelie..." At least this time the folklorist stops himself before giving a lecture.

Merrick starts to move his dark clothing from the washer to a dryer now he is quiet, working quickly with a grunt of displeasure once it's done. He seems to be a little winded, as his eyes close now as he bites his bottom lip. As he digs for that plastic baggie of quarters loading them in slowly, with a nodding of his head."I need to buy a washer and dryer, this is for the birds." His voice is mostly directed to himself, as he turns now to look at the others behind his sunglasses, as Aiden is rushing out of there shaking his head. His hand is getting out his phone again, as he taps it reading through the news. His eyes moving upwards as people speak, but he is not having anything to add for now.

As her washer goes off, Ava turns to start unloading it so that she can move the stuff into the dryer. She must have used the quick wash mode for it to be done in only twenty minutes like that. It's a quick shuffling, along with dryer sheets and tumble balls to make sure everything gets clean. Aidan is running off and she glances over her shoulder with a look of concern. "I swear to all that is holy, if he burnt down that garden I worked so hard on, I'm going to whoop him. Then heal him so I can whoop him again."

Door shut, dryer on. "I did add tapered elfy ears to it, just like his," Ava beams towards Una before looking towards Ravn as he plucks at the plant. "Hey! Stop that. It was perfect, thank you."

She waves to Ariadne as she enters before glancing sideways towards her purse as the whole thing begins to vibrate. "Not again." That means her phone is going off.

"I am now here in a laundromat, talking to people about fairies, plants, and cake - and I am fairly sure this is your fault too," Jimmy tells Ava. He seems happy to be here with her, and maybe he wouldn't have been THIS social if she had not been here. He upnods at Ariadne and steps out of the way, finding an unused machine to lean up against for now.

"It's the cheeriest eyesore this side of a scoop of Dreyer's sherbet ice cream," agrees the barista with Una. She can't help but laugh. It's searingly bright, the paint job. Plucking the door open, she begins working in an armful or three of clothing. It's not much, mostly the necessities and things she wears under her apron at Espresso Yourself. The rest of the clothing must be elsewhere (spoiler alert: moving storage). Once the clothing's all in, a dollop of detergent and few quarters and boom: sudsing engaged.

Elf ears, however, catches her attention. "Did I just hear..." That plant looks familiar. She blinks. "Somebody's got mad topiary skills. Bonus points to whomever it is," Ariadne lauds as she walks over to squint at the plant beleaguered by Ravn's own trimming. Why yes, it does look like it has a human expression. Huh. "Did this grow in the fairy ring? Because I heard about this backyard being all summery, but really, nobody should be pestering the fairy ring." There's a quick glance around at all of the faces present. Anybody having a spate of amnesia? "I should introduce myself. Ariadne, I work over at Espresso Yourself. You might see me behind the counter now and then. Ravn and Una put up with me around there and hail me as coffee over-lord. Lady. Over-lady. That sounded better in my head," she laughs.

Furrowed brow and all, Una sidenotes to Ravn, "If he is, we need to talk this through. Too many bargains could get complicated fast."

Given she asked about the fae traditions, her interest in Ravn's response, however short, seems genuine-- and results in a tapped finger to her lip, a thoughtful gesture that doesn't particularly give away what she's thinking about. Besides, "I'm very happy to note the ears," is important to import, with a grin towards Ava, and a less enthusiastic one towards her phone. Phones suck, guys.

"Ava," she tells Ariadne. "Source of topiary goodness and faerie garden groundwork. Useful person to have around." Beat. "Coffee over-lady."

"Aidan can probably do that himself," Ravn murmurs to Ava, and plucks another leaf of his begonia portrait. "I mean, if you want to conserve energy. He's one of those set some things on fire and heal other things too. You should talk shop sometime."

Then, finally, Ariadne's arrival makes it through to him and he raises a gloved hand in a lazy wave. "All hail the Coffee Over-Lady, she who controls the flow. "Hey -- are kickboxing lessons still on the table? Because I was actually hoping you meant that. And our lawn seems ridiculously lush and soft now -- Ghibli Hills, all the way."

Merrick too much talk to the bush now, his eyes moving towards it now. He was trying to ignore it block it out, nope, nope can't do it anymore. His hand is reaching up to remove his glasses, as he tucks them into an inner pocket of the leather jacket. His are a deep shade of blue, as he walks over now to study the item."That is lovely, who did make that?" His hand is rubbing the bridge of his nose, as he shakes his head again with a chuckle."It looks so damn life-like and stuff." Then he hears the name, as he nods towards Una."Okay, cool. Ava did it, that means she has a skilled hand." With a second little chcukel, as he nods towards the Ava."Cool, cutting skills!" Than the talk of kickboxing."I wanna learn to kickbox." He is excited, bouncing on the heels of his combat boots as he stares right at Ravn."KICK BOXING!" His smile is large boyish now, his eyes twinkling with delight.

"It's absolutely my fault," Ava assures Jimmy with a faintly smug expression. "Don't pretend like you don't love it. You have an invite to a faerie party where there will be music and cake. Delicious cake. Una is an amazing baker."

As Una points her out as the source of the topiary, she grins and lifts a hand. "In my defense, he used the phrase face plant, and it's very difficult to resist a good pun sometimes." It's a decent defense. Kind of. "Pleasure to officially meet you, Ariadne. I'm Ava. I think I've seen you a handful of times as Espresso." As Ravn plucks out another leaf, one of the limbs of the plant extends out and pluck the leaf back from his hand. The limb shakes the leaf at him menacingly (for a plant) and then tucks it back into place before going back to where it was. In the time is takes to do that, Ava makes it to the other side of him, right by his ear. "Stop messing with my masterpiece," she huffs.

Of course, she has her phone in hand, straightening and walking to the side. Merrick's compliment earns him a grin as she moves to bring the phone to her ear. There's some quiet murmuring before she eventually hangs up.

"Well now there is a dead body." Sigh. Back to grab her purse. "Jimmy. Would you put a sign on my dryer saying I'll be back to pick up those clothes later? Thanks! Guys, I'll talk to you later!" Time to hurry out to deal with work.

"One of these days, we'll sit down in my workshop and just be quiet for hours while tinkering with something. Just so we're even," Jimmy mutters good-naturedly. He is watching the plant, and grins amusedly as it animates and steals back its leaf. "I can grab your clothes and bring them by the clinic!" he calls after Ava. "I can wait around for that. I'll catch you later." He quiets and looks at the others, nodding to Ariadne again. "Jimmy Gustavsson - yeah, I think I've seen you in there a time or two." He DOES drink coffee, like a normal person.

"It sounded better in my head!" the barista insists of her claim and laughs in both Una and Ravn's direction. She then takes up an easy stance, hips akilter, arms lightly crossed beneath her chest.

Ava introduces herself and then work calls her away, but Ariadne has time to at least nod and reply to the woman, "You probably have. I'll make a point of saying hi next time you're in, for sure. Good luck with the...your work!" Not the dead body, that's just not something you shout across a laundromat. She watches Ava depart and then considers the topiary which just smacked Ravn's knuckles. "Sassy little shit," she says of the plant. Jimmy gets a polite grin next. "Jimmy then. Nice to meet you. I'm around in the evenings normally, so yeah, feel free to drop in if you want a little late-night kick of a cuppa. I'll be around."

"Insofar as kick boxing? Yeah, sure," she then replies to the Dane so recently chastised by plant. "If you think the lawn is plush enough, I'm down for a little -- " She glances over, brows lifted, as Merrick arrives. "Oh, um, yeah. I do some kick boxing now and then. I was thinking of seeing what I remembered with Ravn and then taking up residency at the local gym. I heard about the coach there, he trains in normal boxing as well. I'm sure he'd have some pointers for me and for anyone who wants to get involved."

Ravn is not going to fight a begonia over a leaf. There are things he has done in his life, things he will do in his life, some of them are very strange things -- but duelling a begonia is not on that list. As far as he is concerned, Begonia!Ravn gets to keep its leaf. All yours, sir -- ma'am -- plant. (How do you gender a begonia anyway?). He waves at Ava's lingering after-image but his attention is on the plant. Maybe now that she has left, it will start behaving like a plant again. You know. Grow, bloom, leaf. Plant things.

Then he nods (and backs away from the begonia a little, the thing just slapped his hand). "I've done some very basic boxing there. I'm absolutely shit at it. But knowing how to land a few punches does seem to be a survival skill here -- or maybe more, not getting paralysed with surprise and fear if someone or something wants to land a few on you."

A waggle of Una's hand farewells Ava; from her perch, the redhead considers the remaining cluster-- and smiles. Maybe that's for Ariadne; but maybe not.

"If the lawn insists on it being summer, it seems like it'd make sense to use it as much as possible," she agrees. "Kickboxing on the lawn-- sure, why not." She does not particularly look like a person who would be particularly inclined towards this kind of exercise (and she's really not), but there's a nod there from her, too: one way or another, she's at least moderately invested. "Self-protection seems a really useful thing around here. Looks like there's a few potentially interested parties, too." A nod, then, to include Merrick and his puppy-ish enthusiasm.

Merrick nods quickly at Ariadne."I mean, I'll do that and I'll be rubbish but ong bak is amazing! After seeing that, I wanted to learn and stuff. Wait that is what we are talking about right." He starts to rattle off the words coming out of his lips, with a rapid-fire of a machine gun passion. His eyes locked on toe Ravn now, as he nods slowly."Cool cool. Ya know, oh I'm Merrick and yeah that sounds rad as hell!" His body is bouncing now, on his heels as he thinks about his eyes going glossy."I remember when he leaps up, and goes all pow pow pow pow thawk thawk thawk." His hands moving quickly in bad attacking form, as he stumbles now landing on his rear.

Jimmy shifts to take care of Ava's laundry that is now done, putting it into the drier - he wasn't joking when he said he'd take care of it. He has no commentary on kick boxing, content to stay out of that conversation. "Yeah? I'll remember that - I work late quite often. People's stuff insist on breaking right around dinner time, usually," he notes with a wry smile. To explain that comment, he adds hastily; "I fix things. Jimmy Fixes is my firm, might've seen my van around town."

Ariadne nods and then gestures in front of herself. "It really is for self-protection more than anything else, what I'd be teaching. It's not anything more fancy than -- " She winces, eyeing Merrick. "Ouch, you okay? Linoleum's no fun. Gravity's the worst. The gym floor will be padded, at least. I did more of the cardio kickboxing than the Muay Thai you're referencing, but the premise is similar enough," she explains to the sunglasses-sporting individual.

"I had no idea so many of you would be interested in it. Seriously though, don't wait on me to get going. Go talk to coach...wow, I haven't had enough coffee today. Ravn told me he's the high school coach. Talk with him! See what he has to say," she shrugs, smiling.

Movement in her peripheral draws her attention back to Jimmy. "Van," she echoes, brows knitted as she thinks. "Ah, yeah, Jimmy Fixes. I think I've seen the van around town. Do you specialize in anything or it's really anything with wires and gears and a little elbow grease can get the job done?"

"Coach Kelly," Ravn supplies. "Pretty sure he's got some trainers around the gym too, if he's busy himself. Bloke got voted Coach of the Year with a brass plaque and everything, he's got a busy life now."

He winces at Merrick's tumble; maybe he feels the pain per proxy, knowing full well that his martial skills? Yes. They're the same. It's not something he was born to do, either. "Are you okay there, mate? The doctor just left, let's try to not injure ourselves while she's on the clock somewhere else." A side glance to Una and a wince. "You could join us sometime. I mean, why should Merrick and I be the only ones getting our arses kicked?"

And then, oddly, the man takes out a sparkly pink mobile phone with a Hello Kitty stencil and takes down the name of Jimmy's company. Maybe he's got something that needs fixed now and then.

Una's got a sympathetic wince for Merrick, the smile that follows perhaps intended to be encouraging or reassuring: falls happen! It's fine!

"I... maybe." The redhead's investment may not have been wholly for her. "Or I can watch from the sidelines and cheer you on. Or undo all the exercise by offering cookies. We'll see. There's a big difference between 'this is something that would be useful' and 'this is something I'm actually going to do'. Unfortunately, I lack the enthusiasm of--" She's probably forgotten Merrick's name, unfortunately.

Merrick slides up with a little chuckle as he grins at Ravn."I'm good, I'm not a physical sort. But the idea is fun, sure I'll come." He then brushes himself off, his blue eyes moving from person to person with a little chuckle. "Sorry got a bit excited there, and I'll be good." His voice is sheepish, as he reaches into his leather jacket to bring them out to cover his eyes, as he looks over at the dryer."Like, just tell me when and shit, and I'll be there with bells on. Merrick." He grins at Una, as his hand rubs along that back of his head, as he checks it slowly with a frown."No damage."

"Anything with wires and gears and elbow grease, that pretty much sums it up, just add on construction - put in a new door, wallpaper that room, build a porch - that sort of work. But it depends on my work load in general, I tend to avoid the longer-running projects," Jimmy admits. There's another phone buzz - he almost jumps, taking his battered cellphone out and answering, stepping to the side for now. His turn to be busy with the phone for a few.

"Hey, makes sense to me. I'll definitely keep you in mind if anything wonky happens to my new place when I move in," the redhead reassures Jimmy with a nod and polite smile. "Work calls." A little sing-song as she watches his phone go off as well. In light of Ava's departure, it only convinces the barista more and more that not being on-call is where she wants to be job-wise. However, she does bring out her own cell phone in turn to write in a brief note about the name of the company. Hiring locally is something she'd always tried to do if possible.

A point at Ravn by phone stylus in-hand. "Ah, right, Coach Kelly. You heard the man: start by talking to him, since I don't know what my plans are yet," she requests of the group as a whole. "If Coach Kelly knows any Muay Thai, take him up on it. Una, I still think you should bring cookies. They can be Success Cookies. Or Pity Cookies, I dunno, whatever works. I'm always good for a cookie post-workout."

For some reason Ravn cracks a small smile. "Just tell Kelly, or whoever is doing the job for him, that you want to learn self defence. If you tell Kelly you want to learn muay thai, he's going to ask if it's a spring roll. No offence to our coach, he's the best damn coach I've ever met, but he's not -- cosmopolitan."

Then he glances at his wash. It's long done, he'd just forgotten about it. The look on his face is a little sheepish as he moves the pile of small, colourful clothing to the tumble drier. "I still wonder what Aidan is doing... Dressing up faeries, maybe."

Merrick listens to the dryer go ding, as he grabs all those black duds shoving them into that green army bag. As his hand is comes up to wave, as he quickly makes for the door. The sin of socializing done for the day, now to hide in his place and play that new game. He is filled with mirth, as he walks home.

"Merrick," repeats Una, whose bashful smile suggests she's going to try-- try!-- and be better at names. But he's off, and she lets him go.

"I'll potentially be in touch too, Jimmy--" Oh, but he's got a phone call, and that leaves Una to focus her attention on Ravn and Ariadne, the two most familiar people in the room. "I'll always bring cookies. Success cookies, pity cookies, failure cookies, try harder cookies. I'm trying not to offer the faeries anything that's more than a few days old, so there are more cookies than usual at my place. Della is probably going to start worrying."

"I've only met Aidan a few times, but I'm pretty sure I always wonder what the's doing. We'd've heard if the house burnt down, right? By now?"

Jimmy isn't long on the phone, returning after a few minutes - Merrick given a farewell nod, the others a; "Sure, call me any time. Here..." He pats down his pockets and finds some cards that he hands out, so they'll have his details apart from just his company name. "Afraid I gotta run, someone panicking about their water heater," he says. "I guess Ava has to pick up her own clothes - but you guys can take it out of the drier in a bit, yeah? Either or, I best run. It was real nice meeting you all - looking forward to that party. Elf ears or not," he says with a grin, then he too heads back out into the winter.

"Okay, just tell Coach Kelly you want to punch things," Ariadne amends of her previous statement with a smirk and a little laugh. Overestimating in her enthusiasm: her super power. She waves a polite goodbye to Merrick and then takes Jimmy's business card as well, slipping it away into her coat pocket. "Take it easy!" It's a call towards both new acquaintances and it leaves her alone with Ravn and Una. Or does it leave Ravn and Una alone with her? Dear god, the potential.

A glance back at her washer proves another few minutes yet left on it. "I figure Grey Harbor is small enough that we'd have heard sirens by now, yeah. Leaving the stove on. Who would've figured. I can't say I've done that, but leaving a coffee mug in the microwave for five hours and rediscovering it? Definitely done this. But Una: what do I need to do to convince you to make soft snickerdoodle cookies?" Her fellow redhead gets a cheeky grin. "Samwise can do the hokey-pokey, does that count as a trick worthy of soft snickerdoodle cookies? Or maybe I can run an errand for you? Even swap and all."

"Well, that means Samwise can do something I can't, so that counts." Ravn chuckles. "But yeah -- fire loves Aidan. And by loves I mean, it'd have called his cell and asked him very politely if it was terribly inconvenient, it could come back later, maybe just singe the porch a little, don't want to be an inconvenience. It's pretty amazing to watch sometimes, those people. There are a few here in town who are like that. Amazing. And all I do is bend teaspoons."

He starts the dryer. "What exactly are snickerdoodles, anyhow? Whatever they are, now I want them. If they're worth running errands for, I want them."

"I think we may be committed to the party," Una says, staring idly after Jimmy. This doesn't seem to be a horrible idea to her, from her tone, but there's a faintly amused sound to it, too: maybe she didn't quite expect that.

"Okay, so, my house is probably safe. I figure Della would've called if there was a problem anyway, but... it would be incredibly inconvenient."

Her laundry is still going: alas, these long cycles for big, bulky quilts. "Samwise is exceptionally clever, and I think I'd like to see this. That, and the fact that Ravn has apparently been tragically denied his entire life-- and he's old, so that is even more impressive-- means I may not need more than that to oblige. A snickerdoodle," she explains, with all due seriousness, "is a cinnamon sugar cookie. Soft and fluffy and... look, I'll make them, and you'll see."

Una explains snickerdoodles and Ariadne can't help but put a hand briefly over her own mouth. Still: a titter.

"You'll see about the cookies and you can learn the hokey-pokey from my dog," she blithely adds to the pastry's elucidation. "No more living under a rock, Darth Bathrobes." Given there's a free chair at the table sporting the humanoid miniature topiary, the barista then plops down into it with a sigh. "When I meant kickboxing as a group, I meant at the gym. I'm not teaching at all in someone's backyard, even if Ghibli and any Keebler Elf would be pleased with the amount of cooshy grass on display. I'm not doing any teaching right away either. Lord, I haven't even moved into the place on Sycamore street yet. Like, give a lady a break." One temple gets rubbed in passing before she whisks off her knitcap, lying it on the table. Cap-hair is a thing, even in a lazy ponytail.

"I'm not old. It's you who's a veritable spring hare, a freshly hatched Easter chick, barely out of high school." Ravn scoffs at his neighbour. Pschh, what's six years' age difference. And then, because whatever else Ravn might be, he's also a human male; his stomach bops his brain out of the way. "That sounds delicious -- and a bit like the cookies we call Jewish cookies. Sort of flat sugar cookies with cinnamon? And indeed best when they are just a little soft?"

He flops down on the nearest chair and glances at Ariadne at that statement. "So. Private lessons are out? I was kind of hoping. It's not that -- I mean, my ego can take people at the gym seeing me take a fall. They've seen that before. But I do feel kind of -- stupid there. Maybe not so much a class as -- a bit of sparring for fun, maybe swap some pointers? Mostly going from you, to me, granted."

"Cookies for kickboxing lessons?" offers Una, the twitch of her mouth suggesting this is a tease: she's not signed up for this yet. Maybe ever.

"You," Ravn, "called me a gen-z the other day, and I still hven't forgiven you for that. I may be a young gen-y, but I'm definitely not that young." Barely. "And we're both too old to be dealing with teenagers, so... I don't know where I was going with that. Snickerdoodles good, kickboxing terrifying. Those cookies sound similar, anyway. Why Jewish cookies, though?"

"Oh, no, private lessons are fine," Ariadne is quick to amend after she blinks once or twice at Ravn. "I meant teaching a larger group. I mentioned earlier that I still need to see what I remember. I'm fine with you being my sacrificial lamb."

That's not foreboding at all.

Una gets another swift grin. "I'll swap cookies for lessons," she agrees, fully aware of how this isn't a trade in earnest anyways. It's the thought that counts. Shifting to cross her legs, Ariadne then leans an elbow on the table and jaw in her palm. Her golden-hazel eyes shift between Una and Ravn as she continues wearing her little smile. "Ravn, how very dare you." Mock-chide, by her tone. "Gen-Z. Tsk. But yes, why Jewish cookies?"

"Oh, because whoever named the cookies sometime back in the 19th century was probably a horrible anti-Semite. They're cheap in terms of ingredients -- and Jews are stingy, amirite?" Ravn hitches a shoulder. "There was a push to rebrand them a few years back but the actual Mosaic community pointed out that doing so would be erasing history. A history which they do in fact not wish to have white-washed and erased."

Truuuuust the folklorist to have a story. "Conversely, there's another cookie -- a fried dough kind of thing, I forget the American name -- that is so expensive in ingredients that their name has become synonym with money. Because the baker wouldn't have any money left when he'd made them. In Norwegian they're called Fattigmand -- poor man, ready for the poorhouse -- because the baker would be."

Una groans, good-naturedly. "You do realise that now I'm going to have to look up all of these cookies and try them out? I'm physically incapable of not doing so, and who knows of the faeries will even like fancy foreign cookies. Though," she supposes, after a moment's pause, "I'm pretty sure plain chocolate chip post-date the fae by a long way. Chocolate and all."

"Sacrificing Ravn to the kickboxing god. That doesn't sound terrifying at all-- better you than me."

Ariadne nods, chin still in her palm, briefly sober. How disappointing, to hear what humanity does to one another. Still, she glances over at Una and just plain laughs.

"Ravn is apparently a more willing sacrifice. Bonus points to me and maybe a god-like perk or two. You never know." Little designs are drawn on the air idly by her uplifted all-weather boot-toe as she glances between her friends again. "But also, more cookies is never a bad thing. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing, but if you're patient, you make the cookies last longer, so I don't see what's wrong with all the cookies and taking one's time eating through the plate."

A little giggle. "Also, I will fight the fairies for good chocolate-chip cookies. If a pixie ever comes for one of mine, it's time to throw down." Ariadne has clearly not ever dealt with anything emerging from the ring in the grassy backyard.

"The pixies are starting to look paranoid in the back yard," Ravn observes with some dryness. "Thanks to my damned cat."

He rests his hand on his chin. "Serious question time. No, seriously. Do I have some kind of stamp on my forehead that invites ribbing? I mean, I don't particularly mind but I do wonder sometimes. Even the damn cat does it."

"Chocolate chip and snickerdoodle for Ariadne," says Una, sounding as if she's making mental notes for future reference-- and if so? Lucky Ariadne.

"I'd be paranoid if I were a pixie too. Your cat is... not their best friend." That's an easy one, but Ravn's more serious question draws a lengthier pause. "It might just be your face. I don't know. Something just asks for it. And... I'd say sorry, and I'd mean it, but I'm pretty sure it won't stop me. So... sorry?"

"It's like you know me," singsongs the barista in Una's direction with a small laugh. Aw yes. Cookies.

It is tempting, on the scale of anything in the Cave of Wonders except the magic lamp, for Ariadne to reply to this serious question with ribbing. Still, she exercises her Inner Adult (good job, chocolate for her when she gets back to the motel room) and looks pensive despite the potential for more ribbing.

"I mean, Una's got a point, but you're also just a nice guy. Nice guys tend to get ribbed because they're nice. They've somehow expressed that they're even-keeled and good-natured, able to take a joke and roll with it. You ever want it to stop, you simply say something though," the redhead notes with brows lifted, eyes on Ravn. "Only assholes are going to continue after you've asked them to stop. We also can't read your mind though, so...yeah, literally speak up if it's ever an issue."

Ravn laughs softly. "And just like that, I got you both to feel slightly guilty and very much inclined to make up for it with coffee and cookies respectively. Tell me, ladies, did I ever mention that I used to be a bit of a grifter? I guess I should have."

He smiles, good-natured. "The only one that has no effect on whatsoever is in fact the damned cat. She makes my life miserable because she can. Because it is the duty of human to be the servant of cat. Because mankind once wronged her, someone needs to make a hell of a lot of amends. And by chance and luck and handing her a tuna sandwich at the decisive moment, I get to be it. She's no fae -- but she might as well have been as far as contracts go. I am forever doomed, or at least as long as a cat's natural life span."

Una's mouth opens-- betrayed! Mostly, though, she laughs. "We played right into your hands, didn't we? Fucker. As if I hadn't already made it clear that my cookies were your... no, that didn't work, that sounds sleezy. That I would share cookies."

She draws up her legs, shifting her position so as to sit cross-legged upon the plastic chair. "She's a cat, that almost goes without saying, I think?"

Slowly, so slowly, Ariadne smiles in Ravn's direction. With her chin still rested on her palm, it's decidedly just the tiniest bit malevolent of an expression.

"Tsk, buddy. Don't reveal the grift until after you get your pity coffee. Empathy shot wasted," the barista then laughs. "Besides, Una's right. That's definitely a cat for you. Samwise doesn't think I'm his butler. I'm his best friend with thumbs who takes him for runs and lets him chase things he's allowed to chase. It's hard life for that hound." Theatrical, the manner in which Ariadne places a palm to her décolletage. "Poor baby, I know." She slips back into normal, non-baby talk speech. "He needs a warmer sweater anyways, this weather is ridiculous. Cold fronts don't usually hang around like this." The sparsely-falling snowflakes get a glower through the front window of the laundromat.

"I guess I'll have to flutter my eyelashes harder." Ravn crosses one leg over the another and chuckles. "It's a little more than just cat for Kitty Pryde, though -- I just didn't realise it at the time. She blames mankind for a lot of things. And she thinks it's only fair somebody gets to pay it back to her a bit. I suppose I should protest but I do enjoy her company, bossy little jerk that she is."

He glances the dryer. Rumble, rumble. "So, are we serious about a garden party? I mean, I imagine we're not serious about the whole band thing but we could have some kind of -- get-together. Bring your own beer, don't piss of the fairies, dress for summer. It could be fun in a way. Or maybe it's just silly but then, I'm not actually all that used to arranging parties or other social things. I'm far more used to coming up with reasons to avoid the hell out of social gatherings, coming to think of it."

"Bring him for walks in our yards," proposes Una. "It's positively balmy there, even if the calendar hasn't caught up to the seasons anywhere else." Nevermind that parts of Oak have definitely overshot 'spring' straight into 'summer'.

"I expect Kitty Pryde has good reason to blame mankind, even if it isn't your fault, specifically. Your fault, for feeding her a sandwich and being nice. I really am serious about the garden party, anyway. There's lots of Oak residents I've not properly met yet, let alone beyond that, and... well, after all the effort that's gone into it, why not? I'll probably run away inside before it's done, because ugh, too many people, but... I'd kind of like to, anyway."

"Yeah, you flutter those lashes," the barista smirks. She makes no threat to dose the Dane's coffee or renege on providing it entirely. For now, the Coffee Over-Lady still holds her title.

She does, however, glance curiously between Una and Ravn. "Garden party what? I must have missed something." Listening to the general discussion at hand, Ariadne nods to herself. "It doesn't sound like a half-baked idea to me. I get people'd out after a while too, but if you've got the space and a pocket of nice weather as well as lawn manicuring? Why not? Just...one more time though. I get walking Samwise in the yards -- thank you," she notes to her fellow redhead for the offer, " -- but are you telling me that you've got the ambient temperature of summer there as well? Not just the grass and stuff?"

"It's a little difficult to tell. Air from around the place feels colder. Air from inside feels hotter. I think I would bring a sweater just to be on the safe side. But it does seem like the thing we might as well -- embrace. It's going to be a thing now, isn't it? Numbers three and five have faeries and weird weather. And a year from now we're all just -- whatever, it's just how it is. Used to it. The locals who don't see things? Eh, that jackass Abildgaard probably had some kind of heating system installed because his asthmatic ass can't take proper PNW winter."

Ravn chuckles. "Don't tell them we have the same damn climate. Let's just run with it. I can't breaaaathe in your cold, wet winters. Yes. Scandinavia, region of eternal summer."

Una stretches, and says, "I mean, the key point is that there's no snow, and more sun, and the combination is a vast improvement over the rest of the state. I agree on the embracing. It's a feature, just as long as we remember to keep appeasing the fae. Della's gone with microclimates and grandmothers with deep pockets and high-minded ideas of gardens. One way or another, people who can't see it will explain it away, and the rest of us will get..." Two very impressive looking gardens, truly the best of Oak Avenue.

"I always knew Scandinavia was hiding something from us. You've been keeping those summers from us, haven't you? Pretending cold weather to keep us away."

Ariadne nods thoughtfully. "Hey, I'm good for weird pocket-summer parties then. I'll bring a sweater just in case, because of this awful cold and wet winter and maybe your underground heating system is going to fail because water in wiring and whatever excuse folks want to make up for it." Her washer dings and the barista gets up with a quiet grunt to go change things over to a dryer.

"Though, I do have a question." Uh oh. Over her shoulder, now holding a load of damp laundry, she asks oh-so-impishly, "In regards to keeping summer all to yourselves over in Scandinavia, do you ever tell other people to just...let it go?"

Check: Frozen reference for the week. It's snowing outside. It merited mention. Ariadne titters to herself as she moves this armful of clothing into a dryer and returns for more.

Ravn groans. "That's... Norway. Arendell is supposed to be Norway. Look at the yellow horse. It's a Norwegian fjord horse. Lord, I can't believe I even know what the fictitious country is called. No, the Little Mermaid is not named Ariel. She was in fact not named in the original narrative, and before H. C. Andersen wrote that, she was a harbour seal. Please, Una. Help me kill her, we can hide her body in the implausibly warm faerie circle."

Well, it'd be a sacrifice of a sorts. He's probably not serious.

Una's washer? Still going. Ugh-- the kinds of washes you use for the once-yearly down quilt clean take forever. On the plus side, it leaves her cheerfully able to keep talking... and laughing.

"I don't believe she specified Denmark," the redhead points out, innocently. "And Norway still counts as Scandinavia, surely? I'm not unwilling to engage in gingicide, but I want to make sure we've got the facts clear first.

"I specified whatever the hell countries Disney decided they were going to emulate and I'm just calling it like it is, Ravn. Cold, Scandinavia, reindeer, sleds." Ariadne's head pops up into view from rooting around the inside of the washer for a lost sock. "You don't want to build a snowman?"

Merciless, this one.

Her voice echoes a little as she returns to looking for lost clothing. "Also, if you decide to bury me in the circle, I might come back as some super-charged fairy-powered ghost, so at least bury me with chocolate chip cookies so my newfound magical Overlords of Death are at least appeased enough to not send me after you for a task of perpetual torment -- oh, there you are, little fucker." Sock, found. It gets tossed into the dryer and after a sheet and some more quarters, bam. Drying ensues.

"Don't make me throw my plant portrait at you." Ravn glances at the begonia. It doesn't rustle a leaf. "We don't have reindeer in Denmark. We don't have mountains, or glaciers, or a whole lot of sleds, either. Our climate really is the same as here, except that since we don't have glacial melt, your water is colder than ours."

Side glance to Una. "What would it take, to get you to engage in gingicide? I can tell I need some leverage here. She controls my coffee, and she can probably lick my arse, too. Help a bloke out?"

Primly: "I'll think about it." Surely, in this scenario, it would be in Una's best interests to make sure Ariadne is buried with all the cookies in the world, but to admit as much... that would be losing.

In any case, the primness doesn't-- can't-- last for long, because there's Ravn, and his question, and it takes all she's got to control the laughter that threatens to bubble up within her. "I have no doubt that she can lick your arse," she says, half-serious, with a little wobble on 'arse' because that's a weird word when you're American. "Or kick it. Or kiss it. But I don't know. What can you possibly offer?" Her eyes gleam with amusement.

Ariadne was going to quip about reindeer in the voice of Sven the reindeer. She was going to quip about the unfairness of gingicide, excuse you, she is a rare commodity genetically-speaking, pfft, don't be jealous.

What she does do is momentarily sound like she's half-swallowed a frog because not laughing is suddenly the most impossible thing on the planet. The barista still goes red through her ears and cheeks with a vengeance. Hands go to her cheeks for a moment as if she might hide this while she looks over at Una --

-- and really, Una nearly breaks her. Another choked burble-laugh, sounding not too unlike, "Uh-huh-huh-HAH" before she clears her throat. High in the back of it, another titter. "Re-hee-lly now," she then manages, feeling cackling squiggling around in her chest like stifled fireworks. "I, um, can -- look, discussing murder in front of your poor, unfortunate target is terrible crime-crafting. And it's -- " Titter. "Look, yes, I can kick your arse -- arse, man, what a word, it has this, like...ring to it. You can't say it without meaning it."

Titter.

Ravn looks from one woman to the other. He realises that he's said something hilarious that he did not intend to be hilarious. He's not a native speaker. Sure, he's been in the States long enough that this doesn't happen often but he knows the expression well enough. It's the expression that happens when a guy walks into a taberna in Barcelona and asks for dos cuervos, only in the English version. It's when you think you're saying something and what you actually say is hilarious. And what's worse, you didn't just make a mistake, you made a funny mistake.

And you don't get the joke.

He quirks an eyebrow and throws up his gloved hands. "Whatever I said that was so funny, share it with me?"

Ariadne's reaction is not helping Una's, and though the younger and shorter of the two redheads had more or less managed to keep it together, she's clearly struggling now, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

She pauses. She takes a breath. She manages, just barely, not to laugh. "I think 'lick' might be maybe an old-fashioned word for beating someone up, so I guess in theory... but in context, in modern english, it just sounds like you think Ariadne can, wants to... lick your butt, but in fancy english, and that's just wrong. I mean, unless that's a thing between you two, which is fine."

If they want to have butt-licking sexcapades, really, who is she to judge?

"And Ariadne's right: 'arse' is hilarious. What's wrong with English people?"

"Yes, it's the context." Ariadne clears her throat and nods, grasping at every last straw of her composure. She can empathize with not understanding a language and making one of those mistakes. "I think...I heard my dad's grandpa say something like...to get some licks in? He's from the Midwest here. It means to exchange punches, yeah, like, 'I was in a street fight last week and got some licks in'. I've also heard to 'take a lick', which means to take a hit."

She's still half-disappeared behind a hand, trying helplessly not to smile while that blush lingers. "It's just context, Ravn, it's fine. Unexpected, I admit, but fine. I'm not bothered or anything. Imagine me, attempting to learn French in high school, and saying, je suis excitee. You can imagine how the class reacted." Droll nod. There's excited and there's excited, oh, baby, yes, more, give it to me.

"Oh, I can think of quite a few things that are wrong with English people," Ravn huffs and for a moment he truly manages to sound like somebody who should be wearing a monocle, or at least something better than a worn black t-shirt. "Standards have surely been declining since they were allowed home government, and really, that's a long time in which their decline has gone unchecked. Canute the Great would be so embarrassed on their behalf, if he wasn't about eight hundred years dead. And really, dear, dearest, I've had my arse kissed by better."

Then he can't keep that snooty appearance up any longer either; a lopsided, sheepish grin spreads on his face and he actually dusts a little pink on those sharp cheekbones. "And now I feel like tossing myself into a dryer and hitting hot air spin cycle, gee, thanks, me."

The dust becomes a blush at Ariadne's admission. He can imagine it. Oh God, he can imagine it. Introvert, shy, and already always considered the odd, weird, rich kid by his classmates, a mistake like that would probably have made him quit school altogether, maybe run off to become a used shoes salesman in Bulgaria.

Look. Now Una's expression has turned ever so slightly guilty (again), though she still can't seem to help herself, and has to lift a hand to her mouth to cover, or at least partially cover, her twitching smile. "Languages are hard," she declares, firmly. "And since I barely speak the one, I'm in no position to judge anyone. If you decide you need to commit gingercide against both of us, Ravn, well... I won't take it sitting down, but I'll understand."

Ravn is the one to break the barista's composure. He goes haughty and rails about declines unchecked and when he hits the dearest, my arse has been kissed by better, they lose Ariadne entirely. She whoops with laughter and no doubt draws some stares from anyone else in the laundromat. Hopefully, it's just the three of them. From the gut, bubbling, rounded cackling leaves her until she has to lean against her dryer and wipe at the corner of her eye.

"Oh...fuck me," she wheezes, then cackling for another second or two. "You're too big to fit into one of the -- "

Nope, she's gone, lost her again. Check please, her composure has left the building.

"Really." Ravn manages to stay haughty. "One of you doesn't know how she prefers to take it and the other is asking me to fuck her. What is this country."

Then he can't either, any longer. He shakes his head and laughs quietly. "I blame Rosencrantz for this. He's the one who told me to say the dirty jokes out loud instead of just laughing in my mind. Bad influence, that man." His voice is fond, though -- sometimes, a bad influence is exactly what an introvert, quiet guy needs.

Una ought to join the others in laughing, but apparently all her efforts to keep her face impassive have paid off, and with lifted chin she merely stares at Ravn. "I don't know what you're talking about," she declares, tone lifting up at the end as if to add a note of utter incredulity.

Maybe there's another twitch of her mouth at the corners, but she otherwise maintains her composure, merely smiling-- utterly serene-- at her two companions.

"Somehow," she says, "it doesn't surprise me at all that he's the one who encouraged that in you.... Oh, my laundry!" The washer is finally done!

"Look -- " More laughter where Ariadne leans against her still-rumbling dryer. Another swipe under her eye and then the other eye. "Look, I like this Rosencrantz guy. He sounds like good people. Salt of the earth. Very earthy." And there she goes laughing again. "Shit, my ribs, my stomach, ow!"

Her boot skids out and she has to catch herself on the dryer. It's enough to jolt her out of her hyena-streak and she sighs hard, ahem-hem-heming a few times as the hilarity peters out. "Oh god," she breathes on her way back over. Reclaiming her chair, she seems quite content now, having laughed her proverbial ass off and is riding the endorphin high. "Cleary, I can't be hoity-toity to save my life." A grin for Ravn and Una both.

"Don't be sad about that," Ravn says, voice still rich with amusement. "I can't stand people who sound like that. In fact, no one can -- not even themselves. As for Rosencrantz? You'll meet him -- he's the town mechanic slash violinist at the piano lounge slash bloke everyone knows and half the town has a crush on. He's good people but he is definitely not going to sugar coat his opinions. Maybe that's why we get along so well. He didn't lure me out of my shell, he sort of twisted my elbow and dragged me by the scruff of the neck."

From the man's expression, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He probably complained a fair bit at the time, though.

Una's legs uncurl and she unfolds herself from her chair so that she can transfer her washing (finally!) from machine to machine. Ariadne gets a grin in return as she goes, but, "Does anyone ever ask where Guildenstern is?" she wonders over her shoulder. "And call you Hamlet, prince of Denmark?"

Without waiting for a reply, she adds, "He seems cool. Very... well, unashamed, I guess? He is who he is, take it or leave it."

"See? I like you, Una. You're relentless, just like me, except more quiet about it, so people are more surprised when you reference things like that," Ariadne says to her fellow redhead with a grin only deepening towards Ravn in turn. Ribbing. You are getting it, sir.

"Also, since when is there a piano lounge? I play the piano." It seems to be a statement rather than a brag, more than likely insinuating moderate skill in the art of it.

"Rosencrantz, with a C. Rosenkrantz, with a K is not a made-up name, you realise? It's one of the most prominent Danish noble lineages." Ravn chuckles. "So were the Guildensterns, illegimate offspring of one of the more famous kings, but to the best of my knowledge there are no living descendants today -- at least none that hold titles. Shakespeare picked a couple of big contemporary names when he wrote the play, to make it sound more authentic. As it happens, our Minister of Education is a Rosenkrantz. With a K. The Rosencrantzes with a C, apparently, are a Jewish family in New York, Lower East Side -- and if you think I've ribbed Itzhak about it many times, you're absolutely right."

Whether the folklorist himself is Hamlet? Maybe it's better to leave that one untouched. He does have a penchant for brooding and wearing black. He's fond of Itzhak at least: "Rosencrantz is unashamed and brazen, and I like it. A man should go through life with his head up. He does."

He glances at Ariadne at her question. "Sitka, at the Casino. It's a piano lounge attached to the restaurant out there, quite high end. You'll need one of those little black dresses to go with your piano if you hope to perform out there. But you should talk to Rosencrantz if you do -- he plays jazz out there during the tourist season. And very well, at that."

The smile Una aims at Ariadne is positively winning, though she raises her eyebrows as if to say 'who, me?' all at the same time. No, it's not a combination that really sells innocence.

"In English, I think we stick to the 'c' in Shakespeare, so it's all the same to me... but I'll bow to your superior Danish knowledge, of course," she says, with a low laugh. "It does not surprise me at all that Shakespeare pilfered whatever was going. Steal from the people around you, make up the rest and pass it off as real and then everyone accepts it. Clever, really."

She has no comment on Sitka, aside from an approving nod: this sounds like a fine place. On the other hand? "Only a man, Ravn? Should we women go through life with our heads down?"

"Well, hey, the more I learn," comments the barista. "Bummer that the Guildenstern line disappeared. That'd be cool as hell to lay claim to." There's no way Ariadne could accomplish this, but the idea does seem to appeal nonetheless. "And this means I need to get a little black dress because I'm sure I could moonlight at the Sitka easily enough come tourist season. I'll have to speak with Rosencrantz though, I don't want to step on his toes if he's the established musician there."

She glances over at Ravn now with one brow lifted and awaits the answer to Una's question.

"I don't feel I am quite in a position to tell a woman how to live her life," Ravn cedes with a small laugh. "Since when do women need to solicit my approval on those matters? Hell, most men don't need to solicit my approval. But I do like to see a person keep their head up and take whatever life throws at them. Whatever does not kill you, may not make you stronger but it should not break your back, either."

He cants his head and thinks. "I actually don't know if he is the established musician there. I imagine there are other bands and performers, the man isn't out there every night in summer, and a piano lounge does kind of need somebody to be doing something musical to warrant the name. He's just the only one I've gone out to see because I bloody well hate having to dress the part."

Ava has returned to Suds'n'Duds after dealing with the first stages of the body care, looking no worse for the ware. Irritated, but fine. There is, of course, coffee in hand. This has helped with her mood. Nobody ever wants to leave clothes in the dryer. But at least friends were there to make sure nobody messed with her things.

There's a shiver as she fights the cold of the outside. "Ugh. That was obnoxious. I mean, it's my job. But still. I just wanted to do laundry." She stomps her boots at the doormat and filters her way inside to see who still remains. Everyone gets a smile. "You would look gorgeous in a little black dress. But here me out when I say, deep purple instead. With you hair and complexion? It'd be stunning. I have no idea what we're talking about, but I heard talk of clothes. So."

Una's sharp nod seems to agree: it would be cool. An appropriate thing to do, at this moment, would be to quote the ill-fated pair, but either the thought doesn't occur to her, or she's not that well versed in Shakespeare (quite possibly the latter, let's be honest). "Oh, women don't," she agrees. "Need to solicit your approval, that is. But I think it's very fair to say we all need to keep our heads up-- Ava!"

Behind her, the machine chugs away. "Welcome back. Your laundry's still here. And you're right; purple would work really well on you, Ariadne. I'll force Ravn into something appropriate and we'll come and watch you perform, if you do it."

Drawn from the conversation by the sound of the door opening, Ariadne recognizes Ava's face again. Lifting a hand, she twiddles a wave in the direction of the coroner.

"Deep purple it is then," she agrees with the perceptive comment, nodding to boot. "A little deep-purple dress and a piano and voila: my part-time gig, literally. I was thinking of seeing about playing the piano at the Sitka during tourist season around here. I guess it's lucrative? Nothing exciting has happened since you got called in. Not even the sudden appearance of the Koolaid Man through the wall or something. Which, look, let's be honest, if that were going to happen around here, it would happen here."

Two fingers point at the laundromat's floor.

"Oh yeah," the barista then intones in the deepest manner possible before clearing her throat. "Anyways." Conversation continues on as the wintry weather blows outside. Nothing like the sultry sounds of someone's loose change bouncing around the dryer to add side commentary.