2022-03-06 - A Great Night For Drinks

Merrick comes into the bar with a quick motion his eyes are exposed due to broken sunglasses in his right fist, his deep blue eyes moving over the area. He throws them down into a trash bin, as he walks over to the bar to slump down into it. His right eye is blackened, his lip is busted, with a trickle of dried blood. His fingers moving along his nose it is bent at the right angle, as he shakes his head."That hurt." His voice is filled with rage, as he plops down into a chair. His right hand is bruised on the knuckles, rubbing along his face checking it for damages, his task is focused for now on making sure he is not dying.

The rest of the bar packed, filled with mirth that only makes Merrick growl towards them but not verbally. It's all in the eyes, as he orders a Moscow Mule. The copper cup, as he watches it with a wicked moan of pain. As he leans down slumping against the bartop. He is in one hell of a bad mood. His hand is picking up that copper mug now, as he sips it slowly that swollen lip is pushed against the cup. But the alcohol, dulling the pain inside. The music is country western, another thing he hates from the jukebox, everything is coming up boo Merrick.

A night off! The phone is actually on silent for once. That means getting to go out and enjoy a night on the town with friends. "I can't tell you how long it's been since I've actually down something like this." Ava expresses as they walk towards the bar. There's a little grimace at the place chosen. Clearly she would have chosen a different place. "I haven't had a night out with friends in... years maybe," she asides to Una. So really, she'll go to any bar that's picked, clearly.

Once they're inside, she shakes off the cold and slips out of her coat, setting it aside to reveal an outfit not entirely suited for the venue, but who was really expecting her to? "What are you guys going to be drinking? How are their daiquiris here?"

The side-long glance Una aims at Ava is amused, and maybe a little... what, sympathetic? "Next time, we'll go to the piano bar at Sitka," she suggests. "If you want cocktails. Tonight... this is the more 'real' Gray Harbor experience. It's... kind of more of a beer place, if I'm honest. But you'll enjoy it, I swear."

The redhead is wearing a somewhat lurid tartan shirt over her dark jeans, and a coat that she shucks the moment they've passed through the doors. "I'll get the first round? What does everyone want?"

"Dark beer for me, please," Ariadne volunteers as she shrugs out of her peacoat. Beneath this, she's sporting a scoop-neck, long-sleeved sweater-dress in light-plum with a broad brown-and-braided belt about her waist. Black leggings and a pair of functional black boots finish out the ensemble. Yes, the boots are not fashionable or in theme with what she wears. She doesn't care. With her hair pulled up into a messy bun, she's here to enjoy chatter and probably a Guinness unless they have Iron Horse's Irish Death on tap.

Please let it be on tap... She scans the back wall before grinning. "Aw, yes... Irish Death for me," the barista singsongs. A glance at the others. "Anybody who's into dark beer, try the Irish Death. You won't be sorry." Her eyes slide towards the entrance and she smirks. "Except Ravn, he's got terrible taste in everything, including beer!" Her raised voice easily carries towards the area just within the front door. Noting Merrick down the way along the bar, she upnods greeting in his direction should he glance her way.

Merrick nods towards Ariadne as he looks at Ava and Una. As his left hand is lifted in greeting, as he shoves himself to his feet as he slides towards them in a shuffle. Slowly coming with each step, a grunt of pain as he reaches them that is silenced with his mug of alcohol. With a long sip of it."Hiya." His voice is coming out softly with lots of effort, as he finds a stool to sink into next to the others."Got...a job...ain't a job got mugged it sucked. No idea who, I'll be fine. Not the first and most likely not the last."

"That's why Ravn is ordering his usual," is the response from the tall copper blond who is only now striding in through the dive bar's door like a regular (probably because he is a regular). He makes his way at least half-ways towards the group before a couple of older men in lumberjack shirts and denim jackets wave at him for his attention. Whatever that little discussion is about? Heaven only knows.

"Lobsters," someone says, knowingly. Someone else sighs.

Ravn manages to answer whatever question that was, and proceeds up to the bar where he clambers onto a bar stool and tells the bartender, "Really, Davis. Just the usual."

The usual appears to be a bottle of twelve year Glenfiddich, double, with ice. It's kept under the counter -- probably because no one else is insane enough to pay the kind of price a place like the Pourhouse charges for that kind of import Scottish whiskey.

"Oh yes, I love the piano bar!" Ava states with a fond smile. Clearly when she goes out to drink, which is very very rarely, that's her place of choice. Here? No so much. "But it's not about the place, it's about the people. I'm going to have fun no matter where we are." She smiles fondly.

That lobster comment gets an odd look from the doctor before she turns back to the bar. "Just an Amaretto Sour please."

Spotting Merrick, she raises a hand, then frowns at the sight of him. "If you'd like, when we're away from prying eyes, I can give you a little patch job?" she offers softly.

Una's brow knits as she considers Merrick, the frown wavering slightly when Ava makes her offer, at which point she gives a sharp nod: at least something can be done about it.

Still, that seriousness is hard to maintain, because she is in a bar, with friends, and it is Saturday night, and all these things make-- well, make for a distraction. "We'll get two of the Irish Death, then," she concludes for Davis, with a gesture to suggest that these are a single order along with the slightly-less-appropriate-to-the-venue choices of Ravn and Ava (though really, a drink is a drink, and who cares).

"Ravn does have terrible taste in beer," she confirms. "But decent taste in whiskey, or so I'm made to believe. Shall we find a table? A booth? Maybe some darts for the dart board?"

"Pint of Irish Death, please," the barista inputs as her drink order and then gives her Dream-Zorro-wife a grin. "You're a doll, Una, thanks for covering the first round." She too catches mention of 'lobsters' and can't help the soft titter. Memory of the pond and the bridge, along with the explanation to follow involving the 'ghost lobsters', flits in and out of her consciousness.

Out comes the Glenfiddich. The bottle gets a good eyeing from Ariadne, but in the end, she shrugs agreement with Una. It's one of the finer whiskey brands, that's for sure. The barista then turns her attention to Merrick. Noticing his current state, she winces. "Good lord, dude. Mugged? Please, go to the police and tell them about this, that's a punishable crime. Don't let anybody get away with that ever." A glance at Ava and then a nod of agreement. "Yeah, see if Ava can help you, if you're not going to pop into the hospital," she encourages without too much emphasis. It's not for her to stick her nose into the poor guy's business anyways.

However, darts? "Yes, a booth and some darts. I haven't played darts since...wow, college, now that I think about it. I used to be not half-bad at beer pong as it stands. We'll see if my dart game gets better after a pint," she laughs, taking her frosted glass of dark beer when it arrives and traveling with the group should they choose to transplant.

Merrick nods towards Ava."Sure, I would like that and shit." His eyes moving to the others for a second studying Ariadne."Nah, I'm good and I ain't a snitch." His hand brings that mug to his lips as he sips it quickly, with a little chuckle. "But, yeah I all they got was 20 bucks. Didn't have anything on me, that could get swiped easy." He is nodding his head, as he lies down on the bar with a pained sigh."But, where ya wanna go for this Ava?"

At the mention of darts, his eyes light up."Yeah, I wanna play Darts. I love darts, I suck but it's fun as hell!" His voice is excited, as he leaps to his feet now. Doing a little jig, and than he remembers the ribs as he grunts out a pained sigh."Damn that hurt."

"So I prefer beer that I don't need to consume with a knife and fork," Ravn rumbles with good nature. The ice cubes in his glass of tawny import whiskey clink cheerfully as he looks around. "Nobody's perfect. Besides, this is the country that invented Budweiser Ice, so don't get yourself on a high horse there. That stuff is musk rat piss served cold."

He half-turns on the tall chair. "I don't think I've played darts since I got tossed from the high school team even if no one could prove how I cheated."

Cheekiness and high-end whiskey, but also a glance out the window at the street outside. Merrick came in with a split lip and this is that bar -- although if the folklorist has to wager a guess based on his own experience, you're more likely to get mugged by gremlins than by lumber mill workers looking to pick a fight. He still winces in sympathy. He'd have handed over those twenty bucks too. Some fights just aren't worth it.

"Reporting the fact that you were mugged isn't being a snitch. It's protecting the ass of the next person who might not be as lucky as you," Ava says, reaching out to poke Merrick right in the pained ribs. "That sort of attitude is what causes some poor seventeen year old kid walking home late from a date to end up on my slab with me having to prepare his body for his funeral." Ooooh, she sounds big mad. "The safety of this town is not something to be so lackadaisical about, do you hear me?" Doctor voice. "Get up and go over to that corner over there, we're going to go this now because you're in a lot of pain."

Not once has her tone softened. Nor her expression.

She glances towards the others. "Would one of you grab my drink, please? I'll be back in a sec."

"That doesn't sound like snitching to me," begins Una, but Ava gets to her first, and does it significantly better-- well enough that Una herself looks just a little nervous, because yikes.

"Okay," she begins, glancing back at the others. "I'm not going to argue on the Bud, because that stuff is not worthy of the name 'beer', but there is nothing wrong with getting a meal in a pint glass, and you can fight me on that. I also kind of love that you cheated at darts, Ravn."

She gestures towards the nearest empty booth, picking up both her drink and the significantly fancier one Ava ordered. "I also have no shame about cheating, because that is literally the only way I am going to get a dart on that board, and I'll prove it to you."

"Ravn. We pretend that Budweiser Ice doesn't exist, please," Ariadne retorts good-naturedly before sipping at her dark beer. Mmm. Deliciousness and a one-glass ticket to nearly totally buzzed? Excellent. "And Una's right. Meal in a glass, done. Also, if we really want to argue fine points, lots of soluble fiber. Good for the gut."

There's zero argument from her in regards to the decision about healing. Ava's said it best and the barista recognizes no need to chime in further. "I've got your drink, Ava, you do you," she confirms for the doctor and reaches to take the Amaretto Sour as it arrives. Thus, it travels to the chosen booth where Ariadne sets down both drinks and sliiiides to the best of her sweater-dress's ability into the booth proper. Not a lot of slide, but hey, 'A for effort' and all that. It means fixing the lay of the garment, but once she does, she sighs happily. "Okay. Who's ass am I kicking at darts?" she asks the general gathering with a challenging grin.

Merrick watches Ava with a look as he sighs softly."Fine. After this, I'll do it." He does not sound pleased, as he looks over at Una with a nod."Fine fine. I won't fight ya'll." With that he is moving to the table he was told to sink down into it, waiting for Ava. His hand is holding his mug the other, rubbing the spot that Ava poked with a pained look on his face. His eyes closing now, as he lets out a pained breath, as he starts to pick up his phone. About to call it in, then he is debating back and forth his eyes between Ava Una and then the phone. As he notices Ravn now, he waves towards the man with a smile, that makes his lip look even larger with the bruising.

Whatever happened to Saturday night? Itzhak rolls in, wearing a black woolen peacoat and snug, soft jeans beaten white with age. Rather snug, really. He pulls his knit cap off and complains to the entire bar, "It's so cold so late in the damn year here!" Stupid Pacific Northwest!

"If I were to join that game I would cheat your arses off, so I better not." Ravn chuckles and slides off his bar stool to follow the general current back towards the booth.

As he walks through the room it is not difficult to tell that he must be a regular here, indeed: A nod from a lumber mill worker there, an upnod from a mechanic there, and a 'yo' in passing from a truck driver. These types are the salt of the earth -- and somehow, the black-clad folklorist has edged his way in to be one of the boys there in spite of probably never even having set foot in the lumber mill (or at least not in the one that's actually running, no promises about the old, haunted one).

He pauses at the sound of a gravelly voice behind him and turns around. "Rosencrantz -- who let you out of your cage, buddy?"

"Good. I'll wait to heal you, then. They need to see the proof of what was done so that they take it seriously. But I'll heal you up afterwards, okay? Tomorrow morning come by my clinic and I will help you out with the pain and make sure nothing is broken. You really should have gone to the hospital right after." Ava's tone has softened a bit now that he says he'll call in what happened. "For now, have some tylenol and I wouldn't suggest drinking, but you're already ignoring that, so, I'll look the other way." There's finally a grin from the good doctor. "Come on."

Ava turns and moves to follow after the group. She pauses when she spots Itzhak, smile growing wider. "Ah, my future Elf King." Just got to get him in the ears. "Nice to see you again."

She moves to take her drink with a look of thanks towards Ariadne. "I suck at darts, so if anyone wants an easy win, I'm your gal!"

"Positively a cure-all," Una confirms, of the beer. "Meal, healing potion, and deliciously drunk-making. What's not to like?"

She slides into the booth opposite Ariadne, and gestures, ultimately, towards Ava. "I'll let you two go first. I'll take on the winner, but, like Ravn, I can't promise I won't cheat." She gives a wiggle of her fingers, then admits, "though that takes half the fun out of it, doesn't it? We'll see. Maybe I'll cheat so well you'll never know."

A lift of one hand, and the waggle of some fingers, greets Itzhak, but the other hand is lifting the beer to her mouth so that she can drink, so her greeting will have to remain non-verbal.

"Okay, Ravn has wisely deferred in the face of my mad dart skills. Anybody else just want to give up before we get started?" Ariadne asks, then dimpling. She knows she's full of shit-talk and good company only encourages the friendly razzing. Ava's look is returned with a silent nod of you're welcome and the barista shrugs. "Alright, Ava's game. And Merrick."

Don't think she missed out on the sudden appearance of Itzhak. Ah-hah: so this is the owner of the name 'Rosencrantz' -- and a...future Elf King. Knowing she's missed something and amused nonetheless, she gives the newcomer a friendly smile. "Rosencrantz. Hey, your reputation precedes you. I've heard a few things here and there." Oh dear. "You here for drinks or darts or both or what? Oh, I'm Ariadne, barista at Espresso Yourself, evening shifter unless they want to suffer me in the mornings." She then takes a few gulps of her beer to bring down the level by a third. "Mmm. So good. Anybody found the darts yet? Or do we have to ask behind the bar for them?"

Merrick nods towards Ava."Fine I'll do that after this." His voice is cold, as he shakes his head as he finishes his mule."Damn it hurts, yeah I'll take the tylenol." His eyes moving to the others now, as he walks back over to join them. As he looks at Itzhak, his hand is pushing back his jacket to lie it over a stool that he climbs on."Merrick." His eyes moving to the others, as he exhales slowly trying to not hurt his injured ribs."I'll play darts."

"Ehhhh, it's no fun drinking alone," Itzhak grumbles, swaggering over to wherever Ravn has parked his narrow, black clad butt. He stuffs his cap in a pocket of the coat, and blinks as he's referred to as... Elf King? "Hey, youse oughta see me in the whole Labyrinth getup," he says, wearily amused as he slumps into a seat. His gaze is drawn to Merrick. "The hell happened to you?"

Ravn remains content to stand next to the booth -- probably because people are still getting in and out, and he is not actually that keen on getting trapped in a booth, personal space, something something. "As long as I don't have to play Prince Hamlet," he murmurs with a glance to several ladies present; oh yes, it's been suggested.

He glances at Itzhak. "New girl on Oak, plays the violin too. And Ariadne there, on piano. You may get some competition at Sitka. Or co-workers -- both are lookers, Taylor might have you all on stage at once just for the aesthetics."

Ava digs through her bag to take out a bottle, pulling out two pills for Merrick. "Here you go. A little stronger than the normal Tylenol, so it should help a bit more. Don't drink too much." She gives Una a look. "Oh sure, make me go up against her first. I don't even have the ability to cheat until I'm just setting the dart board on fire!" Ava laughs. "I'm going to lose so fast. But it'll be glorious." Itz's mention of a Labyrinth get up has her head slowly turning back in that direction, eyes sliding down, then back up. "Was-- that an offer? Or?"

She glances towards the other ladies. "I mean, we'll be here all night. I can't be the only one who wants to see that, can I?"

"Ooh, elf-king," approves Una, though her approval is somewhat vague and amorphous: she's in it more for the humour than anything else. "And codpiece. That's what it's called, right? Bowie's-- thing?"

(After the discussion the other day, she may have actually looked up this movie to watch. It's not her fault she was negative years old when it came out.)

"Right, fine. No Prince Hamlet for Ravn, and anyway, we don't have a Guildenstern. Maybe he's dead already."

By the lift of brows, Ariadne is definitely curious at this point. A Labyrinth reference, nonetheless, and this somehow tied into Hamlet. Distracted by this turn of conversation, she doesn't scoot out of the booth just yet, instead glancing between everyone conversing.

When addressed as a piano player and then clumped into the idea of aesthetics, she smiles, pleased. "Ravn's correct. I do play the piano and don't look half-bad in purple, or so it's been suggested. I might show up one night there for a gig, if this Taylor doesn't have an issue. Also, I can't say I disagree with Ava. Nobody just walks in and says something like that without having to prove it at one point. What's the saying...pics or it didn't happen?"

Una is then offered a high five. "Gurl. Only reason I really own the movie, let's be honest. Those pants."

Merrick nods as he orders water now as his hand is reaching for the pills holding them, till the water comes."Fine no more drinks, and I'll go in a bit before I lose my nerve." His eyes on AVa, as he nods slowly as he downs the pills washing it down."Thank ya, for the pills and looking me over tomorrow." His eyes move to the others, as he exhales a pained sigh. As he pushes off the bar, with a frown."FIne, going to do it now." As he looks at Itzhak."Got mugged, off to talk to the coppers, see ya." With that he is leaving with a frown.

Itzhak belatedly upnods to Ariadne. "Hey how's by ya. My reputation?" He turns a Look on Ravn, then everyone is very interested in Jareth pants. Oh no, mistakes were made. He orders a drink, then goes 'huh' at Merrick. "Mugged. Ya don't say." Thoughtful. In a way that bodes ill for someone.

"That's a play too, you know? Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, by Tom Stoppard. If you get the chance, watch it -- it's hilarious. He made a movie too, which is also hilarious." Because of course Ravn is a Hamlet aficionado, on top of his other academic pursuits -- was anyone actually in doubt?

He sips his whiskey, clinking the ice cubes. "I'm not sure Taylor's even in the country at the moment. He's English -- successful author, kind of famous back home, and all that jazz. But I can't quite imagine that whatever manager is running Sitka in his absence would reject good, local talent. When the tourist season begins that place is kind of the happening place for the yachters with a bit of money."

Look, what look? Ravn has made an art out of obliviousness; his shield is perfect.

"Purple is the shade for you," Ava agrees with the most sage of nods and a grin for Ariadne. She hasn't seen it yet, but she just knows it. Her drink is lifted to her lips to take a long sip from it. "Awww, I don't think we're going to get pics," she pouts, folding a leg over the other. "Or a demonstration. What's this world coming to these days?"

Una's twitching grin prefaces her return of Ariadne's high-five (nevermind that she knew of all of this only by context, like, yesterday-- shhh). "I mean... they are something," she agrees, where 'something' could mean any number of things. "I am disappointed by the lack of pictures."

If her gaze follows Merrick's departure for a moment, and her brows knit briefly in consideration, it's not enough to draw her away from the conversation at hand, or indeed her beer, which deserves a fair amount of her attention. "A play? I haven't heard of that. I'll check it out." Education-via-film is important.

"Hey, patience is rewarded. Maybe one day, someone will be bold enough to waltz around in Bowie pants like those around here. Ballsy enough." Ariadne chuckles once, then sipping her beer. She thinks she's funny. Merrick's departure earns him a little wave and briefly concerned look. Talking to the cops is the thing to do. "Good on you," she says to Ava in a partial-undertone, nodding towards the doctor. "That needed to get done. The police have a job around here for a reason." Not a fan of vigilante justice, this one, not without good reason.

She swings back to the discussion about Shakespearean works easily enough. "I need to see this movie then. I remember reading the book in high school and getting a kick out of it. Required reading, Lit class. Anything this Taylor's written that I should be aware of? It'd be nice to be able to schmooze a little, if I'm going to be in contact with him about a summer gig at Sitka." She takes a moment to scan the area near the dart boards. Nothing's been left out in plain view, so it bodes well that a game requires a chat with the staff at the bar. Probably wise: nobody wants stolen darts or excessively drunk people throwing them thinking they're William Tell.

"Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern is a parody of Hamlet. Or well, not properly a parody -- they're the two courtiers whose task in the real Shakespeare play is to be Hamlet's sounding boards, to give him speaking cues. Tom Stoppard wrote his play based on what goes on for them when they are not on stage. How they slowly realise that they don't mean anything at all. No relation to Itzhak Rosencrantz, obviously -- Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern are old Danish nobility. Hell, let's make it movie night sometime. I can bore you all to tears with the bits about Elsinore that the movie leaves out."

Because it's real, yanno. A bit north of Copenhagen, overlooking the belt between Denmark and Sweden and quite famous for exactly that reason; exacting tolls back in Shakespeare's time, on all travel to and from the Baltic.

He cants his head and then has to admit, "I know I should be able to tell you some of Taylor's titles. But he's a horror writer, and I almost never read that genre. I'm sorry. Don't tell him."

"See? Una's disappointed too!" Ava points out, chuckling. But it's quickly followed by a sigh of resignation. "That is a fair point. I'm willing to show a little bit of patience if it means the chance that someday someone will have the testicular fortitude to Jareth their way around in costume. Or I'd settle for pictures, I suppose." Ava lifts her glass in a cheers gesture before taking a long sip. She watches Merrick as he leaves, head bobbing in agreement with Ariadne's statement. She seems pleased that he made the right call. "I didn't have to jab him in the ribs like that. That was a little mean," she side notes. "But, I had to make a point. Too many people forget that their choices effect other people. Not just themselves."

A smile dimples Ava's cheeks as she gestures to Ravn with a single finger lifted away from the glass. "You are adorable when you get all nerdy and academic. It's sweet."

"I'm up for movie night," confirms Una, whose interest has certainly been piqued. "That sounds appropriately nihilistic." (She seems quietly delighted with herself for having pulled out the big word: see, being under-educated-by-traditional-means-doesn't-mean-stupid!)

Disappointed though she possibly is, the redhead allows that topic to die, and says, instead, "It was a point well made, I think. I hope he really is okay... and I'm glad that you're around to help out like this. Speaking of-- I think I do want to come and see you about maybe that job, Ava? If it isn't too weird, now that we're friends?" Her voice slides upwards at the end of each of those questions, a little uncomfortable, but also quietly earnest.

Nodding understanding of Taylor's genre, Ariadne decides a little Google hunt isn't going to hurt anyone. Better to know what she's getting into than flying by the seat of her pants, especially if a summer gig turns into something more regular. She briefly considers her hands -- would that even be possible? Tendons get sore just like everything else over-utilized in the body. Glancing up at the dwindled collection of fellow Grey Harborians, she smiles to herself.

"I'm down with movie night," she agrees good-naturedly. "I'll bring chips and guacamole. Well, guac if I can find any good avocados. They're a rare commodity around here, being this far north. Gotta have that just-right give to that skin when you test-squeeze them. I might stoop to a family-sized pre-made tub of it though if I'm really desperate."

"Avocados, eh? Can't say I'm a fan." Ravn sips his whiskey nonchalantly. "Did you know that the name means testicles, in Nahuatl? I had an uncle who would not stop reminding anyone. Maybe that's why I remember."

He's a bad Millennial, apparently. No avocado toast for him.

"I can get the movie, though. No idea if it's on Netflix or similar, but I do know it's in the media library of Copenhagen U. I can request a streaming if we don't find it elsewhere. On one condition though? Una bakes cookies. And if Rhiannon ends up joining, so does she. It's a bake-off trade kind of deal, ladies. Impress me."

Ava arches a slender brow. "If Una didn't buy this drink and it weren't so delicious, I would be dumping it on your head right now. Impress me. Nerd. I do love your cookie though, Una!" They are in agreement there, it seems. "I don't really bake, but I can make this candied popcorn that is to die for. If you guys would like? It's candy melt drizzle over kettle corn, basically. I promise it'll make your taste buds dance."

Una gets a warm smile and a bob of the head. "I think now that we're friends it's even better. The clinic is all set up now, so it's the perfect time. Merrick is coming by in the morning, so if you'd like to, you can as well? Sound good?

From Una, a mock-gasp: "I have competition in the cookie front? Who is this person, and how am I going to take. them. down?"

In other words: this is on, and Una is determined to be victorious. "No one beats me for cookies... except possibly, like, fancy professional bakers, who don't count in this context. Also, I want guacamole, testicles-or-no, and I definitely want popcorn. I think we've got ourselves a date."

Much more serious, and ever so faintly relieved, she gives a quick little nod to Ava: tomorrow morning, then. (Phew.)

Ariadne puts her chin on her hands and gives Ravn one of those theatrically-impressed looks. "Really," she exclaims drolly. "With that skin texture, you don't say. My god. It explains everything now. But hey, more testicle dip for me. I get dibs on Ravn's portion. Also, bake-off is yes from me. I'll go on a nice long bike ride before I show up so I've earned my calories. Remember snickerdoodles," she notes with a grin at Una. "The soft ones, not the hard ones. Blech. If I want hard cookies, ginger snaps is where it's at."

Ava gains her attention. "I don't think I've had candied popcorn and that sounds amazing. Geez, I've been living under a rock. I also vote yes to candied popcorn. What are we doing for drinks?"

"Candied popcorn sounds terrifying, I'll have to try it." Ravn laughs softly and sips his whiskey. Then he cants his head. "Since I'm definitely not a baker or a chef, I suppose I could try to put my very brief stint as a bartender to use and provide at least a small variety of cocktails. I've managed to put a decent Mojito together on occasion. I worked at Two If By Sea for a couple of months when I just came into town, though mostly I cleared tables and fought a war of attrition against the men's restroom."

"Haha! Candied popcorn it is. You guys will not be disappointed. It's going to be fantastic, I promise. I can't ever have normal kettle corn again, though. I always feel like something is missing now. Be forewarned."

Ava finishes off her glass and sets it aside. Ariadne's droll performance earns a small laugh. "You might catch me jogging behind you on your bike ride, be sure to say hello," she smirks. "It sounds like I'm going to need to up my mile count to make up for the night. Totally worth it, though. So long as we can avoid other people's deaths for the night, of course."

"Peanut butter cookies would be great too, Una!" she pleads with big eyes. "And daiquiris pleaaase, Ravn." So demanding.

More affront from Una, whose eyes narrow as she turns her attention on Ariadne. "You have another thing coming," she promises, with a sniff, "if you think I would ever serve anyone a hard snickerdoodle." She has to drawn this very idea with a long sip from her beer, because... no. No. Though it might be more effective if she didn't immediately break into a grin and add, "Peanut butter cookies as well. What are your favourites, Ravn? In exchange for mojitos. And daiquiris."

She is notably-- notably!-- silent on this topic of exercise.

"I'll be sure to say hi," the barista confirms with a grin at Ava. "My riding jacket is hot pink, you can't miss me -- and in theory, neither can motorists. Y'all. The off-chance of being hit by a car in Boulder was too real." A shake of her head; nobody ever looked right before yanking the wheel. Poor bicyclists. "I promise not to get hit by a car, cross my heart." Ariadne etches an X across her chest right above the organ, nodding with semi-funning solemnity. Una is given then a markedly theatrical innocent look. "Una. Be still, my heart. I'll adore you forever for those soft snickerdoodles. That I maligned your kind soul! My deepest apologies." Giggle. Mmm, dark beer.

"And ladies: our own bartender who waged a brave war against public restrooms. This sounds like a good night. Who's place is it at again?" she asks, uncertain if she'd missed this decision or not. She's only got a third of her glass of Irish Death remaining. The encroaching buzz is real.

Ravn cants his head as he is wont to do when thinking, and sips his whiskey. "I don't actually have much of a sweet tooth and when I do? I don't know the appropriate English names for cookies. But we have a cookie back home that's apparently a lot like a snickerdoodle so I may join the choir demanding those. The best cookies I know are called good advice. They're lace thin and almost impossible to keep from breaking, and very complicated to make, so they're the sort of thing you'll get if somebody really wants to show off. And then you can go home and tell your family you didn't break your diet, you just stopped in for some good advice on the way."

"You are not allowed to get hit by a car. So that's a good promise. I don't want to see any of you on my slab anytime soon. My heart will literally break. And I can't heal that." Ava gives them each a look and a pointed finger of accusation. Don't do the death. It's not allowed.

Of course, the promise of peanut butter cookies changes that expression to a beaming one in a quick second. "Yessss." That was fast.

"Good advice? That sounds good, actually. We could all use some of that from time to time, couldn't we?"

Una's brows knit. "I'm with Ava: please don't. I am anti anyone I know being hit by a car. Or their pets. Or-- I mean, ideally no one ever gets hit by a car, thanks. I promise to do my best to avoid any and all dangerous things, too. I like being alive."

Ariadne's theatrics make her grin, though much more interesting is Ravn's description of the good advice cookies (sadly, a quick google on her phone does not return results; searching for 'good advice cookies' in English is unsurprisingly unhelpful). "Okay," she says. "I probably can't make those, although now that I've heard about them... I'm intrigued by the challenge. I'm always in need of some good advice."

Again, the barista crosses her heart: won't do the death, she promises to Ava, she of the slab-minding.

Ariadne can't help but laugh, however, at these delicate foreign pastries. "Okay, that's a brilliantly-named cookie. I like whomever made that up. Ten out of ten. I'm also happy to be on the judging panel if that challenge is ever taken up. I'll be a fair judge. Besides, it's probably not a challenge to impress me with baking skills. Or cooking skills. I sorely lack those. I'm pleased when I can get my ass in gear and prep up a baked chicken. It's just...never made sense to me, cooking. I guess I'm too...literal? Like, the ability to change a recipe on a whim? That's a super-power to me."

"As long as we're not eating Danish butter cookies." Ravn smirks. "I keep telling everyone over here that we only invented those as a means to get rid of unwanted cardboard and processing waste from the wood industry. They taste awful. Cheap hotels hand them out with coffee in some miserable attempt to seem fancier than they are. The only thing they're good for is making sewing kits out of the bins."

Then he too makes the solemn vow: "I promise that if I do die for a stupid reason here, I shall come back and haunt the hell out of you all for a while, before I draw a deep sigh and get started walking. I'm supposed to go home and haunt the ancestral grounds after all, and I'm pretty certain they don't sell plane tickets to the walking dead."

"I also like you being alive," Ava assures Una with a grin. She seems pleased with everyone agreeing to not die. "I know you guys can't actually control it, but I'm pleased anyway. I'll take it."

"I can't cook. Or bake. But I am very skilled with end-to-side vascular anastomosis?" she offers with a light hearted chuckle. "No?" Her eyes dart between the group. "I should go get another drink! I finished my first one. Anyone else need a refill? You guys got a pitcher, right? So you should be good to go. How about you, Ravn? Need more whiskey, or are you still sipping?"

"That's part of why I love baking," Una tells Ariadne. "It's chemistry, but the fun kind. All these separate ingredients that, when you put them together in the right quantities, react with each other and create something better. Too much of anything, or too little, and it all falls apart. It's definitely a science, whereas cooking is more of an art, I think, because you're right: you change things up." Here is a thing that she could talk about for days, though she (thankfully) does not.

"Ew, those cookies sound like an affront to the cookie name. Thank you, no. Do you suppose... can ghosts jump through space, I wonder? Or would you just be zapped home again, Ravn? I don't want to find out the answer, but it's an interesting question."

Ava's claim to fame draws a grin, and a, "I have absolutely no idea what you just said. I'm good, though, thanks."

"I might have to come hang out at your place and observe these baking recipes in action. You frame it like chemistry and now it seems plausible, at least. Done deal," the barista agrees with a grin at Una.

Ariadne kills her beer and once she swallows, she chuckles. A heavy lean of her chin on her hands means her head-shake is clumsy. "I swear to god, Ravn, you come back and haunt me, I'll make a point of eating guacamole every day until you give up and go bother somebody else. Or maybe those Danish butter cookies. How are you getting across the ocean? Walking that too? Wouldn't you have to swim? Or maybe if you flapped your ghostly arms hard enough, you could fly across? I've never been a ghost before, I don't know these things."

Ava offers and the barista blows a sigh, considering her empty glass. "I drove here, so I should be intelligent. I'd be good with a ginger ale over ice, please?" she asks of the doctor's offer.

"Oh, I'll take a refill, sure." Ravn, a man who seems to have no particular problem downing a double scotch and reaching for another.

And maybe there is just enough alcohol in his system after all that Una's innocent inquiry in passing triggers something in the academic's mind. "I think it depends a lot on what exactly it is that's being haunted -- and on what the narrative is. I don't have evidence that all ghosts are essentially powered by thin spots and tears in the Veil all over the world, but there are -- correlations. Enough to make you wonder, at least. Sometimes, it's a thing -- and if you move it around the world, the ghost just moves along. Other times, a ghost is tied to a place. I don't think there are set rules for ghosts in general -- I think it comes down to what the story is every time. Just like the Dreams."

Beat. "Or you know, a ghost weighs very little. It could sail across the Atlantic on a butter cookie. It'd be the first time in recorded history those things served an actual purpose."

"Hmmm, baking as a science. Now that's a way to approach it that I can get behind." Not something that Ava had considered before, clearly. "Still, I've never had the time to really learn it enough to get good at it. Maybe with you organizing my schedule a bit, you can help me find some time," she winks to Una, the soon to be office manager."

"You'd better haunt me," she tells Ravn as she stands up with her empty glass. "If you don't, I'm going to be very mad at you. You don't want any part of that, I assure you! Even as a ghost. I'll e the one doing the haunting." She gestures to her eyes with two fingers and then points them at him. She'll leave the philosophizing of ghost travel to the others for the moment as she returns to the bar to get refills and a ginger ale over ice.

Una's chin lifts, acknowledgement of Ava's remark: with her organisation skills, there can be cookies! Maybe. "Come any time," she tells Ariadne. "We'll make tasty, tasty science. And since I'm going through dozens of the things, thanks to keeping the faeries happy, there's always room for more. I'm going to need to start buying everything in bulk... it's a good thing I'm going to have actual paid employment shortly, all going well."

"I'd like to see you sail a cookie built for one," she decides, glancing back at Ravn. "I'm pretty sure the cookies do serve one purpose, though: they come in those tins that old ladies use for spare buttons and thread and whatever, don't they? I'm pretty sure I saw one in my grandmother's things."

"Thank you, Ava," singsongs Ariadne in the doctor's direction as she goes to collect drinks.

The barista then returns her attention back to the others. "I'm so down for tasty science -- and can confirm that those cookie tins serve as button collecting kits. My mom actually kept one around for me and my sister when we were really small. She'd break it out when she wanted us little rug-rats to sit still for a second. Think about how useful that is from a learning perspective: you've got your dexterity challenge of picking them up and then you separate them out by size or shape or color. Great little distraction tool and you're teaching skills in the process. It's like puzzle toys for dogs. Except toddlers have thumbs."

She pauses. "Imagine if dogs had thumbs. Or cats, for that matter," shooting Ravn, owner of Kitty Pryde, a grin. "Furry toddlers with thumbs. Oh god, it'd be a nightmare. But now you have me wondering about whether or not a ghost could shrink small enough to stand on one of these apparently-awful butter cookies. Teeny itsy-bitsy poltergeist. Wee thing." It's apparently funny enough to set her to giggling behind her hand.

Ravn throws Ava a glance before he chuckles and nods at Una's words. "Yes, those are the ones. The blue tins that you keep all kinds of small things in. I keep saying, we should just export the tins and not force people to endure the bloody cookies." Maybe the idea of being a ghost and still getting scolded does not appeal to him very much.

"One, and he's an angel," he calls after Ariadne. "The other angels don't dance." Obscure book reference much? Check. Smug look? Check. Slightly drunker than he wants to admit? Check.

"You are quite welcome!" Ava singsongs back happily enough as she makes her way to the bar. It takes a minute or two for the drinks to be properly poured, paid for, and gathered. But after not too long, the doctor is returning to the table and settling the drinks down onto the table. Each one is slid in front of its proper owner before she claims her own.

"Just be sure to bring me some of the results of your tasty science experiments, ladies. As a scientist myself, I know the importance of blind studies. It's essential to the process you know." There's no keeping the smile from her lips. That could have to do with the flushed cheeks that indicate the alcohol is starting to hit her. She rarely drinks, so there's a complete lack of tolerance there. "Do angels not dance?" she wonders. "That seems terribly boring, doesn't it?"

There's a twitch in Una's brow, as if she's attempting to reassure herself whether she's picked up that reference or not. Is she going to look stupid? Oh, what the hell: "The gavotte, right?" Beat. "I've actually got no idea what the gavotte really is, aside from obviously 'a dance'. No wonder the other angels don't dance."

Her beer is finished, and she's ever so faintly pink about the cheeks: not drunk, but definitely not entirely sober, either. "I do faithfully promise to share the results. And really, if I'm going to be in your office all the time, Ava, you'll have to get used to the fresh cookies that come with me. Package deal."

"Angels not dancing sounds very boring," Ariadne agrees, newfound ginger ale now in her hand. A thankful little lift of it to Ava, who's ensured the barista will get home safely. The promise of no-slab-allowed was a real one. She glances at Una and lifts her brows. "The gavotte, huh. Hmm." Beer at nearly eight percent ABV is making things a bit slower to percolate here. "If there's a reference, I don't get it. But I know enough to know that's an actual dance, an olden-timey-type one, and why on earth would you want to not do something like the Cupid Shuffle instead on a floating cookie in the ocean."

She puts aside her drink. "Look, hear me out. Get, like, three cookies so you can do the side to side part and when you do the part with cha-cha, you just manage to not shimmy yourself into the water. My logic is flawless." Sage nod. Sip of ginger ale.

"The gavotte, yep." Ravn grins at Una; geek credit recognised and hailed. "I've seen it danced once -- it's a kind of line dance like thing with a lot of leg lifting. Looked pretty silly. And painful to anyone who's gone through Danish middle education because it's traditional to have an annual les lanciers dance which is basically the same thing -- the gents in suits and the ladies in long evening dresses or period costumes."

Did he attend? Maybe. Are there pictures? Not on your life.

He accepts his fresh drink with a smile and looks at Ava. "How about we establish a scientific society of our own? We shall taste test their concoctions and offer very serious and totally honest reviews of each."

Ava sinks down into her seat with a beaming smile for Ravn's idea. "Oh my god, yes. I don't think I've ever heard a great idea in my entire life. Of course, we'll have to document our findings. That's a very important part of the process. But I do love how your brain works." She giggles glancing back to the others and sipping from her drink, both hands on the glass. "I do not know what the gavotte is, but I have heard of the Cupid Shuffle before."

Una's comment has Ava paused for a moment, her brain needing a second to reboot. "Oh no. That sounds wonderful. But I'm going to have to start jogging literally every day now. You beautiful temptress, Una."

Una, so pleased. (Phew, she got the reference right and doesn't look like a complete idiot). She returns Ravn's grin, dipping her head forward ever so slightly. "Oh, are there pictures of this, Ravn? I need to see. For research purposes. Right, ladies?" The gavotte has been forgotten in lieu of something more immediate.

"I'm happy to support your scientific society. And to be your beautiful temptress, sure, why not. That's my job in life, now." She strikes a pose-- and then begins to giggle. Clearly not quite sober anymore, no.

"Hmm. I would've been down for that in middle school," Ariadne notes of this gavotte. "Evening dresses are worth it -- and so's a good Google search. You're looking at the queen of search algorithms." The barista fairly grins like a Cheshire Cat. "A Danish middle school dance, gavotte, you got it. Give me a day or two, we'll see what I can turn up for science and research purposes." She's fairly buzzed herself, but the ginger ale is sure to start bringing her back down soon enough.

Out comes her phone and as nonchalantly as she can manage (while obviously pulling up the browser on the touch-screen), she types in search terms and clicks to the image tab, all the while smiling into her ginger ale.

Ravn cracks a lopsided smile at that. "Knock yourself out. I know that none exist. It took a lot of effort, mind you."

Well, he can hope. Although it helps to have been that introvert shy kid everybody thought was an asshole anyway; it's easier to stay in the corner and avoid the cameras that way.

"I have another idea," he offers blithely, raising the whiskey tumbler with a confidence a sober himself would not possess. "How about we take new pictures once the weather obliges? I am no expert photographer by far, but I do know a little. I could probably manage to get you three some decent shots if you want to model your summer dress in the sun on a sailboat, come the season."

"Oh, you are absolutely right, Una. One hundred percent," Ava agrees with an easy nod. "I am not the queen of google searches, but I will fully support her highness! Or is it majesty?" She glances to Ariadne and then to the side, pondering. "I think it's majesty for queen. I dunno." She's giggling again. "If you find anything, I request immediate texting of photographic evidence!"

Ravn is smiling, but you never know what might still linger on the internet even after all this time. "I will not turn down a sail on Vagabond," she promises. "But if you think you are going to be picture free during that time, you are kidding yourself, darling."

"I would've loved that kind of dress in middle school," agrees Una. "Back when I was ridiculously skinny and dreamed of being glamorous. Now-- I'll stick to my jeans, thanks ever so much, unless it's something I've tailored myself, because I want to and because it feels good." She still wants these photos of Ravn, but unlike her companions doesn't seem inclined to push the 'we're going to hunt them down' line. Maybe it's in the smug little smile she wears, or maybe that's just in response to that reference to the Vagabond.

"I won't turn down a sail either, but there will have to be at least a few candid shots of you as well, otherwise you may as well not have been there at all. It's the principle of the thing. We won't make you pose, though." Much. Probably.

"Hey now, don't discount the queen of search algorithms who's also good with photoshop..."

Ariadne snorts into her ginger ale at the idea while she continues thumb-scrolling through the options. Those are some suits. And dresses. And lookit that leg lift. Ravn wasn't joking, those leg lifts are serious business. She glances over when the ambient light glints off of the whiskey tumbler and lifts her brows. A look between Una and Ava. "I mean...I'll definitely have my summer bod by the time it rolls around, I've been keeping up on my cycling. I'm down with it," she shrugs. "But Ava's right. No escape. This is age of the cellphone, my tall, ruffly-haired amigo. You're not escaping alive from any sort of event involving cameras in the first place. Get yourself a white captain's hat or something, since it's your boat. Pose dramatically at the bow. We'll hum the Titantic theme song since we're too far south for icebergs."

Beatific smile at Ravn. She might be gunning to get flipped off at this point.

"Majesty for royalty, Excellency for royalty removed from succession -- and for ambassadors and cardinals," Ravn says absentmindedly and sips his whiskey. Nerd boy knows strange things. "Your Highness only for royalty in direct line of succession. And there can be photos of me, I suppose. But I was offering to try to get some good shots of you ladies for you to show off to whoever you want to show off to. I am definitely not a pro, but I used to be engaged to someone with aspirations of that nature. And honestly, it's hard to get a bad picture of a beautiful woman on a boat on a day of clear blue skies."

Pause. "Ariadne, however, we'll tie to the mast and use for targeting practise. I'll mature my very own crate of tomatoes in the sun for a month in advance."

I figured it was Majesty. It felt more right. I don't know that I remember the rest of it. But it's good to know. For the moment," Ava laughs. "Oooh, Titanic recreations. Anyone have an expensive blue necklace we can pretend to throw into the drink? Then we can take turns holding each other excitedly at the front of the ship proclaiming we are the royalty of the world! It sounds like a fun afternoon, if I'm honest!"

Una gives Ravn's offer a more serious moment of consideration, this time-- but his last remark results in a cackle of laughter, and there goes the seriousness. "Ouch," she says. But also? "I want photos of that too."

She idly nudges her empty pint glass away, likely not intended as a 'look, I'm empty' but more as a genuinely idle gesture, something to do with her hands. "Though, seriously: that does actually sound like it could be fun. I'm down."

That theorized situation just makes Ariadne break out into a straight-up cackle. She has to put her ginger ale down and half of her face in her hand for a bit until she finds her breath again. "Ooooh, you're a dirty, rotten son of a bitch, sir, that you are. Sun-mushed tomatoes, ugh. You start that war, I will finish it," she promises Ravn, then unable to help laughing again. Ava's enthusiasm gets the better of her until she's leaning hard into her hand with elbow propped on the table.

"Just -- just for that, I'm buying a goddamned fake blue necklace," she manages to splutter between quiet howls. Gasping for air, she composes herself. Mostly. "No tomatoes, blue necklace, it'll be amazing."

"Perdita will murder us if she doesn't get to pretend to be royalty," Ravn observes with a chuckle. He's probably right. Anyone who knows the lady in question will probably agree that she goes to quite a lot of effort to stage the best possible appearance. Peak Titanic drama worthy of a poster? She'd probably walk on water if necessary, to get out there.

He upends the second whiskey with ease; apparently, the Dane can put away a surprising amount of strong liquor very quickly and remain standing. "Tomatoes on my shopping list, fake blue necklace on yours. It's a deal, ladies. But it comes with a downside: Somebody'd better turn up for barnacle scraping in a week or two -- or with enough baked goods to bribe their way out."

Looking at Una there. Delicious baked goods. Worth the barnacles.

"Right. I'd better get my backside home in time for a cup of coffee before my first student calls on Zoom and wonders why his history tutor is giggling and mumbling about tomatoes and sailboats. I'll see the three of you around on the marina on the first sunny day, if not before."

And then he's off to deliver his glass to the counter, and then off into the night. Hopefully the muggers sodded off a while back.

"Anyone can pretend to be royalty! It's all about keeping your chin and nose up, and looking down your nose at others, right? And then wearing something super pretty. Ooh, we'll have to go outfit shopping! Yes! I can't wait." Ava does a happy little wiggle right in her seat at the idea of getting to shop a bit. Of course, then Ariadne is cracking up, so her smile can only grow a little bit wide. "If you're able to find a cheap replica, that would be hilarious. I'm betting they're pretty cheap since the movie is so old at this point."

As Ravn gets up, she lifts a hand to wave goodbye. "Please be safe out there, yeah?"

"I'll go for option 'baked goods'," decides Una, without so much as missing a beat, even if Ravn is already on his way out.

Turning back to her two companions, she grins. "I'm not opposed to wearing something pretty, as long as it involves 'and comfortable' at the end of it. Particularly if we're on a boat... the last thing I want to do is to actually fall in, like the blue necklace you will definitely be able to find on eBay, or possibly the nearest thrift shop. I know we had half a dozen in the last one I worked in, though they come and go pretty frequently when people have fancy dress parties to go to, even now." Because that movie is old.

"He's right. We really do rib him more than anyone else."

"Yeah, no slabbing it up!" Ariadne calls after Ravn. Hey, it made sense in her partially-buzzed head.

Turning her attention back to her booth-mates, she nods, still smirking. "Thrift shop is where I was headed for the necklace, yeah. I'll see if anything else shows up there too. If I can find some dress even vaguely time-period, it'll be such a massive win that nobody will want to throw tomatoes at me. I'll be victorious." Another glance towards the front door and back. "I dunno who he's trying to scare off when he talks barnacles like they're a threat. My degree is marine biology. I've scraped barnacles before. It sucks, don't get me wrong, but it's not the end of the world. As far as ribbing?"

The redhead shrugs. "If he has an issue with it, I expect him to speak up about it. I haven't felt like we're unkind, just jocular."

"Oh, believe me. I pick on Jimmy way worse than I pick on Ravn. I promise. But that only because I've known Jimmy way longer. I know even better so it's easier for me to pick on him." Ava laughs. "I think enjoys the ribbing. Ravn. He can give back as good as he gets, anyway. But I'm with Ariadne, I think he'd say something if he was bothered." She glances towards the door he left from. "But I can ask if you're really worried," she offers with a glance back towards Una.

"I love hanging out with you guys. The last this I want to do is put a damper on the friendship, you know?"

"You're probably right," Una says, mouth turning up about the corners. "I just notice that we're all a little more likely to make fun of him, however nicely, than each other. I don't think it's a thing-- more of an observation, I guess? He mentioned it, but he was teasing, but now I'm just more aware." Her head tilts as she glances from one woman to the other.

"Just so we're clear: I can take it if you want to tease me, too. I hope we all can. Because-- exactly, Ava. I love hanging with you guys, too."

"Give me all the flak. I don't mind being ribbed. I figure it's a sign of friendship anyways. Why would you, the proverbial you, waste your time and your words and wit on somebody you don't want to hang out with? Rude people get insults, not teasing. He's good people. I'll certainly take it down a few notches because you have a point, Una. He brought it up. It must have crossed his mind for a reason," Ariadne notes, flicking her brows.

Suddenly, the phone face-up on the table goes off. Glancing over at it, the barista lifts her brows. "Holy shit, it's the mini-me. My little sister, sorry, gotta take this, she never calls." A quick scootch-scootch out of the booth and there goes the barista, outside briefly, to see what on earth merited such a phone call.

"I'd be happy to start picking on you, too, Una," Ava offers with a cheeky smile. "It's just one of the ways I show my love. But I'm with Ari. I'll work on toning it down if it seems like I'm bothering him." If it was worth bringing it up, then maybe it is bothering him and that was his way of bringing it up, after all. She gives Ari a wave as the woman drifts off to answer the phone, then turn her full attention onto Una. "So, my darling! Did you see I moved into right next door? I took the one spot," she informs..

Una bites back a smile. "I may live to regret that, huh? I'm sure it's probably fine with Ravn, but..." There's a line, and Una, at least, is wary of crossing it.

She glances after Ariadne, but leaves the other redhead to her call. Instead, grinning more broadly: "I did. Welcome to Oak! We're going to take the street over bit by bit, until we're the envy of the rest of town: street of fabulous gardens. I wonder--"

And so it continues. More drinks. More gossip. More fun. Until it's time to roll home again.