2022-03-09 - San Miguel de Cozumel

A cool breeze cuts through the warm air, carrying the scent of the ocean on it, the tang of salt and the subtle scent of ocean life, the golden warmth of the sun spilling down on skin more used to the chill of a Pacific North West winter that stubbornly refuses to lift its grip. Voices fade in and out of focus as people walk by, the chatter of a half dozen languages being spoken fluently by tourists and locals as they move over carefully laid cobblestone streets that look new, having seen only foot traffic from the cruise ships in the distance.

All of that and more is beyond the walls of the private estate where Perdita finds herself lounging by the pool... Which is on the second story of the building, overlooking a pristine ocean view, complete with palm trees rising up from the sand, providing some degree of privacy for the rear of the building. The home is impressively appointed with elegant lines, exquisitely crafted furniture and the most aesthetically pleasing staff dotted about the estate, including a fit man in very tiny pants currently mixing a drink for Perdita... that she doesn't remember ordering.

For that matter, she doesn't remember arriving here. Or owning such a tiny rose gold metallic bikini set, a sheer sarong wrapped around her waist asymmetrically, an orchid tucked into her long dark hair, which is currently braided back from her make up free face. Clearly, this is a nightmare.

Cool water against pale skin; a flurry of millions of tiny crystal bubbles shattering in his wake, the sheer joy of movement. Is Ravn a tuna-tailed merman again, speeding through the depths with speed unmatched, unaware that deep below, the kelp will entangle and burn -- no, no, he is not because the depths are dark and this water is a brilliant bright blue, and also, it's chlorinated. His brain checks; yep, also, he's got feet, not fins. He kicks and he emerges, like a Venus out of the ocean, from the depths of the pool, hoisting himself up to rest his arms on the edge. He shakes water out of his face; he takes a deep breath; and he looks around.

What fresh hell is this? His gaze falls on the piece of beefcake mixing drinks and then travels down his own body; thank God, he's at least wearing more than that. Hawaii-flowered bermuda swim trunks are not quite his idea of style but least he's not nearly naked.

The Dane hauls himself up to sit on the pool edge, feeling underdressed. He's got scars on his arm from a meat cleaver and a bullet respectively; scars on the other arm from another bullet; and the bullet scar right under his heart is the kind that should have been lethal. He's not body shy enough to feel uncomfortable that someone might look at his chest hair. The scars, however, feel awkward.

Still, the air is warm and pleasant, and there are no obvious hints of danger, and that's a familiar face. He gets up entirely, dripping, and strolls towards Perdita. "I don't suppose that your new best friend there can mix me a Black Russian while he's at it?"

There is something unquestionably unnerving to find oneself with hot sun radiating down onto bare shoulders when, just moments ago, one was... not. That moment of adjustment is always a weird one, though this is perhaps easier than most: there's something soothing about the heat, after all, and the low noises of chatter and the clink of glasses are not especially threatening.

From her own sun lounger, not far from Perdita's, Una cracks open one eye beneath her sunglasses to assess the situation.

Firstly, she's in a bathing suit. Not a bikini (thankfully), but a reasonably classy retro-styled halter-neck boyleg piece, emerald green in colour. So that could be worse.

Secondly, she's somewhere warm. The air smells different.

And thirdly... she recognises that voice.

She sits up, removing the sunglasses so that she can get a better look, just to confirm. "Ravn! Perdita, too. This is..." Nice? Surprisingly pleasant, actually?

Dark eyes linger on Ravn's form for just long enough to take it in, appreciate... and then recognize that it's her friend. Oof. A thoughtful pause, and then she glances back toward the young man, "Ángel, a Black Russian, too?" she asks, fluttering her lashes just a little. She turns to Una, tilting her head slightly, "Would you like anything? I'm having a Black Charro and Ravn's having a Black Russian... I'm sensing a theme."

Perdita takes a deep breath, enjoying the warm sunshine for however long this is going to last. "We're back in Cozumel," she explains, smiling. "Though this is definitely not a memory. Ángel is, but the rest..."

Ravn unceremoniously plops himself down on the foot end of Perdita's sunbed. "If this is a nightmare, I'll subscribe to the newsletter, please send more information." Ángel speaks English, huh? "Don't hold the lemon, please."

If he noticed that look he obviously decided to pretend otherwise. He shakes his head again, removing water from his face; crystal drops linger in his hair, backlit by the azure pool and the bright sunlight. "In fact -- I am very much on board with this. I'm sure we'll meet those awful people again like last time. Maybe we get to see a Veil monster in a bikini."

Absurd has been the theme in recent months. And maybe Cthulhu enjoys a spa day, too.

"Black martini," Una decides, promptly. "Just to keep with the theme. Thank you, Ángel."

The redhead adjusts her position upon the lounger, making sure that she's sitting up well enough to make eye contact, but still has room to recline; it's a delicate balance.

"This is... new and different. I didn't realise Dreams came in 'positively delightful' flavour, but I am definitely on board too. I might never want to leave."

Beat. "Though the sunburn might turn this into a nightmare if I'm not careful. You've been here before?"

Ángel flashes all three of them a smile that promises that the drinks won't be the only things on offer, then goes back to his mixology.

As Ravn drops to the end of her sunbed, Perdita jerks her feet back so as to not bump him... or to avoid getting damp, one. She looks amused, however.

"Ángel is very... talented."

"We've been to Cozumel before, sort of a... trip down memory lane, for me, an excuse to make Ravn be a super rich d-bag tourist for him." she smiles, though. "It was wonderful, right up until we went to this little restaurant where the clientele were a little more interested in our juicy gossip than they were the meal."

"I may be a super rich douche bag in this one, too. For all we know, I'm paying for the trip. Who cares?" Ravn laughs softly -- and then shakes his head. "I'll say, those other people at the restaurant were creepy. They didn't do anything as such besides asking us questions. Just, you had the feeling that they were things wearing human masks and taking notes."

He leans back a little, stretches those long legs, and glances after Àngel. "If this is another one like it? Let's at least make them provide drinks and interesting finger foods. And maybe a little private time for you and Señor Beefcake there?"

Una's smile, for Ángel? It's polite, and nothing more.

"'Things wearing human masks and taking notes'," she repeats, attention focused back upon her two companions. "Well, that's creepy, but if that's the worst we have to deal with, I'm still okay with this. Though I agree on the drinks and finger foods. I'd like to enjoy this, if at all possible. I've never been anywhere so... well. Like this."

"They were sweet... right up until they weren't." Perdita says, softly, absently toying with the end of her braid. "As for spending alone time with Ángel... I would, were I not in a monogamous relationship. I'm new to the whole idea, but generally that means you don't have sex with anyone who isn't your partner... and I think it still counts in this sort of dream."

On cue, Ángel approaches with a tray and the drinks, serving Una's first... which puts his butt right near Ravn's face, comically, in his very tiny shorts. Once Una is served, he offers the drinks to Ravn and Perdita, and another smile that's flirty... and again, includes all three of them, before he heads off, likely to prepare some sort of pool side snackage.

Unfortunately for Àngel's hopes of a future career as a 'super rich dude' boy toy, Ravn is not really interested. He's not even annoyed; he just shifts his weight to the side so he can look around Ángel's no doubt very attractive backside. Maybe there's a reason this man has a reputation for being about as sensual as your average frozen pizza.

"I'm not actually certain where to draw that line," he admits. "One could probably prop up an argument that what happens in Dreams, stays in Dreams. On the other hand one could also defend that intent is key -- if the narrative forces you to sleep with somebody it's one thing and you actively chasing it is another. Fortunately, the Veil has yet to put me in that dilemma."

"Thank you," says Una, warmly, as she accepts her drink from Àngel. Sipping it-- delicious! Black raspberry and lemon-- she considers her companions (or really, what she can see of them around Àngel, at least until he departs again).

"That would make sense to me. Dreams are a bit like a hostage situation, right? You do what you have to to survive and get home again. But actively seeking to do something that you wouldn't in normal life, in a Dream, counts." Una's brow wrinkles, and she puts her sunglasses back in place over her eyes. "Although that then asks the question of... if you're vegetarian, for instance, but eat a big steak while in a Dream, is that cheating? Presumably there was no actual animal death required."

Is that a trace of disappointment on Ángel's face as he disappears inside? Probably. Ritzy tourists are his type.

The expression on Perdita's face is pure amusement, however, and she takes a sip of her drink, sighing happily. Cola, lemon and a lot of tequila. "Well, I doubt that's the narrative force driving this particular dream, getting me to indulge in the arms of a dream of an old flame. Maybe it really is just a nice dream, with sunshine, a private beach and a swimming pool."

She leans back on her seat, resting the drink against her neck, enjoying the contrast of cold and heat. "Remind me why I didn't just run here, instead of Gray Harbor?"

"Too public," Ravn observes, matter-of-factly. "And too high risk of being found by chance encounter. You made the same deduction that I did: If you want to avoid risking your mug shot on the cover of a glossy magazine, don't go anywhere that photographers have any reason to think worth their while. Sure, we've got the Grand Olympic Casino, but neither of us spend time there. And the rest of Gray Harbor might as well be a cabbage patch as far as the jet set is concerned."

He leans back -- sorry, Dita, the lowest quarter of this lounger is no longer yours. "I don't know. To stay with either analogy -- if surviving a Dream meant having to sleep with someone or eat a steak, I'd do either. We do what it takes. But if I came into the Dream chasing tail or trying to drag everyone off to the steakhouse, it'd be different? I think intention probably is the key here. After all, if you make screwing around in a Dream the thing that will break your happy relationship -- I guarantee you that that Dream will happen."

"I certainly have no issue with it simply being a nice dream. There's few enough of them."

Una rolls her shoulders back and then adjusts her position just so, so that she can more easily keep both Perdita and Ravn in her field of view. "Valid assessment," she concludes. "And regardless, just safer in general to treat Dreams as if they are real life, except where you really can't. Happily, neither of these things particularly applies to me, so I am going to lay here, enjoy the sun and my drink, and hopefully nothing worse will happen."

"Point. The more I can avoid photos appearing in random places, the better." Ravn claiming the edge of her lounger gets a smirk. "You know there are other loungers." she teases, tilting her head slightly.

"Oh, I don't want to think about steaks and Dreams." Perdita says softly, with a grimace.

"And yes. I want to just enjoy the sun, enjoy a delicious Black Charro and maybe check out that pool in a bit, or go for a swim in the ocean. I haven't been anywhere like this for real in over a year."

"Barring the fact that I'm a weak-ass Scandinavian who's going to need to think about shade at some point, I'm on board with this plan. Shade, or a bucket of sun screen." Ravn sips his drink and nods his approval; sweet, yet tangy, and the coffee flavour of the Kahlua has not been drowned out by the Coke. "And I'm quite comfortable right here, thanks."

He smiles, a little wistful. "Gray Harbor is obviously not a tropical paradise like this -- but a nice, sunny summer's day on the bay isn't bad either, you realise? I like to head out there and just toss out the float anchor, bob on the waves, and just enjoy the quiet. We should do that this summer -- kind of missed out on last season because of the whole hurricane and the missing twelve weeks and all. I miss leisure sailing."

Una answers Ravn's comment about being Scandinavian with a lift of one pale-as-pale arm, and nods firmly. "I don't know about you, Perdita, but I think I'm definitely in the same boat as Ravn on that one, and I'd like to go home and not have to try and explain an unseasonable sunburn to my unsuspecting roommate. Also, sunburns hurt, so that would suck too." For now, though, she seems disinclined to move: the sun is warm and so very pleasant. (It's a tarp.)

"I'd like that. What's the point with having a friend with a boat if you don't make the most of said boat? We've all definitely earned it. The PNW does lovely summers. Or... I guess there are lovely days in the PNW summers."

"We never got the pleasure, but I intend to rectify that this year. I don't fish, but damn do I look good decorating the deck of a boat."

As her pale companions worry about the sun, Dita smirks. "I could lie out all day and only get a bit darker... but sunscreen should probably be a thing for me, too, because melanoma is still a mild risk, and I want to look young and beautiful for as long as I can." Glancing around, Perdita spots a can of spray sun screen and offers it to Ravn, first, because he will crisp up like bacon, and the spray seems the best option for him. To Una, she offers the rub on kind, waiting patiently for her turn.

"The PNW actually has much the same climate as I'm used to from home. Americans tend to think of Scandinavia is a land of darkness and ice, but in reality? Washington State has colder water because you have glacial melt -- otherwise it's much the same. You've got more conifers than we do. We've got more beach, due to being an archipelago. But the amount of sunshine and rain is much the same so I know exactly what you mean that there are lovely summer days in the PNW summers." Ravn grins slightly. Oh yes. There's a reason most Danish outdoor terraces and similar have some kind of roofing or other, yes. Rain, it is very much a thing.

He looks a little sheepish as he reaches for the spray can. Girl's got a point. Pscccchhh.

And then he can't help chuckle. "I remember you telling me that. Just after you came into town, Perdita. We were talking about yachting, and you told me that your plan for the summer was to spend it on the sun deck of some millionaire's yacht. It cracked me up at the time -- but you know you'd both be welcome to decorate the aft deck of the Vagabond as well, even if she's not big enough to have a sun deck. Hell, maybe we can run a couple of those millionaire yachts aground as they try to turn too quick for a better look."

Una accepts the sunscreen with a rueful smile-- why hadn't she noticed it there, instead of just musing about the need for it-- and hastily gets to applying it. Even in her not-so-mini suit, there's more skin to cover than she'd usually have on display, and those shoulders? They're already showing some pink-y undertones. She splurts a big amount into one hand, then offers the bottle back to Perdita.

"I wouldn't mind seeing that. " Millionaire yachts doing stupid things? Yes please.

"I can't remember the last time I was on a boat that wasn't, like, a ferry going across Puget Sound. I may have to actually invest in some kind of bathing suit."

"Yes, much like the PNW, Scandinavia gets sunlight almost ten days a year." Perdita teases. She laughs at her old goals, shaking her head slightly. She accepts the bottle back from Una and begins applying it to herself, making a bit more of a show of it than the other woman does, likely a left over from her grifter days she doesn't even realize she's doing.

"Join me on the Vagabond and we'll make it happen. Between the two of us, and Ravn's blindingly white flesh, someone's going to turn and stare. Speaking of which, the beacons are lit, Gondor calls for aid." she teases, though it's not entirely clear which of them she's teasing, since both are, well... porcelain.

Maybe that's why Ravn's response can be counted on one fiinger. Universal gesture, and all that. And his grin is half a mile wide. "I actually tan well enough -- when I take my clothes off. Which is -- not most of the time, yes."

It isn't. He is the man known to wander around in summer in a turtleneck and jeans. Also when everyone else are melting in open shirts and shorts. Because melting is still preferable to unexpected neuropathic disturbances.

"What cracked me up, though," he tells Una, still grinning, "Was how Perdita was standing there, outlining that cunning plan -- and then, a day after, she comes across me on the marina, readying my boat for the season. In her defence, at least she picked up a paintbrush and helped."

"Ten days? We are ambitious," laughs Una. "Though given the state of our yards, maybe we will extend that a bit year, even if that doesn't help with the sailing situation."

The redhead makes a face at her own skin, which is extra white at present as she attempts to rub in the sun cream, but which very likely never goes 'brown' so much as 'lobster'. "I'll join," she promises. "All kinds of blinding to be done. It'll serve them all right." For what? Doesn't matter. Rich people!

"Good for Perdita. I'm still hoping to get out of barnacle-removal duty with an application of cookies, though-- well, no. I'm a nice person. I'll lend a hand, too."

"I'm a taken woman, Ravn." is Perdita's only response to the finger. "Wait, I thought you asked me to come help. You mean I helped you clean your boat of my own volition?" she shakes her head and laughs, smiling.

"I didn't do any de-barnacling, I held a hose and sprayed the boat from time to time while showing off my legs for the early risers." She takes another sip of her drink and smiles, head tilting back. "Bless you, Àngel, for using fresh lemon."

"It still counts. And I'm sure that some of my tourist neighbours on the pier are still fantasising about that whole lotta leg." Ravn looks content; he leans back, eyelids heavy, holding his sweet-dark drink in one hand and relaxing in a fashion somewhat reminiscent of a cat in a spot of sun. "And power to them, they're very nice legs."

"The year before, I had Aidan help me. People get surprisingly helpful at the promise of those sunny afternoon at sea. Maybe it's because Gray Harbor doesn't really have a proper beach -- at least not one of those sandy white affairs. Maybe it's that you tend to feel -- well, away from the whole mess that is the thin spot when you're out there. Just remember to ignore the mermaids."

Whether she has managed to cover every bit of exposed skin or not, Una has evidently decided that enough is enough, because she wipes the last bits of cream off of her hands and onto her legs, and reaches again for her drink. "I'm surprised you didn't end up with extra volunteers eager to get a better look at the legs," she says with a laugh.

"I can understand that. Physical distance is... key, sometimes. I imagine, anyway. Those mermaids... how often is that a thing?" It's not that she doesn't believe in the mermaids. She's heard about them enough! But...

"You say the sweetest things." Perdita tells Ravn with a smirk, stretching back out on her lounger now, careful not to bump him. "Getting away from that feeling is definitely a benefit, I think..." she says softly, thoughtfully.

"I've never encountered the mermaids, but I have encountered their biggest fan slash foe, Denny."

Ravn's smile falters slightly at Una's question. "I wish I could tell you it isn't really a thing but I'd be lying. About 3500 people drown every year in the oceans of the United States -- and another 350-ish or so from boating accidents. Trust me, Denny knows these numbers inside out and he keeps up to date on it. The mermaids aren't dumb enough to just raid the bay here right outside of Gray Harbor -- but the yachters coming down from Puget Sound, the whale watchers, and the people swimming from boats, well, you get the picture."

He shakes his head. "Denny has some kind of knowledge he won't share. He keeps telling me they're not allowed to take people like us, people who shine. But the regular folks are free game, that's how the bargain goes. He won't tell me who made that bargain or what it entails exactly. I want to say he's just making it up but I have seen the damned things, on a whale safari. And they did try to sing to us -- only the captain must have known about them too. I had no idea how loud the local cruise boats can turn up their loudspeakers."

Not the happiest of topics to have raised, but Una's genuinely (if uncomfortably) interested in the subject, her frown becoming more and more pronounced as Ravn continues.

"'I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each'," she quotes. "'I do not think that they will sing me to me.'"

Beat. "Okay. Super creepy. I... hope not to run into any, even knowing that they're not allowed to take us. Something about the whole thing creeps me out. Let's... find a topic more suited to this day."

"If they're out there," Perdita gestures toward the ocean, "they can stay out there. That's why we have a pool. And once my sunscreen is absorbed, I'm going to take advantage of it, because holy hell is that glass bit at the end cool."

And that's when Àngel returns, bearing a platter of finger foods, both of the healthy sort, like fresh fruits and veggies cut into bite size pieces, various lightly baked appetizers, and of the delightfully decadent kind, like mini shish kebab with rib eye steak, grilled veggies, and bite size desserts. A small table is set up between the lounge chairs, and Àngel puts the platter down. "Enjoy." He winks at Una, flirtatiously, before sauntering back inside. Those shorts are riding up slightly around back.

Is that a silent laugh flitting across Ravn's face? Why, yes, it is. "Poor guy," he murmurs once the other man is out of earshot. "He's trying so hard and the only one of us who's looking twice is the one already in a relationship. I almost feel sorry for him now."

He leans back and looks around. "Looks like we're a private party? Or has the rest of the entourage just not turned up yet? If we rented all of this just for the three of us, then I think I did get cast as rich asshole again, because that's just decadent."

As decadent as those grilled bits of pineapple wrapped in Spanish serrano gamon. Nom.

"It is a beautiful pool," Una confirms, turning her head so that she can glance out at it; she's pleased. Who wouldn't be? Besides: it's an exceptionally good distraction from the less wholesome possibility of evil mermaids.

Àngel's wink draws a flush from the redhead, who ducks her gaze, though she's not discomforted for long: "Oooh," she says, perhaps pretending she didn't hear Ravn's remark on poor Àngel. "Now that looks amazing. If this is what it's like hanging off the non-literal arm of a rich asshole... I might be okay with that. At least as far as this goes. Best dream-- capital or lower-case-- I've had in a long time."

"It's like two halves of a basket ball." Perdita tells no one in particular as the poor unlucky lad wanders off again to do whatever Dream hunks do when they're not required for wooing. "Don't feel sorry for him, if it's the real Àngel I rocked his world." Perdita looks pleased with herself as she lifts a shish kebab and removes a bite sized piece of grilled pineapple, sighing happily as it practically melts in her mouth.

"It's like this sometimes. I mean, sometimes they're gross, but still expect sex. And to be clear, I mean emotionally gross, not physically. While I have a type, if a guy is sweet, kind and generous I can generally at least enjoy myself with him without having to fake a smile. Some guys, though..." she shrugs, "There's a reason I went into business for myself, after all."

"I have to admit that I have no personal experience in this regard," Ravn says, almost thoughtfully. "I have been propositioned a number of times, no surprise there. But I have never felt much attraction to someone I just met, regardless of how gorgeous they may be. And that kind of women -- well, mostly women -- don't stay around long enough for me to change my mind."

He sips his Black Russian and reaches for a slice of water melon. "Have to say, though -- I don't think I could. The sex would be one thing but to have to force yourself into a subservient role like that, knowing that your entire existence in this world depends on the whim of someone else, and on him not meeting someone more attractive to parade around? I have often watched and thought to myself, it must take not quite literal balls of steel."

Una's mouth twists up as if she's tasted something sour, though it's not likely to be her drink, or the tasty bite she just nibbled at. "I'm pretty sure I couldn't actually do it," she admits. "Or-- not without it being something I absolutely needed to do, for whatever reason. I think I'd find the emotionally gross thing even harder than physically gross." She's glancing up, then, considering Perdita in a way that is not appraising, as such, but more thoughtful, though it ultimately comes with a little nod.

"I don't like the dependency thing, no. So clearly I want a rich so-and-so to want my company-- as a person, not a sexual object-- but only as often as I want theirs. Which sounds a lot more like a relationship than what we're actually talking about, so clearly that's never going to happen." It makes her laugh, though. "It's true, though: I value my independence too much. And my alone time."

"It takes a certain sort of personality that can only be faked for so long by someone who doesn't actually have it. I did it for a while, but I couldn't go back to doing it without some sort of unhealthy coping mechanism. As for a rich so-and-so who enjoys your company..." Perdita shrugs and smiles, her gaze flicking to Ravn before moving back to Una.

"You're always welcome to spend time at the Bauer Building and enjoy what luxuries I have. Once the gardens are going, I'm thinking there might be a hot tub up there, because while I love my 1920s bathroom, and want to keep it as intact as possible, I miss water jets beating my muscles into submission."

"Yeah, that's not gold digging you're after," Ravn agrees with Una, still leaning back and eyes mostly closed, cat meets sun. "That's meeting the right person and coincidentally they're rich and ready for a steady relationship. Gray Harbor doesn't exactly crawl with lonely, unattached millionaires -- and you have to want to be in a relationship too, I suppose."

Pause. "All the yes to roof top hot tubs. We should consider it for our more or less shared back yard too. " Ravn cracks an eye open a bit. "I mean, if eternal summer lasts. A wilderness tub -- rough wood, hot water, jets concealed in the wood, this has potential."

"That," Una admits in reply to Ravn, presumably that 'want to be in a relationship' point, "is probably the sticking point. I mean, aside from all the others. Basically-- I think the Bauer building may be my best bit, though Perdita? You may live to regret the invitation. I'm likely to be working for Ava in her clinic, so... I may be there a lot."

She takes another sip from her drink, barely letting it interrupt her thoughts. "In any case: I'm definitely agreed on the rooftop hot tub point. And the backyard one, too-- Ravn, that's genius. If the fae want to turn it into a hot spring or something, I'm equally fine with that."

The catlike behavior from Ravn gets an amused look from Perdita. "No, Gray Harbor doesn't, or I likely wouldn't have been single when Garrett fell into my lap... and might not even have bought the building."

"Eternal summer?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, before taking a tender bite of steak from the skewer and chewing. Yes, she remembers that horrible Dream with the kamikaze cows. She's willing to help them to their afterlife now, if that's what this is, since she didn't have to slaughter them herself.

"I mean it. I don't mind the company, it's mostly just me, Garrett and Tsinyorri up there."

"Nothing wrong with not wanting a steady relationship. I've been in one and it ended in bloody disaster and a funeral." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "I'm not saying never again like I used to say. There was actually a time last summer when I thought I might be ready to move on and give this whole thing a second chance -- but then that didn't work out, either. Some people just aren't made for it -- or they require so much investment and patience from a potential partner that anyone sane opts out after reading the terms and conditions. It's just how it is."

He cracks a blue-grey eye open again and nods at Perdita. "The faerie circle in our yard has come to some kind of agreement with Ava and now it's just... summer. Hell, if it means Una and I don't have to do yardwork because the faeries want to earn their milk and cookies, we're good."

"In that case, I'm very happy to be that company, Perdita. Keep an ear out for me. You'd better drop by and see the faerie yard, too-- it's pretty spectacular. Disney-tastic."

Una gives a slow nod by way of agreement with Ravn, and admits, "I suspect that's me. Which is fine. I'm not beating myself up over the lack or anything-- I'm genuinely very happy on my own. I think it's just the societal expectations that tend to give me pause, every so often, but fuck 'em, right?"

"Absolutely nothing wrong with not wanting a relationship, or wanting to hold out for the perfect one if you want one. Having a partner doesn't complete you or make you whole, that's just cisheteronormative bullshit force fed on us by the media."

"I was unaware you had a faerie circle, that's... tentatively awesome. I'm all for eternal summer, providing it's like... pleasant summer, not summer where it's a hundred and eight degrees and there's no breeze."

Perdita smiles to Una and nods. "I'm going to try and get one side of the roof set up as a garden space. Not quite a community garden, I don't think, because I value my privacy and quiet time, but a place to grow things for the shelter and HOPE."

"No," Ravn can't resist a grin. "Don't fuck 'em. That's the point."

Then he nods his agreement again. "Yeah, there is social pressure. Or I should say, there is expectation. People do think there's something odd about someone who's just single and not really looking. A lot of the time they understand actively not wanting relations -- a man who hates women, a misogynist, they get that even if they don't approve of it. But just not -- caring enough? A lot of people find that very hard to understand. I think I tell my aunts once a week, I will find a girl. Some day. When the right girl sticks around long enough, and will they please shut up until then?"

Pause. "People should do whatever makes them happy. To me, that means not worrying about it. Those few times I've found myself thinking about someone like that, I've inevitably found that I should have figured that out four months previous and now they're with someone else. And that's me giving a speech no one actually asked for again, sorry."

Ravn shakes his head and sits up properly. "Cisheteronormative bullshit. Heh. God, I wish I'd known you when I was fifteen, Perdita. Would have saved me a hell of a lot of time trying to figure out what was wrong with me -- whether I was gay or weird or broken somehow. I don't miss being a teenager, not one bit."

From Una, now? A laugh. “Here’s to saying a huge no-fuck you to cisheteronormative bullshit,” she decides, lifting her drink in acknowledgement.”

“I hear you on the not missing being a teenager. When you hear people talking wistfully about it, I just... what?”

And, as she reaches for a piece of fruit: “As long as the faerie ring doesn’t ultimately decide we owe more than milk and cookies, I’m good with it.”

"Have you considered just... pretending to have a girlfriend?" she asks Ravn, one eyebrow raising slightly. "Just someone you snap a few photos with, then dole them out over the months to your nosey aunties?" Dita tilts her head slightly.

"When you were fifteen, I was like seven or eight and couldn't even pronounce 'heteronormative'... and I definitely don't miss being a teen, either. There's some things I miss. I wish I'd finished high school properly. Running away from home wasn't dumb. Staying away from the people I loved, when I had a few family members who would have risked blakbolime by the family for me..." she shakes her head. "But the past is the past, the cards fell how they did, and if I hadn't run away from home, I'd never have been able to afford a Brazilian Butt Lift at eighteen." she laughs and raises her glass to Una and Ravn, taking another sip.

"Having this ass was worth it all. And if the Fae want more, upgrade to sugary cereal. Something like Honey Smacks and Cream." Perdita suggests, smiling.

Ravn laughs softly. "And this is how Neverland becomes addicted to processed food. Corn syrup claims another reality."

Then he steals another slice of pine apple and dark, salty ham. "The thought has occurred to me a few times, not going to lie. But it's a lot to ask of someone -- the right picture in the wrong place, shit happens. I learned that the hard way back when the Revisionist turned me into a celebrity chef: Suddenly, getting seen with people meant headlines about my new dates and whatnot. I nearly got arrested on a charge of sexual assault because somebody else decided that the weirdness on my boat was caused by me drugging female friends and doing unspeakable things in secret. I ended up literally writing a letter to a Veil entity, begging to be let offf the hook. And that's why today, I'm the manager of an illegal lobster fighting ring instead -- and glad to be."

"I wish I'd gone to college," admits Una. "Like I meant to. But-- all those decisions lead you towards the next ones, right? And mine led me here," and this could 'this particularly beautiful spot' or more general, and really both are valid, "and I think I'm okay with that."

Her lips twitch with amusement for the prospect of the fae with sugary cereal. "Lucky charms, maybe. Unless they'd be offended by the leprechauns."

She hesitates, staring into the remains of her drink, and then laughs. "I was going to say, if you need a fake girlfriend, Ravn, I'm not exactly likely to be unavailable. But-- the whole shit happens thing is a definite cause for pause. Your life is weird."

"It's not like there's a lot of paparazzo running around Grey Harbor snapping photos of your paramours, but point taken. Were I not a taken and hunted woman, I'd be happy to put on my absolutely most cringe worthy stereotypical Roma girl outfit and snap a few photos so your dear aunts would stop asking you to bring home some nice girl, because we both know the scandal that would bring." Perdita laughs and shakes her head. "I'm pretty sure I have a few basmáli in one of my trunks, and at least one of them is obnoxiously be-coined."

"Well, this particular spot is a good place to be, right now. Good food, great company, an amazing view..." she gestures toward the beach, but she might be referring to Ángel, or Ravn, or even Una... or all of the above. Another bite of food, this a small appetizer, and a happy little sound from Perdita.

"His life is very weird. He makes me feel normal just by being around him."

"Maybe that's my role in life. Make other people feel normal." Ravn chuckles. And then points out, "But there were paparazzi in Gray Harbor, shooting pictures of my paramours. Because I was a Swedish celebrity chef -- the whole damn world believed it. I had a very IT-savvy friend help me track it -- hell, even people I grew up with back home thought I was a Swedish TV star. I had to have de la Vega help me chase them off -- him and Vic Grey and Rosencrantz all helped get rid of stalkers at some point or other. It was insane, and when I think about it, lobsters sound -- well, silly, but so harmless. Lobsters are just some guys in lumberjack shirts wanting to place bets, chug beer, and eat the losers. No one turns it into a press headline the day after."

Mirth dances in Una's expression, likely for the imagery of Perdita, be-coined, posing with Ravn.

"That's pretty fucked up, though," follows Ravn's explanatory details, though the story is not wholly new to the redhead. "I'm... I'd take the lobsters too. The lobsters kind of have their charm, if that makes sense? And they're not going to fuck up your life. Probably. Hopefully."

"Three months ago, maybe a little more now, and I'd've thought I was nuts, saying that. How quickly we adjust."

"... You're not even Swedish." Perdita mutters to herself softly, shaking her head. "Still not a fan of lobster cockfighting but in comparison that sounds so much easier to deal with."

Perdita cringes to think what it might have done to her, and is suddenly very thankful she wasn't in town when it happened.

"It's amazing how quick you adjust to the crazy in Gray Harbor, but never adjust to it at the same time. I lost twelve weeks of my life, woke up in bed with a strange man in a strange building with a cat, then had a half naked man fall in my lap, and those are a few of the more normal things to happen."

"I'm not a fan of it because while it's not as cruel to the lobsters as it sounds like, it's still too cruel. They don't actually fight like cockerels would. It's pretty much just posturing and waving claws, and whichever one sits still first gets eaten. But eating lobster still involves throwing an animal into a pot of boiling water, and I have issues with that part, even if I like lobster." Ravn nods his agreement. He likes animals. This is not something he would have chosen to get involved with if the alternative had not been continuing as a celebrity probably-rapist.

He shrugs. "I mean, it's true. I can tell whenever I talk to someone who's new in town. The things that seem normal to me now -- I sound like a complete loon. I have to make a serious, conscious effort to not sound like Denny and his damned mermaids. It's amazing how quickly we adapt."

"I guess it's still a matter of... playing with your food? I don't know. There are worse things, but I concede the point."

It does still Una's hands that were wandering towards the seared scallops and send them hastily back towards the carrot sticks. As long as vegetables don't actually have a nervous system we're not ware of, we're all good.

"I don't imagine you ever get completely used to it. More... you get used to accepting that things are going to be fucked up in a thousand different new ways, and that that's... maybe not okay, but at least just the way it is, so you can work with it."

"Hey, worse comes to worse, you have a built in way to murder me, just drag me out to the lobster fighting ring and push me into the match." Perdita laughs and swings her long legs off the edge of her lounger, stretching as she does.

"Well, in my life before I moved to Gray Harbor, my life was fucked up in a thousand ways, so I guess I'm pretty used to it." The sarong is removed, and her drink is relocated to the edge of the pool, before Perdita executes a perfectly angled low dive into the pool. She doesn't go for height, she goes for horizontal distance, the only safe(r) way to dive into a shallower pool. She breaks the water with barely a splash and comes up after a few seconds, grinning.

"The water is heavenly."

"There's that," Ravn agrees as he watches Perdita go. His own hair is still damp from emerging from the water a short while back, and he feels no urge to follow her (in part because that'd mean having to apply sunscreen all over once more). "My life was a mess. I ended up just wandering on my own, from bus stop to stop, just to avoid dealing with anything or anyone, ever. Gray Harbor is an epic clusterfuck but it's better."

He grins at Una. "Want a swim? I'm going to claim this lounge chair while she's gone." He lets action follow words and slides up to take up all the space. Cat in a sunbeam, that's Ravn. Somebody fetch some kid with a palm frond to fan him and his life is complete.

"Mine was just... I think I was in stasis. Waiting for something to happen. So this is better than that, too."

Una's gaze tracks after Perdita, but it's not until the other woman has re-emerged-- and for that matter, Ravn has asked his question-- that she properly stirs. "Yes," she decides. "I'm coming in. When else am I going to get the opportunity to swim in water like this, right?"

She's not a diver, though: her drink gets set down and she simply walks her way into the water, little by little, until it begins to rise up around her. "Oh," is a happy sigh. "It is nice." Best. Dream. Ever.

"Thief." Perdita accuses Ravn, with no real animosity behind the word, merely amusement. She then moves to her drink, taking another sip. She's being careful not to drink too much at once, especially with her swimming now.

"Enough chlorine to keep the water clean, but not enough to bleach our hair. I hope. I have a history with Dreams messing with my hair when I'm out... that started in Cozumel. Shit."

"As for 'when', I'm planning an escape to Cozumel some time in a few months, for real. There are real villas like this for rent along the beach..."

"Yes. And quite proud of it actually. Takes effort to be a good thief." Ravn makes no move whatsoever towards giving up his ill-gotten sun lounger. His now. Deal.

He glances over his shoulder, though, in the vague direction of wherever Àngel went off to. "Think this is the same as last time we were here? That nothing as such will happen, but a lot of taking notes of our conversation? If you think about it -- every time we talk, we do tell them about ourselves, our fears and our hopes. Want to bet that there's going to be all kinds of romance tropes in store for Una and me now? That Perdita gets challenged on her new-found monogamy a whole lot?"

Then his head falls back, because sun good. "Of course, Una is already married to Ariadne. I officiated the wedding myself so it must be true."

"Oh fuck," says Una, who may not, until now, have pulled that thought together. She's lazing half-submerged, not quite upright but still able to see Ravn-- to whom she looks at now. "You're probably right, though. Bribe us with nice things so they can get us to talk openly, and then... well. Fine. I'll get married a few more times. May as well be a Dream-bigamist."

"It could be... or they're feeding off the latent anxiety of nothing bad happening..." Perdita shrugs slightly, moving to the glass edge of the pool and looking out at the ocean. "If they can pick Àngel out of my brain, they probably already knew that being in a monogamous relationship is new, weird and challenging for me, but it's a good thing for me, too. They'll try to screw it up, but they don't realize that I'm best at screwing up relationships when left to my own devices." She laughs, "So I'm not going to worry too much."

"All I know is that the view is beautiful, a few miles that way is Playa del Carmen and a few miles up from there is Cancun, we're in a villa that should cost like... a thousand dollars or more a day, and if we really wanted to, we could probably pay someone to drive us up to Zona Arqueológica San Gervasio and see real Mayan ruins. Or, well. Real Dream Mayan ruins. Let's not worry about what might be, and let's just enjoy the here and now."

"Eh," Ravn agrees, lazily. "Good points, both. As long as the dream marriages don't come with waking world marriage certificates, indeed. And for me, well -- if they want to rub salt into wounds about my relationship status it's not me they need to compete with. It's themselves -- I don't think anything is going to top literally conjuring up my dead fiancée and making me watch her getting ground to paste by my friends. It's not a dare, dolorphages -- but bloody hell, I recovered from that, I doubt it can get much worse."

He shrugs. "They've almost given up on my social anxieties and my fear of crowds. Maybe that attitude is the right one. Whatever. Enjoy the here and now, and when the world burns tomorrow we'll deal with that tomorrow."

"... that's definitely winning for fucked up," agrees Una. Then again, there are a fair number of contenders. Perhaps it's winning for fucked up right now, but the winner changes regularly.

She stretches out her toes, splashing them idly in the clear, sun-dappled water. "I'm all for enjoying the here and now. Definitely. They'll do whatever it is they intend to do, and we'll deal with it. I'm interested in your Mayan ruins, Perdita. I wonder if I can start telling people I visited places... once upon a dream."

"... Ravn, soaking up this sunshine and relaxing in this water I can think of a half dozen ways to top that. Please don't challenge them." She swims to the other side and grabs a pre-inflated pool float for herself, then pulls one into the water for Una, as well, should she desire it.

"I'm going to have that Lana Del Rey cover stuck in my head now. I hope you're happy."

"If I pass out in the sun here and wake up fifty shades of lobster in my bed in the morning I will be very happy indeed." Ravn closes his eyes again, sun worshipper that he is. Nothing will prompt him to move for a while. If that means slacking off and then going to look at Mayan ruins later? He's game. If it means lying right here until he falls asleep and then wakes up in his own bed? That works too.

The girls are right, after all. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.