2022-03-16 - Pancaaaaaaakes

Pancakes!

It's a couple of hours later, and the back door of 5 Oak is invitingly open, letting in the unseasonable warmth (and also the bees and insects, but being creatures originally-of-fae, they're well behaved).

Una's gotten dressed, but only barely: her slouchy track pants and tie-dyed t-shirt could pretty easily pass as nightwear, though at least the bed-head is gone. She putters around the stove, whisking eggs and flour and milk and humming tunelessly under her breath. This kitchen, with its old fashioned but fully functional appliances, is her happy place, and it shows, both in how comfortable she is, here, and in the little touches here and there: herbs on the window-sills, flowers on the table, and splashes of bright colour everywhere.

Coffee's already on the go, mugs and plates set out on the worn and scratched old table. When Una promises pancakes? She delivers.

And lo and behold, after two more hours of sleep, here's Ariadne. She's in jogging sweatpants and a t-shirt (something baby-pink with something printed on it, who knows what) beneath a well-loved sweatshirt in plum-purple. With her deeply-auburn hair up in a messy bun, she's still all but knuckling at one eye as she arrives at the front door.

And she just happened to be able to scrounge up a Ravn, by the taller silhouette behind her.

"Una, you're a goddess," croaks the barista as a greeting as she drifts into the kitchen. In her hand, a bag of single-origin beans. "I brought more coffee. Because coffee."

The Ravn should maybe have left in bed, or wherever he was found. He's in black sweatpants and a black tank top with a cat face on and a rainbow, and the text, "50% cat, 50% magic, 100% caticorn". He looks like -- well, like he was having a pretty good make-out session going with that bottle before he decided to maybe not continue it on basis of there being an actual risk Ariadne might turn up.

A risk which turned real enough it seems. His bedhead is amazing. "Please, coffee. Think I need it. I slept a bit but."

Would Una joke about pancakes? Would Ariadne joke about showing up for pancakes? Really, Ravn. Really?!

Una's far too cheerful given the amount of sleep she probably hasn't had, waving her two breakfast guests in with a generous motion. "Bless you. I think," and now she's giving Ravn a glance, managing to hold back any laughter, "we may need it. Here." She brings the coffee pot to the table, setting it down in the middle with all due ceremony (and atop a nice wooden coaster thing, because of course).

"See, Ravn? Goddess incarnate." Ariadne gestures between the newly-settled coffee pot and the other redhead tending to pancakes. "The entire kitchen smells divine. Stop me and my puns now, there's no off-button without coffee."

This being said, she manages to scrounge up mugs for all involved with the shuffling movements of something truly Not A Morning Person in any capacity. Her seating of self in one of the kitchen chairs is heavy-sounding and she winces as she reaches out for the coffee pot. "I know folks warned about how Dream ouchies transfer over, but ouchie. Seriously. Fuck that logic." The scent of rising steam is just nirvana. "Una, do you happen to have any coffee creamer?" asks the barista politely. Her manners, at least, are awake.

"I hate that it carries over." Ravn plonks down on a chair bonelessly. If there is such a thing as a zombie-esque state, he is in it. He's brushed his teeth at least; no whiskey breath over the pancakes. "I hate being weak and defenceless and feeling like I am being used as a sock puppet. I hate being paraded around. I hate having all the responsibility of looking like I'm on top of everything when in reality, I'm on top of nothing whatsoever. Story of my life, and I fucking hate it."

Well, he did say. Not a pleasant drunk. A gloved hand reaches for a mug. Please, bean juice, do your thing.

Silently, Una brings the requested coffee creamer to the table, setting it down in front of Ariadne. She has pancakes to fry, but Drunk!Ravn is a more immediate priority. "It's the worst," she agrees, levelly. "The carrying-over. And the rest, too. You do a very good job of playing as if you're on top of everything, Ravn."

Frankly, she looks a little guilty; a little self-conscious, perhaps, of relying too much on the Dane... Knowing Things. A quick glance is aimed at Ariadne. "I'd hate that too," is what she ultimately decides on.

"It's the fucking pits," the barista agrees quietly as she stirs creamer into her own mug's worth of coffee. Her glance over at Una meets the other redhead's eyes and she subtly nods, awake enough at least to interpret most of the expression on Una's face.

"And nobody's thinking you're not on top of things, Ravn. A lot was going on there and some of us hadn't seen anything of what was going on before. If this is some...Veil asshole's side hobby, throwing us all in together for the sake of chaos, they're going to get their own ass bitten because we're all going to get really fucking good at figuring shit out fast and wrecking plans like a bull in a china shop." She sips her coffee and sighs in relief. "It's hard when the spotlight's on a weakness, yeah. I hate not knowing things."

Ravn takes his coffee hot and black and burning his mouth does not seem to be a concern; he drinks deeply before even trying to put an answer together. "You never know what's going on in the Dream. You just try to flow with it, figure out where it wants to take you."

He shakes his head. "It's the whole -- in that Dream, I was supposed to be someone who knew what they were doing. The narrative went something like, I'm going to some kind of auction and I am someone important, and also, I am apparently part of some kind of organisation that isn't above killing people. But I don't get the information -- the helpless flailing is the point. The Veil knows I hate it. I hate the jet set, I hate suits and glamour and the idle rich, I hate everything from the instant I step out of that helicopter to the chandelier falling down."

"That's fucked up," says Una, by the time Ravn's got to the end of that, and she's worked her own head through the intricacies involved. This time, she manages to make it back to the stove, though she pauses there, coffee in hand, to give it all just a little more thought.

"I mean, the whole thing was fucked up. We were all clearly there with a purpose, and none of us had any idea. It wasn't like-- not like when we were Zorro and so on, when it was so clearly obvious what we needed to do. This time, we were missing all the key bits of information, and--"

She trails off, because clearly, as unpleasant as this is, that's not the whole of Ravn's point. "Ariadne's right. We've just got to get better at trying to neutralise this. And then, yes, get fucked up drunk when we need to, because it fucking sucks being put in those situations, and made to feel like that. None of this is fun."

"About as fun as waxing," mutters the barista before she sips her coffee again. She's now got an elbow rested on the table and her jaw smushed into resting on her palm. "I'd also rather day-drink for different reasons, but hey, I still have a bottle of wine back at the motel. I don't have to go in to work today, no shift. It's tempting, that Little Penguin."

Wine for the masses, nothing fancy. It'll do.

"Still...I'm sorry I wasn't helpful enough. I tried. I guess that's all I could have done in that Dream," she shrugs tiredly and then winces again when her shoulder pangs. "I'll try to think faster next time. I'm also going to point out that spite is delicious and frankly, if a Dream is going to try and embarrass me? Once I'm over it? I'm going to be spiteful as fuck BACK at the Dream narrative in turn. Again, bull in china shop."

"None of us had the first damned idea what was going on. Blaming ourselves for not figuring it out doesn't help. If it does anything at all, it means we'll get even less clue next time." Ravn makes a face and refills his coffee mug. "Being able to let it slide over you is a good thing. The whole priest thing? Doesn't bother me in the slightest -- Veil wants to suggest I'm celibate or a eunuch or whatever, be my guest. Put me in a dress and have Perdita rescue me from my maiden tower? Fine."

Una's little nod is timed to be in response to Ariadne's apology, though it doesn't get immediately followed by words. Instead, she glances at her frying pan, and starts making pancakes: this, more than anything, is a comfort thing. When in doubt? Make food.

"Right," she agrees. "That's probably the problem, right? We're becoming more immune to the humiliation... sort of." Very sort of, for Una, though variably. "So it's more about making us as uncomfortable as possible in other ways, and that's harder to prepare for. The lack of clue. Fuck the fucking Veil."

"I really hate that it's got this level of intelligence, if that's the case." Ariadne tick-a-taps fingernails off the side of her mug, watching and yet not watching Una work at pancakes. "Water off a duck's back and all until it starts using cooking oil. Fuck that shit. Well...alright. Lesson learned: get ready for frustration. I can do that, even if it sucks, because like I said. Spite is just plain delicious sometimes."

A long inhale and long exhale. "Though that batter smells amazing, Una, did you use any lemon juice in it? That was my dad's trick for fluffier pancakes: adding some lemon juice to the Bisquik. My mum always made them from scratch, but my dad grew up with the boxed stuff. It takes me back," she shares, smiling tiredly despite everything. "Sam was thankfully fine," the barista adds as additional report. "He just had to pee and went back to sleep. Maybe he had some amnesia afterwards or...being a tiger didn't compute. Or something."

"My theory is, there are several players on the game board when it comes to what they want. A lot of it is mindless -- just realities bleeding into each other, and our minds process it into more or less familiar things. Those want emotions -- strong emotions -- and they want power. There will be some kind of narrative, typically shaped by our own fears and narrative tropes -- that's a dream like the Zorro one or the Robin Hood ones, fairly predictable, and pretty harmless if not outright funny."

He sips his coffee. "And there's the ones that are clearly and intentionally fucking with us in order to induce strong emotions, usually negative. Those are the entities that know exactly what they're doing, and they're very definitely treating us like farm animals. Those piss me off to no extent. And I hope they choke on your spite."

"Lemon juice? Never heard of that trick," says Una. "No Bisquik in these; you should see the size of my flour stash."

Answering questions about her cooking is easy; dealing with the complexities of the Veil is harder, and requires more coffee. "So the lighter dreams... they're like candy. Empty calories, not at all filling but still tasty. But the ones like last night, those are a full buffet of awfulness. I just wish their preference in strong emotions wasn't so weighted towards... fear and frustration and anger. What about some joy? Some laughter? Glee? Those can be strong emotions too, thank you very much."

Beat. "Was it really Sam, or just a construct of Sam? Maybe that's impossible to answer."

"I can make enough spite happen to please a hagfish. Also, if neither of you have looked up a hagfish, please do this after you're done eating and not beforehand either. It's impressive. And just plain gross, depending on your tolerance level for slime." Ariadne herself seems without bother in regards to this marine creature. Instead, she watches the continued process of pancakes while sipping at her coffee. Blessed bean water.

"I wonder...well, Sam is Sam. I think? I have no idea if that was a Sam construct or what, but he acted like Sam, so...maybe? And Sam wasn't acting traumatized when he stuck his tongue up my nose to wake me up, but he's also pretty bomb-proof. I socialized him thoroughly. Loud people aren't his cup of tea, but he's not going to start screeching or do anything more than step behind me if it gets to be too much. Una, you have a point though. Is it possible to, like...gum up the workings of the Dream with spite and positivity?"

"Hell if I know." Ravn sips his coffee again with a slight shrug. "I want to think it is. The reality of it though -- it's pretty bleak. I'm a folklorist -- I know what myths recur in every culture in the history of mankind. Chaos is bad. Primal chaos is darkness and suffering, and every religious context begins with the same myth -- first there is chaos or nothing at all, and then some creator power steps up and inflicts order. And even when he, she or it has, there are still things out there in the dark that will not obey the rules, that prey upon us. This primal fear of the lack of structure is part fear of nature's power -- we try to reason or bargain with the volcano, have our prettiest maiden and please don't blow up. And it's part fear of things you can't bargain with. Knowing what I know now, having seen what I've seen here -- I have to conclude that there are in fact dark things out there, that see us as prey. And that as we are not creator gods who can force structure on them, we are kind of screwed in this deal."

The first few pancakes are deposited onto a plate, and the plate gets set down onto the table with a flourish: pancakes! Maybe that will help outweigh some of the rest, because: "Well fuck."

Una pauses there, spatula still in hand, frowning. "It almost makes me want to believe in a god of some kind, so that I can pray for protection against the darkness. Except-- I don't. Though I wonder if I should, given everything else that turns out to be real."

Ariadne shifts in her chair when the pancakes arrive. "Well, at least Una is the bountiful patron goddess of pastries," she notes in a still-sleepy vein of stubborn humor. "All hail, goddess. All that?" A gesture towards Ravn to denote his thoughts in particular. "I agree with it. Dark things are out there. Good and evil aren't just constructs, they're a thing, if all based in human behaviors and cultural codes. Maybe these are things which have become...somehow more."

Two pancakes are purloined for herself. "But I don't believe in a god or gods, not really. Those too are constructs to help humanity explain what can't be explained yet by science. Since we can't explain these Veil bastards? They're just asshole mysteries. That's it. I refuse to treat them as anything more than variables to be studied or manipulated. I also refuse to be screwed. I'll be their hagfish. They can choke on me," she says with a certain ring of curt steel to her voice.

"Hope," Ravn replies, except what he says is, "HOPE. The community centre, that's the whole point. That if altruism is anathema to the genuinely evil things in the dark, then we'll bloody well weaponize it and fight back. The more we stand together, the more we look out for one another, the less vulnerable we are. In a way, we fall back on the ur-defence: Huddling together in the dark instead of alone, make predators think twice."

He chuckles and then, in spite of the shallow amount of blood in his whiskey system, reaches for a pancake too. "I'm not a believer as such. Maybe there is a God, if so I'll find out eventually. There are gods, though, because I've met a few: Veil entities that wear familiar faces. I'm sure some of them would be thrilled if we were to form a cult and worship them. I'm sure several cults got started on the kool-aid exactly that way. Being a hagfish seems a better choice to me."

"If only defeating Veil entities was one of my godlike powers," says Una, who is laughing... but also not laughing. She returns to her pan, adding more pancakes, and while they cook, reaches for her coffee again.

"HOPE-- right. I remember you saying that. So clinging to altruism is absolutely an important thing. And otherwise... hagfish. I'm down with that too. Fuck 'em all, because I'm not going to let any of this ruin my life. Maybe they'll come to realise we're better for them when we do fight back, because I imagine... I imagine we stop being at all useful, if we stop. Because we do stop. That's what happens to people. And I'm not down with that."

"Looks like I'll be seeing about the community center once a week," Ariadne muses while she preps her pancakes. Once they're to personal specification, she forks up a bite --

-- and immediately makes a sound of appreciation just shy of lewd. "Ohm'god, Una, these're so good." Forget her mouth being full, she's complimenting the cook, so there. "But what do you mean veil entities with familiar faces? Like, they're mimicking human iterations of gods? Zeus? Shiva? Anansi?" The folklorist is sitting right there, might as well get this answered so the future isn't full of unpleasant, sanity-rocking revelations. Apparently, the barista refuses to play anything but the game of science.

"The ones I bumped into were Quetzalcoatl and Xochiquetzal -- but yes. Veil entities, taking on the faces and the roles of human myths. It's important to keep in mind that that's what it is -- an attempt to communicate with us in some strange way, through our own stories. So if you meet Jesus? He's not actually Jesus." Ravn toys with his fork; this man's habit of not actually eating what's on his plate is infuriating to some.

"My take on all of this, once the pennies started to drop was, I won't just be farmed like some prize cow. I'll live a good life while I'm here. I'll starve the bastards as much as I'm able, by not being miserable, by helping others not be miserable, by taking away as much as I can of their food source. And I will play along with the other kind, the Zorro and Robin Hood stories, because if positive reinforcement works with dogs, maybe it works with Veil monsters, who the fuck knows."

Una's pleasure at the compliment to her cooking is unfeigned, and it's the kind of compliment she's able to take without modesty, false or otherwise: she positively beams. She's going to blithely ignore the games Ravn is playing with her perfectly delicious food. (This time.)

"Drown them with rewards in the good Dreams; I like that. I'm not sure I'm fussed about meeting gods in Dreams, though of course I can say that because I haven't. As I recall, that one, with Quetza-- them-- was less than fun. I'm sure it was you, Ravn, who told me about that. Point is, we're doing the right thing. And instead of drinking ourselves into oblivion alone," not staring down anyone in particular here, "we're having pancakes with people we care about, and proving that we're stronger than what they throw at us, together."

"Una's pancakes trump false gods any day and anyone can fight me out back over it." Ariadne lifts her coffee cup in a general salute and challenge both (not like anyone present here is really going to fight her out back over it) and then drinks deeply of the brew.

"And I love the idea of taking a clicker into a Dream. Seriously, it's how I trained Sam to be so well-behaved, capturing behavior. Click at a Veil entity and then play along with the Dream. Oh my god," and she then falls into barely-caffeinated cackling. It dissolves into her face half-disappeared into one hand, a light flush of color showing up on her cheeks. It's probably a relieved outlet of tension as well, let's be honest, and it lasts for enough time to make her sigh when she's done. "Motherfucking nonsense, all of it," she then mutters airily before shoving more pancake in her face. Murfling follows: "All for one and one for all regardless of things. Power in a group, I agree."

"Yeah, I think I told you about it." Ravn nods at Una; he remembers the actual dream better than who he might have described it to. "We had to carry out the sacrifice, to keep the year turning. Because Aztec mythos, like so many other early agrarian mythos, is cyclic in nature. Xochiquetzal must die in autumn so that she can be reborn with the maize in spring -- the Aztecs had elaborate human sacrifice rites for this purpose, beheading the dancing corn maiden and whatnot. Rosencrantz took her down. The rest of us were trying to -- well, stay alive, because a lot of dead people were trying to stop us. Which also makes sense -- chaos does not want life to die and be reborn."

He shakes his head and nibbles on pancake. That, at least, prompts a smile. "Bloody hell, these are far better than store bought." Great compliment there, maestro -- all pancakes are.

More praise for Una's pancakes! Truly, her day has been made. (Was there a Dream that sucked? Maybe there was. She's forgotten.) It may not be the best compliment ever, but it'll do.

Ariadne's laughter has her chortling, too, because that really is a funny image.

The next batch of pancakes are expertly turned, and then the redhead glances back at her friends. "That's right," she says, with a nod. "The hordes of undead. It was terrifying-- just hearing about it. But you survived!" Because the theme of the morning is finding positives. "All for one and one for all; the three musketeers. Except there's an army of us, not just three."

Beat. "Well, at least a platoon. A unit? I don't know, some kind of military term. Number greater than three and less than whatever."

"Platoon's about forty or so, unit's about ten to twenty," Ariadne pipes up a la military terms. "Had a friend who toured twice in Iraq, in the Army." Thus, her source.

"Also, no hordes of undead, please. Not without a shotgun. Although I believe it was once calculated that a chainsaw is most effective against hordes of undead, but the problem is running out of fuel for the chainsaw. I have some interesting friends back in Seattle." Again, thus, her source. She's smiling down at her pancakes nonetheless; Derik, such a charming oddball.

A glance over at Ravn. "Don't make me mom you and tell you to eat more pancakes." Too late, he's mom'd. "What's up with the community center then? Like, what needs to be done around there? I'm not totally certain I'll have a lot of time, but a few hours each week seems doable."

"Well, it started as an outreach to the homeless guys. This place draws a lot -- and no one really notices because homeless people disappear all the time, and no one keeps track. Then we expanded the idea to we do whatever needs to be done, and that we have capacity for. There's no set program because it all comes down to what people are volunteering. I help out in a couple of study groups, help with writing C. V.s, getting the guys in touch with shop owners here who in turn have offered to take somebody on for a bit since future employers look very hard at 'recent employment'." Ravn catches that look -- and doggedly sticks another piece of pancake in his mouth, yes mum.

"It's -- all of the usual, really. People in bad situations. From domestic abuse to financial trouble, all that every town has. And then Gray Harbor's weird on top -- from self defence classes to missing people, to gremlins ate my cat. A lot of the time, it's about helping sorting out insurance claims -- what do you write when gremlins knocked down your door and smashed windows, to eat your cat? There's a lot of requests from the outside world, has Peter James or John Doe been seen here, they were last seen hitch-hiking south from Seattle. And in summer, a lot of trying to keep the many tourists safe too."

Ravn pauses and then chuckles wryly. "That's actually one of the hardest parts. You tell tourists the old lumber mill is haunted, they're not going to stay away. We lost an entire team of urban explorers out there last summer. We will again."

Una adds a few more pancakes to the plate on the table, holding back two for herself, though she clearly intends to eat them at the frying pan. "So there's definitely more than a platoon of us," she concludes, with a grin for Ariadne. "But I have no idea how many more."

She doctors her pancakes carefully, listening to Ravn. It's the last that really makes her make a face. "Ugh. No one ever listens, do they? In that sense, we should feel grateful this town isn't getting more of the tourism."

"I suppose I can offer up self defense classes. Maybe the others won't step into my punch, but hey, you never know." Ravn gets a friendly smirk. "Or maybe folks who are good at taking notes and flipping rocks over. That's easy work and it can translate to maybe a little paycheck here and there if I could convince Parks and Rec. Hmm. Ideas," she murmurs to herself. Another fresh pancake is forked up, likely her last, but it'll be enjoyed nonetheless.

"Also, not trying to be Captain Obvious or rude here, but why are people even telling tourists about the haunted, scary places if the tourists are going to end up disappearing there? It's not only cruel, but deliberate endangerment of innocent folk. Like...whoever's doing that needs to stop now." Her nose wrinkles up in deep censure.

"Several reasons." Ravn toys with his pancake and frowns lightly; this is his least favourite part of that conversation, always. "Most people who live here don't actually know that it's all true. They think it's just part of the local folklore, so hey, if it's a nice sunny day for a walk in the woods, why not go look at our local haunted lumber mill, haha. And then -- there are some who will, because if a number of folks need to die to placate the things in the dark, better some tourist than them. Mostly, though, it's people who don't know any better. They see tourists, they want to give tourists something to do, because if there's one thing this town needs? It's tourist money."

"And," Una supposes, solemnly, "the Veil wants people to go there, presumably. Fuck me, it's just... ugh."

There are more pancakes to fry, in between bites, though by this point it's probably mostly because leftover pancakes are delicious... and it's something to do with Una's hands that isn't eating more and more of them.

"It's awful. That there are people in this town unwittingly sending other people to horrible ends. I mean, the ones wittingly doing so are I guess worse, but... I was looking forward to seeing this town in summer, but it's also making me pretty nervous. This is really not a great place for tourists."

"...what the fuck," mutters Ariadne of what the Dane shares with the group. "This is fucked up."

She shifts in her chair and drags her last bite of pancake through the syrup like this was going to make it more appetizing verses what she's just learned. "Like...what if the Veil is influencing the normies...the Muggles, y'know? Those people to tell the tourists? God. That's..." Shaking her head means her hair falls forward over her shoulder. "Put up signs or something? A public notice? Slap it all over social media, maybe the mill house is under construction or there's a gas leak or something."

"Well, we do try. Anyone with a conscience who knows what's up does try. But if there's one thing that's hard to do in the age of internet? Keeping a secret." Ravn nods lightly. "And harder yet when all it takes is one or two people shitposting on some conspiracy forum, and bam, there we go. Never goes public and draws attention big scale because that would ruin things for the dolorphages. Letting small things slip, drawing in the tinfoil hat society? Definitely."

He shakes his head. "I learned that pretty early on. We can't save everyone. I thought so at first -- that it was as simple as us against them. It's not -- not all monsters are literal monsters. But we can save a lot of people, and we can save each other."

"The more you try and keep people away from a thing... the more they're going to want to go there. Fuck."

It's a depressing thought, and rather bringing down the earlier three muskateer-ism. Una sets down her fork, and her spatula, and instead puts the coffee pot back on because, really? When in doubt, the answer is always more coffee.

"We'll keep doing our best, right? Distract, distract, distract. Look, the marina!-- wait, no, mermaids. Uh. Look, the park! Look, sure, why not, the casino."

"The best is all we can do. It's part of that hagfish spite I mentioned earlier: deprive the Veil of nourishment, force positivity down its craw until it chokes, and laugh like a vengeful antihero. Or villain. Depends on the day and how you're feeling."

Ariadne lifts her coffee mug. "Seriously though. All for one, one for all, and Una's pancakes are the best I've ever tasted, which still makes her the pastry goddess. All hail."

Seems like a proper thing to toast to as it stands, especially with more coffee on the way.