2022-03-20 - False Assumptions

With tourist season not yet started, midweek finds Gray Harbor's latest attempt at a dedicated karaoke bar by and large... well, dead. The single bartender is desultorily wiping down a bar that is really, no really, already clean, and most of the tables are empty.

There's someone at the microphone, though: a tall, dark man in beat-up jeans and a dark blue button-up shirt, performing a serviceable rendition of Don't Dream It's Over. Mikaere's voice is probably naturally a little too deep to be well suited to the song, and he's definitely untrained-- but not unmusical. His is a new face; a tourist arrived early, perhaps, or yet another random glimmerer-- for he is that, unquestionably showing power that may not be a lighthouse but is certainly a solid glow-- brought on in the currents.

He's got his eyes closed as he sings, and sways unconsciously in time with the music.

The bell over the door chimes gently as Kailey bursts through the doors. Full of energy as usual she has her hair up in full pigtails. Makeup is dark and purple with some glitter thrown in. Wearing her leather jacket, purple and black heart leggings beneath cut-off jean shorts. Under the jacket is a band T-shirt for one of Tori Amos' tours. She pauses in the doorway, letting a gust of air flutter through, to glance back over her shoulder.

"Come on, man. Don't make me play doorstop forever," She says to her current companion. Whom she has dragged from his very comfortable home, across the street from her own, to come to the 'New Karaoke' bar. "I want to get a drink and...oh. Guess I won't have to wait long for a turn."

"Thank God for that," murmurs the companion; a tall white guy in black slacks, turtleneck and blazer, he cuts a striking figure for several reasons. First off, he probably thought he was going to some fancy writers' workshop or Apple tech bar in Seattle. Second, his lack of colour fails entirely to let him blend in when everything else is colourful, in the way that a shadow creeping across the Milky Way would also fail entirely to look like so many other glittering stars. And finally, he looks around with an expression that strongly suggests he really did take a wrong turn somewhere.

And yet the man follows lady purple hair to the counter. It's not hard to tell the power dynamic there; she's the energetic pixie dream girl and he's... whatever. Probably some accountant with a decent fashion sense. Maybe this is a rom-com in the making.

Mikaere's eyes open as the odd couple (because they do look it) enter the bar. It may be coincidental; it may not be, too, particularly given his dark-eyed gaze inexorably sweeps across the room towards them. Of course, it could just be that their arrival means that there's someone else here at all (which is only a slight exaggeration: there are at least a few other people).

"Hey now, hey now
Don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
You know they won't win."

It would be creepy if he just kept staring at the new arrivals, and so he doesn't - but that doesn't mean his gaze doesn't sweep back towards the bar every so often as he works his way towards the last chorus. He's not particularly performing-- probably not a karaoke regular-- but at least he seems to be enjoying himself.

The Punk in Purple and the Accountant walk up to a bar. It should be a joke. To some it may be. To locals who know the two, well they are always hanging out together. "Yo! I would like a strawberry daquiri. And get this dude whatever he wants that isn't water or coffee," She tells the bartender. As if sensing an objection coming she turns to shake a finger at him, "You're going to relax a little and try to have fun. That requires an actual drink. Even if it's a frufru thing like I'm having." She turns to listen to the man currently singing. Within seconds her head is bobbing with the music.

"Whatever passes for a decent bourbon or whiskey around here," Ravn requests. "Double, on rocks. No water."

The bartender reaches for a bottle of Jim Beam.

"Decent," Ravn reiterates. Jim Beam is the kind of stuff that Terry Pratchett renamed Jim Bearhugger's and suggested that the proper use for it was to wipe down dwarf battle axes after battle. And before, if you wanted to frighten the enemy out of fighting.

The bartender reaches for a bottle of Old Crow with a tentative look.

Ravn sighs. "Let me have the Black Eagle. Looks like it's the best you've got."

He probably thinks of himself as a man of wealth and taste. The bartender probably thinks of him as fuck, the European tourists come early this year and if they hate American whiskey so much why the hell don't they go to Scotland or wherever, jeez.

The last of Mikaere's 'hey nows' fade away, the music ends, and the tall man steps away from the microphone. There's (very) scattered applause from a few of the bar's lone occupants, but truthfully, most of them aren't really paying attention: karaoke is more fun in a crowd, and it's not as if his performance was particularly energising. He picks up his coat from the stool he's draped it over, just next to the microphone, slinging it over his arm as he makes for the bar.

That's definitely coincidence, because despite his earlier glances towards Ravn and Kailey, it's the barkeep's attention he's waiting on.

Kailey watches the interchange with an amused smirk. Her nostrils flare as she tamps down the urge to snicker at her friend's put-upon sigh. "I'm gonna grab the song book," She tells him. The sound of her mirth thick in her voice. There's a neat stack at the DJ station, along with slips of paper and horrible pencils that barely have a tip. She just takes a few slips and heads back towards Ravn. Promptly sits and begins to go through the offerings. She pauses, however, to turn and clap for the most recent singer.

The claps freeze as she stares at the man and blinks a few times. Like someone who got blinded briefly by a headlight. "Whoa," She says as she looks away to the book so not to be caught staring. Softly to Ravn she says, "That dude has some sparkle. Dayum!"

"He does," Ravn agrees softly, blissfully unaware that so does he these days -- that penny has still to drop, and when it does, he will likely be very surprised. "Do you know him?" To an outsider, they surely look like a couple whispering about an attractive stranger, though whether it's that one finds the stranger attractive or worries that the other will is anyone's guess.

The bartender slides over the drinks; Ravn's simple, amber liquid on ice in a tumbler, and Kailey's with strawberries and a little paper umbrella. The man in black nods his appreciation -- at least the ice isn't crushed and no one came up with any ridiculous notions of a slice of lime or similar.

Then he glances back at his energetic companion. "Because if you don't, we probably should go say hello. In case he's a new sucker to town."

Mikaere's forearms rest atop the (clean! surprisingly clean!) bar as he arrives there, no longer paying Ravn and Kailey more than cursory attention: if he's aware of their renewed awareness of him, he shows no sign of it. "I'll have another beer," he tells the bartender, now that the man is finished with those other two drinks. "But not that dreck you served me last time. A lager? Something amber? With actual flavour, aye?"

His accent's not local-- and to a person not used to picking out the intricacies of Commonwealth variations, falls somewhere in the range of 'English or Australian or South African or New Zealand or something like that', though a better ear would pick up the very specific vowel sounds that identify it as the last on that list.

He's probably not making the bartender's day any easier, either: oh look, another fussy foreigner.

"Nope," Kailey says with a shake of her head and pigtails. She gives the bartender a smile as her drink is slid along the bad. Instantly plucking the umbrella out, sucking the end, and tucking it into a pigtail like some odd flower. Taking a gulp from her frozen fruity drink she licks her lips and waves at the man down the bar. "Hello!" She says with obvious cheer and a grin. "Wanna join us?" She chimes cheerfully.

"Oh, hey, I want mozzy sticks too, please!" This later is said to the bartender. Every bad has food in the PNW. Food in your gut means more alcohol can be consumed, after all. "With ranch for dipping. Thanks!"

Every bar in the PNW serves food of some kind, much to Ravn's regret. He will never stop cursing the day Chief de la Vega pointed out to him in passing that smoking is prohibited at bars that serve food -- because until then he was blissfully ignorant, happily breaking the law, and never getting told off for it because bartenders tend to care little when some European idiot wants to pay way too much for fancy whiskeys. Now he has to not smoke because he knows, and bleh.

Probably the intention. The Chief thinks he's an idiot for smoking while asthmatic.

He raises a hand gloved in black kidskin to offer a friendly wave at the unfamiliar face. "Australia?" he ventures -- because Ravn is no expert on international accents either, but he likes to think he can tell Yorkshire from Sidney at least.

Mikaere's immediate reaction to the invitation is, well... dubious. And in his defence, invitations to join presumed couples in a bar can have a variety of connotations, of which 'we're cruising for a threesome' probably comes close to the top of the list. His studying glance of the two may well be an attempt to search for hidden meanings in the invitation.

On the other hand, there's that glimmer.

His deliberation takes only a few seconds, really, though it's probably longer in his head. It may be helped by the mock grimace that answers Ravn's question. "Five months ago, that question may not have gone so well for you. I'm still wounded," though he's also holding back a laugh, so clearly not that badly, "but I'm learning to accept the inevitable. Right region, wrong country, and it's a sore spot."

"Mikaere," he adds, directing it to both Kailey and Ravn, carefully sounding it out for them, nice and slow, with the air of a man who has done this many times, too. "From New Zealand."

The bartender, sighing, serves him his beer. Hopefully this one is up to scratch.

Kailey smiles at Mikaere and as he studies her she, in the show-off fashion of Kailey Holt, flares her own Glimmer. A sort of phantom wave if you will. Then she turns back to scanning the song book. Flipping through here and there as she tries to find what she wants. Then she stops on a page . She is in the listing by Bang/Singer and in the As. Quickly she jots down the reference # on a slip before turning to another page.

With her song bit out of the way she looks back up to grin at Mikaere. "Hi! I'm Kailey, this Is Ravn. From Denmark," She giggles at her own introduction of her friend, flashing Ravn a wink. "Welcome to Gray Harbor. Let me put this in and I'll be right back," She hops up without waiting for a response, moving to drop it off with the DJ. Likely she won't have long to wait.

"My apologies," Ravn offers with a familiar wince. "I get that. I'm not Dutch either, regardless of how many Americans think there's no difference. As you say, right region, wrong country. Haven't met enough kiwis to be able to place the accent right away, it seems."

He sips the whiskey; ice cubes clink and he manages a small smile -- it's clearly not up to standards, but nor is it bad enough to just send right back where it came from. "Still, not as bad as that time I asked a Turkish guy if he was from Greece."

There's no corresponding flare from Mikaere, but his head inclines, just once, in reply to it: seen. Witnessed. Acknowledged.

Mikaere picks up his drink, and pays for it, though most of his attention is on his two newfound friends. "I'd not be able to place your accent, either," he acknowledges. "The curse of small, geopolitically insignificant countries. It's all in the vowels, for us, and mostly the 'i' at that: fish and chips." fuush and chuups." There's mirth in his expression as he adds, "Talk about a geopolitically complicated mistake to make. At least our beef with the aussies is mostly limited to sport and their habit of claiming our successes as their own. "

Beat. "Nice to meet you both, anyway."

Kailey comes bouncing back to her seat. Taking up her drink and taking a long sip through the straw. "Always nice to meet a new face. What brings you to this tiny and insignificant little town in the middle of nowhere Washington? You like logging history?" She jokes and it shows with the flash of a toothy grin. "Kidding aside...I'm gonna guess that you just wound up here on your way to somewhere else and it stuck." She slowly stirs her daquiri with her straw as she takes a long moment to more carefully study the man.

"Heaven knows that's how most of us end up here," Ravn agrees. "I was hitch-hiking from Seattle towards Portland and ended up here -- that was a year and a half ago, and I haven't gotten around to getting back on the road yet. Given I've somehow managed to get a job and a house in the meantime, I probably won't be leaving anytime soon."

This time, Mikaere actually brings his drink and physically joins the two at their table, his mouth curving into an amused smile as he listens. "That sounds about right," he agrees. "I was caught in a storm at sea-- and here I am, my boat's in for repairs, and I'm cooling my heels. It shouldn't surprise me, not with how... thin it is. The ārai. This kind of place just draws us in, one way or another."

"ārai-what?" Is Kailey's curious query over the rim of her glass. One brow arching upwards as her head tilts to the side and straw inserts into mouth. "Mmmm, you must have different names for the weird shit down under and all that, right?" She sets the drink down and says, "But yes. It is thin here. Thin enough people pass to and fro into what we call The Veil. Now as neat sounding as ārai though. Yours is definitely more mysterious."

Ravn swirls the whiskey (it doesn't deserve the moniker but he's feeling gracious) in his glass, making the ice cubes clink. "I'm not familiar with that term either -- but generally speaking? Yes. Gray Harbor is definitely one of those places. I wouldn't mind hearing more about your take on that sort of thing at some point."

He chuckles. "And before that sounds like I'm trying to hit you up -- no. I'm a folklorist. Collecting stories is what I do. I don't really know a whole lot about Maori legend -- I am going to hope I didn't just pull another Greece/Turkey there, too. I've done some reading on Australian Dreamtime legends and the way they often correspond eerily with some of the experiences people describe here, and in places in Europe, though."

Mikaere cracks a smile (though it's not as if he's particularly stopped smiling as such), and pauses to sip at his drink before responding. "Same thing-- literally means 'veil', a it happens, though I imagine not all of our terms are that literal in translation."

He inclines his head towards Ravn. "No Greece/Turkey incident; you're safe. This time." That makes him grin. "Most of my understanding of mākutu-- that is, the supernatural, I guess?-- comes from my mother's people. If I'm honest, I'm completely unfamiliar with how anyone else speaks of it, so I'd be happy to share knowledge. I won't be surprised if there are similarities in our tradition, too. It'll be the same spirit world, just wearing a different mask."

A text had flown and Ariadne, busy doing...nothing in particular at the time other than appreciate the cinematography of Blue Planet for the umpteenth time (Attenborough does still make her laugh now and then), had lifted her brows down at her phone. "Well then," she'd commented to the stillness of the motel room. Sam had barely twitched. A three-mile bike ride had done him in for the day. He snores, whiskers crinkling, and his owner smirks. "Sucker. Sleep hard, doggo."

As such, not too much later, the barista arrives at the karaoke bar. Her hair's done up in a rooster-tail's up-do, clipped high to the back of her skull and the excess left to cascade. A navy-blue turtleneck under her windbreaker and a pair of jeans make up her outfit; her sneakers cheerily clash in lime-green plaid with white laces. Keds, no doubt. Spotting a familiar face with fairly quick ease, she lifts a hand in the direction of Ravn. The other two individuals at the table are unknowns, but that's not going to stop her.

"Ravn!" Almost got the pronunciation, almost. That mild Midwestern twang keeps tumbling her tongue up. "Lemme get something, I'll be right over." It's not going to take her forever, not with the current populace of the bar, and the barista's shed her windbreaker over her arm by the time she arrives. In her hand: a pint of dark beer. Predictable much?

"Hey, good to see you, bud. And new faces too." Pausing behind one of the chairs as if to test her welcome, she adds, "I'm Ariadne, barista over at Espresso Yourself. If you've seen my face before, it might be there in passing."

Kailey listens and sips her drink. Obviously curious about the new person and his exotic Veil down under. As she so called it. But her name is called and she smiles with a certain devious glee. "Oh! My turn. You two keep talking. I'll be back in five," She says chipperly. And she bounces from her stool, almost knocking it over, and strolls to the little stage as if nothing happened. Taking the microphone she clears her throat and turns towards the bar.

When she does she notes there are three people, Ariadne suddenly appearing among her group. The surprise is there and gone as she shifts and wait for the start of her song. And it starts with a certain beat, a woodwind, then launches into a sax with a clack of the drummer's cymbal.

"She leads a lonely life. She leads a lonely life," She starts as her hips weave with the beat. "When she woke up late in the morning light, and the day had just begun. She opened up her eyes and thought, 'Oh, what a morning, It's not a day for work it's a day for catching sun. Just laying on the beach and having fun," Those watching will notice she has her eyes somewhat locked on the oblivious Dane at the bar.
"She's going to get you..." Before she launches into the chorus.

"All that she wants is another baby. She's gone tomorrow, boy. All that she wants is another baby, yea-ah," Sings the purple haired woman known as Kailey.

"Oh God. Not Ace of Base." Ravn winces. And then winces several times more for good measure. "You realise how that thing was everywhere back home? Because it's a Swedish band?"

There's a gif on the internet; a stick figure with a mildly perplexed impression -- and the point, written in red letters, passing right over the figure's head. That's definitely a picture of Ravn.

He still taps his feet to the rhythm, though. Even a music snob like him must appreciate the minimalist catchy tunes of 90s europop -- you may hate it if you like, but you will not forget it. Ask him about Space Invaders. Or Barbie Girl. If you dare.

Mikaere's expression shifts just briefly at the arrival of Ariadne, and the darting-off of Kailey, but not in a particularly classifiable way: just the registering of change, perhaps, and the acknowledgement of a new person. "Mikaere," he offers to Ariadne, again stressing the pronunciation carefully (if resignedly). "I'm hoping that means there's a decent flat white to be found in this town?" Definitely not local.

Ravn's reaction to Kailey's song choice draws a low snort of laughter from the Kiwi, and his dark eyes seek out the woman on stage, tracking her attention. "Odd choice of song," he muses. "Doesn't she already have you? Or is she after a literal baby instead?"

There goes Kailey, she of the colorful hair and stride towards the karaoke stage, and Ariadne nods to herself. Excellent, let's see what song comes up. Her attention returns to the table and she pulls a polite smile to her face. Enough time in the public sector has taught her to pay attention to subtle emphases like a name pronunciation.

"Mikaere," she echoes, trying very hard to hit the vowel sounds correctly. It's definitely still with that Midwestern twang, but she tries. "Nice to meet you." Of course she's tempted to immediately ask where he's from with his own accent. It's also potentially stepping on toes, so Ariadne slips that question into her back pocket for a later time, since conversation tends to answer it with time. "Flat white...eh." A wobbly hand to designate his chances as she now sits. "Fifty-fifty, but the microbrews might make up for the lack. Your call."

Then Kailey's singing and the barista looks in this direction. She doesn't recognize the song, not more than the refrain, perhaps, and still smiles to herself. It's Mikaere's question which has her huffing nearly into her pint glass. Another two seconds later and she might have been choking. No need for her to chime in. The puckish little smile she turns on Ravn is friendly and massively amused.

"So if you are in sight and the day is right, she's a hunter, you're the fox," And Kailey points two fingers at her own eyes and points them in Ravn's direction. The devious smirk twisting her lips as she continues to sing. To everyone else but Ravn it is obvious she is singing the song TO Ravn, rather than just singing the song. Too many pointed looks and, well, just listen to that chorus!

"The gentle voice that talks to you won't talk forever. It is a night for passion," There Kailey goes with an emphatic eyebrow wiggle. "But the morning means goodbye. Beware of what is flashing in her eyes, she's going to get you." She looks pleased as punch as she continues into the final round of doubled chorus.

"All that she wants is another baby. She's gone tomorrow, boy. All that she wants is another baby," Kailey sings with subtle emphasis on the 'baby' part but with the twang to make it about arm candy baby rather than bundle of joy baby.

Ravn takes a solid swig of his low-quality bourbon and swallows. Laugh or fake obliviousness? Can he fake this level of obliviousness?

Probably not. He coughs and glances at Mikaere and coughs again. "Er, no -- no, Kailey and I are not a couple, no. We live on the same street, almost across from one another. And I believe she has a baby -- an adorable baby girl named Morganna, as it happens."

Evasive maneuvers, lieutenant, evasive maneuvers. "And what, pray tell, is a flat white, besides a tired European?"

Mikaere's careful nod, following Ariadne's attempt at his name, and that accompanying bright, so-charming smile, suggests she's either got it right, or is close enough that he's happy to accept it. "As long as the microbrews are better than the dreck he served me the first time around," the Kiwi announces, making a dramatically over-wrought face.

It does not take him long to work out that he's misstepped, between Ariadne's huff and Ravn's cough. "Oh. Oh. Shit, man, I'm sorry. I guess that's what they say about assuming things. My bad."

At least he can't go wrong with the flat white question. Hopefully. "Espresso, steamed milk, no froth on top. Don't listen to the Australians: we definitely invented it."

"Mmmm, gurl, git it," mutters Ariadne loudly into her dark beer after Ravn explains the logistics of the singing woman and his residence. She hasn't been flipped off by Ravn lately. She's probably gunning to be flipped off. Her puckish little smile doesn't disappear until she's put down her drink and glanced over at Mikaere again.

His example of what he might order at the coffee shop has her laughing once. "Wow, the Aussies invented it? Or no, wait." The accent's origin clicks. See? No need to ask. "The Kiwis invented it. Man, that...look, them's fightin' words around the shop. I know an Italian and somebody with parents from France who'd argue you into the dirt about who invented that drink. Still, easy order, even Russ wouldn't be able to mess that one up -- unless you're the kind of customer who wants it at X number of degrees and with oat milk."

A nose-wrinkled smirk. "We don't have oat milk." And blech to it, apparently, by her expression. "I can't believe I haven't seen Kailey or her kiddo around town. I bet the kid's adorable," the barista adds with another glance towards Kailey, this time with a grin.

Kailey finishes her song to a round of soft claps from what patrons there may be, beside her group, and does a full bow. Pigtails flopping down comically become she bounces up again, handing off the mic to the KJ. Then off she bounces, does she ever just walk, to the bar. "Hello!" She says with a warm smile and a wave for Ariadne. But her real interest in this moment is on Ravn. "Thought I'd sing something you'd recognize," She says.

Then she does something brave, at least for her. Poor Ravn is not getting it easy from the purple-haired monster. She leans in to press the lightest kiss against the Dane's cheek. Yep, she's definitely full of vigor this evening and he is the target. A fox indeed!

Give a man credit when credit is due; Ravn at least doesn't move away, probably because he sees it coming and he does in fact not want to be a dick. He still looks forty-eight shades of awkward though -- and easily adds another twenty-nine when he realises that the entire (sparse) audience is looking at him, to spot his reaction.

Well, he thinks to himself. A year ago I'd literally have gotten up to run away at this point. I'm doing good. And there is no one waiting in the shadows, there really isn't.

He coughs. "Ace of Base, huh. Have you ever heard Nemo? If I could sing I'd get up there but maybe I can just tell you the words instead:

Oh no, I'm far too continental for mankind
I don't interfere in your life
See me as a searcher with the answers
To your world from under the sea "

"It's probably the one thing Aussies and Kiwis can agree on: the flat white is definitely Antipodean. But beyond that, it's either from Auckland or Wellington, or Sydney or Melbourne or Brisbane, and..." Mikaere has an expansive shrug to demonstrate exactly how much more than that he can offer. It's a thing. "Oat milk is a sure way to ruin a coffee, so I think we'll manage."

The tall Kiwi joins in with the applause when Kailey finishes-- and just barely holds back his own snort of laughter for the way she moves in on Ravn. At least the glance he aims at Ravn is symapthetic (to a point).

"I think there's a message in there. Message in a bottle? Did you pick it up?"

"Oh good, you'll be just fine around the shop then as long as Ignacio or Jean-Marie doesn't hear you making claims about where the flat white came from." A lift of her pint glass to Mikaere, cheers. She too has a soft clap of hands or two to add to the appreciation of the karaoke display and she's thankfully done swallowing her mouthful of dark beer by the time Kailey arrives at the table.

Mikaere looks sympathetic (to a point). Ravn just gets another one of those puckish little smiles. "Poetical, my dude," she drawls as to his song lyrics. "And you must be Kailey! Ariadne, nice to meet you," she adds, just in case her initial introduction had been too late due to departure to the karaoke stage. Kailey gets a grin. "Very nice up there on stage, do you have public speaking or acting experience at all? You owned that song."

A year ago Kailey would never have dared to do such a thing. Now she leans back, her own cheeks flushed, and turns to her drink. The red daquiri providing a shield and courage for what's been happening. "Not familiar with it," She says before licking a bit of strawberry from her lips. A brow raising as he speaks the words of the song. "So what? You're a mermaid and I didn't know?" She teases with a wink. "Mermaids are sexy, you do know that right?" Oh she is on a roll.

Turning to Ariadne with a smile and a blush she puts out a hand to her. "Kailey indeed. Street artist, mother, and oft-time dreamwalker," She says cheerfully, finishing with a chipper, "Thanks! I have spent a lot of time as a street artist. It's part performance, you know?" The blush slowly begins to fade from her cheeks as she slides onto her stool beside the poor Dane. "Why are we talking about coffee? Ravn brought it up didn't he?" She looks from face to face and then back at the accused with a smirk.

"No -- but I think it's a splendid change of conversation, as it happens. Very interesting, coffee. Only a true plebe would just take it black. Tell me about all the interesting combinations, the syrups, the ersatz milk products, the sprinkles." Even Ravn can't keep a straight face for that long, not while praising the very things that make his life miserable on a regular basis.

Then he laughs. "I'm not a mermaid. But I am from the land of mermaids so I figured, close enough."

"I'd forgotten, I'm now in the country that invented pumpkin spice, and enthuses over adding odd flavourings to perfectly good coffee," mourns Mikaere. "The coffee is my fault, I think, though I could pass further blame back to-- Ariadne, was it?-- for mentioning coffee shops in the first place."

"Mermaids are an interesting one, though: the way they keep showing up in mythologies around the world. Beautiful women from the sea."

Returning Kailey's handshake with polite good cheer, Ariadne listens and nods. "Street performance counts too," she agrees. The barista then can't help flashing teeth in another bright grin.

A conversation about coffee? Twist her arm. She works at the shop for reasons only half-revolving around a paycheck.

"I'll take some blame about bringing coffee up. I'm spiteful. I stir blame into my coffee every morning." Ariadne laughs and continues. "Now, I need you know, per Ravn's observation about syrups and sprinkles, that if any of you come to me with a drink order like this? You're getting a plain glass of tap water from me." Wagging a finger at the table as a whole, the barista then inhales. It must be a doozy. "My friend back in Seattle once got this order right here -- and yes, I memorized it because it's fucking ridiculous. The drink was venti, half-whole milk, one quarter one-percent, one quarter non-fat, extra hot, split quad shots (one and a half shots decaf, two and a half shots regular), no foam latte, with whip, two packets of Splenda, one Sugar In The Raw, a touch of vanilla syrup, and three short sprinkles of cinnamon."

A sip of her beer. "Ain't no mermaid gonna order bullshit like that."

Kailey gives Ravn a look and a smirk. One eye kind of squinting at him as he starts to go on about syrups and the like. With a snort she takes another long sip of her drink. "That's it, I'm keeping a shaker of rainbow sprinkles in my purse from now on. Beware your coffee!" And then she does a very fake evil villain laugh, complete with, "Muahaha!" Before sipping her own fru fru daquiri.

~You can't play oblivious forever, merman.~ Her thoughts, laced with purple, filter through Ravn's noggin. With them the feeling of playfulness and affection. ~She's gonna getcha!~ The singing of her thoughts match the earworm the song has left behind.

Without skipping a beat and as if she hadn't just whispered into Ravn's brain, Kailey turns to give Ariadne a horrified look. "Okay...that person was just being a jerk and trying to see what they could get away with," She says with a shake of her head. "Some people. Like...all that is not gonna make any different to the taste, you douch nozzel coffee twat."

Ravn's eyes widen; for a moment those blue-greys are panic.

It's only a split second, though, before the ex-confidence artist regains his composure and tosses out a deflection to buy time. The Dane laughs and agrees, "That is one truly horrendous order. Did you -- actually make it? And more importantly, did they drink it?"

Give him a moment, he'll dig his fingernails out of the table wood, gloves or no gloves.

Look. Just... no. No. Mikaere's horror is painted plainly across his face; he looks half as if he'd like to cry, and maybe a second half like he's about to burst into laughter, though he ultimately does neither. "That's fucked," is what he says, instead. "That's not even coffee anymore. That's a monster, and so's the person who ordered it."

He lifts his beer towards Kailey, and adds, "That's an exceptional insult, though, so cheers for that."

It takes a few seconds for Ariadne to finish cackling at Kailey's insult. As such, she misses any insinuation of reaction other than to the order or the slurs strung together.

"Like he said, cheers to that," she then says, gesturing at Mikaere with a tilt of her glass. No beer sloshes. Mad skills. Or not buzzed enough yet. "Thankfully, it wasn't my order and I've never received one like it. If I had, I would have been like, there's not enough room on the cup to write that, you sure you want this? Or some sort of polite retort. Because yeah, that's frankly just someone being a dick and testing boundaries and I don't get paid enough for that. We do have rainbow sprinkles though, so you all are perfectly welcome to ask for rainbow sprinkles. I'm all for a little splash of color to liven things up."

Says the woman wearing lime-green plaid sneakers.

Kailey lifts her own in return to Mikaere and smiles proudly before sipping her daquiri. "Why thank you," She says, once more licking berry goodness away. "My favorite drink to get that involves coffee is a mocha with macadamia nut and caramel syrups, blended with ice," She says, proving she is indeed a coffee heathen at the very least. "Really my favorite thing to have coffee in is coffee ice cream. I only wish actual coffee tasted like that," She says.

All through the talk her eyes have been on Ravn's. Watching his reactions and lack of reactions with care. They all told keep the smirk tugging at her lips. "I know how Ravn likes his coffee, though. And considering I'm not a barista I wonder if that should mean something deeper?" She taps at her chin, lips pursed, trying not to outright giggle at her own teasing. "Medium roast with nada but the bean juice."

"It is -- not a very closely guarded secret," Ravn murmurs with a small chuckle. Indeed, it is not; his arguments with the Day Manager at Espresso Yourself are rapidly becoming legend in at least some circles in this small community (meaning, largely, the circles whose coffee he attempts to steal when Della has fed him some sugary horror in a cup).

He fidgets a little with his whiskey; nervous energy must have an outlet. "Also, we absolutely have mermaids in these parts." That, perhaps, is for Mikaere. "Just, be careful. They're less harbour seals or Disney princesses and a whole lot more Greek sirens."

"But why does coffee need sprinkles? It's coffee." It's plaintive. Mikaere's not even going to start on the macadamia nut and caramel syrups, though at least that's a taste thing, and it's easy enough to dismiss Kailey as having no taste (when it comes to coffee, at least). "That's all coffee needs: beans, hot water, milk if you take it. That's it."

It's over the rim of his glass that he regards Ravn, thoughtfully, as the other man goes back to the mermaids. "Singing men-- and woman, I assume-- to their deaths? That's duly noted. Ours are traditionally more akin to the selkie variety, so I'll keep my guard up, once Wā Kāinga and I are back on the water."

"Coffee ice cream is bomb. I imagine stirring a spoonful into coffee itself would be amazing. Note to self, try this." Shifting in her chair, Ariadne crosses her knees and leans back. It signals she's gotten comfortable with the crew at hand. Another long sip of her beer is more appreciative of taste than building herself up to anything, including singing. Nobody's razzed her about it. If she doesn't bring it up: safe as can be. "And yeah, Ravn's ongoing war with my manager Della is becoming legendary. My best threat lately is telling him I'm going to set him on a sugar high by lacing his plain coffee with four pumps of praline syrup. Even the Keebler Elves won't want to deal with him."

Bringing up those sirens, however, makes the barista give Ravn a circumspect side-glance. She has no immediate commentary. It's to Mikaere that her golden-hazel eyes flick, curious to see how he is going to react to such a statement. He's the new variable, after all. Her brows lift. A reaction insinuating either some parallel experience or sangfroid or perhaps just playing along. Still, she's curious now. "Oh. You've got a boat too?" the barista inquires. She'd been late for the initial conversation as it is.

Kailey sticks her tongue out playfully at Ravn. As the conversation returns to mermaids she nods her head, eyes going a little wide at some remembered encounter. "Oh boy do we have sirens..." She says with a shake of her head. "And at least one sea hag. Or maybe sea zombie witch is more apt?" She considers that and then shrugs.

"Did you know that Ravn has a boat too? Nice little thing. We're due for another fishing trip, aren't we?" Kailey turns to ask the later of Ravn, smiling brightly. "Last time we saw a killer whale go after a shark. Oh! I have the footage on my phone still," And she goes to fish it out of a pocket of her jacket.

And strangely, that little comment from Kailey prompts Ravn to glance at Ariadne, and then smile slowly. "Told you. Orcas and great whites." Then he adds, for the benefit of the other two: "When Ariadne isn't slinging coffees and trying to give me diabetes, she's a marine biologist. I told her about the orcas and she squealed."

A little smile flits across his face. "That said, they're right. I have a boat -- nothing large, a King's Cruiser. And the sirens are -- not supposed to touch people like us. People who can see them, and not harbour seals. But sometimes, they don't quite stick by the bargain -- and I'm uncertain as of yet when it comes to why they'd have struck a bargain like that with a homeless guy who lives under the boardwalk anyhow, but they have."

"Yeah?" That, from Mikaere, could be in answer to a lot of things: to orcas and sharks, boats, Della's threats towards Ravn. Mermaids, too, for that matter.

"Mine's an S&S 34. Usually a great little boat, but... in a bit of a state at the mo'. King's Cruiser's a good boat too. But this bargain, that's a new one. It's usually us making deals to protect the others, in my experience, but--"

The Kiwi could probably talk about all of these topics for days, if allowed. For now, it's enough just to have met a few people in town.

And to have identified where to get coffee. #priorities