2022-03-24 - No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Today... is for the birds. Not literally: the birds probably really hate the thunderstorm that's flashing overhead. It's definitely not for people, either: people like Mikaere, who is attempting to use a newspaper to cover his head as he makes the dash indoors, leaving a puddle all over the floor that, let's be fair, was probably not particularly clean or dry even before he came in.

The newspaper is an absolute sodden mess, disintegrating in his hands (and leaving ink stains, too), and gets promptly tossed into the nearest trash receptacle.

Dripping, Mikaere makes his way to the counter.

Smart Dane is smart -- smart enough, at least, to have arrived before the skies opened. He's at his usual window table with a book and a closed laptop -- and what looks like some kind of dessert in a cup, complete with a cucumber slice tacked on like the lemon slice in a fancy drink. Whatever prompts someone not seven years old to order a sugar bomb like that is anyone's guess.

The book's title is not in English. Maybe not a big surprise, given the man's status as an expat. At times he underlines passages in it in yellow marker. (Hopefully it's not a library book). As Mikaere drips his way past, the folklorist raises a gloved hand in a wave -- and sort of nods at the empty spaces at his table. An invitation of a sorts; and why not? It's a quiet day, and a chat over coffee never hurt anyone.

Mikaere gives Ravn a somewhat drippy smile, rueful but also amused, acknowledging the nod with one of his own.

A few minutes later and he's back, setting a coffee cup down on the table and peeling off his sodden jacket-- though at least he's kind enough to do so carefully, so as not to send droplets flying towards the Dane or his book. Conversationally, "I knew this part of the world had a reputation for rain, and I knew in early spring it wouldn't exactly be warm, but-- I think I spent too much time in the tropics over the summer. Winter. The season that's just finished. It can really come down when it wants, aye? Good morning."

"Home, sweet home." Ravn lets the book fall, face down, to the table. Then he chuckles. "Not literally, of course, but close enough. Washington State's coastal areas have the same climate that Denmark does. We don't have the altitude for glacial melt so the water is a little colder here, but otherwise, it's much the same -- and rain eight days out of ten is certainly making me feel like I'm home. I know the British Isles have the reputation for rain but honestly, all of the North Atlantic coastline is like that. And Denmark is nothing but coastline."

"We get plenty of rain in Auckland," says Mikaere, draping his jacket over the back of a chair (notably, not the one he then sits down in). "But it doesn't get all that cold, generally. No snow. This feels more like middle of winter, to me, than actual spring. There's still the maritime influence, though-- and like you, nothing but coastline. I'm not going to lie, the idea of the interior of this country, all those big empty spaces with no ocean, that kind of freaks me out."

He curls one big hand about his coffee, and makes a rueful little face. Yes, they're talking about the weather. Small talk at its best.

"I'm from a country where there's maybe less than places you can go and do a full circle around yourself without seeing human habitation." Ravn has to chuckle again. "The amount of space of the US blows my mind. Interior Australia as well -- and I'll admit up front I have no idea what it's like for New Zealand. I was intending to head that way once I reached the end of South America but it'd probably have been a few years even if I hadn't ended up staying here."

The weather is as good a subject as any. Hell, talking about the weather means there's nothing more dramatic going down. In a town like this? Small mercies.

Mikaere runs a hand through his damp hair and nods. "That much space... I suppose it's no different to being in the middle of the ocean, but it feels different, somehow, because I'm just not used to it. New Zealand's too small-- there's places that are inaccessible, hard to get to, so you can absolutely feel alone, but you're never that far from anything. Not like here, or Aussie, yeah. And the number of people. We have probably six times as many sheep as we have actual people, and that's nothing compared to this... well."

He pauses, picking up his mug. "Well. It takes some getting your head around, anyway."

"Denmark has six million people. And twenty-five million pigs." Ravn makes a face. "Half our agriculture is crops for pig food. Once you start thinking about it, we're basically a very large factory farm. I'm still waiting for the Veil to toss me into some kind of Animal Farm Dream, but updated to modern factory farming. I have a feeling that'd be one of those bad ones."

"Similar, similar," agrees Mikaere. "Slightly fewer people, I think, but a similar amount of sheep compared to your pigs."

His tone's light enough as he says that, though there's that crease in his brow that appears at mention of that Dream possibility, and: "No, I can't think of any way for that not to go horribly wrong, given the way we... well. Modern factory farming, not so great. The closest I've gotten is a Dream about being made to shear sheep, and I have to tell you I haven't been able to look a sheep in the eyes since."

Beat. "Of course, I was a scrawny twelve-year-old at the time, and the whole point was humiliation, so."

Ravn quirks an eyebrow. Is he genuinely interested in sheep shearing? Probably not, but dreams are a recurring theme. "I can't say I have ever tried shearing a sheep -- but from the looks of it, isn't it pretty much figuring out how to use those weird scissors, and then, well, try to avoid snipping anything sensitive?"

He pauses. "Oh. Oh. Yes. Of course. That would be the embarrassing part, wouldn't it? Let me guess -- angry ram? Or worse yet, horny ram?"

All these years later, Mikaere can, at least, laugh about it. "Right," he agrees. "Got it in one. And between the ram and the jeering crowds watching me get stomped in retaliation... not my finest hour. Sheep are bastards.The humiliation was, of course, made complete by my having to explain what happened to my mother the next morning. She laughed and laughed, and who can blame her? Aside, of course, from twelve-year-old me."

Ravn really tries to not smile. He fails, and a wry smile creeps onto his face because yes, he can absolutely imagine this. In fact: "My father bred German Shepherds. Wonderful, intelligent dogs, if you're a dog person. Very prone to feel like they're part of a family -- very protective, very caring. And sometimes, a little too friendly, like all young male dogs will be. I remember being eight or nine years old and living in terror that my old man might ask me to go into the kennel because there'd be Zauberer the young male who was very friendly with anything that didn't literally kick him in the balls when he tried his luck."

It's Mikaere's turn to try not to laugh: try, and dismally fail, until he's laughing outright. "Ah, fuck," he says. "I shouldn't laugh, because I can well imagine what that'd've been like, but... from the space of maturity and no longer being a little kid... it's demonstrably hilarious. I'm going to hazard a guess you're not a dog person. Cat person? Coffee with... is that cucumber person? Okay, maybe that's the bigger question here. I'm sure you didn't mention that predilection when coffee came up at the karaoke bar that night."

Ravn chuckles. "I'm not a dog person, no. I don't hate dogs. I get along with them all right most of the time -- but they don't connect with me to any great extent. Dogs are a little too -- straightforward for me? I feel more connected with cats. Cats are honest in their misanthropy: They'll let you know what they want, and they'll reward you for performing your duties to their satisfaction, but largely they don't need you and they won't let you forget."

He glances to the long cold coffee -- milky in colour, and the cucumber slice is starting to look droopy and sad. "I'm not even sure what this is. What it's supposed to be, I mean. I know there's soy milk in there, and praline syrup. I think there may be coffee too, somewhere. I'm not brave enough to taste it."

While others are avoiding the rain via hastily used newspapers, or simply refusing to be out in it, Perdita Leontes has an outfit for that. Because of course she does. A clear plastic rain coat piped in black that gives the impression of a coloring book outline just waiting for a crayon touched to page. Beneath that a bold red knee length dress with white floral print that requires petticoats to properly fill it out, and matching red stilettos. Because of course she's wearing stilettos. Her umbrella matches the rain coat, because of course it does, with black piping hiding the ribs of the umbrella and trimming the bottom of it. Her long hair is pulled up into a low chignon bun, fringe, getting a little long, parted to either side to frame her face... and carefully swept to hide just the faintest hint of swelling on one cheek.

She pauses in the doorway, umbrella still outside, and gives it a few shakes and a twirl before closing it and stepping inside. She gets the drinks she's ordered without a fuss, a plain black coffee and her usual hot cocoa, perfect for the chill morning. And then, as if she's been invited to sit, she sets both drinks down at the table, hangs her umbrella on the back of her seat, and slips her raincoat off before she takes her seat.

"Have you just tried apologizing to her, yet?"

"I..."

Dogs are one things. Ravn's explanation makes sense, and wherever Mikaere falls on the dogs vs cats vs ferrets vs nothing at all thanks I hate animals scale, he can probably grasp the point.

Coffee drinks with cucumber are another thing altogether.

It's maybe for the best that Perdita arrives when she does, drawing Mikaere's baffled gaze from the 'coffee' to the new arrival, for whom he has a friendly enough smile. Her context may help, too, because when he glances back (at the 'coffee', at Ravn, at the 'coffee' again) he's able to hazard, "It's a cruel sick joke and not actually intended to be ingested? Because I have to tell you, that's a relief."

"I make a firm point out of not ingesting anything Della serves me here," Ravn murmurs and shoots a stolen glance at the Day Manager, all bronze skin and beatific smile. Then he raises a gloved hand in a wave to Perdita. "Morning, Dita. Have you met Mikaere yet? Fresh in town, came with the Hotel California speech already ingrained. Mikaere, meet Perdita Leontes -- good friend of mine. And, well, also one of us."

To the question about apologising, though? He shakes his head. "Over my dead body. Della would be so sad. And then she'd take it out on someone else."

"Pleased to meet you." She smiles back, warmly, at Mikaere, before she begins a bizarre ritual wherein she takes several sips of hot cocoa, pours some of the black coffee into the cup, since she just made space for it, and casually setting the coffee still within reach of herself... but also within easy reach of Ravn. It seems like an old song and dance at this point.

"I own the Bauer Building, if you ever need office space. Free of gasline explosions for thirteen whole days." she shoots a look at Ravn, expression rather like an irritated cat, which isn't hurt by the careful winged liner that accentuates her eyes. "So what brings you to our fair city?"

She takes another sip of her hot cocoa and coffee mixture, but it seems mostly to be for holding, today.

Mikaere's expression is pretty easy to read: weirdos. "Cucumber," he repeats, this apparently being the bridge-too-far to even allow for basic comprehension, but he's otherwise, it seems, willing to let it go.

"Nice to meet you, Perdita," says the tall newcomer, his accent obviously present but perhaps not obviously identifiable. "Ah, I've heard about that incident... you've got my sympathies, that's for sure. Not good for business, I'm sure. My boat and I ran into a little trouble, which is more than likely just an excuse to get me dragged in to town on the tides, stuck here until they can get her shipshape again. Which," his nod is amused. "May mean I'm here for a while, based on what I've been hearing. So I'm at a bit of a loose end, really."

Ravn fails entirely at the 'look guilty' part of this exchange. Instead, he rubs his elbow with one hand and says, "Well, at least I only broke both elbows. Could have been a lot worse. But I think I have to agree with Brennon that any further experimentation in that field should maybe not happen indoors. And possibly near a lake. And no dry trees or grass nearby. In fact, on the beach, far away from anything flammable. And wearing rubber sole shoes in case of lightning. Has she told you what actually happened?"

To most people, not identifiable. Perdita... has likely already hazarded a guess. But she doesn't comment on it, just yet. "Surprisingly, it hasn't hurt business, much. Not that I'm overly worried about business. I kind of hate being a landlady, but it's a necessary evil for the best view in the city, which I'm rather fond of." she laughs and shrugs, slightly. How much of her hating being a landlady is anyone's guess.

"You broke both elbows, but my property insurance premiums are going up and I have to have the gas lines checked. The building hasn't used natural gas since 1967. Still, I'm glad nobody died." Because then her premiums would REALLY have gone up. "No, but I felt something when it happened, so I'm guessing it was... sparkly."

"'Sparkly'," contributes Mikaere, an echo of what Perdita's just said, made in a way that suggests he's trying the term on for size. "Not a descriptor I'm used to, but I rather imagine the shoe fits on this one. That one was one door, I think, that was meant to stay closed."

More than that he can't really contribute; after all, his knowledge of all of this is only slightly more than Perdita's, and that's by luck of timing more than anything. He's interested, though, casting Ravn a glance over the rim of his coffee mug to await the response.

Ravn nods and picks the cucumber slice off his monstrosity; that, at least, he can nibble on. "Brennon wanted to explore my condition -- maybe try to do something about it. She said she felt resistance -- that something told her, request denied. She gave it another push, and the whole damn room exploded. I can't say I know what happened after that because I don't remember anything until I'm in a hospital bed and she's there, telling me she had to do a number on my arms. She didn't actually say how much of one, but one of the nurses spilled that radiology looked like I'd recently fractured both elbows."

He shakes his head. "I get the impression she's pretty adamant about figuring out what or who thinks they get to tell her what she can do with her healing powers. Can't blame her for that. I'm not very good at taking no for an answer either, at least not without some kind of explanation."

"Picture Ke$ha, circa 2010." Perdita offers to Mikaere with a shrug and a smile. "The more powerful someone is, or the thing they're doing is, the more glitter." She would see it as glitter.

"I'd be pissed if someone told me I couldn't do something, too. As it stands, I can barely heal someone else's papercuts, which is... not great, as often as people get hurt around here. I'm honestly just glad neither of you got seriously... permanently... injured." she shakes her head at Ravn slightly and sighs, "You're going to end up with the most confusing skeleton, future archaeologists are going to think you were some sort of fight club gladiator from looking at all the breaks and injuries."

Mikaere's probably of an age where, twelve odd years ago, he paid at least some attention to popular music, whether he does now or not; enough, anyway, that Perdita's suggestion draws a grin on his face. "Glitter's a new one for me," he tells her, by-the-by. "But it works. I get it."

"Pushing boundaries is a pretty human trait, I think," he agrees, setting down his cup as he considers the situation, thoughtfully. "Especially when you know the power's there; just being forbidden to you, whether it's you specifically, or a more general you. And it's the latter, if my ma can be believed. I need to let Dr Brennon know that."

Ravn gets an appraising glance. "You're that prone to getting accidentally kicked around?"

Ravn toys with the cucumber. "Look at me, I'm a real scrapper."

There's probably bookworms that's terrified of him somewhere. The rest of the world probably doesn't lie awake at night, dreading his arrival. The man is tall, yes, and in good physical shape, yes -- but he lacks entirely any kind of intimidating presence. Somehow, he's about as threatening as your average potted petunia.

"Accidentally, intentionally... The man's a magnet for trouble." Like she can talk. That swelling is mostly faded, and the bruise well covered, but the observant, like Perdita herself, know it's there. "Personally, I'm all about avoiding getting knocked around, but every time I see him he's got a new scar from something."

She keeps her hands around her hot cocoa, trying not to show the faint worry. She doesn't want her friends in danger, even if she's managing to keep her tone mostly light.

"He's not allowed to talk about fight club."

"That happens," agrees Mikaere, lightly. Getting knocked around? Being prone to falling into trouble? Could be either, could be both.

"Not much fun, of course, but that's the way it goes sometimes. Trouble's like that, particularly in a place like this. Having healers helps, but it's not quite the same as managing to stay clean in the first place."

"The first rule about fight club is that we don't talk about fight club," Ravn agrees and flicks the cucumber slice back into the milky liquid. "The second rule is that you bring your own beer and butter." Straight face is straight as a very straight ruler.

Then he shakes his head. "It kind of comes with the territory. I'm the guy who does most of the administrative work at the local community centre. The guy who connects people like us. And at least some things on the other side don't like that. Add to that, I'm a very curious guy, and I tend to stick my nose where I shouldn't. You know how it is, I imagine it's no different in New Zealand -- want to stay unbothered, mind your own business, don't talk about these things, and don't ask questions."

"I much prefer not getting hit." Perdita agrees, softly. The hot cocoa, cooling now, is raised to her lips. "It's not always possible, of course, and that's just with the mundane bullshit that comes with living in a town with high poverty, low paying jobs and a higher than average number of missing persons."

"... Wait, why butter?" Perdita tilts her head slightly, one eyebrow raising. "I mean, I can think of a few uses for butter in a room for muscular, aggressive men, but... Ravn, there's better products than butter for that."

Beer, okay, sure, fine. Butter? Mikaere's clearly lost at this point, those bushy brows raising, that brow creasing. But he's heard the first rule, and so...

He might have left it, but Perdita doesn't, and so those brows are indeed turned on Ravn - and with it, the curve of his mouth in idle amusement.

"I take the point, though. The more you're in the middle of things, the more... things happening to you. That's probably the same worldwide, wherever you go, sure enough."

"Who wants to eat lobsters without butter?" Ravn quirks an eyebrow at Perdita. Come on, woman -- what is this, health nut lobster salad full of lettuce, and the lobster is probably made from tofu?

He smirks, and then nods at Mikaere. "You're definitely not wrong. In this case, though, fight club is very real and very literally a fight club -- for lobsters. And given that it's illegal, you don't talk about it except everyone does because it's bloody ridiculous. The Veil comes up with some very strange things sometimes -- and given that lobster fight club replaced something far worse for me personally, I've pretty much gone along with it. Career criminal, me."

"Who wants to eat lobster in the first place?" Perdita counters, nose wrinkling, just a little. "Not me." Of course, she's allergic, so that MIGHT influence it.

"I think of the two options, I prefer my idea with the butter." she shrugs a little to Mikaere, as if to state that she doesn't understand Ravn, either. "Although with a choice between random CHUD attacks or running a lobster fight ring, I might just buy stock in the Epi-Pen manufacturer and go with the lobsters."

"I... okay," says Mikaere. Sure. He's probably heard weirder things.

"Look, I'm going to have to go with the lobster; lobster's delicious. I'm not sure about the fighting, but-- well, okay, that's a thing." He pushes his empty cup away from him, but perhaps that's as much something to do with his hands as any need to get it away from him. "I don't judge. It's pretty much just the kind of thing you get used to, in a place like this, I think. It's been years since I spent any significant time in a-- uh, 'thin spot', I think you said you called it around here?"

"I don't particularly feel like being dipped in butter for your amusement," Ravn tells Perdita, and from the way his blue-grays glitter with laughter, one could get the impression that some kind of banter is the norm between these two. "Of course the lobsters probably don't feel much like being dipped in butter for anyone's amusement either, and they really hate the next part. But better them than me. Before I was crazy guy running an illegal lobster fighting ring, I was a celebrity chef -- and I can't even boil an egg, so that didn't work out very well."

He nods at Mikaere and then, without any pretense of this being questionable, yoinks Perdita's coffee as if it had his name on all along. "The locals call it that -- a thin spot. Because the Veil is thin here and things bleed through. There's a lot of other words for it, I imagine. I'm always reminded of the mists and the stories of places like Tir Nan Og -- but whatever works. It all means the same thing, after all. Reality is a bit frayed at the edges around here. I'm curious as to what you call it where you're from, though?"

"From what Ravn's said, they mostly just wave their little claws at each other, and whoever the crowd feels like lost gets cooked for dinner. There's not much actual fighting." she explains, before taking another sip of her cocoa.

"Ravn, you realize you're the first man in..." Perdita glances toward the ceiling as she does quick math in her head, "at least six years to tell me that." she shrugs slightly. Still, there's the smile, albeit a little lopsided. Whatever funk was bugging her has mostly lifted.

She turns attentively to Mikaere, though, wanting to hear the particular words his people might use.

The door to Espresso Yourself opens with a bit more force than one usually tends to open the door to a casual coffee shop as if the opener didn't wait for the latch to fully retract into the housing before pushing his way into the place. The opener either doesn't notice how hard he opened the door, or he doesn't care...or more likely both. As the door rattles, the opener makes his way into the coffee shop and bee-lines it towards the counter with a look of determination on his face, a quick and steady gait pushing him towards the barista, Kerry, who blinks as they stare up at Seth Monaghan, "Uh...can I help you?"

"Coffee. Black...and don't give me that whole rigmarole that you give Ravn about how how the frufru drinks are better or whatnot, I just want it black and hot," Seth grumbles out as he slaps a Jackson down onto the counter while staring down Kerry...who opens her mouth to say something but then thinks better of it and just nods, making her way to make the aforementioned liquid life.

"I'd rather be the lobster guy too," Mikaere confirms, shaking his head.

"It-- well. The two 'thin spots' I know of, in New Zealand, they're at the very top of both islands, and they're the places where we say spirits pass between the words, when they die--"

He gets that far, and then there's Seth, rattling the door, which distracts the foreigner, if only for a moment. A blink, and then: "So it's all wrapped up in that as well. We tend to frame it more as... well, you're there, in the place where the spirits leap. But more generally, we'd say whakatīaho-- places where the spirit world is translucent."

"Bad day, Irish?" Ravn apparently is familiar with the ginger thunderstorm that just flew past. It would probably be weird if he wasn't, given how Seth just used his name to threaten poor Kerry into submission. "Pull up a chair. There's something I need to ask you about, actually. Remember that time you pulled a meat cleaver out of my arm and I did in fact not bleed to death on the site?"

He glances back at Mikaere and Perdita, and winks at the latter. "Well, you never actually asked if I wanted to be dipped in butter for your sake, I suppose, but now you have the answer. And what you do in the dairy aisle with Garrett stays in the dairy aisle with you and Garrett." Sip of Perdita's coffee, shameless. "Translucent is a good term. Hard to tell apart. Superimposing realities."

Seth gets a once over from the young woman in her pretty floral dress with not a hair out of place, and recognizes danger, even if she doesn't recognize Seth by name.

"My dadesko bibi, Mára, used to call them 'Inkyal káli'. It means, um... Black Crossing. Like to cross the road." Perdita shrugs slightly, "Of course, most of Báte's family thought she was insane, and the rest thought she was a witch, so..."

At the mention of the meat cleaver, Perdita just gestures to Ravn as she looks at Mikaere, shrugging as if to say 'see what I mean?'

"We generally prefer whipped cream if we're going to transgress in the dairy aisle. And strawberries. Frozen ones if we're feeling particularly adventurous."

"Are there any other kind, Darth?" questions Seth without even looking over in Ravn's direction as he answers, continuing to stare at poor Kerry to make sure she doesn't try to sneak in a pump of chocolate or toffee nut into his cup just out of spite. It is only when she returns and hands him the steaming paper cup that he finally takes his eyes off her, shifting them (and the rest of his body) in Ravn's direction before making a step or two in his direction as he just leaves the $20 on the counter and walks away from any change. I guess the rest is the tip for putting up with him.

"I vaguely recall it. I also sometimes regret it, like now, because this sounds like you are going to ask me questions..." Seth grumbles as he lifts his cup to his lips, taking a sip of the scalding liquid inside. The large man sighs and pulls a chair out from the table, performing a Riker chair maneuver over it, and plops his ass down into the seat as he glances at the others occupying the table before turning back to Ravn, "Why?"

"Superimposing realities-- exactly. Places where the worlds connect; mirrors, too, since we see reflections of them, and they see a much clearer picture of us, too, I think."

Mikaere's thoughtful as he says that, and equally thoughtful as he acknowledges Perdita's related remark. "Witches, shamans, tohunga; I imagine we've been called plenty of things, over the years. Some true, some imagined."

He is not going to remark on butter, whipped cream, strawberries, or anything else. He might have, of course, except he's catching up, picking up on the thing he heard but maybe didn't hear until: "Meat cleaver? Jesus wept."

"Because I remember you patching me back together when I was just getting around to bleeding out nice and quiet all over your very special car like a normal person, and then Clayton walked you through knitting me back up." Ravn looks at Seth and then at his arm -- where, ironically, the leather jacket does have a hole in it; a bullet hole, though, rather than something made by a blade. Maybe Perdita does have a point.

He sips Perdita's coffee. "I wanted to ask if you've experienced anything off or weird with healing lately. The new doctor -- well, returning doctor -- Brennon seems to have touched in on something that really doesn't want to let her do her job. Aidan Kinney says the same thing -- that healing doesn't work as well as it used to. So I guess I was curious as to whether you'd experienced something similar."

And as an aside, "Vølve, seidr -- many names. Did you know the name Finn and the country of Finland basically means that: Land of the shamans?"

"... Darth?" Perdita asks, of no one in particular, before shrugging slightly.

"Fárma-kátarka, in Kalderash." She offers to Mikaere, before looking back to Ravn and Seth. "I'm telling you. You must be part magnet, because steel and iron keep finding their way into your body. I'm amazed you didn't get clipped by stray buckshot when that jackass shot the frozen turkey at Safeway." Perdita really isn't doing a good job selling tourism in this area.

Raising his shoulder in a singular shrug as he sips from his cup once more Seth looks to Ravn, "Don't know. Haven't tried. I don't tend to do that sort of thing unless I really have to. I've already had enough of showing up in places rather ill-prepared and unexpectedly that I don't need to advertise for a return trip."

Seth turns to Perdita with a nod, "Darth. He was Vic's apprentice over at the twofer. She is the Emporer, he is Darth. I'm just not sure if he is Maul, Vader, or his own moniker Ravn. I'd likely go the latter. Hell, with as bad of a bartender as he was, he is lucky he even got a title."

And out of nowhere, as tends to be her wont in her work sneakers which make little sound, there's Ariadne with a small cardboard supplies box in hand. She's in time to hear Perdita's question as well as Seth's answer. Ah-hah: so that is how Darth got tacked on there.

"Thought it was because he sticks to black because it's laundry friendly," the redhead says, grinning. "Darth Bathrobes, Darth Stringbean, Darth Padre...I think I'm missing one, but the nicknames flow." She stops over by Ravn's end of the table and twiddles fingers in a wave to the ones she knows. "Ariadne, local purveyor of black coffee. I was restocking when Ravn got in, hence his cup o'doom, and thus, he suffers. Definitely a day for a cup of coffee, I'm glad to see you all in here. Let me get these things put away and I'll see about my fifteen," the barista then says before moving on at her task.

Not being able to place the words with their languages is one thing; not being able to place the language itself? "Kalderash?" Mikaere asks, turning those dark eyes on Perdita.

Besides, that's a question with a good answer, unlike questions that involve bullet holes and meat cleaver scars.

And the 'Darth', that gets a good answer too. At least some questions have reasonable, sensible (ish) answers.

He does lift a hand in Ariadne's direction, too, and hastily-- if reluctantly-- moves his still-dripping jacket off of the chair next to him. Hopefully the chair isn't too wet, should Ariadne decide to sit down. She may be better off getting a different chair, though, to be honest.

(Drip, says his jacket.)

"Black is laundry friendly," Ravn grouses. Then he nods at Seth's explanation. "I guess it's not something that's really affected you at all, then. But you still clambered onto a chair and thus you do not escape introductions. Mikaere, desperately in love with the PNW spring -- sorry, haven't caught the last name yet. Perdita Leontes, former colleague of mine, and I don't mean in bartending. And the mockingbird who also calls me Darth is Ariadne Scullins, the new barista." He nods at each in turn and then adds, to the others, "Seth Monaghan, grumpy Irishman."

"Oh, that makes sense." Perdita smiles, her expression hinting at some information she's not going to share, likely from her youth as a gamer nerd. "Ariadne, nice to see you in something that isn't a floor length gown." Indeed, Perdita's dress just hits knee length today, and she's not even having difficulty managing her stilettos. Of course, she's sitting.

"Particular dialect of Vlax Romani." she looks at Mikaere's face to gauge if her words are clicking, but if he understands, she's not going to bring herself to say That Word.

"Pleased to meet you, Seth." Perdita smiles politely to the man, tilting her head slightly. "I'm a fan of what I've heard, particularly the work you did up in Spokane." fingers curl around her mug of hot cocoa again. Her nails are perfectly manicured into sharp points and painted blood red, today.

Seth eyes Ravn as he starts to make the introductions and glances to everyone in turn as they are introduced, giving a tip of his head in greeting, or at the very least acknowledgment of their existence.

"The black doesn't help him shed the title, certainly. One of these days I am going to sneak into his place and steal all his clothes, swapping them out for something in a scarlet red or canary yellow just for the shits and giggles of it..."

And then Perdita mentions Spokane, and something in Seth's eyes goes cold as he looks at her, then slowly turns his head over to Ravn. You know the old saying about if looks could kill... He doesn't look to Perdita as he speaks, but his words clearly indicate he is speaking to her as he stares down Ravn. "Oh, really? And just what is it that you have heard about my work, Ms. Leontes? Particularly of what I did up in Spokane?"

Barista is not picky about chairs. It takes another minute or two for Ariadne to return and she's briefly shed her apron in order to be Just Another Customer. She's also got a steaming cup of what looks to be some mocha with whipped cream, by the smell of it, and a small poppy seed muffin. Mikaere's offered chair is taken with a soft, "Thanks," after she brushes a drip or two away from the offending jacket. Raised in Seattle since her childhood, she isn't going to flinch at some rain.

"Belatedly, thank you, Perdita. No dresses for me today. Jeans and sneakers; anything nice I have wouldn't survive here. Coffee grounds," she shrugs. "But you're on point." A grin for the other woman. It's a simple maroon-red long-sleeved shirt for Ariadne along with the jeans, a hue more blue than the natural color of her hair in its messy-bun. She's in time to lean back into her chair and sip at her coffee while Seth is asking after Spokane. Of Spokane? She has no idea whatsoever. Thus, with a curious glance over at Mikaere in particular and then over at Ravn, she's inclined to simply listen for the moment.

Momentarily hesitation on Mikaere's part fades into abrupt realisation as Perdita explains, and his cheeks take on the faintest pink beneath their usual brown: that, and his quick nod, suggests he's worked it out from context, if nothing else. That Word is not, thankfully, necessary.

"Hastings," he puts in, helpfully. "Mikaere Hastings."

It's probably also 'good to meet you' or similar, but Seth and Perdita are having a moment over-- Spokane?-- and it's not something the Kiwi seems inclined to interrupt. That's about when he glances back at the returning Ariadne, corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile, and a nod answering her thanks. It's followed with a quick shake of his head, and a look of... something short of confusion, perhaps, but equally not entirely certain.

Once again, something has gone entirely over the new arrival's head.

"If you do, make sure you watch your back. I share an old-fashioned walk-in wardrobe with Kinney and he has a penchant for Hawaii shirts, cartoon prints, and glittery things. You may end up walking out a Pride flag yourself." Ravn looks at Seth, and then sadly at Perdita's coffee cup; it's empty. He's the reason it's empty.

If he notes the sharp look, he chooses to ignore it. Maybe in order to not draw attention to it.

"Only the part where you helped a few girls like me who needed it. If you ever need to do more charity work, I'm happy to make time, though. Anything for the under privileged." Perdita's tone and smile are warm and absolutely friendly, not at all like she's offering to do serious harm to someone, harbor trafficked women in her office building or something. She doesn't even tense her grip on her hot cocoa. Whatever she knows, she approves, because it could have been her being trafficked just a few short years ago. "And please. Call me Dita, all my friends do." she smiles, including Ariadne and Mikaere in the invitation.

"Thank you." That's to Ariadne, along with a slight inclination of her head. "I spent a few days moping around the apartment after that elbow to the face, I felt like I had to snap out of it."

Seth's eyes remain focused on Ravn for a moment longer as he takes a measure of the man sitting next to him before he finally tears them away from the Dane and looks back to Perdita. "I see. I was unaware my charity work was public knowledge. I tend to keep things like that under the radar, so I am just surprised you know about it at all. I must admit, you caught me off-guard, and that doesn't happen often, Dita."

Seth stands from his chair pulling a reverse Riker chair maneuver this time as the sole of his foot 'accidentally' brushes across Ravn's chest/arm while moving his leg over, leaving a nice visible dusty trail of grime and other stuff from the bottom of his boots on the black fabric, as well as any potential 'discomfort' to the neuropathic Dane. "Oops. Sorry." No, he totally is not sorry in the least.

"It's been a pleasure, but I have things to do. I'm sure I'll see you around." the 'bouncer' comments to the table before he turns and heads for the door, casting Ravn one last look. A look that people don't tend to like to see from someone like Seth.

"Nothing like some down time," agrees Ariadne quietly with Perdita's choices. She can tell the woman's face is healing up nicely. Watching her take that elbow to the cheekbone hadn't been fun; the barista can imagine it didn't feel much better. "And Dita." Shortened name acknowledged.

It's when Seth leaves that the barista pulls her coffee up against her chest and looks not too unlike a startled owl: drawn up smaller, taller, a bit wide-eyed. Oops. Whatever was stepped in is now proverbially (and in a way, literally) smeared across the Dane. Another significant glance over at Mikaere in shared confusion and she then watches the Irishman leave.

"...yikes," she murmurs into her cup, not certain about how to react other than the little commiseration just yet.

What can Mikaere do but to echo Ariadne: "Yikes," he agrees.

At least he waits until Seth is out of earshot-- wisely, probably-- to turn his gaze from Ariadne, to Dita, and then to Ravn, to give the other man a distinctly dubious glance. "You have some interesting friends," is what he chooses to remark, much more casual in tone than the intentness of his expression suggests.

"I clearly missed something, which-- ha-- is probably not surprising, and even so."

In a few moments Ravn is going to mentally congratulate himself for not screaming. His jaw clenches and he (hopes he) keeps a straight face while the sensation of electricity slides through him and over him. He takes a breath to steady himself -- nothing to see here, this is normal, everything is fine. Then he reaches for a paper napkin and brushes dirt off his shirt. "Somebody seems to be having a bad day."

"I'm good like that, Seth." Perdita's still smiling at the man, even as he wipes his shoe across Ravn's clothing, causing pain beneath it. The only tell is the slightest tightening of her nails around her mug, "Feel free to stop by the Bauer Building any time." she tells the bouncer, keeping her tone ever so innocent, but there's definitely layers of communication happening between them.

"As he said, 'are there any other kind'?" her voice is a surprisingly good mimic for Seth's tone and cadence, if not the exact sound. Does she just... sit and pick up accents and speech patterns for fun or something?

"There are other kinds of days." Ariadne notes this to the melting whipped cream of her mocha before sipping off of it again. She eyes Ravn at his work of cleaning off his chest and then the now-empty front door again. "But I'm in the same boat as Mikaere. Are we talking this is a kind of business not better discussed at a very public coffee stable at work?"

A significant look between both Perdita and Ravn in turn while she reaches for her small plated muffin and takes a bite of it, somehow both efficient and delicate in filling her cheek pocket with delicious pastry.

"There are, and I've definitely had them... but I'll accept the 'bad day' to a point." To a point, mind, because there's layers here, and like onions, layers have a habit of making people cry.

Mikaere frowns, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in front of him. "Not," he adds, "that you owe us any kind of explanation. Particularly if it results in further, uh, 'bad days' for anyone, whether at this table or not. I always forget. Small towns; there's always things going on, beneath the surface. Maybe just a little more shallowly than we're used to, in big cities, where there's more people and less mingling of the...layers."

Yes. The onion layers.

"I'll hunt him down later, sort that out. Think he heard something that wasn't actually said. Anyhow." Ravn shakes his head; however others might feel about it, he's never been one to do his laundry with an audience. "Where were we? Names for the Other Side?"

He steals another napkin; how does one man drag in so much mud? "Some girls were trafficked through here last year. Some local folks helped sort it out. The sorting wasn't one hundred percent police compliant, but no more trafficked girls have turned up -- that we know of. I consider it a success."

"I would never discuss the kind of business that you couldn't discuss in a coffee house. I'm a reputable business woman with a sterling reputation to uphold, after all. Gas leak aside." Perdita smiles sweetly at Ariadne, tilting her head just slightly. See? She's positively angelic, despite the whore red nails. She smiles to Mikaere, too.

"I just happen to be in possession of space to help if that sort of situation comes up again. I don't think Seth appreciates the world knowing he did an act of kindness, is all." And as far as Dita's concerned, whatever else happened was in furtherance of that kindness. "I have a little cousin who has almost been trafficked half a dozen times. I keep telling them to either go back home to their family, or come up here so I can look after them, but... Stubborn."

Perdita earns herself a wry little snort from the barista at the angelic rejoinder. The chewing of muffin doesn't entirely hide the curl of a smirk on the woman's lips as she glances over at Ravn and then back at the owner of those whore-red nails.

Still, the amusement fades from Ariadne's face. She clears her mouth with a large mouthful of mocha and rolls her lips, her tongue briefly appearing to clean away the light whipped cream skim. "I think it's a success then, even if...Seth's kindness is the questionable sort. He doesn't seem like someone you want to fuck with," she notes plainly with another glance at the front door, as if half-expecting the man to show up again out of nowhere.

'Trafficking' earns a furrow of Mikaere's brow, that deep line setting itself into position above dark, thoughtful eyes. "Ah," is what he says, his own gaze following Ariadne's to the door independently, but perhaps now with consideration of a different variety. "I'm... glad?" Clearly not for the initial trafficking, but rather, instead, for the remedy, dubious legality or no.

"It can be a shitty world out there. Particularly for women. Which-- is an equally shitty topic to be dwelling on."

Ravn even provided the perfect return-to-the-earlier-conversation, and... nope, Mikaere's not managed to pick it up, and just, well, sits there.

"I think we forget that, sometimes. With all the supernatural crap that goes down in this town, we sometimes forget that there's plenty perfectly normal and mundane misery to go around. And an old industrial harbour within convenient distance to Seattle? Things happen here, sometimes. And when they do, well -- I'm not great on vigilantism, but it's never the people who call the shots that end up behind bars. Those girls got out. One of them came back, admittedly -- and ended up dead. But four out of five is still a good track record." Ravn at least is going to take this turn anywhere, away from himself and his relationship with Seth. Maybe he feels he should offer some kind of explanation as to why emotions might run high.

"He's not the sort to mess with, no. But really, is anyone...? Any idiot with a shotgun can do serious damage." Perdita points out, raising her cup to her lips once more and sipping.

Dita nods to Mikaere's comment about the shittiness of the world. "Which is why we work to make the world a better place. Extend kindness to newcomers, make sure that even those who we don't always agree with know that we've got their backs, should the need arise. Keep an eye out for each other, for the most vulnerable among us." she shoots Ravn a look, as if accusing him of corrupting her with this attitude.

"Mmm." Quiet agreement for Mikaere's assessment. Ariadne continues loitering in her mocha, the mug held up near to her mouth with both hands as she leans back into her chair. Her golden-hazel eyes shift between Perdita and Ravn as each speak and she nods half to herself.

"I mean...I can say that I really appreciated how welcoming you all were. I'm still figuring out how I ended up here and...well...I remember things unlike other people struck with the amnesia, so...there's some sort of...shininess to me, but it doesn't appear to be much. I'm forewarned and fore-armed for everything everyone's explained. If living here means having to accept that four out of five is optimal? Then it's damn optimal and I'll be there as support squad. Back-up. Y'know. Honorable stuff. I'm reminded of that one line from Pippin actually. 'You need people of intelligence on this sort of...mission. Quest. Thing.' And I'm learning," she shrugs, able to smile at herself. Geek.

Its become her go-to place for coffee and today was no different. Jayde needed caffiene and really needed the break for it. The door pushes open bringing in a gust of a small amount of wind with her. The dark loose strands of her hair circle around her face, and then settle as the door shuts behind her.

Her black peacoat for warmth is wrapped around her body, her favorite. Dressed in jeans, books, and whatever is under the coat isn't seen. But she makes her way to the counter and to the register, where she'll place her order. "Just a regular coffee with cream, please," she murmurs her order and tucks strands of hair behind her ears. From one of her peacoat pockets, she pulls out a small wallet and offers a card for the total.

Mikaere groans good naturedly. "That damn movie," he says (this, in lieu of saying anything more serious). "It's still my cousin's greatest claim to fame, that he was an extra in one of those movies. Some kind of ugly monster creature? I don't know."

Maybe that's not entirely the point, because he follows it up with, "The point stands, though, I think. Ravn's right, of course: plenty of normal and mundane misery, and with the best will in the world, no one's able to fix it. Believe me." He turns his gaze away from the little group at the table by the window, letting it idly meander about the room, and take in Jayde in an idle way. "But we can look after each other. Family's important, where I'm from. I guess it is most places. And I always figure found family counts. My guess, based on how friendly you've been, is that's equally true here."

Ravn tosses a smile Jayde's way; an unfamiliar face -- but one that seems to have at least a hint of that special something that tends to make people stand out around here. An almost imperceptible nod towards an empty chair -- because as always, the Dane is trying to connect everyone. It's his openly professed role in this town, as far as he is concerned -- connecting people.

Then he nods and murmurs, "So, er, I take it your cousin is shorter?" Mikaere, after all, is as tall as himself, and neither man would be in proper hobbit height range if they were folded in the middle. Three times, maybe.

At the comment regarding Pippin, Perdita tilts her head slightly. "Isn't that the little girl who looks like the fast food mascot?" she asks, her expression ever so slightly confused, "You know, Ravn. She was created in your country." she might be overselling the ditz act, juuust a smidge, there.

"I've become a big fan of looking after each other, these days, after a life spent looking after myself. It's nice to know that I've got people who will watch my back. Even when my big mouth gets them in trouble with their friends." her expression is now just a bit apologetic to Ravn, now. On the plus side, if Seth hurts him, she'll probably go all Carrie on the dude. Not that it'll end well for anyone.

"What's wrong with being shorter?"

Having momentarily forgotten poor Mikaere's origin of home, the barista shoots him a half-smirk holding a little bit of apology -- but no doubt she can count on the others to chime in. They do. The smirk deepens and she shakes her head as she sips her coffee again. Jayde is recognized as a face around the coffee shop in passing and given a friendly up-nod by the redheaded barista taking a quick break between drinks.

"I mean, it is something to brag about, being an extra," she notes of Mikaere's cousin. "And nothing wrong with being shorter." Says the 5'8" woman still dwarfed by others present at the table. "Easier to belt somebody above or below the belt. Plus, the taller they are, the harder they fall. Gravity," the kickboxer singsongs before laughing once.

With her order being pretty simple, the coffee doesn't really have to be "Made" and so it's given to her before she even leaves the register. Ariadne, that's a face she knew, she'd not only seen her but talked to her before so a warm and friendly smile is offered to the up nod. "Hey." There comes the greeting after the smile.

But she seems to be talking to others and so doesn't interrupt. As Jayde walks away from the counter, lashes lift and flutter as she takes in the other people that Ariadne was talking to. None of them seem particularly familiar, but she moves over to take a seat. Taking the seat and settling into it. Something about the conversation strikes her and she half laughs, "I wish I was shorter." what an odd thing to wish for the 5'7" woman. "Shorter people are like Fun Sized people."

"Nah, he's taller," says Mikaere, completely missing the point. Clearly, neither Mikaere or his cousin (or Ravn) are hobbit-sized. "He's got at least a few centimetres on me, probably in every direction. That's what they were after: big, tall men to put in ridiculous amounts of makeup." For what, exactly? Clearly he has no idea.

"I'm not saying it's not something to brag about," he adds to Ariadne, with a little grin that suggests he's not holding her reference against her. "but those movies are, what, twenty years old? More? He's still bragging."

The tall man gives Jayde a polite enough smile, though something about her remark sets his mouth twitching. "And what, the rest of us are just.. un-fun?"

Ravn shoots Ariadne a Look. Yes, thank you very much, he remembers perfectly how gravity works in kickboxing, and one day, one day, he will land a hit on her in return, if he has to duct tape her to the garden fence first. Then he chuckles. "So basically, your cousin is an orc. Is he fun at family reunions? I want to think of a big, broad bloke gnawing on an entire turkey leg while yelling for wine and women to be brought. And everyone is just, whatever, let Uncle Zack have his fun, it's the only thing he ever did with his life."

Beat. Wistful look at his empty coffee cup. "No fun from the tall guys. Not without coffee at least."

"Easy for you to say, you're a damn Amazon." Perdita teases Ariadne. She's only a few inches shorter, and truthfully, she quite likes her height.

"I have never gotten a Fun Size candy bar and thought 'oh, this is fun'. It's just corporate brainwashing... though it does help with portion control. Until you eat more of them than you would have had just eating a regular candy bar." she smiles at Jayde, though, tilting her head slightly. "I'm Perdita, that's Ravn," pronounced very precisely, in the manner Ravn himself pronounces it, "And that's Ariadne and Mikaere." she's very, very careful with pronouncing unusual names. Names have power, after all.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Mikaere. I've never had a boring time with a tall man." and then she turns and flutters her (enhanced) lashes at Ravn, shamelessly.

Ariadne in unrepentant in her return of Ravn's Look. Gravity, buddy. Gravity. She even gestures towards Perdita and her comment about Amazons. Amazons know how to use gravity. The other woman gets a quick nod and wink.

She also catches that Look at Ravn's empty coffee cup. So lonely, that coffee cup, bereft of affection unless it holds the pristine black brew he so chooses. The Dane now gets a brows-lofted look and curious tilt of head along with a subtle pout. "Is that your way of saying you'd like another cuppa, Ravn?"

A beat. "Since tall people aren't fun without coffee," she adds in a friendly jab in Mikaere's direction and accompanying half-grin.

Forget that question: Perdita's saucy little comment has the barista blurting out a laugh before she can stop herself and her innocent expression fools no one whatsoever.

Unexpectedly, her comment is noticed, and she blinks at Mikaere when he responds to it. Her coffee halfway to her mouth before she realizes she should probably respond. "No." she instantly says. "Just more... Full-sized fun and that is a lot of expectation for someone." Then the coffee it continued on its journey and she brings it to her mouth and takes a sip.

To Perdita she smiles, the idea was true, and so she says, "Isnt that exactly it? The Fun Size always leaving you wanting more." Just another reason that fun size was so much more fun. The names are offered up in greeting and she nods to them all, and to Ariadne, 'We've met." Old friends? probably not. But they knew one another.

Is Mikaere's cousin an orc? (Clearly the answer is yes, though the tall Kiwi doesn't seem to know, and shrugs his shoulders. Maybe?) "I mean, that's not too far off, though it tends to be beer rather than wine, and we're not much for turkey back home. I guess it says a lot, when your biggest claim to fame is something you did when you were all of about sixteen, and now you're staring down middle age hard. The kids think he's great, though."

That reflection has a note of wistfulness to it, one that he bottles back down, or is, perhaps, distracted from, as he reconsiders their little circle, and the innuendo flying across it.

"Firstly," he says. "Does every woman in this town flirt shamelessly with Ravn? And secondly... no, I don't think I have a 'secondly'. Clearly, I have not had enough coffee to be fun, thank you all, very much."

"Well, if you're offering," Ravn murmurs, but the barista isn't -- the barista is busy laughing at Perdita's exaggerated flirt his way. He raises his eyebrows and looks right back at the brunette. "Glad to hear my lectures on contemporary American cryptids aren't boring, dear."

And then Mikaere says that, and the Dane can't help laughing softly before he shakes his head. "No. No, they don't. But a number of them flirt with me because I'm the safe bloke. Go make eyes at some strapping hunk of a firefighter, he might take you up on it. Me? I won't even notice half the time."

There's an ever so innocent smile for Ariadne, but then Dita quirks her brow at Jayde, the smile turning just a bit more saucy.

"Not every woman. There's nuns. And lesbians exist, after all. And while Ravn is pretty, and his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass, he isn't a woman, though he might make Sister Mary Perpetua reconsider her vows." Dita points this out helpfully to Mikaere, before she's right back to teasing Ravn, "You know I'm always willing to listen to you rant about mud mermaids or wood devils. Besides, if you took me up on it now I'd just panic and have a very awkward conversation with my boyfriend. Monogamy takes some getting used to." there's the faintest hint of a pout. She's the one who chose monogamy, after all, because emotions got involved. Ugh.

Oh, how innocent Ariadne's expression is now. Observe, the doe-eyes and pristine lamb's wool innocence, pure as dawn, unsullied as --

Yeah, that wasn't ever going to stick.

Mikaere provides the opening. Perdita just makes it very hard to keep the chuckling stifled.

"So..." the barista drawls, drawing a nonchalant circle on the table with her finger while she holds her coffee mug pinkie-out by her spare hand. "I have a personal betting pool myself. I call it, 'Ravin' for Ravn'. I put tally marks whenever I hear the flirts or the sass. It's an amazing social observation-experiment and vastly entertaining to me. You'd be amazed at my calculations. Results pending, of course," she adds in a tone of scientific nonchalance.

Is she gunning to be flipped off? Just maybe.

"It's a compliment, in a way," she adds realistically, shrugging. "Nothing wrong with being the safe bloke in my opinion." A glance around the table includes Jayde and Perdita, and it appears the barista is curious about their own thoughts on 'safe blokes.'

Realizing that in the midst of her introduction to the others, she hadnt offered her name. "I'm Jayde." she says, and then there is that comment from Mikaere and she grins, "Not to sound like an AA meeting. But Hi, I'm Jayde, I'm a woman and I don't flirt shamelessly with Ravn." perhaps that's because she just learned who he actually is and maybe because wasn't the sort.

There is so much to this conversation and Jayde realizes its best to stay silent for now.

Safe bloke. Doesn't even notice half the time. That expression, the one on Mikaere's face? That's dubiousness.

(Excuse him, he doesn't know Ravn all that well, yet, clearly. He'll learn.)

Of course, before he can comment on that, there's Perdita, and then there's Ariadne, and look, Jayde too. The end result is laughter: unrestrained, deep, booming laughter. "Are you telling me," he wonders, glancing between the women, "that women aren't only interested in bad boys? Has the media lied to me? Say it isn't so."

"You ladies need hobbies. Or more single men. Not sure which but the need is strong." Ravn shakes his head in mild exasperation -- and then shoots Jayde a blue-grey look that's almost apologetic in nature. "This is not a normal conversation. It's pick on Ravn day. Tomorrow we go back to our regularly scheduled program of solving every local crisis -- of which my relationship status is not one."

He toys with his empty (empty! EMPTY, ARIADNE!) coffee cup and then pretends to look Mikaere over, carefully. "I suppose that you could pick up a turkey leg and roar for wine and women to be brought, see what happens..."

"Oh, I knew I liked you." Dita tells Ariadne with a grin. "Hi Jayde. Feel free to flirt shamelessly with Ravn, as long as it's all in good fun. He probably won't realize unless you tell him, 'I'm about to begin flirting with you'.

At Mikaere's question, Perdita snorts, a surprisingly undignified sound coming from such a posh-looking young woman, "Hey, five years ago I was all about bad boys. The problem with bad boys is that they're bad. I figured that out pretty quickly. Now I'm dating a park ranger who's a fine, upstanding young man I'd be proud to take home to Mamá or Báte. Taking him home to both seems a little unfair on all three of them... but speaking of which... I should get going. I'm going to surprise him with lunch today."

"This is totally a normal conversation." Perdita tells Jayde, gathering up her cups and righting her mess as she moves, utterly confident on those ridiculous stilettos of hers that add several inches to her height. One hopes Garrett isn't out in the woods if she's wearing that to bring him food. She slips back into her utterly absurd raincoat, cinching it tight about her waist with a smile. "Don't let them lie to you." and then she's heading toward the door with a finger-wave for everyone, snapping her umbrella into position as she opens the door, popping open the clear plastic to keep herself safe from the rain. The things one does for fashion.

"Oh man, Jayde," Ariadne manages between her own bright peals of laughter. Mikaere's chortling is contagious. She can't help but join in. "Welcome to the club and I promise, we're not always lunatics."

She doesn't miss the empty (OH MY GOD, EMPTY?!) coffee mug being toyed with. Cue half-smirk. The rest of the muffin disappears, given she's been picking at the pastry all along, and she then finishes the rest of her mocha. "But alas, duty calls. Poor Ravn. Observe: his lack of coffee. He is not fun. Seeya, Perdita," she calls to the departing woman, more than likely enjoying the minor rhyme scheme that comes along with the missive. "And my fifteen is up. You're all charming, but I have a paycheck to earn and a dog to spoil."

Ravn's mug is taken from him and she nods confirmation to him. Black coffee, coming up. "Holler if you need anything, folks." And with that, off she goes, to resume her goddess-like duty of providing the magical bean water to all supplicants.