2022-03-26 - We Don't Talk About This Except When We Do

The weather isn't the greatest for a late night walk; there's hints of an impending thunderstorm coming in from the bay -- a perpetual risk where coastal climate meets oceanic, and, Ravn reflects, apparently more common here than in his homeland. There's probably reasons for it -- reasons that pertain to mountains versus flat land, and the depth of the North American continent compared to the slim peninsula of Jutland. He kind of prefers the American version; bad spring weather in Denmark just means rain, and then, as a bonus, some more rain.

He rings the door bell to Perdita's penthouse, having taken the elevator up. These days there are people coming and going at the Bauer Building, unlike when the ex-grifter turned landlady lived here alone. It's quiet now, though, because the people working repairs at the office of Dr Brennon after the explosion have long since gone home for the day. He intended it that way. It's a little silly but he's really not in a people mood. The downside of being that community centre guy; everyone seems to know who you are, and a lot of them want to either ask about something or avoid you in case you ask them for something. Sometimes it feels like Ravn imagines a parish priest must feel; every soul, black or white, or just smudged around the edges, is part of your flock.

Hella lot of responsibility. He doesn't really like it all that much. This town gets you, one way or another, doesn't it?

Late evening doesn't typically mean a lot of tenant visitors to the penthouse. Usually it's either friends, or someone forgot their key or something along those lines. Perdita answers the door in an oversized t-shirt with the word 'ADULT-ISH' in a collegiate font, the waist of said shirt tied at one hip, the collar of it so stretched it's hanging off one shoulder. A pair of cut off shorts, and house shoes shaped like house cats (one black, one white) in anime style, with gold cresent moons on their foreheads.

She's also, one might note, bearing a ball bat in one hand, just as a precaution. Garrett's working a little late, and a woman alone can never be too careful, especially in a city like this.

The TV is on, but Tsinyorri seems to be the only one watching it, some nature channel with birds singing and hopping around eating bird seed. She, occasionally, chitters at the birds.

"You're up late... or is it early. I can't decide for vampires." she tilts her head and smiles at him, returning the bat to its place by the door, where it leans with an old glove and a ball. Clearly, this isn't a weapon, she just loves baseball.

"I was just flying past and saw that the lights were still on, so I decided I'd drop in, see about maybe going a few rounds on the baseball court." Ravn smirks a little; he's not going to tell any woman living alone to not have a baseball bat just in case. If he wasn't six foot three himself, he might well have one just like it. He's not sure he'd have bothered to get the gloves and ball though. "You know how it is, spend all day hanging upside down in a dark room somewhere, gotta stretch the wings when night falls."

He shrugs out of his jacket once inside, and wipes the smile off his face. "No, actually, I wanted to talk to you about something somewhat more serious. And for once, the kind of serious that isn't the Veil fucking with us but someone very human, mortal, and fucking dangerous. You're familiar with the name -- and reputation -- of a bloke named Felix Monaghan?"

There's a gesture for Ravn to step into the living room, and Dita heads toward the kitchen table and good lord those shorts are short around back.

"You want coffee, tea, or vodka?" Dita asks. She doesn't even offer water, tilting her head slightly.

"I've heard a bit about him, from you. And before you begin, I want to apologize. Usually I'm a better read of people, and I didn't realize Seth would, you know... threaten murder in front of a roomful of people because I appreciated him stopping the trafficking of women."

"Coffee is probably the wise choice." Ravn trails after -- and while he'd rather die than admit it, probably sneaks a second glance because whoah, Nelly, those are shorts. "But yeah -- Felix is the issue, not Seth. Seth isn't bigger on human trafficking than you or me. Felix, however, is the kind of upstanding and legitimate businessman who stays upstanding and legitimate because anyone who has any dirt whatsoever on him ends up floating face down in Gray Pond. That's what Seth's worried about."

"Coffee it is." Perdita heads into the coffee roo-er, kitchen, and the sound of a Keurig style device is soon going. "Don't worry, I use a reuseable mesh pod, not plastic." It's more efficient, too, because Garrett doesn't drink coffee and if she drinks an entire pot, she's scrubbing the grout at 4am with an electric tooth brush because it's slightly off white.

"Well, I don't have any dirt on anyone, and if I did, I'd know better than to open my mouth with that type of man running around. I already had one Eddie, I don't need another. How much shit am I in? Are we talking 'go make nice', or 'grab a wig and leave town because he's about to have dogs chase you through the woods tearing off your clothes'?"

She returns with two mugs, one that looks about half cream, and one that's blissfully black, with no sugar, no additives of any kind.

"I don't think you're in trouble," Ravn says earnestly. "And I'm pretty sure I can convince Seth that no one is. We just need to make sure there's no repeats -- because yeah, if word gets back to Felix that someone might have something on his cousin, then the risk of that someone ending up in a hell of a lot of problems is real. Seth is my friend. He's -- I realise how it sounds, but, really, he's a solid bloke. His cousin is a psychopathic piece of shit with too much money, and on top of that, he's Margaret Addington's golden boy after her own sons died. Hate it or love it, Felix runs Gray Harbor -- or at least the mundane part of it."

He reaches for the black mug and curls long fingers around it. Bliss in a cup. "I hate it. It's bad enough we got things on the Other Side that think we're game pawns or kibble. The fact that we have humans on this side who act and think in the exact same way pisses me off. I hope he ends up dying alone in a ditch, knowing that people could have saved his life but because he's such an asshole, they chose not to."

"Good. Because the first person that comes through that door after me in earnest isn't going to like the result. Or the second or third for that matter." Perdita's smiling, but it's not the nicest smile by any means. She's far less helpless than she looks, after all.

"Let me guess. If anyone goes after her, he goes after them, and if anyone goes after him, she goes after them. I'm surprised he hasn't approached me to try and turn space here into something less than savory." She takes a sip of her own coffee, then breathes deeply. The bruise on her cheek is faded to a faint yellowing on her cheek, but there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage.

"I'm sure it'll happen eventually. Men like him always have enemies, it's just the right person to get them together to act against him. If I need to talk to Seth, I'll talk to Seth. All I know is what you told me. There were people up in Spokane moving women through the port, and now they're not. I don't want to know more, unless it starts again, and then I'm down to provide back up... but Garrett can't know."

"I don't think it's necessary. If you want to, I'm not going to tell you not to -- but I suspect the best deal there is just, getting on with business." Ravn sips his coffee and closes his eyes for a moment of enjoyment. "Truth is -- what you know is what I know. Because I haven't asked either, because not knowing means I can't be hauled in under oath to make a witness statement. Seth said they took care of it. Does that mean they killed half a dozen people in Spokane or that they told someone stern no, bad boy, no biscuit? No idea. Don't really care either, because -- human trafficking."

The Dane blows on the coffee; it was a little hot, maybe. "When I first came into town and started to work out who's who here I wondered, you know? How is it everyone here knows Monaghan has his hand in everything and no one does anything about it? The man doesn't shine. Why hasn't one of the mentalists imprinted some kind of guilt complex in him, or for that matter, someone set him on fire? That's when I realised -- Margaret. Margaret doesn't just shine, she's got friends on the Other Side. She's the closest thing this world knows to an ambassador for the dolorphages. They both like the status quo. Keep a lid on it, don't start shit, and they'll leave well enough alone. And with that kind of backup, the price for dragging both to justice would be too high. I hate -- hate saying it, but it's true. The price would be too high. Last time the Veil intervened on Margaret's behalf, the casualty list took up half a page in the Gazette. We got to pick our battles."

There's a distinct impression that Perdita would be frowning if she didn't have such careful control of her face. "I hate that. I hate that we live in a world where we even have to ask questions like that, or that lets people who do things like that get away with it." She sighs and sips her coffee, looking out the window. "But it's not like I want to go anywhere else, either."

On the couch, Tsinyorri chitters at the television again, tail whipping back and forth as she watches the birds. Either this is a form of torture, or the cat loves it. Hard to tell.

"Yeah." Ravn rests a hip against a counter. "Not arguing. It makes no sense to me -- but then, a lot of this never made any sense, and it doesn't need a supernatural aspect to not make sense. And here's me, the literal poster boy for benefiting from inherited white coloniser's privilege, putting on attitude about exploitation. All we can do is pick our fights. Monaghan goes down some day. Someone else takes his place. At least with Monaghan, he may be a tremendous piece of shit, but some of the people in key positions in his organisation are -- well, I won't say they're kind, upstanding members of society because they're criminals. But some of them see the sense in keeping things quiet. Don't want people with the shine fighting a turf war with the Dark Men in their backyard. Others don't shine and don't know anything about the Veil, but they have some kind of code. Pimping prostitutes? Fine, they signed on for it. Trafficked women did not. It's still shit, but it's less shit than Monaghan himself, at least."

"Nothing wrong with being a criminal, it's all about who you're hurting, in my book. I steal from someone with a lot of money, they can't afford a third yacht. I steal from the Safeway cashier, her kids don't eat that week. Add in to the fact that the rich guy could only have become that rich by exploiting and stealing from people, anyway, or by inheriting wealth that was stolen from poor people."

Perdita sighs and leans back in her chair again. "This is going to end up with another Robin Hood dream to appease me and keep me from enacting real change." she mutters.

Ravn can't help a chuckle. "I mean, it wouldn't even surprise me if you get one. Because the dolorphages don't want this boat capsizing, you know? They want us right where we are. The worst part of it is that so do we -- because you and I both know what crime can be like. Felix just launders money through the Casino -- and I can't prove shit nor do I have any evidence of that, I just can't see any other damn reason anyone would want to build a casino in a place like Gray Harbor. He wants things to be nice and quiet here. So we keep our heads down and don't go vigilante on him, and in turn we get enough peace and quiet from that end that we can focus on the Veil's shit instead."

He really wishes he had a cigarette. "Imagine what this town would be like if we had a crime boss who wanted to run things hands on? We'd be so remarkably fucked."

"I know what it can be like because Eddie had a similar racket going. His wasn't a casino, I don't even know what it was. I was paid to be pretty, stupid arm candy and I didn't want to know. But... shit." she sighs and looks up to the ceiling.

"What's the use of being as good at what we do as we are if we can't change the shit that needs changing?" she asks, softly. Another sip of coffee, and she shakes her head, looking back to Ravn. "If we get a crime boss like that, we infiltrate his organization and cut the head off." Goodness knows between them they could manage a lot.

"I have thought that sometimes. That there's some kind of bargain or deal being struck, a long time ago. I don't figure Felix got to sign it since he doesn't shine that I know of. Sometime, a long time ago, maybe even before Margaret was even born. And when it goes bad -- people die. The ghosts of old serial killers return, and even more people die. In some twisted way, I think Felix rose up out of the gutter to become what he is because the Veil wants things kept quiet. I hate it, but the alternatives are worse." Ravn sips his coffee.

Then he sighs and looks at Perdita. "I mean, you're not wrong. What's the point of all this, if we just go right on like always? I try to think of it as picking my fights. I want to take on the patriarchy, late-stage capitalism, and the climate crisis. What I can do is get a few people out of trouble, maybe save a few lives. And well, be a decent human being myself, while I try to ignore that I am late-stage capitalism and for that matter, the patriarchy."

"Faustian deal, maybe. It's bullshit." She sounds, for the moment, like the young woman that she is. Perdita's not pouting, but she'd probably like to. "You're not wrong, though. It's just... what's the point of all this," she gestures at the building, at the money that she's poured into it over the past several months, "if we can't use it to actually make lasting change. I'm sick of assholes like Felix staying on top while people can't even make their damn rent."

"We can, though. Just not on as a large scale as we want to." Ravn gives in and reaches into a pocket for his plastic cigarette. It's not the nicotine withdrawals -- it's the need to have something to fidget with, something to keep his fingers busy. If nicotine was the issue he'd probably vape; this is a children's toy, which probably once contained peppermint powder or similar.

He twirls it between gloved fingertips. "I could sign away my family's business. Hand it all over to Greenpeace or the Red Cross, or whatever. But I'd lose control -- and you know as well as I do, that even the noblest of charities aren't immune to the trappings of capitalism. The world director of Save the Children isn't paid like an Amazon warehouse worker. It's a better kind of capitalism, but it's still capitalism. I thought long and hard about it -- and I ended up laying down the law instead. There are businesses we don't invest in. Stock we refuse to support. A mission statement that workers get paid properly, are allowed to unionise, get healthcare. Most of those things are required by bloody law in most civilised countries, but there's all kinds of loopholes. Hell, the most insane thing I do? I pay my taxes."

The comment about taxes is what gets Perdita's brows to raise. "You actually pay your taxes? Huh. I mean, the holdings under Perdita Leontes definitely get paid, because I don't need to get Capone'd, but..." she shrugs slightly. She has a stash of other identities, after all. "Probably a good idea. And yes, in most countries, all of that is either covered under the law, or covered by the taxes people pay..." She sighs again. "I don't want gradual change over several generations. I want to wake up tomorrow and the world is fixed. I know it won't happen, but dammit, I can want things."

"Wouldn't hear a peep of complaint from me if your dream comes true." Ravn smiles lightly. What exactly 'fixed' would entail could probably be debated for a while, but there are some fundamental truths he knows that the two of them agree on, and those would be a good start. "But yeah. Denmark has the highest tax rate in the world. Sounds awful, until you remember that we have free education, socialised healthcare, and so on. Our system is far from perfect and it's sure as hell still easier to get treatment you need if you can pay for it in the private sector, but it's a start. Someone did the math once; Danes don't pay more taxes than Americans do, if Americans paid to the state instead of to schools, hospitals, and private companies. It pisses me off when business accountants look at me like I must be on something when I tell them, actually, no, I don't want to route that through the Caymans."

"Well, you must be, clearly. Just like you're on something for not having some gorgeous blond bimbo on your arm fawning over you at every opportunity." It's said with amusement. After all. She was once the gorgeous blond bimbo. And it was not her color.

"Ugh. This world is stupid and I want to speak to the manager. I've decided I'm going to transition to Karen. Male to female to Karen." Dita laughs, lamely, at her own joke, before rising and going to the bar cart, which has been lovingly restored and polished, now, and adding a shot of vodka to her coffee. She holds up the bottle toward Ravn, offering it to him, too.

Don't offer twice. Ravn holds out his mug. "I have a natural advantage there. Karen is a common Danish name. I have half a dozen ancestors named Karen. It's a shortform of Karoline which was a very popular name in Danish nobility around the time of Katherine the Great and onwards, given our royal house's connection to that of Russia." Forever the master of historical trivia no one actually cares about, that man.

The plastic cigarette gets another couple of twirls. "Have to pick our battles," he reiterates softly. "Can't fix the entire world. We can try to not be the problem, and we can fix the problems that are within reach. What is it the pet rescues say? You can't save the world, but you're the world to the ones you can save."

Perdita doesn't do the 'two shots of vodka' pour for Ravn. She doesn't need the man crying on her couch, after all.

"You are truly a wealth of information." she tells him, tone a little dry, but she's smiling, "You're not wrong, though. It just... never feels like enough. I've got the rooms set up downstairs, the furniture should be arriving in the next day or two, but it still... Ten studio rooms. It's not enough." Well, that explains where some of the frustration's coming from.

One shot will do, thank you very much, though vodka is not Ravn's personal nemesis in the way that tequila turned out to be. He sips it and lets the sharp taste wash over his tongue before nodding his agreement and his understanding. "It's never going to feel like enough. It's like trying to stop the tide by yelling at it -- another of those impossible feats that have been tested, tried and found to not actually work, and by none less than Canute the Great. He got wet feet."

A small smile is volunteered. "At least we're in a position to do something. If we get a few people out of substance abuse or domestic violence, we make a hell of a lot of difference to them."

"Didn't Nero make his men stab the ocean a lot... or was that Caligula?" Perdita asks, storing the vodka back in place and sitting down again, holding her mug. "Pretty sure it's just bullshit because they were unapologetically Queer and even ancient Rome had rules about that sort of thing."

She shrugs and takes a long drink of her coffee, nodding to herself. Now she'll be able to sleep tonight. "And then they make a difference, and they make a difference... ripples rather than waves. Doesn't mean I don't want to make waves. I should run for president." she snorts a laugh.

"Probably trying to make the same point that Canute was trying to make to his courtiers: That no matter how much they flattered and praised him, his power was not without limit." Ravn chuckles. "And I will argue to the day that I die that Caligula's horse probably made a better senator than your average politician."

He shakes his head and settles hip against the counter. "Anyhow. Yeah. We keep quiet and remember that Felix Monaghan and Margaret Addington are assholes -- but the kind of assholes that will be entirely happy to ignore us as long as we don't get in their way or turn inconvenient. Neither of them give a fuck what we do in terms of community centres, shelters, and so on. As long as their business is not impaired, they're like barons of old: No fucks given about the serfs."

"Well, yeah. It's a horse. Its motivations are the four f's. Feeding, fighting, fleeing and mating." Another long drink. "Margaret's what, eighty or ninety? What happens after she croaks? Who becomes the Addington Matriarch, then?" Perdita asks... figuring she probably already knows the answer, but she has to ask.

"Hyacinth." Ravn upends his mug, possibly in an attempt to hide his little wince. There was a time when he thought Hyacinth and he --

Oh well. "Hyacinth's not a bad person. She told me herself, she refuses to just take up the mantle and be the Veil's puppet. Talked about how she's split her own part of the family company out so that Margaret has no control or influence over it. She's her own woman. Hard to guess whether the Veil will find a way to force her back in line, or she'll manage."

"Unless I miss my guess, it will eventually. I hope not, but... you can only fight so long." Perdita sighs, looking out the window at the city. "Time makes fools of us all, eventually."

"I'm getting restless." a sudden change of topic, "Used to be I'd spend a few months in one place, then run before he could find me. Baba Y'ga told me to stop running, but... how did you stop running? I'm happy here, for the most part. I've found people worth sticking around for, but... part of me misses being in the game, for real."

"I've spent most of my life alone, whether hiding from my peers or on the run." Ravn nods; this is a sensation he knows very well. "Every time things get complicated I have to tell myself that running is not the answer. That having friends here means more than the ease with which I could slip away one night -- just pull up the anchor and sail south, or go back to basics, me and Kitty Pryde on a Greyhound to anywhere. No responsibility. Nothing matters but where to sleep, where to busk for tomorrow's bus fare. It sounds deceptively good, until I remind myself that then I might go see Portland's famous food courts next, for instance, but I'd have no one to tell about it. We're not made for solitude."

"Somehow I doubt Her Royal Meowness would be content on a midnight Greyhound going anywhere. Have you ridden on a Greyhound recently?" Perdita shudders. She, unfortunately, has.

"Food courts do sound nice. I just... I miss scamming rich horny old men I never have any intention of sleeping with." Perdita laughs and shrugs. "Oh. Unrelated. Hot tub arrives next week, just in time for hopefully warmer weather."

"I guess I better dig out the cargo trunks then." Ravn offers a lopsided grin. Why yes, he has every intention of getting an invitation to that tub. St Gargamel de Tropico it isn't, but close enough. He decides to not comment on the Greyhound businesses; truth is, Kitty Pryde would kill him or the driver, or both.

Then he cants his head and, looking almost angelic a moment, points out, "There's a lot of those coming in with the yachting season, you realise? You'd have to adjust your modus operandi, I suppose, but surely you can do something with the lawyers, bankers, and whatnot sailing around in their floating castles and putting in here for a few days of casino splurging? Hell, become a casino regular? As long as you're not being disruptive, I can't imagine the casino cares -- there's got to be plenty gold diggers there already."

"And the SPF 1000 sunscreen. Wouldn't want you to look like a tomato, after all." Perdita grins at him, now.

"Mmm, true... but I've never been a big fan of, you know... shitting where I eat, so to speak. Not in a small town, where you're bound to be recognized. And let's face it. I could maybe pass for someone from the reservation if you squint, since my mother's family is Maya, but..." she shrugs, "Not that many girls that look like me around here."

Ravn shakes his head. "If you want to pull something like that, you need to make it hold in court. Work out some kind of scam where they can work out who you are, sure, find out where you live, definitely, and then they can sit down with your lawyers and feel very silly. Some kind of water tight Ponzi scheme or voluntary giving of gifts. It'd take work but then, what do you have if not time and opportunity?"

Then he chuckles. "And of course you'd need to get Garrett in on it, at least to the point of not turning up in a jealous rage, thinking you're going behind his back. Sometimes, I'm glad I don't have those complications -- heaven knows women walk in and out of my place at the strangest hours, but no one thinks I'm involved with any of them."

"Mm, but then you deal with vindictive assholes and public appearances where you might get your photo taken and posted in the paper..." Perdita shrugs. "Worth thinking on, at least."

"Oh, I'm sure some people on your street are positively scandalized by the comings and goings in your apartment, they're just polite enough not to call you and Aidan harlots who live in sin to your faces. I know, because I've seen a few of your neighbors down at the Safeway at 1am and the looks they give me say just that." Perdita laughs and shakes her head.

"Got the three single ladies on one side and the four way family across the street. I don't think I make headlines." Ravn grins slightly. Oak Avenue is surprisingly open minded for what's supposedly a white picket fence suburban street in the part of town where you have two sensible cars, a cat, a dog, and 2.4 kids. "Some people do assume Aidan and I are a couple, of course. Can't blame them, all things considered, we do live together and we are a bit too old to convince anyone we're poor college students. I suspect the fact that it's apparently perpetual summer across the back yards of 1, 3 and 5 is probably drawing more attention, though. Dr Brennon made some kind of bargain with our faeries, involving a lot of Irving's baked goods, and there you go, Disney summer."