2022-03-28 - All Things New

Sometimes, Ravn Abildgaard asks himself about his life choices. One such life choice involves trying to keep a journal on his sleek little laptop; he writes it in a fictional format -- and it is reading like an unedited amateur's Young Adult novel, indeed. Yesterday, the unnamed teenage protagonist explored Rattington House which looked suspiciously like Addington House except that obviously the real Addington House is not haunted to kingdom come and no one would sneak into the basement to burn their hands on old documents or for that matter, stare at really creepy paintings.

Another life choice revolves around why the hell does he keep coming to this place. Della the Day Manager is a charming black lady with short, snappy curls and a temper to match -- and for a year and a half, she's ruined his day on a daily basis. That's what he gets for being the European tourist who once told her how to make an Americano. She made it wrong. She's made it wrong ever since. Today's concoction is something horrific involving too much praline syrup, too much almond latte foam, and for reasons unknown to civilised man, ginger. He could probably kill rats with it.

A third life choice which he at least doesn't regret is taking the table by the window where he can see everyone coming and going. His main reason for coming here, after all, is to watch people and keep up on local gossip. Not that he cares whether Our Mary is making eyes at Our Jack -- but the steady trickle of unfamiliar faces with a certain lost expression, those are the ones he's watching for.

Una Irving's not one of the ones Ravn needs to watch for, but she's a regular presence anyway (maybe that makes her more dangerous; who can say!). Besides which, she's not passing through the door: she's already here, having finished her business at the counter and been rewarded, accordingly, a black coffee and a muffin. These are carried directly towards Ravn's table, where she makes herself at home quite as if she belongs there, coffee and muffin set just so upon the tabletop; jacket hung from the back of her chair.

"What's she given you today?" wonders the redhead, with a tip of her head towards the coffee monstrosity. Maybe that's meant to pass as 'hello, Ravn, how are you today' and the other, usual politenesses.

Ravn's initial arrival had been greeted with various responses from the staff on-site. The redhead with the messy bun and elbows up to foam in what appears to be a serious sudsing of coffee implements -- if asked, she'll explain what happened to the iced coffee blender, it had been spectacular earlier -- and as such, was only able to spare him a grinning up-nod of greeting.

It also meant Della got to him first. Woe! No straight black coffee from the barista known to save him now and then.

At one point, the volume and span of 'mess' dwindles to something she can hand off to Russ and Ariadne excuses herself for the sake of finding a dry smock, damnit. There are still some wet spots on her sleeves and jeans, but at least there's none of the triple-chocolate, double-shot monstrosity which blew up the blender. Dry smock found in the back, the temporary piece of clothing is tied neatly about her neck and waist and la voila: an Ariadne meandering in no huge hurry towards the table occupied by Dane and laptop and now Una, how delightful.

"Something involving a lot of ginger..."

How she's not laughing right now, the world will never know. It shows in her warmly-hazel eyes nonetheless.

While he may not have a lost expression that immediately identifies him as new in town, the young man walking down the street towards the cafe has an unfamiliar face nonetheless. The way his gaze sweeps slightly to each side as he walks taking in his surroundings, it's clear he's either looking for something or just keenly aware that he's in a new environment and wants to be prepared foe anything. Eventually his stride brings him to the door of the cafe, his hand reaching out to take the handle with purpose as he pulls the door towards himself before entering.

It might be the weekend, but Kayden is still dressed like he might be headed to work in some work casual business environment or maybe the campaign office of some local congressional candidate. A dark blue blazer fits comfortably over his torso, but left unbuttoned to add a certain casual quality to what might otherwise feel out of place. Underneath the blazer, a light blue collared shirt lends support for a more formal reason for the outfit, while gray denim jeans swings the vote more towards a casual mix of professional and social. Completing the look are a pair of dark blue Oxford sneakers.

Kayden pauses just inside the door, again allowing his gaze to sweep the room before continuing his mission to reach the counter. Along the way, his dark eyes survey the other occupants with a brief but thorough assessment, though he gives no outward acknowledgement of recognition or greeting. At the counter, the young man takes in the hand written options before simply ordering, "Venti cortado with caramel, please." While he may not be talkative, his words are polite and accompanied by a disarming smile.

"She called it a Hangover Delight," Ravn grouses. "And I presume that means I look like I need one. I'll cede that I sat up late last night trying to reason with a student but according to the contents of my kitchen cabinet this morning, I did not drink to the point of needing to have a hangover." One may question who the hell checks the level of their bottles in the morning but there we go.

A glance at either woman. "I don't suppose either of you love ginger? Me, I like having taste buds."

The Dane's blue-grey gaze follows Kayden as he walks past, in the fashion of small towns anywhere -- who's that, I don't know that face. With a population of eighteen thousand it's unlikely that anyone in it actually knows every face around; and yet, Gray Harbor is one of those towns where you kind of feel that somebody ought to. Maybe the tall copper blond in black fancies himself the man for that job. And quietly he murmurs to both women at the table, "I don't suppose either of you know that bloke? Another fly to our pitcher plant?"

"Ginger belongs in certain kinds of bread," ie, you know, gingerbread," and sometimes cake, and also stir fries and marinades and a whole host of different things, but definitely not ever, ever in coffee."

Una's opinion is a firm one: she's not accepting arguments on this, thank you very much, not that it seems likely she's going to get one.

The redhead grins at Ariadne, and then at Ravn, too, though the latter's last comment draws her to turn her head and follow Kayden, tracking him through the process of ordering his coffee. "Not me," she says. "Despite being a transplant myself, it won't ever stop surprising me how many this town catches. 'Pitcher plant' is a good one."

It's rude to stare, of course, so that's why she turns her glance into a bright, welcoming smile, that may not do much to help. (Come in to my parlour, said the spider to the fly.)

Ariadne eyes the confection that apparently contains enough ginger to burn out taste buds.

"See, now, I'm alright for ginger in coffee in smaller quantities," the barista reveals as she ends up leaning a half-committed hip against the table in question. Her arms end up in an equally nonchalant fold beneath her chest. Opinions on Spiced Sugar-Glider Crack-Brew having been shared, she then returns Una's grin before following her gaze. It lands on Kayden and lingers long enough to shift into a brief squint of consideration.

"Hmm. Nope, don't know the face, but I'm not perfect." A droll glance at her friends. "I know, not perfect, pinch yourselves." That sass aside, she glances back at the newcomer again. "Probably a new arrival though, yeah, he's way too composed. Not enough jittery watchfulness yet." Should Kayden glance their way, Una's welcoming smile is echoed by one of the same dint if still entirely polite; Ariadne's still wearing her apron, after all, and as such, is a representative of the café itself.

The conversation, while far from whispered, doesn't appear to reach the ears or draw the eyes of the new arrival. With time for observation and gossiping, it becomes clearer that his features may hint at local origins. His gaze seems to be for nothing but the barista and her obviously trained movements. As the shot of caramel is being added before the milk, Kayden leans foreword slightly over the counter, "Would it be too much to ask for a second shot?" That smile just broadens with the question, teeth visible as he makes the special request. The words are polite, perhaps too polite, but the request is granted with a simple "Sure," and Kayden leans back.

Kayden already has his wallet out with bills being pulled when the drink is delivered to him. The change and several other dollars are placed into the tip jar, his fingers making what would be an obvious show of pushing them down into the small pile of prior tips.

"Thank you," he says as he takes the drink in hand and begins to walk towards the table of people engaged in conversation. He stops several feet away, looks directly at each of them, and takes the first sip of his greet-the-day special. "Ginger also adds a nice palette cleanser between sushi courses." A beat later, his lips turn back up into a smile, "You can catch more flies with nectar, I agree. I do hope I'll be able to find my out after feeding time." Again, he lifts the cup to his lips, "Hope you don't mind the extra company?"

"Pull up a chair and make yourself at home." Ravn speaks with an accent that doesn't quite manage to achieve Oxbridge English, though it makes a hearty attempt; probably some kind of Continental European. "Ravn Abildgaard. Not a native to town either -- don't think any of us are. Might hold the table record for residence with a year and a half, though. And like always, the gossip of the day is who's that and why the hell does anyone end up in this small piece of nowhere, Washington?"

Direct gets the job done. Right? Right.

"Sushi courses," says Una, just a little mournfully, with the air of one who has experienced 'proper' sushi, and has yet to find an adequate replacement in small town Washington State. It makes the doleful way she picks at her muffin even more doleful: it doesn't seem like she's actually attempting to eat it, which is probably no surprise given her reputation for dismissing the (perfectly adequate) baked goods Espresso Yourself has on offer. "I need to add that to my list, yes: pickled ginger between sushi courses is absolutely a good use of ginger. I stand by coffee not fitting into that category, not ever, not even a little bit. Gingerbread spice coffee, ugh."

None of this stops her from grinning at Kayden and adding her own introduction to the one Ravn has offered: "Una Irving, more recently of Seattle, but since I've been here approaching four months, I think I'm... no, still definitely counted as a newcomer. Hello."

Ravn answers for the young man with his extra shot and caramel. The barista, still smiling in her polite manner, gestures at one of the empty chairs from her folded arms and otherwise doesn't move from her comfortable, established lean on the table.

"Eating the subjects of my research papers always seemed funny to me," opines she as as an aside to sushi. Can't help it: marine biologist per papered degree. "Ariadne," she then volunteers in Kayden's direction, reaching up to ticktack a well-kept fingernail off of the name tag she sports in the process. "Just moved here myself. If you're looking for the locals, Ravn's the only one who qualifies by dint of time spent in this place. He knows aaaallll the gossip," Ariadne then drawls deliberately. The Midwestern twang comes out in full force for a second; otherwise, she's only got an inflection of it here and there in the vowels -- and a very sharp ear will catch a nuance Eastern European underneath this.

It's spring, and that means things are sprouting all over town, despite the cool air. Flowers are blooming, trees are budding, and Phoenix Monroe Lane is rocking an amazingly curly ponytail, amazingly huge ponytail, held back by an equally amazing blue silk scarf that features beautiful sunflowers on it. A loose flowing tank top with hand embroidered butterflies that shows off surprisingly toned, heavily freckled arms... and a pair of denim bell bottoms that may well have seen the late 60s as boot cut jeans and lived to tell the tale of their modification, the sunflower motif picked up in the fabric insets on the outer seam... and to top all of that off, huge gold hoop earrings with little butterflies dangling from the hoops. In short, he looks like he may have just escaped from Day One of Woodstock.

Today is also apparently a preteen free day, judging by the lack of mini-me as he walks in, a bounce in his step. Apparently, Alfie has found friends, or doesn't like coffee, one. Ravn & Company get a sketch of a wave as he heads up to order, settling quite happily on good strong cup of hot tea.

Ravn's introduction has the dark haired young man listening intently at the accent and the name. "Thank you. I'm just here on a family matter. No plans to move in." There's something vague about the answer, but his smile seems as genuine as it did upon his arrival at the today. He does take the offered chair, sliding it out and sitting down without drawing it any closer to the table. "That's a Danish name isn't it? I bet there's a story there?"

When Una mentions Seattle, Kayden sets his drink cup on the table and nods "Seattle born and raised here too. What a small world. I agree with you though that ginger doesn't belong in coffee." A moment's pause and Kayden points his finger slightly into he air, "I imagine you must really miss Sushi Kobayashi at Pike Market? Everything there was a work of art!"

"Now that's a beautiful name. A lot of history to it too, always with the right help at the right time, like having the perfect drink to start my day. Thank you." When he's heard all the names, Kayden leans back some, "I'm Kayden Masters. I just checked into the Seaside Suites. Nice place," he offers with only the barest hint of biting his tongue. It was cheap and wouldn't be seen as out of the ordinary for someone to stay there.

Ravn quirks an eyebrow, surprised. "You've either got a good ear for languages or you've spent time in Denmark. -Gaard names are pretty common back home, yeah."

Maybe he was going to stay more -- not on the subject of sushi about which Ravn's knowledge pretty much boils down to 'it's not all fish' -- when Kayden mentions his choice of residence; that side tracks him a bit at least. "The Seaview? Ariadne's staying there too, I think? From what I've seen, it's not deserving of its moniker to any greater extent than any other motel I've stayed at. Though for a while, people came out from Seattle to stay there because of the proprietor -- there was a rumour going around that she was a member of the Hilton clan, trying to keep her head down. Don't know if there was actually anything to that story but I kind of doubt it. Hey, Monroe, pull up a chair."

"Anything in Pike Place was a bit out of my price range, when I lived there," says Una with a laugh. "But I miss my old local. Nothing fancy, just... fresh." There's a quizzical look to her expression though: a frown that suggests she's aware there's something off about what Kayden has said, though she lacks the conviction to actually call him on it.

And so she bypasses that, and turns, instead, to offer Monroe a bright grin, and a waggle of her fingers.

Her muffin is still going to waste.

Monroe gets an upnod and grin from Ariadne once he arrives through the front door. "Hey songbird," she calls out, apparently having decided that the young lad with curls-for-days is forever emblazoned as the other half of karaoke nights.

"And thank you kindly," the barista replies to Kayden's compliment as she looks back to him. "My parents liked the old literature and the sound of it, apparently." Ravn's observation is confirmed with a nod. "I'm at the Seaview for another few days while an apartment deposit settles. I've got the brindle Windhound if you see anybody walking a dog around there." Conversation turns towards Seattle and Ariadne's smile grows fond as well as reminiscent. "I miss the flower stalls in Pike Place. Watching the tourists gawk over the pig statues. The chocolate shop, ooh, yes, I need to order some of the bulk stuff again." Mental note to self.

Well, if he's invited to the table, he'll join. Monroe brings his cup of tea and settles comfortably into a seat, flashing a friendly smile. "Wait, the Seaview? Isn't that the, uh... Murder Motel? Someone warned me away from it when I first arrived, something about it being haunted?" British. Proper accent that is unapologetically so, though the vocabulary seems American enough.

"Well, Una and I did bring the house down on karaoke night, so I suppose I'll accept it." he flashes a warm smile at the other redhead, not to be confused with the other redheads, and turns the smile to Kayden. "Have they warned you about the murderous ghosts yet? Or the, uh... mermaids?" he flashes a conspiratorial smile at Ravn, since Denny was his and Alfie's introduction to it all.

"Had a roommate in college with the same name," Kayden is quick to point out as Ravn wonders about his ear for language. "Kept going on about the shoes and flowers." Even as he gives the reply, he knows that it sounds made up, but he's committed and quick turns the conversations round to the hotel. "They had rooms available and it seemed centrally located. I'll only be in town a few days or a week tops."

The mention of the pigs at the market gets Ariadne a somewhat surprised look, given her accent. "Rachel was my sister's favorite," the man says, lifting his coffee cup for another sip to help cover the sullen expression that surfaces at that moment. When he rests the cup back on the table he says "She would always talk to it like it could understand her." His gaze turns to Una momentarily, eyes narrowing slightly as he considers her for a moment. Something is going through his mind it's clear, but he says nothing at the time.

A cell phone is pulled from his front pocket and after a quick but careful tapping of several keys begins to swipe through some things. When he turns the phone around there's a picture of a young woman with long dark hair. The resemblance to Kayden is unmistakable. "This is Becka," he says as he shows the Photo to Ariadne, then slowly slides the phone in a small arc so they can all see it clearly. "She visited Gray Harbor a couple years ago," he says, eyes clearly turning to Ravn who has professed to be here the longest. "Maybe you remember her?"

Monroe's sudden appearance at the table catches him mid question and he looks up with a bit of lost composure, not because he hadn't noticed the curly haired man enter but because he wasn't expecting the nickname "Murder Motel". "They didn't put that name on the brochure I notice." Monroe would have a clear view of the phone with the picture as well when he comes up. "No warnings yet at all, other than...don't get close to the plants," he says as his gaze returns to Ravn.

Ravn leans in to look at the phone -- and then shakes his head. "I'm sorry. A year and a half in town, but if she didn't spend time at the Community Centre or investigating local history, I probably won't have met her. That's what I do -- I'm a historian. And a couple of years ago would be before my time. I'm sorry."

Then he reaches for his cup -- and reconsiders at the last minute, upon remembering what's in it. His hand, gloved in black kidskin, returns to his lap. "The Murder Motel is named for a couple of incidents. It's haunted, but -- really, it's no worse than any other motel. Worst thing you're likely to see there are stray cats and seagulls stealing from the dumpster."

And then he steals a piece of Una's muffin. Because if she's just going to sit there, the least he can do is help her dispose of it. Right? Right.

Clearly, there is now suspicion going in both directions between Una and Kayden: the redhead, usually so affable and friendly, frowns distinctly, and then turns her attention away so that she can grin-- a complete transformation-- at Monroe. "We did, didn't we? It's probably a sign from every higher being out there that I should never, ever, ever sing in public, ever again."

And then Ravn steals part of her muffin, and she looks at him. "Oh, sure," she says, though her tone is tinged with amusement. "You pick at the food I bake as if it were nothing, but thus dry old muffin? Go ahead: steal it."

It's a perfectly good muffin; ignore her criticisms.

"I remember Rachel, yeah." Ariadne's smile is positive reminiscent now. It fades as the phone is offered out. She leans in to consider the face on the screen, brows knitted, and then sighs. Leaning back, she's not immediate with her answer; visible consideration is writ clearly on her face. Has she seen this Becka before...?

Ravn chimes in and the barista's brows meet all the more. Not good news, that, given she knows how interconnected HOPE is to the city and the rare passerby who doesn't stay for whatever reason.

She also reaches for a portion of Una's muffin too, really just to yank her fellow redhead's chain in the friendliest, muffin-stealing manner possible. "I'm sorry too, Kayden. I don't think I've seen her face either -- but I'm a face- rather than a name-person, so if I see anyone who looks like her, I'll try and contact you ASAP." Ravn might dissect pastries, but Ariadne? That chunk disappears into her mouth. Nomf. Alas, Una's muffin, pocked with holes now!

Monroe looks at the phone, then shakes his head a little sadly, "I'm afraid I haven't met her, but then, I did only get to town in December." there's an apologetic little half-frown.

He takes a sip of his tea, and doesn't even turn up his nose at it. It's hardly the worst he's had since he's come to the states, after all. "Oh, I don't know. I think it was a sign from the Gods that we need to perform that number at least once a week, but I was thinking next time we replace the malfunctioning sprinklers with glitter. Did they ever figure out what made the fire suppression system kick on?"

Monroe, pointedly, does not pick at Una's muffin. But, then, he hardly looks like he eats as it is. He absently reaches up and fluffs at his curls, tightening the scarf.

With Ravn's apology, Kayden nods, "It was worth a shot." Ariadne's silent consideration gets his attention, a bit of hope perhaps being written across his features ago. It's clear he's trying to remain positive and outgoing, so it's curious why this topic might have him so anxious. "Thanks, Ariadne, that would be helpful." The added bit about Rachel gets a wistful smile from Kayden, "Seattleites need to stick together." The silence between he and Una is not so heavy as to be cut by a knife, but it is thick enough that seeing clearly through would be challenging. In fact, Kayden's gaze seems to constantly return to her as he looks between Ravn and Ariadne in their responses about his sister. Adding Monroe's lack of having seen her also adds to the situation. He knew it wouldn't be easy, so there's nothing to do but press on.

The Ides of March-like attack on Una's muffin does get a crooked smile from Kayden before he tilts his head back to Ravn, "Oh, you're a historian in town? That should mean nothing is really before your time." The play on words is accompanied by that same disarming, affable smile that the barista received when he asked for a second shot. "Maybe you can point me to the right place to look at newspapers or registrars from a few years ago?" Monroe's mention of the situation at the hotel along with the mention of incidents gives the new arrival reason to doubt his choice. "I am beginning to see why the rates were so good."

"I'm more of a historian who happens to live in town," Ravn corrects with a small chuckle. "My field is the folklore of early industrial era Scandinavia which is a little bitt too early for what you need, I suspect. But I do keep my ears out -- American folklore is a rich tradition as well, and this town certainly has a lot of stories to tell. I think what you're looking for might the Historical Society, but they're sort of in the process of a make-over presently -- most actual members seem to have moved out of town, and there's new people looking to take up the mantle. Then there's City Hall of course, but you knew that -- and if you haven't found a trace of her there, you probably won't find one at the GHPD either. It might be worth your while to ask around on the boardwalk -- the homeless guys who live there do tend to be very observant."

And with a nod to Monroe he adds, "We haven't quite gotten around to the mermaids yet, no. But Monroe's right -- if it looks like a harbour seal and it starts to sing, just keep on walking. There's a bloke down on the boardwalk named Denny who's dedicated his life to warning tourists about carnivorous mermaids, and the depressing part is that he's not making shit up."

Razzing new people in town; possibly a community joke.

Thieves! Una's brown-eyed gaze follows Ariadne in her muffin-piece abduction, but aside from an over-dramatic throwing up of her hands (and yes, okay, a grin), she makes no further comment. Fine: let the muffin-stealers eat sub-standard muffins. It's not skin off of her nose.

(Monroe may need to start receiving deliveries of cookies and/or muffins and/or cinnamon rolls. It's a community health initiative, and don't think Una hasn't noticed how skinny he is.)

"Oooh," she says. "Glitter. Well, anything to distract the paying customers from the abomination that is my singing. I think they've repaired it all, anyway, whether or not they worked out what went wrong. Good news: karaoke is still possible in Gray Harbor!"

Why yes, she is now pointedly ignoring Kayden-the-weird.

Nodding, Ariadne replies to Kayden, "Not a problem. Can confirm about carnivorous mermaids though." The barista appears to wish she was joking, but the thinning of her lips surely indicates she's not in the least. "Be careful."

She hears somebody calling her name from behind the counter and leans. It's Russ with a question about the cleaning-up process and semi-broken blender. "My infinite wisdom is needed. I second this plan for glitter and let me know what you need to enable it," she notes to Una and Monroe both. "I'll see about black coffee for you, bud." A fingergun towards Ravn. "And nice to meet you, Kayden. Drop in whenever if you need a cuppa." A grin for Kayden before the barista hips off the table.

"What, Russ? Dude, the -- no, the other cleaner," can be heard from the barista as she travels back behind the counter.

"When I was but a wee Monroe I wanted to be a mermaid, sitting on a rock, brushing my hair and luring sailors to their doom with my voice. Now I settle for Karaoke nights." he winks at Una, with a smile. "Mind if you hear singing in the woods, too." he tells Kayden, seriously.

"Your singing wasn't an abomination. Let's call it... raw and in need of training." He tells Una, charitably. Not that he's volunteering for it. She was fun to sing with, but hard to harmonize with. "Good luck fixing your blender, let me know if you need any help with it. I'm pretty good at fixing things." Even if he looks like he's never lifted anything heavier than an art book.

Listening to Ravn's list of places to check gets several nods from Kayden. "I planned to check with City Hall. I asked the clerk at the Seaview as well but he has only been working there a few months." The Historical Society gets a thoughtful look, "Perhaps if the Historical Society is open I might go and poke around on my own sometime. Folklore is something Becka was interested in. She said that's why she wanted to spend some time here. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now...." The sentence isn't finished as Kayden is brought out of it with Ariadne's reiteration of mermaids.

"I can see why 'Come to Gray Harbor home of the Mysterious Murders and Man-eating Mermaids' isn't the town slogan. Kayden lifts his cup as if to take another drink, but instead stands up from the table. "I need to take this to go. Sounds like I have a lot of work to do while I'm here." Nods to each of them, "It was nice to meet all of you. I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again while I'm here." His brows furrow just slightly when his gaze comes to Una, but then a smile is pushed to the foreground as he nods. Monroe gets a slightly cocked head as if he's trying to make out whether he's teasing, simple or just an odd duck. "I'll keep that in mind. They really should have a welcome pamphlet with all these warnings though." Pushing in his chair, Kayden passes one last gaze over the group before heading to the door and exiting. There is definitely more going on here than meets the eye he thinks....

"As long as no one tries to teach me to sing," Ravn murmurs quietly behind his shield of stolen muffin to pick apart but not actually eat. Then he offers a gloved hand in a friendly wave to Ariadne and Kayden alike. "Don't hold the whipped cream," he tells the former. There's probably a reason.

Then he looks back at the street, and beyond. "We really do need to get that Historical Society back on its feet. Dr Brennon better get used to being a pillar of the community because she's going to get buried under people wanting to ask questions. And about time too. I just really, really hope that nothing bad happened to the original iteration. Or -- the last iteration. Given the original seems to have been working with your asshole ancestor, Una. Which means, 1880s-90s? Christ."

'Raw and in need of training' is definitely charitable-- enough so that it makes Una laugh. She watches Ariadne go-- and then Kayden, too, though the former gets a much warmer glance than the latter. "Who the hell does he think he is?" she explodes with, once he's out of earshot. "Quizzing me on my own fucking home town?" The redhead is not exactly prim and proper in her usual speech-- but this kind of venom is a little unusual.

It's after she exhales, closes her eyes, and then exhales again that she's able to add, much more conversational: "No, the original seems to have post-dated asshole Irving. 1920s-ish. Maybe slightly earlier. But I'm not sure if it counts, given from what the paper we found the other day says, my guess is most of what was collected just ended up in the Addington archives after it folded. Except, as far as I can tell, the things we're actually looking for."

Beat. "I hope nothing bad happened to them, too. Generally. I don't wish bad things on anyone."

Kayden may be a possible exception. Who knows.

Monroe flashes Kayden a bright smile as he heads off, with a slight tilt of his head, as if he doesn't quite know what to make of him, either, but, well. Amused. He turns his attention back to Una and Ravn, smiling... though it freezes in place, just a little at Una's explosion.

"You've got an arsehole ancestor from this town? What a coincidence, me too!" Monroe quips, trying to lighten the mood, before he merely sips his tea, lightly. "Several, in fact, from what Alexander and Ravn here have told me."

"Monroe wins on the ultimate asshole ancestor," Ravn murmurs. "But Una's a pretty nifty specimen of jerk as well, I think."

He glances after the departed newcomer too. "I think I missed something in that exchange. Granted, I only came through Seattle and I didn't really pay a lot of attention to anything because I had a cold and I really just wanted to get out of a town where everyone took one look at me and assumed I was some kind of tech billionaire. What'd I miss, besides obvious Star Trek references?"

"Who's yours?" Una wonders, giving Monroe a glance. She's calmed down, now, for the most part, though there's still a line of tension in her shoulders. "Mine was just run-of-the-mill asshole-y, I think. Stole artefacts from the natives; fucked them over. That kind of thing. Bad enough."

She exhales through her mouth, blowing air out in a desultory kind of way. "I'm not even sure? I think he deliberately made up the name of that sushi place-- right, I knew that word from somewhere; of course it was a Star Trek reference-- to try and trip me up, as if he didn't believe I came from Seattle? And... look, I never went to fancy sushi places, because I couldn't afford to. But that doesn't mean I don't (a) eat sushi and (b) come from fucking Seattle."

Okay, maybe not entirely calm, then.

"I can't remember his name, but he was, from what they've said, the Original Baxter'd, himself." Monroe sips his tea, again. "One of his descendants found his way to London, shacked up with my mum for a night, rest her soul, and nine months later..." he shrugs.

"Is it possible he isn't from Seattle, and was trying to cover for it? The bit about his roommate talking about flowers and shoes sounded a bit... off." Monroe shrugs a little, unperturbed. Nobody's going to harsh his zen today, even if they are weird liars.

"The original Baxter was just some bloke who wanted to live here and got into a feud with the Addingtons." Ravn toys with his nightmare concoction a moment, and actually looks momentarily like he contemplates drinking it. Maybe to distract him from where his mind is going. "But when someone refers to the Original Baxter, subtext nut job homicidal, they mean William Gohl."

"Oh," says Una. "Oh."

She manages not to give Monroe the kind of stare that one might, when discovering they are descended from a homicidal maniac. Every family tree has its skeletons, right? (Lots of skeletons, generally, just based on... humans and dying, and that kind of thing.)

It does at least mean she's distracted from her hate-on of Kayden.

"Well, here's hoping he's only a distant cousin." Monroe says, with a wince, since he's not entirely sure how he's related to the rest of the Baxters, just yet. "Either way, I do my best to avoid even squishing bugs." he smiles, a little less enthusiastically than he did not long ago. Hard to blame him... and then he finally notices Ravn's drink, wincing. "What... is that."

"The Baxter family has branched out a lot. Might not even be on the same branch." Ravn feels this is important to point out, for some reason. "But usually, in the context of asshole ancestor, that's the one. Aidan, for example, is a Baxter too, as is Kailey Holt. And I don't think either of them are descended from him, either."

He glances at his drink. "I'm not sure. But then, I'm never sure. Della here hates me. Or she's trying to communicate her love of me in really complicated letters, a lot of which would probably require a visit to the ER if I actually drank it."

"There's an asshole in every family tree," is Una's opinion on the subject, perhaps intended to make Monroe feel better about any possible homicidal maniac blood. "And-- well, if Ravn's right, then it's not all Baxters. You're fine. But you should definitely help Ava figure out what happened to healing powers when Gohl was put away for good. Just... in case."

With some reluctance, she picks up a piece of her muffin and tries it out, cautiously. It can't be too bad, because she eats the piece she's holding, and then goes for another. "She loves you, and you know it. It takes care to consistently screw someone over like that, I'm convinced of it."

"Well, regardless, it's not like I am destined to become a homicidal maniac." Monroe sips his tea, once more, and smiles. It's hard to imagine him killing anyone, except maybe in defense of someone else, and even then he'd probably try to wound rather than kill.

"Of course she loves you, you've got cheekbones for days and that whole vaguely androgynously pretty brooding artist thing going for you." Monroe smiles at Ravn, then shrugs, "I mean, unless she's a lesbian. But even then... you've got cheekbones for days and the whole vaguely androgynously pretty brooding artist thing going for you."

Ravn snickers. "Yeah, yeah. My cheekbones bring all the girls and half the boys to the yard except, actually, they don't. I'm not an artist either. I do think that I have you both beat on the asshole ancestor list, though, so don't feel so bad about it. I have eight hundred and fifty years worth of crusaders, colonisers, slave traders, industrial barons, and Nazi collaborators so -- I mean, I like to think I'm pretty decent all the same."

He picks up the laptop. "I do need to get moving, though. Kind of called a late night with a student last night and I am beat. Think I'm going to try to grab a few hours of sleep before the morning class checks in." Central European time, of course. "I'll see you both around town, yes? Well, one of you next door."

If Della's smirking as he leaves, it's because she is probably never going to confirm which is true.

"No, I'm pretty sure we're safe from that," agrees Una, cheerfully. "If I've learnt anything in this town, it's-- as Ravn says-- we're not our ancestors, whatever they've done.I mean, I'm still trying to not feel guilty, but I'm at least working on it."

She waggles a hand after the Dane, then, glancing back at Monroe, grins. "Let's face it: Ravn is pretty. It's not his fault, he just is."

Chances are they won't linger on Ravn's prettiness (or otherwise), or on the asshole ancestors everyone has. But Una has more coffee to drink, and more muffin too, and it's nicer here indoors than it is outside, so: there are worse places to be, or company to have, on a spring afternoon like this.