2022-04-03 - Hoist the Mizzenmast! Kidding, No Mizzenmast Here

The Vagabond.

She's glorious. Proud. Defiant. Ready to part the white-crested waves of the -- there's no big waves on the bay today, not really, but there is enough of a stiff breeze to merit getting the boat out and about for its annual test drive. It's definitely a test drive. Newly painted in places, rid of barnacles, dusted and just about as gleaming as she can be, her captain steers her out towards the open water.

Ariadne's up at the front of the boat, all but a figurehead with how closely she is to the water itself. Kneeling on the bow pulpit, she's got a grip on the railing there and some free streamers of deeply-auburn head whipping from her clipped-back bun. Not entirely deeply-auburn, her hair, it should be noted; a large under-paneling of it shines like peacock feathers in shades of royal-blue to a velvety deep purple, freshly-dyed and courtesy of one Una Irving's patient application. The breeze is brisk, scented of salt, and flirts with the collar of her coral-pink nautical windbreaker until she zips it up higher.

"Mermaid off the port bow!" she hollers back.

A beat.

"Nah, I'm just kidding, there's some seaweed. A dead crab. More seaweed. Nothing interesting," the barista amends with a glance and grin back over her shoulder towards Ravn.

Kitty Pryde owns the prow. Sure, Ariadne can share it with her, but the galleon figurehead on this tub? Is feline. She does not call or holler. She sits in complete dignity, face forward as if to look into the future, tail curled daintily around her paws, so quiet that one might be forgiven for thinking her an actual figurine. And that would not be so strange a conclusion either, because seriously, what kind of idiot takes his cat to sea, and what kind of cat sits here it risks the spray of the sea?

Ravn uses the boat's small engine to potter away from the marina and navigate between the larger yachts moored at buoys at sea. He can do it by sail but why bother? Half the people mooring here are shit at it and don't keep proper distance, and the motor engine does have that one thing sails do not: A very quick response time. Sail moves you in gentle curves; the rudder can do you a very hard turn.

Once clear, though, he kills the engine. Silence descends as the Vagabond gently drifts forward on inertia. He frees the mainsail and watches it go up -- unrolling gently and first and then catching the wind and filling out with a loud snap. The jerk through the boat as the wind takes -- and then gliding, soundlessly, forward and picking up speed. "This is the life," the Dane murmurs. He's waited an entire winter.

Given Kitty Pryde owns the prow, Ariadne doesn't do more than temporarily share the space with the large black-furred feline. She's wise enough not to reach out and attempt to schmooze on the cat either. Cats, being cats, lay down their own rules. If the barista isn't acknowledged? Then so be it. Both feminine figurines keep watch as the motor takes them out beyond the marina itself and into the bay. The water opens up and so does the wind.

Once the engine dies, Ariadne looks mutely back over her shoulder again. She watches the mainsail be released and actually frets her lip; her grip on the railing isn't released. Once that thing catches...right...about...now. The boat resonates and off they go. Unable to help the belling chuckling, the redhead then turns her face up into the wind. It's delightful. If she closes her eyes, it's almost like flying...

With the wind in her ears, she doesn't catch the murmur, unfortunately. However, after a minute or two of indulging in the sensation of the passing saline breeze, she sighs. "Alright, your turn to keep watch," she tells Kitty Pryde very likely unnecessarily. Her missive is probably ignored too. Cats. Unfolding herself, the barista departs the pulpit for a balanced traipsing down the midline of the boat towards the cockpit. "You know how people like to say that sailing's in their blood in stuff? I wonder if that's the case for me," she muses as she drops down into the main area Ravn occupies. "My mom always tells me stories about her great-grand-cousin -- my grandmother's older cousin. He was apparently a fighter in World War Two or something, but after he retired, he had his own boat. Sailed all over the Mediterranean and everything." Her eyes shift naturally towards the front of the boat again. "I think I get what drew him to the water. This is just...invigorating."

To Kitty Pryde, sailing is life. How a cat came up with the idea that it needs to live on a boat is anyone's guess. Whether the cat realises how screwed she would be, were she to actually fall overboard, is anyone's guess too. There are life jackets for pets -- and it's likely that somewhere on board, there is a cat sized life jacket, and Ravn probably has the scars to demonstrate why Kitty Pryde does not wear it.

A rare, open-mouthed smile graces the Dane's face as he leans on the steering pin, tilting the boat slightly as she leans up against the wind and picks up speed. "It's freedom. It's that feeling that you can go anywhere -- and the speed. But without the noise and smell of a fast engine. Day like this makes me understand deep down how come the Norse set out towards the western horizon just to see if anything was there -- or the Polynesians, always heading out with the winds and the current to see if there is another island out there, to the west."

"Right?" Ariadne's smiling hard enough for dimples now. Her grip on the nearby railing isn't white-knuckled, more stabilizing against the boat's traversing of waves, and she continues looking ahead across the open water of the bay. "No small wonder the lure of the horizon was so real for them. No cars, no engines. This was the way to adventure and new stories, new goods, new people, expansions of existence." Her spare hand lifts and reaches out to see about feeling the fine spray thrown up by the speed of the boat; her fingers wiggle in empty air and she frets her lip for a second, expression consumed by a memory years ago and yet preciously vivid.

"My grandma said the same thing about my great-grand-cousin though. It was the freedom he wanted, that no one could take from him on the water. I don't know how he managed it, with only one eye. Grandma said he always wore a black eyepatch. But he had his friend. They were always together, apparently." Ravn gets one of those private smiles now. "Always together, the two men. Grandma said they were happy. I wish I'd gotten to meet him. He sounds like he was a character, y'know?"

Ravn crosses one leg over the other and makes himself comfortable with one elbow resting on the rudder pin; steady as she goes -- the bay is large, even without dipping out past the points to the Pacific proper. He does not intend to go that far today. It's still a nice round trip, and who knows? Might even see some of those orcas -- or sirens. He'd prefer orcas.

"There's a joke among historians and archaeologists," he tells Ariadne, laughing softly. "You look at a painting or dig up a grave, and there's two women wrapped into one another, holding each other, hanging on to each other, and the caption is, Best Friends Ever. Every damned time. In every academic paper until just about last week. I'm sure your great-grand-and so on was just very good friends with his buddy."

He dips into a trouser pocket for a cigarette and that old zippo. Leaning back and letting smoke waft backwards to be lost at sea, the Dane looks remarkably content with life for a moment; the spring sun on his face and the freedom of the ocean. Then he looks back at Ariadne and looks thoughtful. "Actually, I've been meaning to kind of ask. Hair dye and cake night? I had a party. But it occurred to me after -- bit of a third wheel, maybe. You need me to, you know, butt in a bit less, just let me know, right? Speaking of best friends in the archaeological subtext and whatnot."

Snort. "Best friends ever," echoes Ariadne with a dry roll of her eyes. "About damn time they got their heads out of their asses and got over the fact that humans were human back when they were still humans." Another shake of head. She eyes the appearance of the cigarette and lighter and gets ready to move to a less-smoke laden section of the cockpit if necessary. Their speed of travel, however, seems to keep the smoke she's allergic to streamering to the back of the boat. A step or two forward brings her to settle on the inner edge of the cockpit's frame, her upper back against the railing now.

Ravn gets a squint. Meaning to ask what.

Meaning to ask that.

"Uh." Smart barista mouth is not so smart right now. Look at that color fill her cheeks. "I, uh. You...really saw...something like that there? I. Um. All I saw was cake that happened to be themed. And I've had gal-pals dye my hair before, that's...not anything new? What context are you seeing here?"

"Nothing yet," Ravn returns with a small laugh; the colour of those cheeks of Ariadne's do speak volumes, don't they. "But I figured I should ask. I'm pretty oblivious in these matters and I'd bloody well hate finding out later that people were kind of sitting around, hoping I'd go to the bathroom or something so they could have a conversation they'd been waiting for and trying to find the courage for. I've managed to be that guy a couple of times, it's a kind of shitty feeling when you realise."

"Well, yeah, I can imagine it's awful to realize that, but I...like...literally just told you last week that I'm busy moving into a place in a new city and I don't have time to dedicate to that sort of thing right now," Ariadne notes with a grimaced smile. "This, and Ravn? Una and I subjecting you to a third wheel situation? That's just despicable behavior. I'm very certain we'd never do this."

She shifts against the railing and looks up towards Kitty Pryde, no doubt still seated as Queen of the Bow Pulpit, She of the Feline Ocean-Riding Persuasion, all hail. "Still...I'm..." Laughing to herself, the barista reaches up to toy with one of the loose strands of peacock-hued hair. "There's no way I can frame this without sounding like an awkward fucking dork, but someone else thinking I'm attractive enough to see something like that? In the context of our little gathering? I'm honored, so...thank you for that," she says, curling a smirk in Ravn's direction. The quick addendum comes: "And don't get all squirmy on me. I mean in the context of 'hey, nice sweater'."

Ravn hitches a shoulder. "Attraction is a strange creature. For some people it is an almost instantaneous matter, others take months to realise. I am hopeless in these things so I prefer to play it safe. Now you know that if it does become a thing? You can go psst, Ravn, and I'll go ooh, and give you some space. I didn't feel like a third wheel. I just want to, you know, admit to being slow on the uptake and have it out there that if something like that comes up? All you need to do is nudge me, I won't take offence."

Then he can't help a small grin. "And of course, Rosencrantz tends to do the opposite. He's got this look he shoots my way sometimes that basically goes, don't you dare walk away now, Abildgaard. People see rough but handsome tattooed artist and they're all over him, you know?"

Ariadne's droll smirk breaks to an outright blurt of laughter at the explanation regarding Rosencrantz.

"I'm sorry, but I can't really see Itzhak giving you that look without some effort of imagination," she explains. "Poor man. Poor, poor man, considered so attractive." What a wry shake of a pointer finger too, tsk-tsk. "Sounds like somebody has to put down boundaries. Regardless: thank you." A nod for Ravn and now a quieter smile. "I appreciate you being honest and open with me about that part of yourself. I promise, in turn, to psst at you if anything comes up and space is needed. I don't want to accidentally put you in a position to be embarrassed like that. I'd be a godawful friend if I did."

Ravn shakes his head. "I know, I know. I make him sound like he's so full of hot air he should be taking off on the wind. He's not, he really isn't. All the bloke wants is to work things out nice and quiet with his partner. Something about him sends a specific kind of people believing he's up for anything, and believe me, if I knew what I'd make damned sure to not copy it. I'm not one for casual relationships, either."

The sea breeze flattens his unruly mop of hair against his head; it's longer on top than one would think at first glance. The sea reflects in blue-grey eyes. "I learned to talk about it from him, you realise? Before we became friends -- let's be honest, before he started kicking my ass about it -- my reaction to seeing a couple of people hitting off would probably just have been to remove myself from the scene quietly. Rosencrantz keeps telling me to stop hiding from anything that has even the faintest smell of emotions to it."

"Man's wiser than he looks." Shifting against the railing, Ariadne looks up again towards the pulpit before back at Ravn again. The sunlight reflecting off the water plays in her hair, bringing out those newly-dyed colors not yet dulled by time, and gives her hazel eyes a greener cast. "I'm sure he's got enough experience dealing with deflection, if that's the case, and with knowing how to exist in a room where people are going to be people. You were right earlier: sometimes, attraction's a lightning bolt, BAM. It's fine to be in the same room when that happens, though I don't think I'd linger forever. There's a point where people want privacy."

A tilt of her head. "Hence your wanting to know with a psst. It's fair, it's logical, and it's kind of you. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"He is wise, in that certain Rosencrantz way. And yes -- I do realise I talk about him like I'm the one with a crush. Maybe I am, but if so, it's the kind of crush that comes with, this person has a lot to teach me, not the how do I get into his bed kind." Ravn leans back against the aft, still resting his elbow on the rudder, and stretching those long legs. The wind turns his hair into a bird's nest and flattens it in turns. "Don't knock it until you've tried it and all, but I'm fairly certain I'm not into boys."

He looks back at Ariadne and offers one of those little lopsided smiles. "I like seeing my friends hit it off. I like to see them happy. Life is often brutal in this town. The Veil brings up things that can break a soul or a heart. Grasp the good things while they are there. Enjoy life. Don't put off until tomorrow, and all that."

Ariadne can't help the cheeky smile in return. She truly can't.

Tucking that errant strand of peacock-hued hair behind an ear, she semi-drawls, "So...are you secretly a match-maker? Is that what I'm hearing? You see who meshes best with your friends and you...somehow make sure they end up in the same room? If not, I mean, your general way of going about things wouldn't make this difficult -- and it does sound like you have a man-crush, which," -- and the barista holds up a finger, " -- is not a bad thing. It means you simply appreciate and admire Itzhak. Nothing more. If we're being honest here...I have the biggest lady-crush on Una and her baking skills. Seriously, that cake?"

Hand lifted to proffer pointer finger rolls wrist to shrug off to one side. "Amazeballs. It paired with your whiskey perfectly. She's also just...really flippin' sweet, like, goddamn. I'd kick anyone's ass who hurt her or her feelings at this point."

Ravn ponders a moment, and runs hair out of his eyes -- the wind promptly whips it back. "I don't know that I actively try to pair people. More like, I want all my friends to get along, and a lot of them seem to go on and pair up because that's what most people do when they're unattached -- they look for someone to get attached to. Most people aren't happy being single for an extended period. Think it's more, people pair up around me a lot than it's me actively doing anything to make it happen. No one wants to be alone."

He leaves it unsaid; because in a town like this, most people badly need someone to hold on to, in the night.

Then a grin lights up those sharp features. "I get you on the Irving front though. Woman's sharp, kind, and sweet. It's a rare combination. Pretty certain that before she knows it, she'll be feeding everyone."

"I think she might even like the idea of feeding everyone," Ariadne then laughs, her grin sparkling. "She's got such a big heart. Seriously, we need to keep the assholes away from her. If somebody makes her cry? I mean. I just have this inner dragon which wants to go on a Smaug-tastic rampage merely thinking about it. Like. How very dare that person, if they ever do."

The briskness of the breeze makes her toy with the zipper of her windbreaker. Now her collar is warmly snug about her neck and she tucks her chin a little into the fluffy lining, as if this too were cold. "But you're an...unintentional matchmaker then, that's what you're telling me. You exist and people find their significant other. That's an amazing skill, Ravn, you realize this?" she continues teasing, her grin going truly cheeky now.

"Hey, if talking to me keeps people alive and healthy long enough to find someone to cling to, I'm not going to complain. When I like people, I like to see them get what they want. My heart breaks for Rosencrantz and his partner just not managing to work it out, because I don't understand how -- if two blokes love each other, why is this not the end of it? But then, I've never really done much with relationships so maybe that's expecting a first year pony rider to understand the Olympics." Ravn shakes his head. "What I know though? Is that in this town, people like us come in, lost and lonely. And the very most of them seem to end up in relationships fast -- not all of them last, but I think the point for many of them is to stop being lost and lonely. And the whole relief of finding others who understand."

He grins slightly. "Ask Leontes sometime. She still whines that she had to get Emotions."

Ravn's initial response has the barista chortling softly to herself. Hey, he says. She does sober up about Itzhak and his issues; she doesn't know the man well, but nobody who treats a kid kindly like that, even one not his own, deserves to be riddled with difficulty. One of her windbreaker tie-strings is now fiddled with, captured between thumb and fingertips to be rolled and twisted, back and forth and back and forth while she leans on the railing. It proves a long-time acclimation to the boat's movements on the water.

"Dita? Emotions?" Ariande does play along, her grin again more bright than his in turn. "Say it ain't so! Not Emotions!" Dramatic hand to brow, le not-quite-swoon. "Poor thing. Sucks to find someone you like. I'll have to send her a condolences card. Dear Dita, heard you had it bad, hope you get better, love, Ariadne. I'll even put a sticker on the envelope. A glittery one."

Yes, Ravn, a glittery one. Smirk.

"But it seems as if talking to you does keep people kicking and l...ooking. Mmm. Looking and finding a way to beat loneliness and they find it, sooooo...guess you're still a matchmaker."

Ravn reaches for the bit of rope hanging from the railing where he sits, and secures the rudder pin with it; straight ahead for a while now, please. He laughs as he does, and pockets the stub of his finished cigarette. "I guess so. That's a role I can live with. It annoys me when they need to sniff around me to find out if I'm on the game board sometimes, but then, sniffing tends to quickly reveal that I'm not. You know how some blokes are -- all ready to start huffing and chest thumping if they think you're in the running for some woman's attention."

Then he gets up walks over to stand next to Ariadne, hair whipping about on the wind. "Poor Dita had this image of herself as transient -- using romance to get what she wanted, sleeping with whom she wanted, never getting tied down in any way. And then that time skip happened and she came out of it a real estate owner. She's just getting used to that when the Veil spits out a handsome naked man in her building. I think she's still adjusting mentally to the whole idea of owning property and being in a steady relationship. It was an open one at first and it got a bit dramatic."

"I do, in fact, know how blokes are," confirms Ariadne rather dryly. She scootches slightly to one side in case Ravn has a certain space he needs -- oh, no, just wanting to be nearby. She leans back against the railing again and looks up at him, brows lifted.

"I...can imagine there was some drama, yes, it does tend to happen with open relationships. Not my cup of tea, but I readily admit that I have issues with sharing things. Comes with siblings. But I'm happy that she's happy, plain and simple." Little shrug. "It is still a pretty stark contrast to be steady now compared to what you described as her 'before'. It'd be an adjustment."

"Can't say I've ever been in an open relationship, nor that I have siblings." Ravn rests his gloved hands on the railing and half-leans, half-reclines. "From what I've observed in others, though, the real issue with open relationships seems to be not so much sharing the toys as it's whether someone feels someone gets more attention than they do. I know people who are making it work. I guess it takes having the confidence to be certain that while somebody wants someone else, they also still want you. I don't compete."

He looks ahead, towards the horizon and the gap that opens up to the Pacific. "Leontes and I are a lot alike in some ways. Like me, she used to be transient. Not forming bonds, not letting anyone close, not needing anyone. I'm amazed at how relatively easily she's managed to transition into a more settled lifestyle."

Ariadne follows his attention to the distant opening out onto the ocean itself. Her gaze lingers there as she cycles through a breath or two.

"Sometimes, people inspire big changes in others, and I don't think anyone expects changes to happen...nor do they accept them easily at first. I should know. I know I don't bend easily to change," the barista says with zero compunction. She is how she is. "But as long as Dita's happy? Then I'm happy. Everybody deserves their happiness when they get it, especially around here." A sigh and then she glances back at Ravn again. "I have a suspicion you'll find it one day, mister, and when it does?"

She grins. "I'm going to giggle my damn ass off and singsong, I told you soooooooo." Like you do.