2022-04-03 - Saturday Morning Hangover Food

What are Saturday mornings for but the greasiest of greasy food, all the better to stick to your insides and make any indulgences of the night before seem less, well, indulgent? Not that Una is (as a general rule) any less cheerful after a big night, or even first thing in the morning, with few exceptions; not that she's not usually up early, regardless of anything. I need a big greasy breakfast and I don't feel like cooking it, she announced by text to a scattering of people. Anyone who feels like it should join me at the diner. I vote bottomless coffee, Y/Y?

It was early, of course, so who knows whether she included everyone she intended to... or managed not to include people that may have found that invitation surprising.

So, here she is: presiding over one of the big booths in the diner, with a mug of regular ol' coffee in front of her and a menu still being studied. Does she want pancakes (will they be as good as hers?!), or maybe French toast? Or cinnamon-roll-french-toast, which is the best of so many worlds? The options are endless.

And there Ariadne is, looking a sleepy around her edges still as she enters the diner. Must be the frizzy at the back of her messy-bun, or her slightly oversized sweatshirt, this one a brilliant shade of purple with a golden UW logo on its back. Its hue almost matches part of the peacock-ombre under-panel of her hair, recently applied. In otherwise black yoga leggings and a pair of fauz-fur-lined ankle-boots in cream, she spots Una and waves.

"Coffee," the barista croaks -- semi-croaks, in fun -- as she slides into the booth and up next to Una, all the better to yawn widely before getting a hand over her mouth. "Excuse me. Sam had me up early this morning. Something about wanting to go outside and run zoomies in the fenced-in dog run for thirty minutes while I told him to just pee already, damnit." The joys of dog ownership. She peers at the menu in Una's hands, darkened lashes narrowing. "What looks good?"

Ravn Abildgaard wanders in not too long after, sporting his best, squinting academic look by which we mean he's forgotten to remove his reading glasses after spending the evening (Copenhagen time) tutoring students into his morning (Pacific Standard Time). He is not an early riser; work requires him to be anything but, unless you count getting up at 11pm to take calls as an early (very early!) riser.

"Whatever you think appropriate," he tells the girl at the counter. This is Gina Castro's diner where the chef loves making up weird surprises, self-serve literally means get off your own damn butt, the music tends to be punk or bizarre (or both), and the owner (has not been seen for nearly a year) only owns the place to launder money so customer service depends entirely on what mood she's in. Good news? It's an awesome place to be an employee, if not a customer. Retail workers adore Gina Castro.

"Everything looks good," bemoans Una, who may be wearing a purple hoodie over black track-suit pants, but looks remarkably fresh and sprightly. "Do I want eggs, and has browns, and bacon, or do I want something sweeter? Maybe I want everything. Every time you mention that kind of thing from Sam, I am reminded of why I think I want a cat, instead. Maybe Ravn," whom she has spied, across the way, and certainly clocked to his particular ordering habit, "has the better idea. They never serve you anything ridiculously weird, right?"

That last involves a voice pitched to carry, and a wave of the hand aimed to attract attention. By her expression, Una is positively charmed by his academic look. It's ridiculously adorable, who can blame her?

In tramps Jules, in workout gear with a (clean) hoodie thrown on to give her some assemblance of not-a-smelly-mess. Her hair is up in a ponytail, her face is just a bit flushed beneath her dark skin, and she looks, well, tired. Presumably Una invited her, because Jules waves away the hostess and heads straight for that table where she can flop into a seat without any by-your-leave. "Hey. I haven't been here before. What's good?"

Stepping out of the bathroom is none other than the veterinarian, Leila. She sniffs harshly while blinking rapidly before rolling her shoulders to ease off some tension. Reaching up, she brushes her hair back roughly and moves towards the counter to order her own cup of coffee. She seems all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but the woman still wants her caffiene it seems. Leila doesn't notice Ravn's back at first, but then it dawns on her that she has seen that mop of hair. "Oh hey, it's you!" As for the redheads, she hasn't seen them yet.

"Sam is a charming little bastard and you're just jealous," retorts Ariadne to Una with friendly tartness. Must defend her bubby-boy! Her eyes rise from the menu, however, when Una seems to deliberately raise her voice in the direction of the counter. Oh, it is indeed Ravn, he of the tall build and glasses? Glasses!

"Darth Bathrobes!" What's volume control? Nonexistent before coffee, that's what. "Come warm a spot," she says, echoing her fellow redhead's invitational wave.

Jules arrives and the barista's expression brightens. "Welcome to the table. I guess everything looks good?" Another side-consideration of Una's menu. "Something about bacon. Eggs. I'm getting eggs. Coffee. The good stuff." Conversation over by Ravn brings the barista to look in the man's direction again. Oh, Leila, yes, she met her in the Firefly Forest. Doberman. Flower. A friendly little wave towards Leila as well when Ariadne thinks it can be seen.

"Oh hey, it's me," Ravn confirms with a lopsided smile and a wave to Leila. "Looks like we're all being summoned to the court of the Oak Avenue baker." He nods at the booth occupied by Una and other fans of Una's baked goods. "Come over and say hello? Table's large enough for all of us."

He wanders that way, equipped with a very large cup of very strong, very black coffee, the sort of which says either the girl at the counter likes him or that she knows he works nights (the truth of it is, she knows he works nights and she knows her boss, like Della the Day Manager, likes picking on him). There'd better be a couple of empty seats because he's claiming one and clearly expecting everyone else to do the same.

And then it clicks. "Oh, lovely. I'm the token male again, aren't I?" The tone, though, says 'I'm the token chew toy'.

Conveniently, it's a large booth, and with a chair at the end, too: plenty of room for everyone!

"You are, but we'll be nice, accordingly," Una decrees, though what counts as 'nice' is certainly up for debate, if not actual negotiation. "Sam's absolutely a charming little bastard, and-- Jules, have you met everyone? Ariadne," she gestures towards the other redhead and, "Oh, and that's Leila, she's the new vet. Hi, Leila."

This particular redhead takes another sip of her coffee, and gives the menu another haphazard perusal. Decisions are hard. Life is hard. "Maybe I just want a bit of everything? You can't go wrong with that, right? Eggs and hashbrowns and bacon and maybe a pancake or two, and... yes, I think that's the right way to go."

Jules isn't fully with it when she slides in alongside her housemate. She recognizes Leila and offers her a smile; the look given Ariadne is a little fuzzier, one of half-recognition, as she goes through the mental motions of working out that association of familiar-yet-not. "I think," she says slowly, "maybe we met? Elsewhere. Maybe. I'm Jules." Not Raven, not today. She's not alert enough to be a bright-eyed corvid.

"Coffee. I definitely want coffee," is the one thing Jules can say definitively. It's followed by a sly aside to Ravn. "Does that mean I have to chew on you now? Come sit." Too close, though, and Jules might bite. "I want bacon and an omelette."

Ariadne's call towards Ravn is enough to cause Leila to jump and spin around, a little on edge is she? Spying Una and Ariadne, along with Jules, she grins at them and offers a little wave. "Yea, its you," she returns towards Ravn with a laugh. "Sure thing, let me just grab my coffee." Because that is what she needs, even more stimulants. Snagging her large cup as well, she moves to grab the sugar and dumps a buttload into it, so much so that one has to wonder if she wants coffee with her sugar instead. Mixing it as she goes, she follows Ravn to the women seated. "Hey," she greets before flashing Jules a wide grin. "Hey Una, looks like I'm still here," she teases as she moves to sit down. "Ever tried maple syrup with eggs? Best shit ever."

"Jules, hey," the barista then greets properly. She catches Jules' look and funnily enough? The other woman says what's floating through her slightly-dozy forebrain right now -- where has she seen Jules before? "Weirdly enough, I think you're right, which...I'm normally at least good with faces if not names." Her brows knit as she squints briefly at Jules, not near-sightedly but as if to see if any memory is jogged. Nothing comes to mind, but that sensation of deja-vu remains.

Jules' aside to Ravn has the barista snort-laughing and not attempting to hide it. Also took the razz out of her mouth there. "Do we have to order coffee at the counter though? I sat down and it's so far away." Mock-pout of lower lip while she props her jawline on her palm. "Also, bacon. Yes to bacon. Not sure about maple syrup on eggs," she adds in Leila's direction, smiling nonetheless in transparent curiosity. "Unless you're going for the sweet-complimenting-the-salt approach."

Ravn does in fact not sit too close -- not to Jules, and not to anyone else; that seat at the end of the booth? It's his; not rubbing knees and elbows with any of the ladies is a win in his book. He curls long, gloved fingers around his coffee mug and reaches up to scratch at his nose, at which point he realises he's still wearing his reading glasses. Off they come and he squints at them. "No wonder everyone looked a bit blurry."

A glance around the circle. "Y'all still look blurry." Glasses go back on. Maybe he doesn't want to accidentally leave them here.

Then he nods. "Them's Gina Castro's rules. You want food, you go place your order. You want it at your table, you go pick it up when it's ready. I think she worked in retail once -- her staff has the right to treat you like they matter. On the win side, though, they have the town's best damned burgers and little hot dishes. And coffee to die for, which I've admittedly seen someone do."

"Raven," says Una, promptly. "And Osprey. Of course-- I'd forgotten. You two have definitely met in Dreams, but maybe not in the real world. Leila-- I'm glad. I wanted to talk to you about whether you knew of any cats that needed rehoming. I'd rather a rescue than some fancy breed, and I know there's the shelter...." She gives Leila a glance that is both hopeful and slightly abashed, and acknowledges, faintly, that maybe breakfast is not the time to try and push this line of thinking too far.

But first things first, of course. Ravn's explained how things work, and Una, sighing, has resigned herself to it. "If you let me out," she decrees. "I'll go and order. Bacon and omelette for Jules, eggs and bacon for Ariadne? Everything for me. And coffee all 'round." Una's going to need more coffee too; that's pretty much a given. Can you imagine life without coffee? Una can't.

Beat. Frown. "Wait, someone died for this coffee? I mean, it's good, don't get me wrong, but..."

"Life is all about the sweet somplimenting the salt," Leila points her small spoon at Ariadna as she uses her sage voice. Wisdom of the ages, right here. She finally takes a sip of her coffeed sugar before blinking in surprise. Raising her mug in salute towards Ravn, she nods her head, "I can definitely agree about this coffee. Fuckin' hell." She moves then to let the Una out, but she is already nodding in excitement at Una, "Oh hell yea, just drop on by! There is this gorgeous semi long-haired smokey black one, though that one is a little miss priss. In fact, I think that's what we called her..." She trails off thoughtfully before shaking her head. "Also a beautiful ginger female, which is rather rare. Aw shit, just come on down and play with them. See if anyone steals your heart."

"And Squirrel." It's all coming back to Jules now, with the help of Una's prompting. "That's right." Ariadne earns herself another long, thoughtful look, as she processes how the animal form fits with this woman. "Nice to see you again." She shifts herself to slide out and stand, then. She would have gone to the counter herself, but with Una volunteering, Jules isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She sits right back down once the redhead's out. "Thanks, Una. Wait, we're getting a cat?"

Blink. Raven. Squirrel. It clicks and the barista opens her mouth to share how she remembers now, but then, the rules are explained.

Ariadne gives the counter a good, long, tired, narrow look at Ravn's explanation of the rules. Them's the rules, apparently. A part of her can appreciate it. The coffee-less part of her rolls a serious eyeroll. Thankfully, Una is to the rescue. "Ain't no sweet to the saltiness I have for no immediate coffee," she says drily in Leila's direction, smirking nonetheless. "Bacon and maybe a soda-biscuit too?" she asks just a little plaintively of her fellow redhead even as she makes to scoot out of the booth. Una must be freed to deliver the order, after all. Once seated again, she glances over and meets that appraising look from Jules.

A shrug. "If you're wondering why Osprey, I'm not sure either, but I sure as hell loved flying," she shares with Jules, her smile slowly appearing. There is indeed something about flying dreams. "Also, get a cat!" This slightly projected in Una's direction. Ariadne: ever the enabler. Beware the enabler.

"Get a civilised cat. Get a cat who likes people." Ravn offers his unsolicited advice, probably based on the fact that his doesn't, and reminds him any chance it gets. In fact -- the only human being Kitty Pryde ever seemed to actively like was Gina Castro.

Then he nods slightly. "You live in this town for a year or two, you realise you get to say that pretty much anywhere. Someone died for this -- nice pear cake. Somebody died for this -- lovely cheese, thank you. Somebody died for this -- and I'll take a Mars Bar too, please." Evasive maneuvers, because he actually did not mean to say that, and he most certainly did not want to remember, either.

Una, worst housemate ever: "Uh... well, I'd like to. I mean, if that's okay with you?" Look, she's also getting encouragement from all sides: from Leila, with her delightful descriptions of the available animals, and from Ariadne and Ravn too. See? Wouldn't a cat be amazing? Who would want to stand in the way of that?!

"Think about it. And I'll go get us breakfast." Una does, nonetheless, give Ravn a slightly hesitant, knitted-brow glance. There is a story there. There is a story that, perhaps, Una does not want to know (though realistically, of course she wants to know).

"Be right back!"

Jules returns that long look, head tilted to the side just a bit. Maybe she looks more Raven-like, now. "I think," she says slowly, "there's something about that animal that you resonate with. Even if you're not sure how." She's still working out her own Raven-ness, after all. "Della, our other housemate, was the Spider. She's always in her room, working on the computer. I don't actually know what she does, really, but webs, internet--" Her hands lift, fingers interlacing, until she puts her elbows down and props her chin up on her hands instead. "I'd like a cat. aybe I can come meet the cats, too. If that's okay with Una." It's her idea and her cat, after all.

"Oh man, Jules, cats basically take care of themselves. Besides, what's not to love about a furball purring on you and kneading on you when you have a bad day." Leila is in animal mode now, her dark eyes intense and focused at the task at hand. Very, very, focused; oddly so. She is on a mission to help Una get her cat. "There is a tortoiseshell too, goddamn that cat has a lot of love to give...Kitten, actually, only a few months old." She takes another long sip of her drink as her mind wanders briefly. "We do have a mean ol' bitch, Queen Bee..."

"Huh. Della as Spider. You're right," Ariadne agrees with Jules more quietly. She goes visibly reflective, her gaze falling down to the menu Una's left behind. Nah, no wish to change the order she'd given her fellow redhead. Her nails tickity-tap on the laminated paper briefly. "I did like flying. The freedom...but it was lonely, in a way. Having those talons and knowing how to use them, but also, like...birds don't just charge into a fight." She then shakes her head and runs a finger briefly under her lower lashes, like she wanted to rub at her eye but knew better than to do so. Mascara. It smears.

"It's too early for introspection," the barista then mock-complains on a laugh. "Coffee first -- and no dying for it." This said a bit more curtly, as if she'd caught Ravn's deflection and wants to swiftly end that line of conversation for the sake of all at the table. No moroseness before coffee either, at least in the barista's opinion.

She glances over at Leila as the vet expounds on the cats kept at the office. "You kind of make me want to get a cat, but I've already got Sam. He's already part cat, in a way." Sighthounds, man.

"All in favour of staying alive," Ravn murmurs into his mug and does a fairly decent impression of a black hole sucking in the matter presented. He's going to need a refill soon. "Lots of cultures believe in totem animals -- to have an animal that has spiritual significance to you. And Spider is a symbol of intelligence and cunning, whether you're talking Navaho legends or Anansi the Spider God out of West Africa."

Ask a folklorist. At least he's too sleepy-faced to get started on a lecture. "I like having a cat. I am a cat. Actually, I'm two cats, apparently -- depending on what the Dream is like. Sometimes I'm this inbred Siamese who'd probably die if he gets a paw dirty. And sometimes I'm a rough and scarred alley cat who'll likely tear the face off anyone who looks at him wrong. I haven't quite worked out how I can be both at once."

Hurray! Jules says yes, and that means operation: cat is a go! Naturally, of course, Una's not within easy earshot of that, so will need to pick up on that information later. No doubt she'll be amenable, though, if it means getting the little bit of fluff that will be, objectively, better than a boy-or-girlfriend at licking what may, indeed, but literal wounds.

She's probably disappointed not to be part of the conversation going on at present (cats! lots of cats!), but it's difficult to keep track of two conversations at once, and the more important one is the one that involves ordering food (and, hopefully, a literal pot-full of coffee).

She leans forward, having what is apparently an animated conversation with the woman serving her. It's very serious business. Breakfast is, after all, life and death as far as importance goes, and coffee even more.

"I was wondering how your windhound would react. I'm guessing he has a high prey drive, huh? Most sighthounds do," Leila bobs her head in agreement before taking another sip. Her eyes flick over towards the bathroom briefly before she refocuses back on the group. "Here's to not dying for anything in the future," she agrees as she raises her mug in salut, then pauses, "well, unless it's a really good sex. I think I'd be okay with that." She trails off at the thought before letting out a wistful sigh. Her eyes are on Una, however, ready to get up whenever she is ready to seat herself.

At Ravn's description of himself being two cats, Leila gives him a very confused look, taking another long sip. "I guess I can see you as a cat," she finally admits as she studies him. "Definitely the Siamese," but not so sure about the alley cat it seems.

"I like cats!" Jules feels she has to clarify, almost defensively. "My grandparents have always had one." Pause. She looks at Ravn. "You're a cat?" Time to stare at him intently, looking for the cat in the man. "I don't think anybody is just one. We're all conflicted, you know? One of the native beliefs was that we were actually five parts, not just divided into two, body and soul."

Sex talk makes her head swivel. "Seriously," is Jules' heartfelt agreement, with a rueful look at Leila. It's been awhile.

"Sam actually gets along fine with most cats. My parents have a cat and they've only had one or two spats, both of which the cat started. I watched Mittens stalk him. Sam was like, the fuuuuuck," shares Ariadne with Leila. The other woman then waxes blunt and it makes the barista laugh. "Right, that's something to die for. Cheers." No mug to lift, but it's the thought which counts. A nod in further agreement with Jules. Seriously indeed.

"Five parts? I'm curious, would you mind explaining?" the redhead then asks of Jules, going back to resting her chin on her palm, attention on the dark-haired woman. "I get Ravn being both refined and scrappy." A glance over at the Dane. "You scrappy man, you," she then teases, grinning. Does the taste of grass come to mind? Briefly, her attention flickers to Una, out of curiosity here as well. Coffee?

"Inbred, useless Siamese does make sense in context," Ravn allows, with a hint of regret; who wants to see themselves as a helpless, fragile creature that's very pretty and about as intelligent as your average wet brick rolling downhill. Probably more believable than scrappy, though -- there are few people in Gray Harbor less intimidating than the tall Dane.

Then he nods at Jules. "My favourite Renaissance alchemist argued that we all had flesh, spirit, and soul -- so when we die the flesh rots and the soul goes to heaven, but the spirit must walk the Earth for five years to bid everything farewell, and if you think the slaves of Haiti invented zombies, the sorcerer Abramelin had them beat by a couple of centuries. Claimed he helped secure the Duchy of Saxony for an heir not quite old enough to inherit by puppeteering his dead father for a couple of years. Morale of the story is, one, nobles are so dumb you can't tell whether they're dead or alive anyway and two, don't let me get started when I've just taught eighteenth century mysticism all night. Ahem."

He takes another swig of coffee; maybe part of its function is to get him to shut up. "Anyhow, yes. In what some people here call the mindscape, I'm a cat -- one or the other, depending." Sex, it seems, he has nothing to contribute regarding.

The mention of Sam getting along well with cats seems to impress Leila, although the agreement about sex is enough for her to erupt into a laugh. "Glad I'm not the only one!" She then flashes Ravn a sharp, wicked grin. "Aww, I was just teasin'. I don't know you well enough, I am sure you're a rough, sexy tom cat too. With your stray cat strut." Leila takes another sip from her coffee as she listens to Ravn's and Jules' tales, she lets out a soft huh. "Five parts...I wonder what I am. Here's hopin' for somethin' cool like a cougar..."

"Oh Jesus, I'd have to ask my grandma, I forget what they all are." Just because Jules is native to this area doesn't mean she paid attention to all her cultural factoids. She's not the historian at this table. "That's awesome," she tells Ravn. This kind of history lesson is fun. Then she's on to another subject, another question: "What's the mindscape? Is that different than the Dream thing?"

Ariadne nods. "Fair." She's not one to push, and as such, shifts her attention to Ravn. Jules' question is a good one and one, in turn, the barista had been meaning to ask after for some time now.

"Are we talking the same mindscape where Itzhak is apparently a unicorn with a dappled butt?" she then asks, a smile lurking around the corners of her mouth. A part of her does wonder about what on earth she'd manifest as in this realm -- realm? reality? -- as well. Her smile deepens into a closed, puckish rosebudding of lips at Leila's razzing. Poor Ravn.

Ravn glances at Leila and manages to not cough into his coffee (small victories!). "Ah, yes. Very rough and sexy, me. Rawr." Few people have sounded less convincing.

Scooting to a more comfortable subject, yes. He nods at Ariadne and Jules. "The mindscape is a kind of -- well, it's telepathy after a fashion. People with mind powers can connect their mind to yours for a shared experience where most of the communication is in pictures. This is where Rosencrantz' form is a black unicorn with a dappled butt, yes. I know a bloke who is a wolf made of fire. And me, apparently I'm one out of two cats in there. It has to do with your perception of yourself -- but expressed in images."

At his rawr, Leila lets out a soft snicker which she hides behind her mug. The mention of a unicorn with a dappled butt, she blinks and points a finger from the hand that is wrapped around the mug in Ariadne's direction. "On second thought, fuck the cougar, I want to be a dappled butted unicorn." She balances the mug lazily between her hands as she leans on her elbows. "Perception of yourself, huh? Shark with lasers? Hmm, nah. Oh! A manticore!"

"I'll take the cougar," Jules claims with a grin. "Wolf made of fire, that's cool." Then, plaintively: "Where's my food?"

"Ain't nobody stopping you from being a dappled-butt unicorn," Ariadne notes to Leila, her rosebud smile widening into a bright flash of teeth.

Her attention returns to Ravn again. "That does sound like a thought exercise without even being in this mindscape. Mind powers though? Like...a certain kind of Glimmer? Only those people can do it?" Jules has a point though. The barista looks in the direction of the counter and her heel of her sherpa-lined slipper-boot can be heard to bump against the baseboard of the booth-seat. "I think Una got eaten by The Rules. Poor Una. May she ever rest in peace. Requiescat in pace. Here lies Una, volunteered to get coffee, but the line-cook said NO COFFEE FOR YOU."

"They say it's not difficult if you have that kind of talent at all. I don't." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "Rosencrantz has pulled me in once or twice. And the fire wolf too -- I'd name 'em, but I'm not sure they'd want me to. I've heard about a bloke who's a phoenix so I imagine it's really up to you and how you perceive yourself. I'll say, a dainty Siamese was not what I expected. I'm not sure what I expected, to be fair. I've never really thought of myself in a kind of spirit animal context before."

He upends his mug and throws a long glance Una's way too. "Wonder if someone out there got started on swapping recipes. Should we send a rescue team? And for who, Una or the chef?"

Jules volunteers herself, getting to her feet. "I'll do it. She's probably going to need another set of hands for all the food, anyway."

"Yea, but sinec we can have fire wolves and black unicorns, your cougar has to do something more, y'know? You can't just be a plain cougar," Leila replies towards Jules with a grave tone. "Maybe you're a wind cougar, able to deftly jump from shadow to shadow, quick and quiet like the night. Yea, that sounds really cool." She cocks her head at the thought of mind powers, her eyebrows quirking upwards curiously. "Holy shit, so there is more than just healing and hurting?"

Leila couldn't help but snicker at Ariadne, adding to her sharp call, "There would be a coffee Nazi in Gray Harbor." At Ravn's words, Leila murmurs softly to herself, "You're a manticore, Leila, you are a manticore..."

"Jules, you're my hero," Ariadne informs the woman as she goes to assist Una with food. Her own chin doesn't leave its resting place on her hand. Golden-hazel eyes flicker between Leila and Ravn now, returning to the former at the murmuring under-breath. She can't quite catch it.

"If it's how you perceive yourself..." muses the redhead. Her hand resting on the menu runs fingernails lightly over it again; it's a fluid movement, indicative of someone familiar with piano keys. "Air cougar would be good. Fire wolf is awesome. Maybe...I mean, I've always liked gryphons. But not an eagle." Her eyes briefly rest on Jules again. "Osprey seems appropriate still somehow. I have no idea what the other half would be," she then shrugs. "And I'll probably never know. I don't think I have that kind of Glimmer-power. I'm still learning to move little things around."

Like Sam's ball randomly. Holy shit, does that dog get excited for the raccoon-tail ball twitching by itself. SUDDEN PLAYTIME.

"I thought there was more than just healing and hurting, yeah?" The look she gives Ravn silently imparts that it's time for a Lecture(TM).

Una, true to form, has gotten into a conversation with the chef on duty: food is important, guys, and it's extra important to understand all the minutiae that goes into it. When she does swoop back towards the table, it's with a coffee pot in hand, not to mention a whole tray's worth of mugs. "Food's on its way," she promises, all bright smiles. "And I can confirm, it's going to be amazing. They have excellent protocols in place." For food? Maybe just for bacon. Hashtag priorities.

"There's a lot more, and I don't even know half of it," Ravn confirms with a wistful look and a raised, empty coffee mug. "All I do is move things. There are people who heal, who set things on fire, who make trees walk. People who read emotions of people and the history of objects. People who walk in each other's mindscapes. People who open doors between realities. People who can carry insane amounts of weights, in some kind of pocket dimension space. And that's just what I've seen -- there's more, I'm sure of it."

He shoots Una another hopeful glance. Look at these sad, tired blue eyes behind the reading glasses, how can you withhold the magic bean water? "The most amazing thing I've ever seen do was Kailey Holt not use her powers at all, though, and that's a good reminder that power is just what you make of it. Instead of doing all kinds of strange things -- she just walked up to a sixteen tons angry dragon and guilt tripped it into slinking back into the Veil. That was bloody awesome."

"I figure if I repeat it enough to myself, I just may start to believe I am a manticore," Leila returns towards Ariadne. When Una returns, she beams up at the other redhead before sliding up to let her retake her seat. The exchanged look between Ariadne and Ravn is enough to perk Leila's interest. She finishes up her mug and places it on the edge of the table. "Hey Una, if you were in a mindscape, what kind of animal do you see yourself?"

"Una, darling friend, dearest comrade, purveyor of all that is good in this world like cake and coffee -- my fellow peepskillet, I beg you." And Ariadne does literal dramatic grabby-hands at one of the mugs, empty or filled or not, soon to be filled if devoid of the magical bean water.

"You'd make a bad-ass manticore," the barista confirms to Leila nonetheless, smiling. "And who knows? Maybe we'll manifest some other crazy stuff like Ravn just described. You never know. Which is simultaneously cool and the absolute worst. Also, mad props to Kailey. Remind me to never go up against her in...anything ever." Ariadne still laughs to herself. She's met the colorful woman before and there's not an ounce of denial at the fact of the woman being a power-house.

"What's an animal that hordes food? See-- the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that I am nothing but a squirrel, probably a red squirrel." Una's missed most of the conversation leading to this, but she's very quick to pick up enough to go on, and gestures her red hair as she speaks. Also, she has coffee, and no, she's not unwilling to dole it out in generous amounts, to each of the new mugs and to Ravn's as well, because she's nice and not a Della-by-another-name. "Never let it be said," she tells Ariadne, with a bright smile, "that I am not merciful. Here."

"Food's coming," she repots, promptly. "And it'll be definitely worth the wait. It sounds amazing, so if it only lives up to half its name..."

"Peep-skillet?" That's what Jules picks up on as she follows along in Una's wake, managing three plates and somehow not burning herself. "What is a peepskillet? Here's bacon for everyone." Family style.

Ah, blessed life elixir, aqua vitae, something. "Bit early in the day for me to eat," Ravn murmurs -- which seems a tad odd given he did in fact tell the chef to surprise him. Oh. So that's what the very small pile of biscuits on one little plate is for. And the small slice of cheese that goes with each. Nibbling, Ravn style.

"If we could just pick what we were in dreams, I figure I'd be... You know, maybe I'd take that cougar if no one else wants it. Being a badass mountain lion doesn't sound half bad." He traces the rim of his coffee cup with a gloved finger. "Or I'd even go for ragged alley cat because alley cats are kind of badass too. But who the hell wants to be an inbred, pampered thing that spooks at the sight of its own shadow? Try hard to be the manticore but, if you do get into the mindscape, do also be prepared to learn some truths about yourself and how you perceive yourself, deep down."

As the food arrives, Leila looks at it, but surprisingly doesn't seem too hungry. She glances all around before flashing Ariadne a wicked grin. "Hell yea! I'd make a badass manticore!" The mention of a red squirrel is enough to cause her to chuckle as she reaches over to grab a bacon before sliding out of the way to let everyone in. "Sorry to steal a bacon and fly, but I have to walk Flower before she decides to piss all over the place. Thanks for letting me hang out, guys. I'll see you later. Oh, and Una, whenever you want to check out the cats, drop on by, I'm usually there most of the day anyways." She gives them a lazy two fingered salute that she flicks off the side of her temple, murmurs a quick 'bismillah' in irony and chomps on the bacon as she makes her way out.

For just a moment, Ariadne does an excellent impression of a ring-hoarding curmudgeon with her newly-filled coffee mug. Her precioussssss.

"Peepskillet," she still repeats for Jules, smirking. "A peep, a friend, and...skillet, I guess because...it rolls off the tongue? Peepskillet." She shrugs. A slice of bacon is pinched up between fingernails, temperature notwithstanding, and crunch crunch crunch: it disappears down the hatch. Making a soft sound of contentment, the barista hunts out a napkin. "Burnt tongue. Worth it," she mumbles, wiping at her lips. Ravn's musing draws her attention back to him and her expression does go introspective briefly.

"Pet Flower for me!" she manages to call out to Leila as the vet departs. Because all good doggos get all the pets. Returning her attention to her tablemates again, she sips at her coffee. "Maybe I don't want to go into this mindscape then. Maybe I like being naïve about myself." Her wry smirk suggests otherwise, but apparently, she can still fun at herself. "A gryphon," the woman still insists. "And a squirrel isn't bad for you, Una?"

Una glances after Leila, but manages not to offer much by way of reply, unless her quick nod counts: she is definitely going to follow up on that, because every single woman needs a pet of some variety to cuddle, right?

It's after that, after she's reclaimed her own coffee cup not to mention refilled it, and after she's taken a seat, too, that she turns her attention back towards those remaining about the table. "Squirrel just feels... ridiculously under-weight, if other people are being manticores or... what else did you say? Gryphons. A squirrel isn't exactly going to defend anyone, is it? A squirrel is going to hoard food and then burrow down for the winter, and that's maybe representative, but maybe not cool and exciting. I'd rather be a dragon."

On the plus side? Bacon.

"I don't know. Trade you? I'd rather be a badass little treetop warrior defending my hoard and killing birds that bother me, than an aristocat who's good for nothing but sipping cream and worrying that it might break a claw or the blue plushie might give it a mean look again. When I say inbred Siamese I really mean my mother's Siamese who was so stupid and inept that he eventually committed suicide by eating peace lilies. I used to slip that cat pot as a teenager and it was the only times in his life the poor thing seemed even remotely sane. Never known a neurotic little pile of anxities like that cat." Ravn hitches a shoulder. Maybe he is well aware how that makes him look.

Ravn gets a side-look. Slipping a cat pot. Squint.

Ariadne sips her coffee and muses, "Why not be a squirrel-dragon? One half fluffy, one half fury, one-hundred percent GIVE ME YOUR ACORNS BECAUSE I AM FIRE AND I AM DEATH, RAR. Pretty sure you'd scare the shit out of me if you randomly showed up like that in a mindscape," she tells her fellow redhead with a grin. Her attention returns to Ravn again. "Also, I note, you said you were a scrappy alley cat now and then. Can't pigeon-hole yourself with talk about only being the Siamese cat." A finger lifted off the coffee mug circles at the Dane.

"Ooh, squirrel-dragon," says Una, suddenly leaning forward. "I can work with that. That's better than just being-- well, a squirrel, obsessed about food, as accurate as that is. I can work with that being terrifying. I'll take any amount of terrifying, right? Because, well."

She has definite sympathy for Ravn and his siamese counterpart. "That' s both adorable and... no, really not. I vote for the scrappy alley cat. That seems to fit better, anyway. You're not as soft as you sometimes portray yourself. Or are portrayed? I'm really not sure, either way."

"Depends on how you define soft, I suppose." Ravn chuckles; he's not bothered by the idea by the looks of it. "Some people think anyone who's not constantly flexing is soft. Some people think academia is for soft geeks. By those definitions, I'm soft as sponge cake. I'd also argue that squirrels are not soft, not by those definitions. They're highly aggressive and territorial. They kill birds larger than themselves. They're excellent team workers, collaborating to gather and hide winter supplies. And they've literally got some of the biggest balls in the rodent world compared to body mass, so by all the usual criteria of masculinity, squirrels are the bull necked, tattooed bikers from woodsy hell."

Una is given one of those markedly, theatrically innocent looks. Ariadne even lifts her brows and sips her coffee first.

Oh god.

"Then I suppose Una would have the biggest, scaliest-furriest balls this side of the mindscape, wouldn't she?"

Piece of bacon taken, nibbled, oh-so-urbanely.

"I have all the balls," says Una, straight-faced until she isn't. That's the point when she bursts into giggles, not succeeding to hide it behind her mug. "No, you're right. Squirrels are actually pretty hard-core, and by that description... I'll definitely take it. It's still no gryphon or dragon or manticore, but I'll still take it."

She nods towards Ravn, even so. "Soft is relative. We're all good."

Una is given an appraising glance from Ravn too because honestly, after that look of Ariadne's, how can you not picture this, at least momemtarily. Then the Dane snickers softly and asks, "Assuming we're staying with the metaphors here -- why do you assume she doesn't? Hell, deciding that a backyard full of faerie are things to be befriended and bribed is a pretty ballsy move right there."

He grins and nods. "I wouldn't mind being a squirrel. Or a rat -- rats are epic survivors, amazingly intelligent, and unless you're phobic, they're kind of pretty too. And they get in anywhere."

Cue another round of giggles from the other redhead. Poor Ravn and Jules, stuck with this crew.

Clearing her throat, Ariadne sips at her coffee before snagging another piece of bacon. "Honestly, Ravn has a point. Befriending the Fae is...about the ballsiest thing I can think of this side of attempting to pet Kitty Pryde without asking her first -- so, yes, you do have all the balls." Snicker. "A rat wouldn't be half-bad. All of those points are true. They're just about nature's perfect thieves, in a way, though someone else might argue for a raccoon, perhaps. Bigger, meaner, even more dexterous in a way."

Una will take it. Una, who laughs (and laughs, and laughs). "Who wouldn't, though?" she points out. "Better to befriend than to live in fear, right? Or ignore? This is much more interesting."

She leans in in order to pick up more bacon (and some bread to go with it), taking a moment to busy herself with that instead of engaging with the conversation. "Rats are excellent. I mean, all animals are excellent, in the end. They all serve a purpose, right?"

"Pshaw," Ravn huffs. Maybe he found some cheek down there in his coffee cup, at the bottom, next to a bit of Happiness(tm). "Nature's perfect thief is me."

Then he laughs as well and nods. "I think what I wanted to say is, the mindscape shows you not as you'd like to be, but as you truly think you are. And for me, that apparently means I cannot decide whether I'm a pampered aristocratic ball of useless fluff, or a torn-eared alley cat that needs nothing and no one. The truth, the real truth, is probably somewhere in between."

"Way more interesting," agrees Ariadne with a bit of concern nonetheless. Interesting? Dealing with the Fae? Good word choice. Bacon disappears quickly in a crumpling of shove-into-mouth and then, the barista too plucks some of the bread/biscuits/baked good items. Ravn's comment makes her blurt out a laugh again and glance at Una. Look! Confident Ravn!

"Maybe next time you'll manifest as something halfway between then, huh? A scarred-up Siamese. Una, with her biggest of the scaliest-furriest balls. Me, with feathers and god-only-knows what the other half might be. It'll be this introspective party of half-laughing, half-weeping, somebody pass the hard liquor because maybe we get lucky and there's some...ridiculously good-tasting hard stuff manifested as well to soothe our wounded psyches."

'Interesting' is relative. It's very relative.

Una laughs, too. Confident Ravn! Hilarious!

"Oh god. I can see it now. I always wished I had the wings. If you'd asked me at twelve, 'flight' would absolutely have been my super power of choice. I'm definitely inclined to say pass the hard liquor. It's too early for hard liquor, isn't it?"

Yes. Now is time for bacon and-- because the next tray of food has just arrived-- eggs as well. And also hash browns, and all the rest. "Don't invite it, though. It'll happen whether we want it to or not."

"I know, I know." Ravn can't help look sheepish. "Still, it's a nice dream to have -- that I could be the alley cat instead, some day. I am confident enough in my skills -- it's just that my skills are largely useful only in very specific situations. Ever need a pocket picked or a lecture on the importance of Abrahamic oral tradition on early industrial era folk magic, I'm your man."

Confident Ravn didn't stick around for long. He toys with his biscuits and cheese slices. "Still, it's good to have some kind of ambition. Mine is some day being just, well, like everybody else."

How is it that Jules has not commented on Una’s big scaly balls? It is one of the mysteries of this town. What she does say, now, once she’s finished shoveling her omelette down her throat, is: “What do you mean, you wanna be like everyone else? What’s wrong with you?”

Drolly, the redhead informs her fellow redhead, "Yes, too early for hard liquor, m'friend."

But not for more coffee. Reaching for the carafe, Ariadne pours more for herself and gestures with the container to see if anyone else wants a warmer. Jules speaks up and the barista can't help but add, "Why can't you be the alley cat now? And why the hell would you want to be like the rest of the world? Genetically speaking, there is literally only one of you on the planet. It's the most wonderful thing to be, yourself. Like, how cool is is to know there is only one of you?"

"Be the alley cat," agrees Una, chiming in with the other women. "I believe in you. If I can be the scrappy squirrel..."

Alas. Far too early for the hard liquor. Alas. Alas.

"I was the alley cat for a long time," Ravn points out over the rim of his coffee. "Minding my own business, travelling from one place to another, going my own way."

Then he shakes his head. It's all banter, right? "Well, maybe you can practise being a ballsy squirrel and I'll practise not screaming if someone bumps into me accidentally." The Dane offers a small smile. "This town has a way of making you face your fears. Whether you overcome them is up to you, but you'll certainly get to know them on a first name basis."

Jules extends her mug. Yes, coffee, yes, please, now.

“Wait, What? You scream if people touch you?” This is new to Jules.

Is Ariadne humming now?

She's humming, with a puckish little smirk on her face. Anybody know their Disney animated films well? Jules gets a gracious serving more of coffee because all the coffee.

Under her breath, while Ravn expounds on Grey Harbor's manner of being absolutely rude, she can be heard to sing, "...gotta kick up the highway dust, feel the grass that's greeeen... Gotta strut them city streets showin' his eclat, yeah...telling his friends of the social elite or some cute cat he happens to meet." Rolling her lips against a grin, the barista finishes mostly to herself and mostly behind her cup, "Since he's Abraham DeLacey, Guiseppe Casey, Thomas O'Ravn...O'Ravn the alley cat."

Another nickname and you're welcome, Ariadne seems to imply by her flick of brows.

More seriously, she adds, "Not a terrible thing to get to know what they are, those fears. You get to face 'em down better that way." A glance to Ravn at Jules' question.

Una's eyes are bright with amusement, exacerbated by Ariadne's humming. "Oh," she says. "I love it. O'Ravn the alley cat. Well-- if you're already experienced at being it, Ravn, that means you're ready to be it in other ways, too. Right? RIGHT?"

"Fears are fears," she agrees. "And I'm resigned to how they come up. It's fine. It's healthy, right? Face your fears."

"Insofar I remember, Abraham DeLacey, Guiseppe Cause,Thomas O'Malley the Alley Cat ends up the domesticated husband and adopted parent of three aristocratic brats, and I am not entirely certain I wish for this fate," Ravn notes dryly.

Then he hitches a shoulder lightly at Jules' question. "I've got a neuropathic condition. My nerve system does not know how to parse unexpected touch. It's often quite painful if I don't expect it, yes. Doesn't make for a really great social life." Una's prompt there makes him chuckle into his coffee though. "I am not about to turn into that kind of alley cat, thank you very much. Don't worry -- I won't be sitting in your yard at 3am, howling to meet your new girl cat."

"Oh." Jules has a little frown as she digests the news of Ravn's condition. "Well, that sucks. I'm glad I haven't tried to hit you on the arm or something before."

"I need video and-or photographic evidence if Ravn ever sits in anyone's yard and howls about meeting someone. I want this noted." Thus sayeth Adriane with a pointer finger solemnly raised to accent her point. She makes no point of arguing against Ravn's own observations about O'Malley; instead, she just smiles beatifically in the Dane's direction. The only thing that's missing is one of those ridiculous eyelash flutters in pure friendly snark.

Biscuit is then eaten while the others speak. The coffee appears to be kicking in, finally. More sparkle shows around the redhead's person, in her eyes and poise alike. Thank god. She didn't want to admit how much she was dragging this morning. Again, her golden-hazel eyes shift between Jules and Ravn while she chews.

"You'd make a lovely adopted father," teases Una, though she's clearly not being serious. It's probably very difficult to imagine Ravn the adopted father of three aristocratic brats.

"... but if he does, I agree, we'd definitely better get photographic or video evidence. I faithfully promise, as someone who lives next door... at least for a few more days, before we're abandoned for the bay." Una's not serious.

Except about coffee-- and about breakfast, too. This is all helping.

"You don't have enough evidence of me looking like an idiot covered in glitter and paint and wine gum dicks?" Ravn can't resist a small lopsided smile. "Mind you, I have several aunts who are already extolling the virtue of adoption and when I come home, can I at least be discreet about my affairs because a bloke like me who's past thirty and not married must obviously be into some truly disturbing things, maybe even other men."

He puts his empty coffee cup down and manages to raise a gloved hand to cover for a massive yawn. "I think I should give up and go home, though. Bloody exhausted. Remind me why I work for a university in Europe? I'll see the lot of you around -- just because I'm moving back on my boat for the summer doesn't mean you'll be rid of me. Boat doesn't have a shower, for one."

And then he's up and shrugging into his leather jacket with the damaged sleeve; that poor wind breaker he prefers is never going to be anything but a paint covered mess.

On the tail end of Una's observation: "We haven't lost him yet!"

A near-crow of delight from Ariadne, clearly funning at the move to the boat. If pressed, she'd admit to not understanding it because easy access to hot showers is a thing of absolute luxury in her book, but to each their own. She sets aside her coffee to give the Dane a wave. "Go take a nap, O'Ravn of the Aunt-Inducing-Frustration, we'll see you around." Her attention returns to her coffee and one more biscuit because she needs the calories for today's longer shift at the café.

"Now, ladies. When's the next time we're doing karaoke?"

Because enablers gonna enable.