2022-04-04 - Pizza and Light Beer

Not all Dreams are happy ones. They'd already discussed this, but Ariadne hadn't experienced the full impossible discomfort of physicality between the Dream world and reality itself -- at least, not until now.

Unfortunately, moving isn't going to stop because she's sporting a few butterfly bandages and some stitches.

The text flies from her phone: Need your help getting some stuff into the new apartment, can I borrow you? Have some coworkers here, but still boxes. Not heavy stuff. Got sucked into a Dream, needed stitches. Can pay in pizza and light beer.

As such, Ariadne, with Sam hooked to the belt-loop of her jeans by a six-foot lead, is busy directing Russ to put that box there, yes, thank you, I'll deal with it later, just need to get everything into the place. No decorating has started at all. None whatsoever. It still smells like new paint in a few places and now, the faint must of cardboard boxes. The couch, a small two-seater, is in the living at an odd angle and surrounded by more boxes. That's probably a TV in that box there? The kitchen is slowly filling, though not with many boxes. The barista looks frayed about her edges still, pale, dark beneath her eyes, and moving slowly. Sam keeps his careful watch, not being underfoot but certainly within reach at all times; there's no tension in the lead-line whatsoever.

Ravn is not surprised to be called in -- he'd already been warned and had offered to help. He's surprised to hear that Ariadne has had to have stitches -- and then not really because there's an element of 'what took you so long' that applies to anyone new to Gray Harbor. He remembers wondering if he had some kind of charm protecting him for the first couple of months -- everyone else got hurt around him, but not him. Then HOPE got on its feet and that was the end of that. There's an expression for that in Danish: Waiting by the fists station. As in a bus stop, but for punches, not buses. It really doesn't translate very well but sometimes he feels like he lives there.

Lately, he's gone uninjured, though. And, he reflects, that likely is because there are a lot of new people in town for the dolorphages to play with, and the tourist season hasn't started. Once Gray Harbor floods once more with clueless assholes that need attempted saved, the They will remember his name. Joy.

He brings a sixpack of Danish beer in spite of Ariadne's promises of payment. Moving often turns into far more people than expected, after all. In the other hand, a bag packed full of -- cleaning utensils and detergents? "So, are we wiping down everything? I'm pretty good at cleaning things."

"Right there, Russ, thank you." Ariadne rubs at the back of her neck and quietly promises herself a long bath and a good cry after this is all done. Hearing a familiar voice, the barista turns and seems to sag a little in visible relief.

"Ravn, hey. Yes, please, wiping down everything. I was going to get started once the boxes are done being moved in. Russ got the mattress in and on the bedroom floor because he's a bad-ass motherfucker -- aren't you?" she still calls out down the hallway towards the open front door, trying for a smile. Russ laughs from outside, youth incarnate that he is as one of the younger baristas at Espresso Yourself. "There's still the dresser, but I think that's all the big, awkward stuff. I...I really hate unpacking, so there will be boxes hanging around for a while."

Sam swishes his feathery tail back and forth, triangle-ears perked at Ravn, but remains at his owner's side per her fingertips resting lightly at his neck.

"Well, cleaning is how Kinney and I split the housework on Oak Avenue," Ravn agrees. "He cooks, I clean. Might be a bit less of either now that I'm back on the Vagabond for the summer, I suppose."

He surveys the rooms -- kind of expecting to see Debbie the sad girl from 1985 sitting in a corner with her ice cream tub somewhere (is her name even Debbie? No one knows). She's not there. The people coming and going do look contemporary. Russ' face is familiar from the coffee shop, at least. Then he scritches a sighthound ear because Sam is anything but scary. Neither is Flower the doberman, to be fair, but it's going to take him a while longer to get used to something that -- well, doberman.

"You ever think you have too much stuff?" The Dane can't resist a small crack. After all, for so very long he prided himself in owning nothing he couldn't tuck into a backpack on very short notice. Which was never true, but the rest is in storage in Europe, so it doesn't count. Hah, pun not intended.

Sam turns his long nose to sniff at the wrist attached to the hand offering him ear scritchies, but otherwise leans into it because ear scritchies.

Nodding, Ariadne stays where she is for the moment and wonders about leaning back against the wall of the hall. Her stomach is fine but for the here-and-there pinch of the butterfly bandages. Her leg is grumpy and Advil is only doing so much. Ravn's crack about the number of boxes, few as they are, has the barista giving him a dry smirk.

"Even with only...what, ten boxes to my name? Yes, always, especially when moving into a place," she shares. "Mister I-Live-Out-Of-A-Backpack." Little snort. "I'll have the mattress on the bedroom floor for months, probably, unless I find some wolf spiders around here. Then it's risers, one way or another. I might even get a shower curtain, you never know." She's going to get a shower curtain, she's just being mildly sarcastic. "But...we're almost there." Big sigh. "Almost there. Um." Running fingers back through the side of her hair, she glances over at Ravn again. "Do you mind starting with the kitchen? I plugged in a little radio in there, you can turn some music on if you want?"

"Please don't tell me about wolf spiders, and particularly not if they get on boats." Ravn the arachnophobe makes a face before wandering kitchen-ward with his bag of cleaning agents.

He doesn't turn the radio on. Not much modern music appeals to him. Yes, he's a music snob. At least he'll admit it. There's just some kind of passion that got lost somewhere. Or maybe it was just as rare back in the day, but the music that survives the test of time is the music that has it. Maybe fifty years from now, somebody will listen to WAP and think, that was when they put heart into music. Or something else.

The black kidskin gloves are exchanged for a pair of bright cyan rubber gloves. This is the man who once fought a war against the men's room at Two If By Sea and won. Until he quit, that rest room sparkled. Maybe it still does, he's not been back to check. The secret ingredient is enjoyment. There is something painstakingly simple about cleaning. No doubts, no shades of grey. It's either clean or it's not, and if it isn't, get started on making it so.

"I will not tell you if they get on boats."

Whether that's helpful or not, Ariadne doesn't seem to notice. In her tired tizzy, the words leave her before she watches Ravn abscond off to the kitchen. Her smile appears again at the swapping of gloves for battle-gear in a cheery shade of green-blue. Dust and woozies, fingerprints? Your days are clearly numbered.

"Get yourself a beer if you want, Ravn, they're in the fridge. I think Russ just called for me. Here, can you -- "

And the barista walks over to clip Sam the Windhound to a drawer-handle. He looks curiously between his owner and the Dane. "Stay here a second, buddy," she bids him with a gentle chin-scritch and kiss to his head before she limps off towards the front door. The dog lifts his ears and then sighs, heaving the BIGGEST SIGH EVER.

"Just you and me now, buddy," Ravn tells Samwise. "Good thing I don't actually eat dogs."

He gets started from one end and works his way down. Cupboards, stove, and for that matter, the fridge -- it all needs wiped down. Nothing wrong with pre-owned, but the only fingerprints and smears should be those left by the current occupant. He'll get that beer in a bit; better get a good start under your belt before you start in on the drinking.

It's almost meditative. He's not really sure where he picked up on how mindnumbingly dull and comforting cleaning can be. Somewhere on his way down through Germany, paying for hostels with labour rather than ready money? Probably. Or maybe it was back in college, six blokes to a shared kitchen in the dormitory, and with the logic of dormitories anywhere, he was the only one who gave a shit.

His mother did keep telling him he could afford an apartment in Copenhagen. Why do this to yourself? He never told her why. Some things cannot be explained.

Samwise somehow manages to give one of those disdainful Sighthound looks down his long semi-Roman nose at Ravn for the comment. Maybe some of his owner's sass has been absorbed. The dog then sits quietly and watches while the tall human putters around the kitchen. It starts to smell like cleaners in earnest. That little black nose twitches and twitches until Sam sneezes, spraying dog-snot everywhere. Dogs.

Ariadne manages to bring in one or two more small boxes before she appears again, her head poking around the corner of the hallway. An uplifted hand signals Samwise silently to chill out, dude, not quite done yet. He still wags his tail, ears lifted. "You doing alright?" she asks of Ravn, apparently one of those hostesses who needs to check on all visitors at least once every ten minutes or so.

"I'm pretty certain your fridge is haunted by the ghost of a family of possums who died over-indulging on cheesecake," Ravn returns with a wink; it's funny because it isn't true. "How's things in there? Russ managed to get his shirt off to impress everyone yet?"

Yes, he too was once a teenage boy.

Thank god Ravn winks and thus signs off on that comment as a joke. Ariadne's eyes had gone fairly wide and her mouth had parted a little. God, no, not ghost possums!

But yes, not ghost possums. She literally sticks her tongue out at the Dane in retort at first. "Russ still has his shirt on, thank you very much. I'm his coworker who just happens to be gaining a reputation for rapier wit around there." Mimed motions with an invisible sword off to one side, touché. "I'd probably give him so much flak for the display that he'd have trouble existing in the same room with me. As such, he's been a complete gentleman. One more box and...that's it, actually," she seems to realize as she says it by the lift of her brows.

A palm to her cheek. "Oh thank god," she then murmurs, slumping visibly in tiredness. "Okay, last big box. Be right back. Good boy, Sam, you stay." Sam, good boy, stays, and SIGHS as his owner disappears again.

"Maybe we'd better hook up the kettle," Ravn tells the sighthound. "Instant coffee beats no coffee, even for a coffee shop barista. She comes back, I'll feed her instant coffee and you feed her hugs, and somehow, she'll survive the day."

Who's sneaky enough to have brought his little two-cups-please electric kettle from the boat? Ayep. Ariadne probably owns some nice coffee machine or Keurig, and she may have it in a crate somewhere, and maybe is good for nothing. Ravn fills the little kettle, plugs it in, and finds a mug. Gourmet coffee? No, but full of caffeine.

"Don't like letting her out of your sight, do you?" he asks the dog. Not because he expects the dog to answer -- not even in Gray Harbor -- but because it seems like the polite thing to do. He's lived with Kitty Pryde too long, the Dane reflects. One step from crazy cat lady -- he's already in the habit of having conversations with the cat, now all he needs is five more cats.

Soulfully, Sam gives the Dane a look full of big brown doe-eyes and, in this, seems to agree. Indeed, human, instant coffee, sure, hugs, yes, words, I'm watching your body language more because you smell like cleaner and cats now. He still swishes his tail back and forth across the kitchen floor, swish-swish. Ravn speaks more and the dog tilts his head -- yes, human, sure, more words, I like being spoken to, good things happen.

It doesn't take long for Ariadne to get the last box in and get the rest of the aid dismissed for the day. Thankfully, the pizza she ordered gets delivered right about this time and with the legal-of-age sent off with beer, the under-age sent off with soda, she appears again with a single box of pizza. "It's pepperoni," she reports as she limps over, strands of her hair hanging free of her messy-bun. Samwise wiggles and is released from drawer-handle purgatory to be clipped to her waist again. He licks her hand until he's petted and then leans. Yay, owner. The pizza box is set on the temporary card table and she then settles down into a folding chair.

"...thanks a lot, Ravn, I...I really appreciate this," the barista then says very quietly. It seems she's about one tired step away from tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes. "Oh." Somebody just realized about the electric kettle and she can't help but laugh in a brittle manner. "Oh, god, yes, tell me it's instant coffee, I don't even care at this point."

"They don't make Jamaican Blue as instant, sorry. But it's the least horrible instant brand I've been able to find, at least." Ravn cracks a lopsided smile. "Now sit down on something, hug your dog, and have this mug of coffee. You look exhausted. If you had to have stitches you shouldn't even be walking." He raises a hand to wave it off. "I know, I know. Arrangements were already made, the van was already rented, and so on."

He pours hot water in the mug and adds coffee and a spoon, before passing both over. "Drink that first. Then we can get started on the pizza. Don't need to see you face planting in it and come up with pepperoni on your eyes like some society lady doing spa and wellness day but being red-green colour blind and not realising the prank pulled on her by Dimitri the pool boy with the sexy accent. His name is actually Joe and he's from Detroit, but Dimitri gets him better tips."

Don't tell the barista twice. Having seated herself, she lets Sam insert himself up between her legs to rest his head on her stomach. His head gets gentle, tired fingernail scritchies now as he lazily sweeps his tail back and forth. She looks down at the dog, at least, until the mug plus spoon arrives, and she then listens to Ravn -- and blurt-laughs. Spa day horror, that.

"Oh my god," she mutters, approval for the droll humor liberal in her tone. Stirring up the water until the instant coffee is blended, she taps the spoon on the mug. A testing sip. And another bigger one. And a final big gulp and little cough. "Yes, sounds good, coffee first and then pizza. Help yourself though, seriously. It's thin crust, so there's not a lot of substance to it. I guess they slice their slices pretty small too." Someone other than Una has noted the Dane's bird-like eating habits, apparently. "There's...no napkins, never mind. Uh. Paper towel, somewhere." She seems resigned to not knowing where to find things, at least in the immediate interim.

"And my stitches are fine," the redhead grouses as she carefully moves her leg. "It's my damn torso. The cuts aren't even that deep and...really, just fuck all of this for bad timing. Those Veil bastards knew I'd be stressed out. Fuck. Them."

"Yeah, they're good at sniffing that out. Want to talk about it, or was it one of those let's just pretend this never happened Dreams?" Ravn quirks an eyebrow while mixing up a coffee for himself as well. Then he chuckles. "No napkins. How will I survive. It will be a nightmare to haunt me, a bit like eating beans cold out of the can with your fingers because you have neither a stove nor a spoon. You don't have to like it, but you've had dinner."

He settles, Indian style, on the floor because this is where we are camping today. "I'm expecting them to stop giving me a break when the tourist season starts. But I signed on for that, knowing what'd happen."

"Pfft." A little sound at Ravn's funning for lack of napkins. Ariadne, at least, intends to keep the generous man's cleansing work of the kitchen as intact as possible. Sam slowly blinks as his head continues being massaged. Golden-hazel eyes rest on the tall man and then narrow in a ruefully-amused concern.

"Right," she agrees softly. "The tourists who don't know, running around like lemmings, never knowing where the cliff edges are. I'll be there to help." It has the undertone of a promise. She then continues, "Remember breakfast with Una a day or two back? We had Jules and...Leila, yes, Leila there? The Dream with the animals? Osprey?" She nods. "I was Osprey. I...tried taking on a tree because...Beaver needed to get the fire away from the trees. Needless to say...an osprey verses a tree." Her lips purse as she nods again, expression long-suffering. "I...did not win, not really, but I think I was a good distraction for the others...?"

"Good. It takes courage to be a distraction." Ravn nods his approval. He is the man to continuously harp on a bout having one another's backs, after all. "Sometimes, no one really wins. Sometimes, getting out alive is a win. I had a Dream a while back where... we got out alive but it didn't feel like a win at all. I tried to help a girl who'd been trafficked get away and then she was back in that Dream and died. They found her body in Gray Pond the day after. Definitely didn't feel like a win."

He shakes his head. "Maybe in the mindscape that's who you are -- an osprey. I'm no ornitologist but to the best of my knowledge, that's a smart and powerful bird. Fishing hawk, yes?"

Ariadne takes another sip of the (heavenly) instant coffee-drink and her expression is eloquent of sympathy. "I'm sorry, Ravn," she bids quietly as to the absolute lack of win. It hurts her own heart to think about it. Still, he asks a pertinent question and she glances down at Sam again. The Sighthound, probably just as stressed as his owner by new surroundings, seems to be in the process of falling asleep sitting upright.

"I...don't know if that counts as a mindscape. Or is a Dream is a mindscape? Er, yes, an osprey is a fishing hawk, but we call it a seahawk around here. The Seattle city's football, American football, team is named after them. They're excellent fishers with a fairly high success rate and really...rather ridiculous habit of stubbornly nesting in weird places by the water. I don't know how smart they are, but...I mean, the bald eagles don't seem to mess with them and the bald eagles are big birds. I guess...maybe for this particular Dream, it made sense. I don't think I'm totally like an osprey. There's something else in there, if I have to argue the weirdness that is self-representation in sidereal mental forays."

"Well, as I have proved, mindscape forms are not absolute. The mindscape isn't usually a Dream -- but you can get pulled into a Dream in your mindscape form, I suppose." Ravn scratches his chin. "The real difference, at least for me, is that if I am in the mindscape and I say, 'Rosencrantz, I want off this damn train', it ends right there. Dreams force you to ride it through to the end."

"That's an important difference, the ability to have the say for things to stop. I'd say that's the critical difference. This was a Dream. There was no off-button. You'll want to check up on Una and the others, by the way," Ariadne then adds, her momentary distraction from the issue disappearing and bringing back the tired lines to her face. "Una took a bough to the chest, Jules...something about her ribs. Leila didn't make it out unscathed either. I...think I saw Itzhak there too? Check on him. I saw a few of them at the hospital. They seemed okay, but...you know how it goes."

How the Dreams tumble more than physical forms now and then.

"...Shit." That's the sound of at least one New Yorker in for a scolding-per-text later.

Ravn winces. "I guess moving back on the Vagabond is why I haven't noticed. I've been catching up with other yachters but not really keeping tabs on Oak Avenue. I feel bad about that -- should go check on the Number Five flock later, maybe."

He sips his own instant coffee and sifts through memories. "I remember being in our mindscape forms in one Dream once. I was the Siamese and Rosencrantz was his unicorn self, and we were babysitting a baby unicorn against a dragon. Ended up glitterbombing the dragon and scaring it away. That wasn't really frightening -- more just, pretty damned hilarious. The foal really really wanted to be a cat like me."

"They'd probably appreciate a check-in, yeah," the redhead agrees. "You can tell them, and Itzhak, that I tattled. I don't care." Coffee is sipped at the table too and Samwise lists heavily to one side, leaning into the ear-squishing his owner has fallen into by habit. She watches her visitor sit on the kitchen floor and ponder in silence. It's almost startling when he speaks again. Ariadne blinks as if she'd spaced out temporarily, her brows lifting.

"Baby unicorn...? Against a dragon. Glitterbombing." A thoughtful sound and then her face goes somewhat sly. "...was that unicorn foal Hunter, perchance? Did he get dragged into it somehow? What with Itzhak babysitting him now and then?"

"No, I have yet to meet the infamous Hunter." Ravn offers a small smile; the sort that says, I am not fluent in Child. "This was a unicorn foal. It's mum and dad were going out and apparently we were the hired baby sitters. Her name was Star and she liked glitter very much -- and because she was a unicorn, her glitter was explosive. It made sense in the Dream."

He pauses and looks almost wistful. "I wish more Dreams would be like that. Just -- playful and silly. Or like our Zorro Dream -- silly, a parody. Even better when people form relationships in them and those relationships last. I have seen that a number of times, at least -- people meet in Dreams and stay together on the outside. Once you've shared an experience like that with someone, it may create a bond that isn't matched in the waking world where most of us have enough trouble of our own to keep us preoccupied."

"Exploding glitter makes total sense in any context of a Dream," agrees the barista.

Ravn's expression then changes. It makes Ariadne tilt her head slightly in turn, lashes narrowing in a micro-tell of wondering why the shift. Ah, the Zorro Dream, yes, and a smile forms on her face, small but true. She nods agreement. "Yeah, something like that would...create those bonds, I mean. Look at you and me: you're sitting on my kitchen floor and I'm still waiting for you to have a piece of pizza because it's the good stuff, I promise." Her smile closes lips into a friendly smirk. Teasing, Dane, teasing. "And the others...yeah, it's a damn amazing thing, when the bonding carries over. I...don't feel as alone as I thought I would? I guess?" The little up-lilt promises more introspective thought on this when she's alone again.

"Well, how could you? You're married." Ravn offers a sideways smile and reaches, at last, for a slice of pizza. He appreciates that it's not a gargantuan meal-for-a-week-with-leftovers-to-spare slice; pizza is delicious but as with all things food, the Dane struggles with it. Food is only easy when you're alone in bed at 3am with a packet of junk food. He knows that there'll be a time in not too many years where his body is going to start having severe issues with this. For now, though, it's in the future.

He looks at the pepperoni (it's probably evil, look at it, it's laughing at him). "I wish I could help more with the whole -- animal thing. Indigenous legends are not my forte. Jules is the one to talk to there, if anyone. Maybe that new reporter bloke, Kayden -- he's half Quinault too, apparently. I can talk for ages about the concept of animal incarnations, but I have a feeling this is more personal."

Blink. Ariadne then laughs, shaking her head. "In a Dream context and god knows it wasn't a legal schtick anyways, PadRavn." She watches him fetch a slice of pizza and quietly feels relieved about it. Whew. Even if he only eats one slice, it's still food.

"It's okay," she then replies, able to devote at least a little shrug with her current energy levels. Sam continues leaning into the ear-smushing, his eyes now closed. "I don't have any idea of what's going on. Jules, yeah, I intended to talk to her more, but good point. I didn't know the new guy Kayden was half Quinault. I'll see about asking him next time he's in the coffee shop." Then sighing to herself, she adds more quietly, a touch plaintively, "Can you please pass me a piece of pizza? I sat down and now I'm stuck here. My leg says no."

Ravn reaches for another slice and offers it up, chuckling. "Why, yes, I am in fact aware that I'm not actually an ordained priest of the Roman Catholic Church. I'm not even a member of the Roman Catholic Church. I am officially a Lutheran. Unofficially, an agnostic. It's still a bonding experience though -- some Dreams I have had, I ended up feeling very close to the other person. It's part of why Rosencrantz and I are friends -- we've seen some shit together, in Dreams and out of them. I brought him to my cousin's wedding in New York some months back. Emotional support violinist, everyone should have one. He nearly rearranged another cousin's teeth."

That memory prompts a smile. "What my cousin got for thinking he was my coke dealer."

"Bless." There's a little tweak of sarcasm yet, still good-natured, in the word as she takes the slice of pizza with one hand. The other is still occupied with Sam's head. He's just about asleep in his sit in earnest now. Ravn's revelation as to why Rosencrantz almost fixed some dentation has her laughing despite herself.

"That's a hell of an assumption to make, yeah, that Itzhak was your coke dealer of all things. Why go there first? What the fuck. Why not your personal fashion moderator or something?" Ariadne then bites into the slice of pizza and makes a happy sound. "All the grease, give it to me," she mumbles around the mouthful. After swallowing, she notes, "If you're asking whether or not I feel bonded to Una, yeah, I do. She's...one of the sweetest people I know in the city. You're included in this, of course. You gave me the Hotel California speech and you helped me realize what I can do with my Glimmer."

Her golden-hazel eyes land on the cleaning rag Ravn was using. Move. Flick, there it goes, into the sink. "I'm getting better at aiming? I think."

"I'd be sad if you did not feel close to Una. She's kind, sensible, and a team player." Ravn nods and picks at his pepperoni (evil). Then he hitches a shoulder lightly. "And well -- giving the Hotel Californa speech is what I do. It's my role in our odd little community. I give the speech. I tell people to play for Team Humanity. Hell, I had Una's lodger Della -- the other Della -- come over for it earlier this week."

He shrugs and thinks back to New York. "The cousin who was getting married thought Rosencrantz was my boyfriend. The other one made some bad assumptions about his accent, I think. Rich assholes are surprisingly racist."

"Oh, Una's Della? Yeah? Good." A nod before Ariadne takes another bite of pizza. Her own slice is rapidly disappearing. Sam might wake up any second now and want one of those slices of pepperoni. Must not accidentally tease the sighthound. "And Ravn, you're...you're killing me. Rich assholes? Racist? What?"

She fingerguns at him, speaking around her cheekful of pizza crust, "Note that you are not an asshole. Shh. No beating yourself up, not in my kitchen. Not allowed. Now. Tell me about Della? Did she suddenly have powers? I had no idea she had some Glimmer in her."

"What? Rich assholes do tend to be horribly racist. This is fact." Ravn hitches that shoulder again. "They also tend to be assholes. That's why I needed Rosencrantz to go with me in the first place -- I needed somebody to remind me that sane people exist, and to drag me out of there before I tried to murder anyone with a punch bowl."

Then he shakes his head. "I don't know, actually. She's not a talkative type. Asked questions about how it all works but did not tell me a whole lot about herself. I tend to respect that -- people come around for that pep talk it's not me they're there for. It's a bundle of information they need to have; their literal survival may depend on the realisation that it's all real." He hitches a shoulder, a third time. "And well, guys with my background do tend to be horribly racist so people of colour do tend to be wary around me at first. Can't say I blame them."

"No, I can't blame them either." Ariadne then takes a large mouthful of coffee to clean out her mouth. A little cough after and a sigh. "Thank god you're not like that. You could forget your black coffee if you were." She smirks lightly. Sam finally gets relaxed enough in his pseudo-nap that he stumbles against his owners leg and blinks, looking sleepily confused about his surroundings. The barista takes a moment to soothe and settle him with more ear-smooshing and gentle baby-talk. A big sigh from the sighthound.

"Maybe it takes time for Della to talk to any of us, but that's also okay. Can't force information out of somebody or there's resentment and things get ugly. Trust grows like spoutlings. No need to rush, the blossoms will show up at one point or another. That, and...I mean, remember me and when you were teaching me? I wasn't exactly immediately accepting of it. I'm still not." Her golden-hazel eyes go to the washrag now hanging over the kitchen sink's edge. "I still get...uncomfortable and antsy about it sometimes. I can't imagine how Della feels, since she didn't have someone basically at her elbow when it all happened."

"Well, that's one half of it. All of this is new and frightening. I am terrified. I used to know exactly what I could do -- and now apparently the collar's off and I have no idea what my limits or abilities are, and how to avoid getting people hurt with them." Ravn nods his agreement and keeps his gaze on Samwise; blissful innocence of an animal, yes please.

"The other half is that having these powers does not magically make us all be friends from day one. Being on Team Humanity doesn't mean we're all suddenly soul mates. It means we hate the other team more than we hate each other, nothing more, nothing less." Ravn reaches up to run a gloved hand across his face; he's had to give that speech before, too. "Hollywood always makes it seem like once you know what side you're on, everyone knows what to do and what their bit is. It doesn't work like that at all. A lot of us only get along because we have to. If it wasn't for the thin spot here, we'd never have met. Never know one another existed."

He offers a small smile. "Sometimes it's great, though. I'd never have met a lot of people here if not for that thin spot. I'm grateful that I got to. But always, always keep in mind that no one is under any obligation to like or trust you just because you got the same toys and the same enemies."

"Oh, of course not. It all has the sound to me like something nearly a guerilla war," the barista notes almost absently. As she holds her nearly-gone coffee, her eyes drift off to one side and then to the closed back sliding glass door, visibly from the kitchen area. "We all play nice because something else wants to play rough against us. But hey...sometimes, it forces people to get over and past their shit in turn because there's no other option but to get over it. You flinch a little because you don't like Bob over there and suddenly, it's Bob and Steve and Jenna and Katie all spattered with paintballs and your team loses."

Not that the Veil plays a mean game of paintball, but the metaphor's clear enough.

The Dane reaches up behind himself to the little kettle, and flicks it back on. Need more hot water for this kind of talk. "It's not always bad. It's not always warfare. But you do need to remember that just because we're on the same team doesn't mean everyone's friends, or even trustworthy. So Della on Oak Five may be lovely. Or she may not be. She is under no obligation to act all buddy buddy with me just because she came over for a run-down of the basics. Hypothetically, she could be the sweetest person on the planet, or she could be a flaming asshole, and neither really matters."

He looks wistful a moment. "Rosencrantz talks about beautiful places, fantastic worlds. Others talk about a city on the Other Side just like this one except everything is slightly off. Someone showed me a world once that was like the African savanna, but with insects instead of mammals -- hummingspiders. Ever since I saw that I've figured that I'll cross over some day and not come back. It's a little frightening to realise that that might become reality now, because I may actually have the power to cross over."

On the kettle flicks and within moments, it's busy boiling up the water again. Steam will surely show shortly. The movement of clothing, rustling on itself, makes Samwise blink and turn back an ear before he identifies it as the Dane. Back to cat-napping in his lean against his owner's inner leg. Ariadne looks thoughtful up until the last musing from Ravn. Then, she looks vaguely horrified.

"You...would ditch all of this for some place that could kill you in a heartbeat? Hummingspiders do not sound cuddly. They sound like a nightmare." Sam opens his eyes again and considers his owner now, triangle-flopped ears lifted. Uh oh?

"I don't know that I would pick that particular reality, no. I'm arachnophobic -- but the hummingspiders were pretty, and from what I saw, only interested in flowers." Ravn chuckles a bit. Definitely not that one, no. "It's what happens to most of us eventually though, if we're not very careful -- we get Lost somewhere. And you have to think that maybe so many end up Lost because they find somewhere -- better. I've spent most of my life trying to run away from my life. Often, I feel like I spent it running here. That this is just a stop on a journey that leads to somewhere over there."

"Orrrrrrr the Veil decides it's keeping you and it's not someplace better and now you're stuck in some purgatory where you can be milked of your negative emotions forever." Ariadne slowly shakes her head. "Nope. No way. This is my reality, I'm staying here. Nowhere else. I'm needed here by people here, not elsewhere in some questionable unknown."

She then reaches out a hand and does a goofy little finger-twiddling grabby-motion towards the pizza box. Ravn gets a pouted lower lip. More pizza, sir, please, I want some more!

Ravn chuckles and hands the pizza box over; it's not his pizza to begin with, and he's certainly got no intention of hogging it. He reaches for the coffee jar and the kettle next; more coffee to go with it, too, Miss Twist? Don't mind if he gets himself one, at least.

"Having people who need you in this reality is a good anchor. It's one of the reasons I often tell people to make friends, form bonds." Hypocrite much? Yes. "Once you've settled in somewhere with a partner, maybe a kid on the way, I imagine that the whole idea of just following your feet starts to look less attractive."

Grinning, the barista takes the pizza box and opens it upon the table. Another slice of pizza is hers for the appreciating. "If you want to pour me a little more water, I'll stir in a bit more insta-coffee and call it good," she adds while the Dane is collecting up coffee paraphernalia. Sam's black nose twitches at the closer, now visible slice of pizza, and his doe-brown eyes light up. Ooh. Hey. Hey, human. What are my chances of a slice of pepperoni?

The sighthound is eyed back. Ariadne is immune to his charms. She still smiles. "A little bit in a little bit," the dog is reassured softly. More loudly, indicating she's replying to Ravn, "I can see how settling down would stop the wander-lust. Settling down, yes. Kids, no. No kids. You do realize that you have friends here, so...you really going to wander that far away?" One brow lifts in an expression not entirely devoid of a sadness.

"Well, I haven't packed my bag and put my key in the mailbox if that's what you mean." Ravn shakes his head -- and glances at the sighthound, nope, not arguing with your owner on this one, sorry. Is pepperoni bad for dogs? Hell if he knows. "I just have this feeling a lot -- that over there is where I was meant to go all along. That I grew up seeing things and talking to dead people because I'm actually meant to be on the other side."

He falls silent a moment, trying to find the right words to express that very particular feeling. "I don't feel like I would be fleeing from this reality. I feel more like I have been given some time here, but there'll be a day when the lease is up and I have go to where I was meant to be going all along. Who knows? If we can walk in and out of there with enough skill, maybe it won't be so very different from moving across the river?"

"I guess I can see what you're going for," Ariadne murmurs after a long silence. She's put the slice of pizza aside in the box, unfinished, and wipes at her fingertips on one of the napkins apparently tucked beneath it, transferred when the box was handed over. Samwise still waits patiently for a bit of pepperoni. More silence from her as she considers him, not really seeing him, and then gives in. A circlet of the savory meat is plucked from her half-eaten slice and torn again into half before she hands it to the sighthound. He takes it delicately and enjoys it immensely by the licking of his lips. More, please?

"And I hope it is like moving across the river. That it's easy to travel back and forth. I'd hate it if you ended up with regrets you couldn't address." Her golden-hazel eyes find his again.

"We all have regrets we cannot address. We don't stop living because of them." Ravn offers a small smile. He fights the temptation to maybe flick Sam a few bits of his own pizza slice -- he can eat it, damnit. "Most people who end up here are running from something. Leaving regrets behind."

He looks thoughtful a moment. "On some level I think I am trying to convince myself that it will not be terrible. Because I'm afraid of what it all means -- to have power like this and not know how to use or control it. I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be all gloomy. Going somewhere on the Other Side, exploring new worlds, sounds better to me than going home some day. But neither needs to happen next week."

"I sure as hell hope it's not slated for next week because good fucking lord, I just got here. You can't ditch me like that, buddy. Come on," the redhead emphasizes with a gentle edge. Huffing, she feeds Samwise another slice of the pepperoni for being patient and because she's not that asshole owner who just holds the snack out of reach with no succor in mind. Smack-smack, happy dog. One more piece, please? He gets the last piece of the meat and looks content after seeing there's nothing left in his owner's fingers.

More wiping of fingertips on napkin. "You've also mentioned Itzhak knowing more about these kind of powers than you. Why haven't you talked to him yet? Your sensei's right in the city. Why drag feet? You might as well learn how to use what you have because I bet it's going to come in useful. We're talking about regret: nothing like the regret of knowing there was a chance to learn something new and it could have helped change a situation for the better," the redhead points out in blunt pragmatism.

"I am talking to him about it. But Rosencrantz has his own issues to deal with as well." Ravn makes a face. "He's going through a pretty rough patch, trying to make it work or stop working altogether with his ex-not-ex. And he's one of these big heart people who need to fix everything for everybody. I have told him many times, he can't fight the whole world for the people he cares about, but it doesn't take."

He pauses and nibbles on his pizza slice, taking a moment to put something to words. "I have a kind of theory about it. That sometimes, when somebody wants to learn something -- the teacher gets prevented from teaching. Look at me -- I have been trying to learn about these things since before Christmas, and something always gets in the way. I was trying to learn from another friend as well, but he got busy. I was trying to learn from the woman I hoped to date and she just -- well, I don't know if she went radio silent or left town, but she stopped answering calls. Sometimes I feel like we get to learn, but we don't get to decide when."

Ariadne shakes her head again and glances up at the ceiling. Were she a religious sort, it might have been asking for some sort of divine intervention. She's not. It's more a motion of frustration as a whole.

"I swear to god, if it's the Veil pulling statistical unlikelihoods and manipulating variables on this side to prevent it, I'm going to end up with a serious grudge and a serious part-time hobby of learning as much as I can to spite those fuckers. Spite. It gets shit done. Trust me, I'm in public retail." Her smile is wry. Reaching for her newly-warmed-and-touch-more-caffeinated coffee, she sips at it. No more pizza, it seems, something threw her off of it. "Well...if it's out of your hands like that, Ravn, then I hope you get it all figured out sooner than later. It's better to be prepared than caught off-guard."

"I know spite. I'm a historian." Ravn returns that look with a similar wry one of his own. "Raised in a family of people who feel that a degree in law or finances is the only kind of degree that has any use whatsoever. It's not as bad as retail, granted, but it's in the ball park."

He hitches a shoulder (and very quietly tries to sneak a slice of pepperoni not exactly Samwise's way but maybe just in the general direction and maybe he can like, find it later, and it'll be OK). "There's something weird going unsaid in this kitchen, and it's not Debbie -- whom I have yet to see today, as it happens. I feel like -- I am saying all the wrong things. That I'm bringing you down, somehow."

Tilt, tilt, head back and forth, as Adriane's smirk deepens more. Family is always in the ballpark of spite-inducing situations.

Her smirk then fades as Ravn continues. An eyebrow lofts as she spots the slice of pepperoni and she reaches out, delicately plucking it from the Dane's fingers. "No more for him, please, I don't want dog vomit on the carpets on the first night in." Eating the pepperoni slice herself, the woman then sighs. "Can I not be tired? I have aching stitches. I just moved into a new place. I can tell Samwise is a little freaked out around the edges. You've been an immense help, Ravn, you and everyone else who got the boxes and heavy furniture in. I honestly don't know what I would have done without you all."

Are those tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes? Ariadne carefully runs a knuckle past each side and sighs hard. "I'm just tired, bud, and really grateful that I'm not alone in this."

Ravn is absolutely horrendous at Emotions and he knows it. Emotions are a dangerous and frightening field of land mines, and he is very often one to try to navigate away from them entirely. Sorry, once there are sparkles at the corner of an eye like that, it's too late to hit reverse and run.

"You're not alone in this," he iterates, quietly. "You're absolutely allowed to be exhausted and in pain. The only thing you're not allowed to do is sit here and listen to me talking instead of resting. You should be resting, and I am a selfish asshole for sitting here giving a lecture when you can barely keep it together. Go find yourself a place to lie down, please. I'll clean up from the pizza and coffee, and sneak out real quiet when I'm done."

Those lips go flat-rosebud and tremble for just a flicker of a second. It's abject relief at the shouldering, if only temporarily, of burdens she's not sure she has the strength to bear. Feeling more exhaustion she's been keeping off by dint of stiff-arm and mulish self-control slink into her frame, Ariadne nods more listlessly.

"I...really appreciate it, Ravn. You're the best." Another knuckling at an eye and swallow. "Russ helped me get the mattress down in the bedroom, so I'm going to go...find the trash bag of blankets I know is in there and just...I dunno. Pass out for a few hours. Sam will be fine, he'll curl up with me." Like good boys do. The sighthound licks at his owner's hand before threading his narrow head up under her palm for pets. Focus here. Focus on the pets. "Can you...the...not the dead-bolt, but the other lock, on the handle. Just set that when you go?"

"I can probably lock that door from the outside if you want me to." Ravn offers a little smile; a vague attempt to be encouraging.

He reaches to pluck the mug from Ariadne's fingers much like she just plucked pepperoni from hers. "Also. I want to say this -- please don't take it as creepy because it's not in any way meant to be. I know what it's like, moving in somewhere and you're exhausted, you don't know where the hell the frying pan is, and the shower is broken. Everything goes pear shaped, remember there's a spare bunk on the Vagabond, and no less than two spare rooms on Oak Three -- mine and the guest room. If it all becomes too much, cash in on one of those, okay? No one can do everything on their own. No one except me, anyway."

It's not even as if there's a lot to clean up. Two people's coffee mugs, and a cardboard pizza box. He decides to leave the little electric kettle for now; hot water is a life or death issue, and the laws of causality dictate that if Ariadne wants her own kettle in the morning, it's in the last box. Anyone who has moved ever knows this.

A little chuckle in return. "That's true," Ariadne murmurs back of the powers she'd seen displayed; her nod is permission granted. Lock the door from the outside.

Her fingers are likewise somewhat nerveless as the half-empty mug gets taken. There's no argument from her. She wasn't going to finish it anyways. Her eyes, dulled now if still alert enough, track Ravn as he speaks and organizes at the same time. "No one except you, huh?" A soft snort and wry shake of head. "Alright, desperado. Just...know there's the same thing, okay? Spare bedroom here you can bunk in if you need to. Same rules, same lack of creepy insinuation. Tit-for-tat because that's what friends do for each other."

Carefully, with Sam backing up and standing off to one side, she gets to her feet again. Folding chairs aren't the most comfortable and she can tell it's time for another round of hospital-grade aspirin. "Okay," she sighs harshly, wincing. "Okay. Nap time. I can do this. We limp along like we do." Ravn's eyes are met and held and she tries for a smile, mostly gets one. "Thanks again, bud," she murmurs even as she turns to indeed limp off towards the messy master bedroom. One thing at a time.

What friends do for each other.

Ravn smiles to himself as he quickly and quite competently cleans up after their shared pizza feast. A year and a half in Gray Harbor, and he still finds himself surprised whenever somebody uses the f word. No, not fuck, the other one. Years on the run gets a man out of the habit.

And people wonder why he loves it here. It's not the view of the bay from the aft of the Vagabond and it's not the brilliant future prospects of a struggling lumber town in the middle of nowhere. It's that here, the rest of the world doesn't matter. It's that here, everyone's broken and he's no weirder than the next bloke over. It's that here, the idea that he might simply go it all alone is in fact silly enough to be scoffed at.

A note's left on the kitchen counter all the same. If the pain is bothering you badly, please talk to Aidan Kinney or Ava Brennon, and if none of them are available, we'll find someone else. There's ways around this that don't involve a pharmaceutical.