2022-04-07 - Explorations

(TXT to Una) Ariadne : Hey, I wanted to check in on you and see how you were doing. You holding up? Can I bring anything over? I am functional, just slow to move.

(TXT to Ariadne) Una : I've felt better, but I've also now felt worse, so I'm counting that as a win. At least I'm ambulatory again, mostly. I could use some company? We have sunshine, even if the rest of GH doesn't, and I'm sure I've been told sunshine cures all ills.

(TXT to Ariadne) Una : And if not, there are also cookies.

(TXT to Una) Ariadne : I could definitely use some sunshine! I'll be right over, give me about 45 min to get Sam squared away? I can bring leftover pizza too? Ordered out two nights back.

(TXT to Ariadne) Una : Pizza sounds good! Sam's welcome too, if you feel like bringing him. Plenty of yard.

(TXT to Una) Ariadne : Normally, I'd say yes, but with my stitches in my leg, I can't have him suddenly going off after the rabbits I saw last time I was there. In the future, I promise! He'll be fine. He got a nice walk earlier today and I worked on his training. His brain is tired enough to nap. I shall see you soon!

(TXT to Ariadne) Una : Good call. Next time! See you soon.

Forty-five minutes is about right, though it takes Ari more towards fifty to show up in her car. Pulling up tucked against the curb in front of 5 Oak, she can be seen to sigh and then slowly extricate herself from seatbelt and seat alike. She is moving far better than last seen, but still gingerly, as if the stitches pulled and her ribs reminded her about the friction of her sweatshirt at all times. Normally, the barista would be in jeans, but it's a pair of loose black jogging pants today and a safety-lavender (yes, neon-lavender) zip-up sweatshirt, reflective at its sides -- must also be of the running brand. In her hands, a tinfoil-wrapped mounding of what must be pizza.

Knock-knock, on the front door, and she takes a moment to smooth her palm across her hair. It's a little frizzy today, but that's normal when one pulls one's hair back into a messy bun. The circles beneath her eyes aren't too dark, if still present, and she's at least managed to get some mascara on if nothing else. It counts!

It definitely counts!

The Una who opens the door has dark circles of her own, the kind that suggest that sleep has been a little difficult in coming these past few days; or perhaps, rather, difficult in staying. She's pale faced, no makeup in evidence, and her own leggings (navy blue with gold stars) have seen better days, as has over over-sized hoodie. Tired though she clearly is, her smile is no less genuinely warm than it ever is, even if she does cling just a little to the doorframe. "Ariadne," she greets. "Come on in, and we can head out back."

It's quiet, inside: if either Jules or Della are about, they're not downstairs or indulging in loud music. Una pads on bare feet straight down to the back of the house, where the kitchen is as full of cookie smells as it ever is, though there's coffee, too, the pot just finishing its slow percolation.

"Una, hey," the barista returns the greeting quietly with a grin back. She manages a little twinkle in it, though her eyes are quick to track to the necessary support of the doorframe and back to Una's face. "Sounds like a plan." If the place is more still than usual, it doesn't seem to bother Ariadne as she steps across the threshold and within. It smells...homey, in a way, what with the weaving scents of pastry baking and coffee both.

She does slow and linger by what she thinks is the shortcut to the kitchen. "Here, I'll put the pizza away in the fridge first? We can microwave some later if we want?" Her question is then followed by another little grin. "Plus, I won't lie, I want to see what you baked this time. They smell really freakin' good."

"Perfect," Una agrees, gesturing towards the fridge as if she even needs to: look, it's a fridge! It may be old, but it definitely still looks like one. She's not quick in her movements, and there's something quite stiff in the way she holds herself, as if afraid that moving in just the wrong way is going to be a literal pain, but there's sureness, nonetheless, in the way she gets two mismatched mugs out of the cupboard, and pours coffee into both.

"Speculaas, today," is her answer, made with a grin. "Or speculoos, if you're Belgian instead of Dutch. Cookie-butter cookies. It was a bad idea, because I forgot how much upper-body movement there is in rolling out dough, but once I started... I just can't sit still, that's half the problem. You do want coffee with your cookies, right? Here I am, just assuming."

Forsoothe, the fridge, and Ariadne makes her way over it in order to stash her silver-foiled collection of slices. There are enough for two a-piece plus more, more than likely with the intent to possibly feed Jules and Della as well, should either be inclined to a slice. The barista pauses by the fridge after closing the door and thinks. Speculaas.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh, speculoos. I can't wait." That rings a bell. She gives a smile-wince at hearing how unexpected motions nearly brought the whole cookie-making process to a halt, but still manages to slightly-limp her way over to the counter next to the other redhead. "Buff me up, kitchen cleric," is her response to the coffee. "It always goes well with cookies. I have two hands now, what can I help take to the back?" These hands are uplifted with palms displayed as Ariadne awaits further instruction.

"If they were proper Dutch speculaas, they'd be in pretty windmill shapes, or like little dutch girls, but I don't have wooden moulds, so we're just going to have to make do with normal rectangles." Una sounds apologetic as she explains about this, but somewhat ruefully so: yes, she knows it doesn't matter, she knows no one cares, but. But. She cares.

"If you grab the mugs, I'll grab the plate? And then we can limp our way--" There's a funny little pause there, as if she's gotten lost on her way to the end of that statement and doesn't quite make her way back to it. "Kitchen cleric," is what she says instead, with a breath that might be a laugh except that she's trying very hard not to actually laugh. "I like that. Maker of cookies, marshalling fire to do my bidding."

Except when it doesn't.

Ariadne eyes the cookies. They are rectangular, yes, but they're also edible. One can guess which aspect factors more into her priorities. Nonetheless, she takes the steaming coffee mugs carefully and then looks over at Una with brows raised. The not-quite-laugh has the barista beaming -- almost gotcha.

"Then you're dubbed Una, Kitchen Cleric. I like it. But now you've got to explain what you mean by fire because...wait." Her golden-hazel eyes consider Una now with an academic focus, something not necessarily calculating in her regard, but reflective? Yes. "There was a lot more fire in that Dream than I thought Beaver caused." Her gaze drops quickly to Una's hands and rises to her face again. Look at the corners of Ariadne's lips twitch up. "Waaaaaait a secco. You can create fire? Gurl. You got some 'splainin' to do. Here, we walk and talk, I'm curious as all hell." A tilt of her head gestures for their journey to continue to the warm and sunshiny backyard now that pastries and coffee is gathered.

"I--" Una opens her mouth to respond, and then stops again. Her mouth has twisted up at the corners into a smile-that-isn't-quite, and suddenly carrying that plate of cookies out through the kitchen door and into the green, green yard takes more attention than it probably strictly needs. On the other hand, walking without disrupting your whole chestal region is also a thing. "I don't think it's so much 'create fire' as... hmm. Invite it to be somewhere? I know some people can make fireballs, and throw it around like crazy, and that's definitely not me."

Outside, there's a table with a few chairs clustered around it, and it's here that Una directs herself, carefully sidestepping the collection of brightly-hued flowers in pots that line the house and some of the borders of the yard. She sets down the cookies, and then-- gingerly, very gingerly-- lowers herself into one of the chairs, atop its pretty padded cushion. "If this were a fantasy novel, I'd probably call myself a hedge witch: making and fixing things, minor fire, minor healing. Not showy, but useful."

"Hmm." A thoughtful acknowledgement to what Una shares. The marine biologist shadowing her on their departure to the balmy backyard looks positively brimming with private evaluation of this information up until she sets down the two mugs of coffee, one within easy reach of Una and the other before the chair she intends to take. Una settles and Ariadne does too, needing to have her stitched-up leg extended out to one side with knee at a gentle bend rather than beneath the table.

Her regard lands on Una again as the other redhead continues to explain. A nod. "Ah-hah, so more like...manipulating it rather than making it. Duuuuuude." Impressed drawl of the word. "That's still pretty flippin' cool. I can't do anything like that. All I've figured out how to do is move little things. I guess it's like telekinesis or something? Ravn figured out that's what I could do and showed me how to do it with seashells and pinecones. Here, lemme..."

Her attention lands on a garden space set nearby to the flower pots. Move. Suddenly, flippity-flopping midair-tumbling garden spade, FLING! It thankfully flies away from them and lands point-down in the grass. Ariadne looks back at her hostess with a wince-smile. "Kind of...still working on aim and stuff," she then mumbles into her coffee cup.

Does Una catch a glimmer-- pun not intended, but sure-- of that expression on her friend, as they walk towards the table? If so, she makes no comment on it. Perhaps walking, and talking, just about uses up all mental and physical energy she has available to her. It's after she's settled, reaching gingerly forward for her mug, and a cookie, that she picks up the thread of the conversation again, though in this case that actually means: watches Ariadne's exhibition with the garden spade, which makes her giggle, injury or no injury. Don't mind the wince: it only lasts for a moment.

"That's still cool," she says. "I bet you could... I don't know, drop your coffee? And then save it, before it hits the ground, if you think fast enough. I can move things a little, but I think I'm better at the other. Mind you, Kailey also told me I had some mental powers, like hers. She can speak to you mind to mind; it's crazy. She also mentioned changing people's emotions, and that freaked me out, altogether."

Una's observation about saving a falling mug makes her guest lift brows and look down at the mug. One can see it writ on the barista's face: excellent point, actually. Her eyes rise to Una again and then those brows climb higher yet.

"Whaaaaaat...the fuck? Yeeeeeah," Ariadne then elongates before her lips purse into clear disapproval. "Changing people's emotions is...like..." She even shifts in the chair as if the idea made goosebumps race down her spine in a reaction less than appealing. "That's a violation, plain and simple. The whole...speaking in someone's head is startling, sure, but I can frame it like having an earwig in your ear. Like a spy might," and she reaches to tap-tap at her own ear. "So you...haven't tried talking into someone's head yet? Can you do anything else? I'm sorry, I know that's nosy, but I'm still learning and I kind of..." Small laugh, roll of eyes at herself. "I'm a science major. I like learning. Remember you're perfectly welcome to say, Ari, you're being nosy, buzz off."

"That's what I said," Una agrees, wrinkling her nose and shuddering theatrically, though she carefully avoids moving too much in the process. She pauses, mostly so that she can bite in to her cookie with a contented noise: just as crisp and crumbly as it should be, excellent. She chews. She swallows. She washes it down with a sip of coffee. "I don't mind talking about it. I figure... the more people know, right? If things like that Dream are going to happen. At least we know what we're all capable of."

Then: "I answered, when Kailey spoke to me, but that's the extent of it. I can see how it could be useful, except there's still so much room for it to go wrong. Could someone really powerful like... I don't know, hum into your head for hours at a time? That could drive a person insane, surely."

"I think that's the extent of it. Growing, healing, fire, moving small things, sharing thoughts. I mean, when I put it like that? It sounds like a lot, and maybe it is. I don't know. Della, Della who only just barely came in to her power at all, can touch objects and feel things from them. Resonances. I definitely can't do that."

"Hmm." Another wince-frown. It seems the barista agrees with such mental powers going insanely wrong -- insanity-inducing as well. She reaches for one of those cookies now, seeing how Una's enjoyed the first bite, and makes a soft sound of appreciation after nibbling off a corner. Mmm indeed.

The revelation of what Della can do makes Ariadne tilt her head thoughtfully. "Resonance...of an object. Like...what do you mean by resonance? And you said healing, that you can do healing. You're still hurt though...?" Her observation isn't without sympathy; she'd caught the flinch earlier when the giggle had escaped. She's in a similar if not identical boat as is, with laughter being, temporarily, the bane of her existence. Also reaching above her shoulders. Damnit, sensitive rib skin all busted up.

"I'm not entirely sure," admits Una, glancing down at her cookie as if it, surely, will give her the answer she's looking for. "Like... she touched an old bit of paper, dating from the 1920s I think, and she said she could feel anger radiating off of it. Ravn didn't seem too surprised when I mentioned it, so I assume it's a thing that people can do. Apparently strong emotions stick to things, sometimes, even hundreds of years."

That Una finds this creepy is shown pretty expressively across her face, but it's not so much that she can't continue. "I can't heal myself, but-- yeah, I can help others, a little. Apparently no one can heal themselves, which I guess makes sense: you're spending energy to do it, right? But." She tips her head to the side, considering the other redhead. "I could try and heal you, if you like? I can't promise success, but I could try. For your scientific curiosity, as well as--" Ribs. And the rest.

Ariadne returns the expression given by her hostess, though there's also a distant measuring to it. She can step back and coldly consider how useful this would be in many, many cases. The boon of being a science major. Again, she sidelines this consideration for quiet introspection back at her apartment in lieu of Una's offering.

Those expressive brows lift. "I...certainly wouldn't mind being a guinea pig, especially if the options are A: it works or B: it doesn't work. Does anything...funny happen if it fails? I don't get...more hurt, do I? Like some freaky inverse of the power? Because, like...I hate to say it, but this sounds unfortunately plausible given the general asshole atmosphere of this place." Her smile is more rueful smirk than amusement in the end. "Fuck you, Veil," she then mumbles with emphasis into her coffee mug again.

"Fuck you, Veil," agrees Una, wholeheartedly: she even lifts her mug in acknowledgement of it, her mouth twisting unhappily. "But no-- not that I'm aware of. I know the person trying to heal, or do anything else, can get backlash if you draw too much power, but that's not likely for me. And maybe more to the point: when I say 'heal', I really mean 'encourage the body to heal faster'. You're not suddenly going to stand up and want to, I don't know, do cartwheels or something. But maybe tomorrow."

She gives her hand a glance, those pale fingers still holding the remnant of her cookie. "Such a weird thing, when you think about it, isn't it? Having that much power, even if it's not relatively that much, but-- just having it at all. To even be able to try. To lift something off the ground, or make it burn, or grow, or encourage it to heal."

"But: yeah. If you're good, I'll give it a go."

"That's fine," Ariadne initially replies after Una explains, emerging from her coffee cup. She gestures towards Una with the cookie. "Not supposed to do cartwheels until the stitches are out anyways, so." Her shrug accepts her fate, so mote it be. She follows Una's gaze to the young woman's fingers, glances to her face again.

Another bite of cookie and her cookie-holding hand blocks off view of chewed-food as well as crumb-spray: "I'm good for you to give it a go. And remind me to tell you about how I almost wanted to punt Ravn for telling me that yes, I can, in fact, move a rock even though rocks aren't supposed to move by sans touch. I have never, in my life, had to wrap my brain around such a fucking weird concept which goes against nearly all the laws of science I've ever learned about in schooling. It is such a weird thing." Sipping her coffee to clear her mouth, she then asks, "How does it work? Do I hold your hand or does it have to be near the area of the wound?"

All the questions! Curious, nosy barista is curious and nosy!

"Are cartwheels a normal part of your routine?" Una's tone is so mild, but her expression shows her amusement.

"I don't know if you have to be touching the person, but I find it easier if I do. But not the wound-- just you. Let me do this, and then we'll wind back around to Ravn, because I completely agree, and ugh, it's just so hard."

For now, however, she'll reach forward (it's a stretch, in her current position, but not so bad: not too painful, anyway) in order to grasp for Ariadne's hand, and, assuming the other redhead doesn't pull away, shut her eyes in order to focus, intently. She breathes, in, and then out again, and after a few moments, allows her eyes to flutter open again. Maybe that transfer of power is tangible, in that moment: a soft, cinnamon-scented whiff that drifts rather than waves, before retreating again like it had never been there at all.

"Did you feel anything?"

"Cartwheels are, in fact, part of my morning routine," Ariadne retorts ever so drolly before smirking at her hostess. Still, she sets aside the third of cookie left in order to return the reach of Una's hand. It's easier for her to lean in, given her ribs are simply cranky verses the other redhead's internal pains. The barista can't help the attentive aspect of her own stillness to follow. She watches Una close off sight in order to better focus and --

-- it's like a warm washcloth balms over her leg and ribs simultaneously. A little gasp out of sheer surprise and then a touch of her tongue to her upper lip. Cinnamon. Cinnamon? Yes, the spice cinnamon. Smacking her mouth once silently as the scent disappears like a phantom in sunlight, she blinks at Una. "Uh. Holy shit. Um. Yes, like..." Ariadne then starts laughing with a tiny bit of a shocked, discomfited note. She takes back her hand from Una to feel at her side and forms many words with her mouth; none reach existence save for, "Holy fuck, Una, you did it. You actually fucking healed them! Look!"

Puling up her hem of sweatshirt and t-shirt beneath, she shows the area of her floating rib where the deep scrapes had been. Nothing exists but for some lightly-pinked skin as proof of the injury once present. Dropping her hems, the barista then feels at her leg. "Holy fucking crap!" Fingertips feel at the stiches and she titters, then clapping a hand to her mouth. Una is given an amused look while a few moments of giggling continue. "Um. So...I'm going to have to just...kind of...leave the stitches in for a while until I go back to have them taken out like a proper injured person, right...?"

Maybe Una can believe the cartwheels, though it's probably just amusement that colours her expression, then.

"I..." she begins, afterwards, watching Ariadne's reaction, and then dropping her gaze to the other woman's abdomen, just to see. "Okay, wow. I didn't expect that." She gives her fingers a little, wary glance, as if she's unsure about them, now, and what they can do. It's a little unnerving. "I expected... I don't know, that maybe nothing would happen, or maybe you'd text me tomorrow and report it felt better. But I guess they were probably mostly healed already, right? I just... sped it up a bit."

The giggling, at least, makes her smile. "Oh god, I hadn't thought of that," she adds, then. "Um. I guess so? You just heal quick, it's fine! I bet the hospital gets used to that kind of thing, or maybe the Veil just makes sure they don't even notice."

"I heal suuuuuper quick then," Ariadne laughs. She again feels at the stitches beneath the cloth of her sweatpants and prods harder. Okay, weird, foreign bodies in her skin minus pain. "You know this means that you've earned your title of Kitchen Cleric, like, a dozen times over, right? Holy crap, Una. Okay. Okay okay okay." Little flappity gesture with both hands before the barista holds her own cheeks. She blinks a few times. "Sorry, just filing this away in the mental manila folder labeled GREY HARBOR RUINS THE LAWS OF SCIENCE."

A sharp little shake of her head before she sighs, able to look at Una again. "Right, so. Next step is finding someone else who can do this for you, right? Because it's absolutely ridiculous that I get to walk away from this without a limp and you still have to take three hospital-grade Advil with a glass of water, not on an empty stomach. Okay, um. Names. I'm trying to remember who was name-dropped at the hospital." Cue contemplative frown while she reaches for her cookie again. Bite. Chew. Pensive expression.

This makes Una laugh, properly, heedless of the pain. "I'm sorry to say, your science holds no sway here. Your scientific brain is just destined to be frustrated, again and again and again; that's just the way it goes. Isn't it great?" There's a note of sarcasm there, but only a quiet one: for the most part, Una does find it kind of great. Confusing, but still great.

She reclaims her coffee, nursing it between both hands (the rest of her cookie having disappeared the way of the rest of it, by now). "I can ask Ava," she agrees. "I will ask Ava. I'm sure she can speed it up for me. Not-- boom, gone, but quicker. She's got a lot more power than me, but there are a lot of limits." There's clearly some reluctance to do so from the redhead, but her reasons for it aren't especially transparent.

"Seriously, though. Breaking the rules of reality is-- I mean, it's just fucked up. How does physics work, if some people can ignore physics? How can I go to sleep in my bed, and wake up somewhere completely different? I don't know. It just works that way."

"It's fabulous," Ariadne manages between laughs. It feels good to give into the tiny bit of hysterical hilarity which is her Science Brain shrieking because Una is quite correct: it is great because it's impossible becoming possible and how nuts is that. She has to set her coffee back down and put half of her face in a palm in order to slow down her chuckling. Una helps by continuing her own thought and earns a nod from the barista.

And a flicker of narrowed lashes. She'd caught the heel-dragging tone, but not one to pry with sensitive matters, the barista lets it go. Time may tell with that one. She does, however, sigh with an exaggerated long-suffering expression. "God...yeah, I could do without the waking up someplace completely different. Lifting pinecones suddenly? Cool. You able to reverse semi-healed wounds? Fucking amazeballs. Like, I can't wait to see what you can do with fire -- and you're getting a t-shirt with KITCHEN CLERIC on it unless you stop me," Ariadne notes, beaming. "That this place just...works like that? I...might...end up really drunk a few times trying to compartmentalize it, but...learning to move the pinecone was a big step, y'know? I was...pretty happily in denial about most of it before that. There's something about doing it yourself and knowing you did it. Like how you just did that."

A little frown. "By the way, did you smell cinnamon when you did that? I thought I smelled cinnamon."

Laughter is good. Laughter makes Una grin, and that doesn't hurt, and maybe that's worth even more grins.

But there's the serious, too, and it results in her mouth being drawn in-- serious, yes, but also deeply thoughtful, because there's so many layers to this (like the pastry she refuses to bake herself), and that's more difficult. "I'll accept the t-shirt," she declares, mildly, with only half a smile, this time, because also? "Did Ravn tell you about our experience with the nightmares, a few weeks back? We literally ended the Dream by the bridge. So not only did the Dream take us from our beds, it didn't even return us to them." This is an affront to all things good, as far as Una is concerned. "Truly, it was a joy to walk the streets of Gray Harbour before dawn in my pyjamas. Traumatised. With a traumatised teen to boot." Truly.

"Pinecones is a huge step; I get that. There's... such a rush. But it's also a mindfuck, because... no. That's not how it works. And why me?"

But cinnamon? "Maybe just the cookies?"

Pardon Ariadne, she's busy gaping at what was just relayed to her about the result of the Dream.

"Uh...yeah, could have been the cookies, but what the fuck, Una? Seriously? The Dream ditched you and Ravn at the bridge? And there was another person there? What the fuck?! What happened?" The level of concern on display makes this absolutely nothing like an attempt to fish for gossip. The barista seems all but ready to call a war council as she jams another half of a cookie into her mouth unthinking, watching Una to make sure her counter-questioning hasn't accidentally increased the awkward level to nuclear.

Nothing like bad memories to ruin sunshine and coffee.

Yeah, that's a reaction. That's Una's reaction, too, or was, because the return glance she gives the other woman is pained, and very distinctly: I know, right?!

Not awkward, then. Or, at least, not wholly awkward. "To be honest..." Una hesitates. "I'm not sure that the Dream ditched us there. I'm not entirely sure I know what happened. We were there in the Dream, and it was... it was awful, in a different way to our Pine-killing experience." This is sobering to talk about, and results in Una pausing, taking a careful sip from her coffee, and turning the cup widdershins between her fingers. "Our worst nightmares, come to life. And I'm usually reasonably composed, right? But I fell apart. And so did this teenage girl who was there with us. Ravn too, at least a bit."

Now, finally, dark eyes lift again. "And then it was like everything exploded. Or something. And we were still there, on the bridge, in our pyjamas, but... this time for real."

"...well, holy shit."

What else is there to say? Ariadne sits there for another second or three, her own coffee cup held about the height of her collarbone in a cesura of lift. Her other fingers pinch a cookie off to one side. A blink which takes some of the owl-eyed nuance away from her expression.

"...wait, the Dream exploded. Like, it shattered?" Something slides through the back of her eyes, swift calculation, before she sighs. The held half-cookie is circled off to one side while she holds a sustained, muted humming note. "So...Ravn told me recently that he was in a Dream with Itzhak -- the guy from New York -- and he broke a Dream. Like, he said it was like smashing a mirror and it all fell apart like glass. Was it like this at all?"

A pause, from Una, whose deeply furrowed brow suggests she's giving this deep and uncertain consideration. "Sort of," she decides. And then, "Yes. I mean, not exactly, because no, it wasn't like smashing a mirror. But one minute we were definitely within the Dream, albeit in a place we knew, and the next... we were still in that place, but it was real. And in the process, like, a bench was destroyed. A few bushes."

There's something shadowed and dark in her expression; this is not a memory she especially enjoys recounting, except that it's here, and important.

"Breaking a Dream just sounds... I mean, I've seen Kailey open a door to help us out of a Dream. I know that's possible. But breaking it? That's something else altogether."

"So...." Ariadne extends the word out as cognitive process takes over speech. Her eyes slide from Una and out towards the rest of the yard. How positively idyllic, this place, lush and green -- and oh, there's the wild cottontail, nibbling away at clover by a flowering rhododendron. Another sip of her coffee. One of her fingernails tick-tacks on the mug with soft resonant hits.

"If the bench was destroyed, it means there was carry-over from in the Dream to outside of it and the intensity of the power being used didn't fluctuate between the Dream and the real," she muses. Her lashes fall as she sighs, considering the surface of her coffee far down in her mug. "That's...something to think about, this lack of fluctuation. It means that the Dream itself wasn't influencing it. That whoever or whatever the source of the power was didn't get touched by the faux-physics of the Dream's world. Hmm." Glancing back over at Una, the barista's brows knit. "...and here I am just being a science major about it and you've told me it was dealing with nightmares. I'm sorry. We can change subject immediately if it's too much?"

Una maintains her silence as Ariadne muses, though her chin's tipped upwards and she's watching: there's something about seeing someone else work through something, hearing their muses, and clearly the younger of the two redheads is interested in the process at least-- and probably the outcomes too. "No, no-- it's absolutely fine. It was weeks ago, now, and most of the... trauma-y bits have faded. I mean, I remember that it was horrific, but it's not an immediate thing, you know?"

And more than that? "It is interesting, though, isn't it? How the quote-unquote real world intersects with the Dream one. Every time I think I'm starting to get a grip on something, I learn something new and... nope. No, I really, genuinely have no idea."

"Alright." A nod to Una back across the table is accompanied by a quiet smile from Ariadne. How the hostess of this coffee gathering continues on grants further permission to keep the subject at hand rather than dismiss it.

Ariadne then sighs, her thoughtful frown returning. "I guess...it's kind of like being explorers, in a way, like those old stories before places on the continents were mapped out. You think you're going to find a geyser here because someone said so, but it turns out it's just a pool of water and there's a large pack of Something Dangerous living nearby that they forgot to tell you about because now they're not-so-conveniently dead. Uncharted territory." She then laughs somewhat wryly to herself. "I'm romanticizing the difficulty and the scary to make it more appealing, I know. Correlation not equaling causation is uncomfortable as fuck."

"That," says Una, gesturing with her coffee cup, "is a good way to put it. That, exactly. Even in this town... it feels like half of the people who may know something more aren't even here anymore. It's almost eerie. And--"

This time she pauses, transferring mug from hand to hand and then reaching for another cookie, because, well, distraction. "I'm never entirely sure... do I want to know? Or do I just want to know enough to be able to manage my existence with the least amount of resistance? I mean, I don't want to be taken unawares, like in that Dream the other night. It didn't even occur to me that we might actually fight until... until that's exactly what we were doing. I've never fought anything in my life, you know? But then. If you go into every Dream excepting to have to fight, does every Dream turn into a fighting situation? Do you do that? See everything as a nail."

"Yeah, that's the thing of it. How much influence does your mindset have about the Dream itself? Can it be manipulated? I'd...like to think yes, but I also feel like the Veil wouldn't allow it. Because then it might be as simple as believing that the Dream isn't full of scary clowns anymore because gravity inverts for them but not for you and, well, goodbye scary clowns."

Ariadne stretches out her now-hale legs and still pinches her lips a little. Stitches in healed skin are weird. End of argument.

"I don't think I see everything as a nail, no. I see it as...fuck, not a game because it's not a game." Case in point, the wounds that were just healed. "But as a...challenge, maybe? I'm also a spiteful bitch who thrives off schadenfreude, so maybe I'm not the best person to be asking about it." She tilts her head to one side in counter to a lifted shoulder. It makes a loose lock of deeply-auburn hair fall forward; the barista tucks it back behind her ear. "I think...I want to know enough to manage my existence, like you said. I don't need to be some professor about it until I do. That day might never come."

Una's brow wrinkles, and she chews, idly, at her lower lip, evidently having forgotten that she has a whole cookie right there that she could be nibbling on instead. "I've never tried to subvert a Dream like that," she admits. "I'd never even thought of doing so. If it were that simple, though-- yeah, that would defeat the whole point, and someone would definitely have told us. I'd still like to try, though. Maybe not with a Pine who wants to beat me to a pulp, but with something... else."

Something less dangerous.

"But no, you're right: not a game. It's all interesting, but yeah, I don't need to know everything. I just need to be able to look after myself. That doesn't mean I'm not going to give it lots of thought, of course, but..."

Now, finally, she seems to have remembered her cookie and bits into it, crumbs spraying down her hoodie, the one she's probably going to need to get rid of, because it is delightfully warm out here: not too hot and not too cold. "What a fucked up world, right?"

"I mean, yeah, the world is fucked up sometimes, but...it's not all bad. This backyard? This is just...really delightful, holy crap." Ariadne grins before looking away from her hostess and across the area in question. The rhododendrons are a brilliant crimson, their trumpet-shaped flowers opening wide. Nibbling away, the cottontail rabbit, looking one step out of a child's book. There's even a white field butterfly or two romancing some low-lying groundcover awash with small blue flowers in turn. A black-headed blue jay, the local species, jeers from the boughs of one of the evergreens.

"You're so lucky to have it," the barista then continues, glancing back again. "This is a slice of paradise. It makes me want to see about some potted plants on the back patio of my new place. Oh! Speaking of that." Little pop of palm to the outside table. "All moved into the Broadleaf apartment now. You'll have to come over and help me christen the place. Home -- " She starts laughing suddenly. "Shit, words. I almost said 'home wrecking party', what the fuck. House warming, I meant house warming. God, you talk Veil and how it wrecks things long enough and bllbllbll. Nonsense comes out." A wave of her hand. "House warming party. I need to figure out when, but come over when I do? Also, I'm going to go heat up a slice of pizza or two, what do you want? You sit and relax, I've got it," Ariadne gently insists now.

Una's gaze, too, turns away from Ariadne and towards the yard, and her smile broadens: she's so proud of this garden, for all that most of it is not her work. It's a safe space.

"I still can't believe I live here, half the time," she admits, as she glances back at the other woman. "That I can sit out here anytime I like. And-- oh! Congratulations. That's so exciting. After being in that motel for so long and everything. I faithfully promise that, as long as nothing otherworldly happens, I will not contribute to any house wrecking, or house breaking. But I'll be absolutely delighted to come and help warm the place. With cookies. Maybe cake."

She considers what's left of her cookie, and then pops it in her mouth. After swallowing: "Yeah, pizza would be good. Thanks. I'll just... sit here and not move. I can manage that. Thank you."

"Of course, hon. You did more than enough for me in the last...god, fifteen minutes or so than a few slices of reheated pizza can repay." Her smile softens into something earnest if quiet. "I'll reheat two slices for you and be right back, two shakes of a lamb's tail. I'll bring out the coffee carafe too, just in case we want topping-offs. If Peter Cottontail over there gives you crap, let me know. I've got some mean rabbit insults tucked away into my back pocket." A theatrically-sage little nod and smirk as Ariadne then rises. "Be right back."

She is, indeed, not gone long at all. It doesn't take forever to find a large plate to fit four slices of pizza and perhaps a minute on the microwave of heating passes. Carefully opening the back sliding door with the coffee carafe-holding hand, Ariadne slips out into the very nearly balmy air of the backyard. She's reminded of how air can feel soft as she walks back over to the table.

"Mademoiselle, your plate." Imagine a pencil mustache for all Ariadne pulls her upper lip flat in funning at a waiter. The pizza appears to be either pepperoni and cheese, sweet and simple, or something more complicated with sausage, green peppers, red peppers, tomatoes, purple onions -- colorful and full of veggies, two slices of each. "Pick whatever you want," she adds, setting down the coffee carafe centrally next to the plate of cookies. There's even a piece of paper towel a-piece she pulls from her sweatshirt pocket. Greasy pizza fingers require napkins.

Una's snort of laughter is a genuine one, and her smile appreciative. While Ariadne's gone, she closes her eyes, tipping her face up towards the sun and just-- being.

Those eyes do open again when the other redhead returns, however, and she straightens-- carefully-- and turns that still-present smile back on the other woman. The waiter-act draws a twitch of Una's mouth, and then a contented smile: "A feast for kings. Reheated pizza is my favourite." She goes for the more complicated one to begin, picking up a piece and bringing it towards her mouth to sniff, first, and then taste. "Delicious. It probably really needs beer to go with it, but I'm being good. Painkillers and alcohol do not, alas, mix."

"Even I know better than to mix the two and if I find out you do it while you're healing, I will give you a big ration of shit, young lady." For all Ariadne appears to be funning, there is a serious note in her words. Just as quickly, however, she adds, "I don't expect you to. The fact that you brought it up first means I don't have anything to be worried about -- you're cognizant of it. How's the pizza? It's supposed to have a lot of garlic on it, but I feel like they skimped."

A beat as she grabs up one of those complicated pieces for herself. "Either that, or I'm buffing up for dealing with vampires and I'll radiate garlic like a nuclear cell as well as be utterly un-kissable. Watch me: motherfucking vampire hunter-Terminator," she laughs. It builds, unfortunately or not, because frankly, it's ridiculous to think about. The barista flops back in her chair with a wrist to her mouth, eyes squinched up. "I'm sorry, I'm so full of shit, I know," she manages. "Can you please bring cake to the house warming party?"

Una's, "Yes, mom," is amused, but she acknowledges her friend with a nod of the head, too. "I know what's sensible, and what's not, and there's good reasons for being sensible. The pizza's good, but no, I don't taste that much garlic either."

That doesn't mean she won't give it another experimental sniff, just to be sure. "I mean, in vampires turn up, that's an excellent plan. I wouldn't put it past this place, and I'd be very relieved to have you around in that case, oh vampire hunter-Terminator. Maybe I need to hang garlic-- no, I don't want to hang garlic. I love the smell of garlic, but not so much in my pretty garden." All that laughter is making her grin, though she's relatively restrained: her little huff of breath is about as far as it goes.

"You're full of shit, but it's fun shit, and I enjoy it, so don't apologise. Of course I'll bring cake. What kind?"

"Oh good, the fun shit." Ariadne laughs a little more for good measure, tickled by the comment, before she blows a sigh. "Okay, uh, cake. Let me think." She takes a bite of pizza and indeed does this, eyes on the rabbit at the far end of the yard. It's nearly time to shed her own hoodie, but not yet. Avoiding cold hands is the quest of her life eternally. "Oh, side note about vampires, since it's one of those...fucking insane possibilities around here." Gulp, pizza swallowed. "If it's old-school vampires, it's actually the garlic flowers you hang up, not the bulbs."

The barista smiles almost puckishly now. "Take it from me, my mother's from Hungary. We can blame Stoker for the mishap. Flowers, not bulbs," she insists. "But still maybe use the bulbs too because if the Veil plucks from our minds to make up the scary shit, I bet folks are going to have that pop culture staple in their memories."

A beat. "Not garlic cake though, please. What about...something with chocolate because who can say no to chocolate?"

"Garlic has flowers?" Una, city child, blinks in surprise.

"I'm pretty sure we have a considerable amount to blame Stoker from. I guess that's what happens, when we borrow myths that aren't our own and dramatise them. Then again-- what would count as my myth, in this instance? I have no connection to another country, but I'm equally not actually native to this country in that sense."

That's a tangent, and one she falls off of, more or less, in order to grins back. "No garlic cake. Chocolate sounds good; I can always do chocolate."

"Chocolate then." Ariadne looks quite pleased at this potential future. Chocolate cake, sweet and simple, twist her arm. She takes another bite of pizza and talks around it if with her hand before her mouth; no need for see-food.

"Garlic does have flowers, yeah. It's a bulb, right? Same family as onions and chives. So if you know what a chive flower looks like, the purplish spiky ones? Very similar in look. Stoker probably just didn't know how to describe it...or maybe he wanted something everyone would know. Everybody knows garlic bulbs. I can't guess otherwise. It was weird times when he was writing. But." Pause to swallow and to grab her piece of paper towel to daub at the corner of her mouth. "If you don't mind my asking, what do you mean by your myth? Like, your take on a vampire? Like, in regards to where your family is from?"

Una's smile is equally pleased. Making other people happy makes her happy, too.

"Ohhh," she says, with a frown that is mostly thoughtful. "I think I know what you mean. I guess I've only ever really seen garlic as... you know, garlic when you buy it at the Safeway. I've never seen it growing. Stoker may just have been lazy."

She's slower to answer that last, her nose scrunching in consideration before, finally, "Well, not necessarily my take on vampire. On anything. 'Irving' is Scottish, so I have to assume that's where my family is from, or at least some of them, but I have no real connection to the place in practice, which means... I am a mongrel American, whose culture seems more aligned to consumerism than anything of depth." Beat. "Sorry, I don't mean that in as mopey a way is it sounds."

Ariadne waves her hand holding the paper towel-napkin. "Nah, not mopey. I'll be part of the Consumerism Is Annoying Club. I don't have a ton of things because I literally don't buy into it. If it still works, why do I need a new one, y'know? Or if I can fix it myself. Maybe I'm frugal, but eh. College stuck with me, I guess." A one-shouldered shrug. She sets down her piece of half-eaten pizza after wiping off her fingers in order to pour herself more coffee. The carafe is paused lifted in offering to pour more for Una as well, though the barista continues speaking.

"But why is it so bad to be a mongrel American? That's my dad in a nutshell. Even my mother's not fully Hungarian. She's got a beautiful family tree. I'm all sorts of lineages for it. It's totally plausible that you could make that connection though, if you wanted? Go to Scotland. Dig around. Or if you don't want to dig, travel around? I want to get to Budapest sometime in the future." She pronounces it as a local might, with the shush from the S to the T, no doubt a holdover from her mother.

"Most of what I own comes from a thrift shop in the first place, except when it comes to books that I can't find there and desperately need to own, and... okay, kitchen supplies, but really, I couldn't cope without my stand mixer." Una's words are by way of agreement, interspersed by a few more bites, though she's slow in eating, today. More coffee, however, is definitely a go: she nods, quickly.

"It's not bad, not really. I don't know if I necessarily want to feel like I'm Scottish, or anything else. I am who I am. But I think this town... I think because of all the mythologies. I don't know. It's just more notable. I would like to travel, though, I think. Anywhere, really. Gray Harbor is the furthest I've ever been from the hospital I was born in. I used to dream about just... going out to SeaTac, and picking a flight and just going somewhere, even though I know it's not that simple. Dreams, huh?"

More coffee is a go. Ariande pours until her hostess's mug is filled and steaming before setting the carafe aside again.

"What's stopping you from popping over to Sea-Tac and hopping on a plane and going somewhere? Or at least saving up for it?" the barista then asks, honestly curious to hear the logic. To her, it seems perfectly plausible to have future plans for world-hopping, even if it takes forever to save up for it. She leans back into her chair with her slice of pizza and eats while she listens, golden-hazel eyes resting upon Una.

"Nothing," allows Una, after a moment's pause. She abandons her pizza in lieu of coffee, greasy fingers or no greasy fingers, wrapping them around the warm ceramic as she attempts to come up with the rest of the answer that this question really requires. "I mean, I'd need a passport. The money's less of a problem these days. I mean, I'm not a millionaire or anything, and I will need to work again, but..."

That's a tangent. She circles back. "I used to dream about it. Not so much, these days. Maybe it's because I'm more at home here, awful emotional and physical trauma notwithstanding? Or because I feel like I've found a community. Dita, Ravn and I swan and drank cocktails at a beautiful place in Mexico, in a Dream, a few weeks ago. I'm not sure the real version could live up to that, now."

She wrinkles her nose. "I've swallowed the bait properly, haven't I? Hook line and sinker."

There's a moment or three -- or six -- of obviously-contemplative silence from Ariadne at the vaguely-rhetorical question from her table-mate. She too considers her coffee and then squints down the yard at Peter Cottontail over there. Squint. The rabbit stops chewing and looks up as if the narrow-eyed gaze is palpable.

A sigh. "Well..." Drawing out the word along this sigh, the barista ends up shrugging as if she weren't certain. "I mean...if the bait was, why go elsewhere when every once and while, rarely, you do get to go to someplace really nice with minimal issue and everything you wanted, minus the hassle of real life in the process? It falls under the category of indeterminate reward behavioral modification, like how gambling is addictive to people, so...maybe?" she winces, looking back at Una now. "Maybe you've taken the bait. But you can spit the hook. The next time I drive out of town, you can come with. I normally run errands to Ocean Shores or Humptulips and it's a nice change of scenery as well as proof you can leave town."

None of that is especially comforting. Una's expression turns rueful, then a little dismayed, and by the end? Mostly she just looks deeply thoughtful. "I went to Seattle," she says, after a moment's pause. "To see my mom. Ask her some questions. Try and... well, make things right between us. It didn't work, and I spent the whole time on edge, feeling like the places where I used to belong no longer fitted. Even seeing the exits to Sea-Tac didn't really bring that old wistfulness."

She draws her mouth together, sucking in a breath through closed lips. Her coffee gets set down and her pizza reclaimed, though she does not seem especially inclined to actually eat it.

"But I won't say no to the opportunity to take a drive. Maybe it was the whole... purpose of my visit, the greater reason, that made it seem so wrong. I live here, but that doesn't mean I have to let it define me, right? I can fight that."

"You can absolutely fight that," the barista echoes firmly. Her jaw sets, but not at Una -- in defiance to the hook set. "You define you. Nothing else. Call me crazy, but I've always felt like I can define my own reality. I'm in control of how I react to things -- who I talk to, where my energy goes, my hobbies, what job I take. At any time, for example, I can walk out of Espresso Yourself because who's stopping me? Nobody, not really, not in the long run, right? I can find a new job. Do I want to? No. That's what I chose."

Ariadne licks her lips in one of those manners indicating thought before bringing her cup to her lips to sip. "I don't think you're wrong about losing wistfulness about places, but I don't think it's Grey Harbor sapping it. I think it's growing out of your old pot, like a plant, y'know? Maybe the plant liked the soil, but it's used to the ground-soil now, with more room to expand and become...more complicated and maybe the old stuff is something unreachable now. You're allowed to miss it...but like I really have the right to grant that permission anyways. Still. Right?"

Una's head tilts, just slightly, to the side as she listens, even if this further interrupts her pizza-eating, which has reconvened in a slow way: it gives her something to do, to focus her attention on that isn't Ariadne, or this conversation at hand. "I do define me," she agrees, finally, having swallowed her bite. "But I think I'm also defined by external factors. Or-- no, not defined. I acknowledge that. Shaped, maybe. Which is completely different from what you're saying, isn't it? I was shaped by things, but I get to decide what I do with that, and how I ultimately live my life."

This has clearly given her more food for thought, but not so much that she can't add, "Maybe that's true, too-- the soil, the transplanting. I think my roots are still adjusting, though. But the leaves are liking the sun. This metaphor is becoming a bit of a mess, I don't know. Okay. Okay."

Ariadne laughs lightly, not mockingly in the least. "Nah, I follow, you good. If the leaves are happy, the plant is happy though, even if its roots are still adjusting. I have a bit of a green thumb, but not like this." A gesture encompasses the whole yard. "Someone's comfortable enough to get this going and be proud in it though, yeah?"

She's clearly implying Una as this person by her grin.

"But yes, I do mean that you get to decide what to do with that and how you live your life. You've got the powah," the barista suddenly sings quietly, twisting the triumphant line from Snap! and their famous song. A little dance in her chair almost sloshes coffee, but thankfully doesn't.

The singing, and the song it comes from, makes Una grin, broadly. "So much power. Too much power? No. It's just about harnessing it, right?" This makes her nod. Maybe she can do that.

"I mean, Ava and the fae are responsible for the most of it," she adds of the yard, never one to own too much of a thing, but she belies her own words by the proud, proprietary glance she aims around it. "I added more flowers, though, and the chairs." And more than that, but she's not, currently, inclined to own it. "And I painted the front hall. Which-- okay, yes, the roots are well underway. I just need to make sure the leaves don't get burnt. But.."

Look. The metaphor is just going to have to get extended again, okay? "That's why there's a community of us. So we can shade each other. Ohgod, I should just stop, shouldn't I?"

"Harness that sucker." Ariadne means the power mentioned and grins into her coffee cup as she goes for another sip. Her own piece of pizza is retrieved and this time, she seems intent on finishing it. Another glance around the yard is one less once-over and far more curious in turn. There are a few species of plant she doesn't recognize and wants to ask after, but maybe another time.

Una earns herself a friendly laugh, however, at her attempt to demur from further expansion of the metaphor. "Nah, let's take it to level eleven. This coffee? It's the sugars in the plant after we photosynthesize beneath the sunlight of the backyard and good conversation, snip off those burnt leaves so new ones can grow. We'll eventually flower and have to duck large butterflies flying around our heads." A blink and she laughs, "Okay, that was too far, I like butterflies but not the ones the size of dinner plates. That'd be unnerving. What flowers did you add?"

"I think I just went cross-eyed," is Una's reaction, shared laughingly. "I remember taking a friend to the butterfly house at the Pacific Science Center, having no idea that she was terrified of the things. We insisted she come in with us, and every time one came near, she squealed." It's a fond memory, sort of-- at least it makes her grin. "Butterflies the size of dinner plates might be a little too much even for me."

Her pizza is finished with another bite more, and, as she wipes her fingers onto the napkin, she indicates with her head. "The pansies over there, judgemental little mean girls that they are. The petunias, too. Basically-- most of the flower beds are mine. The grass and the trellis and the wildlife, that's all Ava and the fae."

Following the directive nod of head, Ariadne looks in the direction of the pansies as well as petunias and general flower beds. An appreciative nod from her in turn as she chews through her bite of pizza.

"Those are great. They add a pop of color to the green and all. I wish I had suggestions for maybe others to plant, but I'm not really a gardening sort. Ask me to tell you what species of seaweed washed up in the bay? Sure. What's that bush over there, with the viney leaves and pink flowers? Hell if I know." She again considers Peter Cottontail, who's turned fluffy-butt towards the conversationalists with their coffee, cookies, and pizza. "The wildlife is a nice touch, though I bet you want to keep things at Sleeping Beauty's entourage and not, say, black bears."

Daubing at her mouth again, she adds, "I haven't been to the butterfly house at the Pac Sci Center in foreverrrrrrrrrr. Man. Okay, I've got to do that once the weather gets nicer and more stable. The butterflies are more active then. What if we made that a trip? Drag some others along?"

Una's laugh is soft and low, and is followed by a quick admission: "I had to research it all. I've never had a yard before, and most of my pot plants died. I'm still not entirely sure half the time if I know what I'm talking about, or if I'm completely making it up as I go along. No one's told me I'm an idiot yet, anyway." Her smile is a twisted affair, not quite self-effacing; more amused, perhaps, in a wry kind of way. "Yeah, if we get anything beyond-- as you say, I like that-- Sleeping Beauty's entourage, I'm noping right now. Anything bigger than a fox, and, uh, let's not."

"Oh," answers Ariadne's suggestion, and she's sitting up for this, leaning forward in a way that can't be wholly comfortable, but doesn't matter, because? "Yes. Yes, let's absolutely do this. Butterfly road-trip; I'm so down for this."

"Butterfly road trip it is. You get all healed up, I'll see about what days I have off, and we'll make it a thing. Take some others along too. Because who can resist butterflies?" It's meant to be a rhetorical question by her gesture off to one side. Pizza is then finished up and after cleaning off her fingers, it's apparently time for another cookie. Mmm. "Dude, these are so good," she says in half an undertone before adding with a point of the bite-pocked cookie towards Una, "Like, seriously, I said it before, but mmm. So good."

Another bite. "But did I hear you right? You can do the whole...growing the green stuff too because it's a power? Or you just did your research and it's turning out alright?"

Who can resist butterflies, other than Una's long-ago friend, presumably? Not Una, clearly, who positively beams. "A trip out of town would do a lot of us good, I think," she agrees. I'll work on the healing, and-- well, we'll make this happen." She's still got her napkin in her hand, still scrupulously scrubbing pizza grease from her fingertips, though by now it may be more a thing done by default than something actually necessary: her fingers probably aren't going to get much cleaner without application of soap and water, and there's none of that immediately on hand.

The compliment to her baking draws further beams, and the usual faintest hint of a flush; pleased, Una settles back into her chair, adjusting her position just-so to make it as comfortable as it can be, under the circumstances. "I-- yeah. I think it's related to the healing? I mean, I think it must be, because that's obviously Ava's power, and she can do it, too. I can make a flower bloom, for instance. I'd demonstrate, but, well."

There are no plants in the vicinity that need the help. "I'm told that with enough power, you can actually animate plants, but I'm definitely not powerful enough for that."

"Holy shit. Animate plants too? Oh my god."

Ariadne's eyes can be seen to go briefly distant as she rapidly calculates possibilities. Whoa.

"I feel a tiny bit like a presumptuous, impatient asshole asking this, but if I brought over a plant, would you show me how it blooms? Or is it like..." Her lips thin in concern, attention fully back on Una now. "You already did a positive number on my cuts. I'm assuming that drained you a little?"

That look, it makes Una laugh, merrily. "You scientist, you," she says, with obviously and audible affection.

"I--" She pauses, then, considering, turning her hands over one at a time. "To be honest, I've never really put to the test how much I'm capable of doing, if that makes sense. I know when Ava was doing the garden, for instance, she had some backlash-- but that was big power, you know? I'd be happy to show you. For science. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't hurt me."

Una does get a dubious look, one of those subtle cants of face without loss of eye contact.

"...hey, you know you best, but if you hurt yourself doing this, I'm going to feel a bit terrible having enabled it," the barista notes with a smile already containing notes of apology -- just in case. "Lemme find a potted sucker -- I mean plant." Theatrical demurring expression, whoops, insulted a plant LOUDLY, and then after balancing the cookie across the top of her mug, she turns in her chair to look around. "Ah, you, thank you for volunteering."

It's said towards what appears to be a small growth of something with spear-shaped leaves and no buds on it just yet. All potential. Getting up from her chair, Ariadne walks a few steps and pauses. "God, that's so trippy -- in a good way," she adds over her shoulder at Una. Stitches: weird. Being able to walk and have it twinge but not burn? Vast improvement. She then brings the small terra cotta pot back to the table and sets it down. "There. You try if you want to, no pressure. I'd rather you not hurt yourself," she stresses yet again while taking her chair once more.

Una's chin lifts, determined and sure.

"If I hurt myself doing this," she insists, "it'll be my own damn fault for not knowing my own limits, and a very good object lesson for all of us. And don't insult the poor plants, I'll need to convince them extra hard-- no, I'm kidding. I can't communicate with plants." She sounds, honestly, faintly relieved about that. One has to wonder what plants would say, and it's probably not anything good.

"Being healed is super trippy," she agrees, following Ariadne with her gaze. "I remember, from the hospital. There was too much, in mine, for it to be healed fully--" internal injuries are, after all, a bitch, "but there was... something. All right, let's have a look."

She reaches out, tracing one finger over one of those spear-shaped leaves, and frowns at it.

A moment later? Buds. And then, the buds begin to open. And then? It blooms.

Well. Most of it does. One leaf? It just goes brown. And then black. And then falls off entirely.

Una reaches out, Ariadne leans in. She seems to have forgotten entirely about her cookie-topped coffee mug; thankfully it doesn't get tipped over in the process.

Plant responds. Plant blooms. Plant withers one leaf. The marine biologist watches the leaf drop to the table and makes a soft, thoughtful sound.

"Kind of like a surge?" she says, half to herself, reaching out to tentatively touch at the blooms now. It's apparently a plant with clustered blooms, their color a deep wine-red with white-gold starry centers. "Too much at once, but...spread all over the plant. That leaf was already aged. An even distribution of the power. Huh." Glancing up at Una again, she gives her friend a brows-lifted grin. "This is impressive as hell."

Una looks pleased with herself, grinning at Ariadne as she leans back into her seat, and sets her hands back upon the table. If she's lucky, the other redhead won't notice the hole in her sleeve that has just appeared. (For that matter, Una may not have noticed it herself; it's hard to tell.)

"Imagine seeing that happen to the whole yard at once," she points out, this apparently being her barometer for 'impressive as hell', not that she seems any less pleased. "But-- it's pretty cool, right? Things I had no idea I could do, or were even possible, until I saw it happen to the lawn. I used it as a way to demonstrate to Della, too, when she... woke up to her power. Whatever we want to call it. With luck, I'll never kill a pot plant ever again. It's such a trip. These things we can do."

Poke. Poke. Poke the blossoms. The petals are soft anyways. Ariadne isn't intending to touch the dead leaf. Somehow, that is a little too creepy -- too unknown for her.

"It is such a trip," she agrees, glancing up from the blossoms. She'd gone and leaned in again, the better to squint at the plant. "I'm sad I missed the whole yard changing into this bonanza of flora. If you ever get really good at doing the large-gauge stuff? I want to be around to see it. It'll be just plain magic at that point, screw calling it a 'power'." Laughing a little, she finally leaves the plant alone in order to take up her cookie and coffee again. She hasn't seemed to have noticed the hole in Una's sleeve, maybe marking it off as something only just noticed instead of brand new. "And all I can do is make spades do flippity-flops."

Spade still stuck point-down in the earth is eyed.

"But if-- I don't know, a bear wandered in and attacked us right now," Una is not at all advocating for this to happen, and gives the yard a little wary glance just to make sure she hasn't jinxed things, "I bet you could probably thrust that spade in pretty hard. Maybe not consciously, as such, though I don't even know about that. But if push came to shove. I think that's important to remember; even small powers give us something."

She reaches for another cookie, snapping it in half with a contented little gesture, and adds, "If I ever get that good, I faithfully promise a demonstration. It really is magic at that point. Crazy magic. I doubt I'll ever get to that point. I think I'm stronger than I used to be, but not by much. I suspect half of it is simply not knowing what I was capable of. You may not, either. Have you ever tried to make a plant bloom, or heal a thing, or anything?"

"Good point." A quiet acknowledgement of Una's stance of something-is-better-than-nothing, especially in the sense of these weird and mystifying new powers everyone seems to be gaining lately. She eats more of her cookie now at a pace indicating simple enjoyment rather than a body wanting calories, looking at her hostess across the table. Peter Cottontail down the yard does a hippity-hop flashing his white scuts of tail and it makes the barista lean out in her chair to squint at him.

Suspicious little rabbit.

"I haven't really tried anything else, no, because I haven't known what else to try. I had the suspicion I could move stuff around, but...like...that's it." Ariadne grimaces. "I don't think anything else I've just randomly done over the years pertains to these powers. I could be wrong, but like...where in the fuck to start trying things?"

Una seems largely oblivious to the rabbits, now; indeed, she seems largely oblivious to most of what happens in the garden, except when she chooses to be. Such is the way of continued proximity: she's just too used to it.

Frowning, then, she lifts a hand (still holding half her cookie, because why not) and says-- "Let's see."

Her eyes close, and a tendril of thought reaches out to 'knock' on Ariadne's mental door. Hi. Hello.

Ariadne does another one of those subtle cants of face, not looking away from the other redhead as the hand rises and eyes close.

What is she --

It's not quite like a voice in the ear. It's closer than a voice in the ear. It's not quite words either, but it is? It's a greeting.

Ariadne does a great impression of an owl now and then. Her cookie remains hanging over her coffee mug as she stares across the table. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Not very intelligent, that initial communication, but honest.

"...fuckity fucking fuck, was that you?!"

"That," confirms Una, with a little rueful laugh, "was me. Yes. I assume the fact that you felt that-- at least a bit, obviously? though I'm not sure I was actually properly able to talk at you; it felt closed off-- means you have some ability in that area, too." Her chin lifts a little, pleased.

"You could try and talk back, if you wanted. I won't resist."

Una gets stared at for a long handful of seconds. The silence lengthens, not necessarily uncomfortable, but one of those clear moments where the scientist has been confronted with something straight-up freaky. Thankfully, the barista is getting more and more used to these sudden revelations and simply pulls her mouth to one side eventually.

"So..."

We're talking with the cookie now, apparently.

"The...with the voice...thingie. Closed off...? How...? -- do you...even do it...in the first place? When...hmph." A moment to gather her composure back more. "When Ravn was teaching me to move pinecones, he was like, do the thing. I just...look at you and...think? Loudly?"

"Sorry," says Una, though there's probably an element of sorry-not-sorry: she's still pleased to have identified something else that her fellow redhead may be able to do, but it's tempered with the understanding that, yes, this is all a mindfuck. She takes a moment, finishing her cookie and wiping the crumbs off of her hands, bit by bit.

"I mean-- pretty much, yeah. And because I know it's coming, I'm basically... opening my thoughts to it, I guess? 'If you open your mind too much your brain will fall out'-- no, I mean, that's a comedy routine, not serious."

"I would like my brain to stay in my skull." How drily Ariadne notes this. She gives her cookie a Look before shoving the rest of it into her mouth. A finger lifted -- one mo -- as she chews.

Well, maybe not one mo.

She closes her eyes and then just sort of...thinks...loudly...at Una. It's probably like a bucket of paint being thrown at a wall, but it is greeting as well -- or tries to be. Hi? HI? HELLO?!

"Loud and clear," Una promises, head twitching just slightly. Her mouth, too.

And then she adds, mentally: Just like that. Pretty cool, huh?

There's that smile again: bright and broad and cheerful. "And brains still safely in skulls, too, at least as far as I can see. I-- suspect I should not try too much more of this, though, not today. Success, though! So there's something else you can do, in a pinch. Passing notes in class, without the notes."

At first, one eye peeps open. Did it work?

Una confirms it, twitch and all, and Ariadne again mimics an owl in the sense of drawing up tall in her chair, her coffee mug held close to her chest. Her sneakers even lift off the patio in surprise. Blink. Wide eyes.

"...soooooooo...liiiiiiiike." Science major struggling, not quite a loading icon, but close enough. "I can talk at anybody? In their head? Or...like...only if they have the same receiver antennae?"

Una can't help but find that reaction amusing, or maybe more endearing, because the look she gives Ariadne is all warmth and delight, even if answering the question that follows is a little more difficult. "I think it's just people who have that particular skill, but to be honest... I've never tried? That's, like, seriously only the second time I've ever done that, and the first time was with Kailey, whom I know is pretty powerful in this. So."

She adds an exaggerated shrug, albeit a truncated one: ouch. Whoops.

"Kailey knows how to do this?" Ariadne tries fishing her eyebrows out of her hairline. Whoa. Okay. Another person who can just...talk without talking. Notes without notes. Time for coffee before more flabbergast burbles out of her mouth.

Finishing her coffee in one bracing swoop, the barista swallows almost carefully. Gullup. "Well, um. Damn." The titter is unhelped and she presses the fingers of one hand to her mouth, closing her eyes for a second. "Sorry, this is just...wow. I, like...the...potential?" It's not quite what she wants to communicate, but close enough, to impress on her hostess the possibilities suddenly available. "Oh god, there's got to be some...manners that go with this. Proper behavior. I'm sure someone can't just go blurting into people's heads, right?"

Una's nod answers that first: Kailey knows how to do this, yes.

The rest? She lets out a low breathy sound and nods. "I mean-- yeah. There's a lot to it, huh? Potential. I have no idea what the range is like. I mean, could I force my way in to your head when you're at home and I'm here? I like to hope not, because that just starts seeming like a completely cruel thing. Though at least we can't, as far as I've seen, actually read thoughts or anything. It's just communication. I wonder if we can set up mental 'do not disturb' signs? Or? I don't know. I don't know."

But she's grinning, even so.

Ariadne sets her empty mug aside in order to rub briefly at her cheeks. It's an expression of continued surprise and processing both. She looks down the yard again at Peter Cottontail now acting the part of contented bunny-loaf in the middle of the clover, his little mouth wiggling as he chews.

"I sure hope there's a 'do not disturb' response I can somehow set up because...well...yeah. Nobody is allowed to just...blip into my head whenever they want. That's like your phone going off at 3am. Damn rude." Her golden-hazel eyes flick back to Una and she lets her hands drop to her lap with a sigh. "I'm super relieved to hear that there's no mind-reading shit though, oh my god. I was about to hunt down the nearest guru for this because respectfully, my thoughts are mine, yours are yours, etcetera, you get my drift. Maybe...maybe it's a thing about ignoring it though. Like, you can see a text on your screen, but do you have to answer it immediately? No. Nobody's making you answer it immediately."

"Yeah," agrees Una, and with feeling, too. Her grin has faded somewhat, though in a mostly natural way: less 'okay, yes, this is serious and I shouldn't grin, that's inappropriate' and more 'these are valid points to consider'. "One hundred per cent. No one needs to hear my thoughts, unless I choose to share them, and that's a completely different thing. Ignoring it is definitely a thing. I suppose it's then just making sure that it doesn't interrupt you enough that you just sit there, looking at your phone, debating whether to open the damn thing."

She aims a crooked smile back at the other woman, and adds, "Anyway, I, for one, faithfully promise not to bother you unless it is vitally important. And I can't imagine there's much that is so vitally important a text wouldn't suffice. We've survived this long without it, right?"

"Right. It's a new way to communicate, like...a new tool in a tool box, but it doesn't need to get used all of the time. Texts will do just fine," the redhead laughs quietly. "I sure hope if there's ever a 3am wake-up mental-blurt like that, it's an honest-to-god emergency. I'm not saying you would do this, but I like my sleep and frankly, I have no idea if I'd be coherent enough to understand what's going on anyways other than some random voice in my sleep woke me up."

She then pops her thumb-pads off of one another in a semi-steeple of hands in her lap, considering Una somehow. "I should speak to Kailey if I can. You don't know anybody else who can do this?"

"God, as if Dreams aren't enough. Imagine waking up to someone knocking on your mental doors with some randomness."

It results in Una making a face. She's not a big fan of this possibility, either.

She reaches for her coffee, and then seems to change her mind, dropping both hands to her lap, no longer visible from across he table. "No," she admits. "I've no idea if this is super common or... what. I wish I had a better sense of how people's abilities fit together, you know? Healing seems to go with plants, so that's one thing; life-related things, I guess? But I've no real concept of how anything else fits together. Is it a hundred different random skills, or just a few, all linked? I guess other people might actually have an answer to that; it may be accepted fact, and I've just never come across it before."

"That's exactly my biggest headache." The barista's admission ends on a rusty note not too unlike a growl as she reaches to rub at one temple now. "How the fuck do the categories work. Is there a category. What's related to what. Is anything related to something else. If someone can do A, can they automatically do B or is B a thing like...genetics. Or a dice roll. There's not enough answers and this is like playing with -- with -- I mean, I want to say matches or guns, but both sound over-dramatic if still applicable."

Eye-roll somewhat at herself. "Whatever," Ariadne grouses. "If it's going to be a thing of just...figuring shit out, then it is."

"Yes," agrees Una, leaning forward with determination, both hands now placed upon the edge of the table again. "I mean, maybe there is, and I've just not asked the right questions, or of the right people? I don't know. There's just so many questions. How it works, and maybe partly why, except I do understand that there's probably no why. I don't know. I don't think you're too far wrong, though."

She pauses, glancing down at her fingers, now. Fingers that have-- at least, thanks to being part of her body, connected to her brain-- encouraged fire where there was no fire. Caused damage. Those Pines died, didn't they? Or near enough to.

"Yeah," she agrees, finally. "I mean, we can do that. Eventually things will feel clearer, right?"

Stretching out her recently-healed leg experimentally and bringing it back in, Ariadne nods. "Yeeeeeeeep," she drawls, considering the cookie plate and, clearly, one more cookie. Is there room?

Maybe. Maybe room for one more cookie.

"It'll just take time and experience and experiments and probably another goddamn Dream...or a dozen...fuckers," she grumbles, but then continues more evenly. "But that's how learning goes. It's not immediate. It's a chip inserted like they do in the Matrix, but oh my god, is that premise ever tempting sometimes. So tempting. I'd have a PhD just like that." Snap of fingers to accent. "But probably not in marine biology, not here. A PhD in Weird Shit. I'd frame it on the wall of my living room." She holds up thumb and forefinger in mirrored gesture, thus framing an empty spot in the air. "It'd be beautiful. Such a conversation starter."

One more cookie is then taken. She gives up. There's room.

"Doctor Ariadne, Professor of Weird Shit," says Una, with a laugh. She's not going to discourage the cookie taking. There's always room.

"Hopefully the next Dreams are easier. There are fun ones, right? And one way or another... we'll learn."

She sounds, if anything, determined.

But for now? She'll have another cookie, too.