2022-04-08 - To The Coffee Shop!

Morning. Ish.

Awake. Ish.

Ravn Abildgaard is reminded of one thing that Oak Avenue has and which the Vagabond has too little off: A stable wi-fi connection. Oh, sure, the marina offers wi-fi to yachters -- but satellite uplinks are notoriously spotty and slow, and having moved back on his boat for the summer is certainly a reminder as to why he used to do most of his grading and writing right here, in spite of the machinations of Della the Day Manager.

Today's nightmare is a bright pink strawberry mint latte. You have to wonder if she makes them up for him in specific. You have to wonder if anyone anywhere ever actually ordered strawberry mint. It's certainly not on the official menu.

Heels. Because of course there's heels, the higher the better. A soft pink shined to a high gloss, the heel entwined in rose gold leaves that, with the wearer, might be real gold... or might just as likely be a convincing imitation. They're the sort of shoes that one would expect to see on a red carpet worn by some starlet in a designer gown of equal splendor... not with a pair of very small denim shorts that have seen better days and a strapless navy blue bustier in floral print that leaves very little to the imagination with its sheer panels over the wearer's toned stomach. The pink bow at its center is the perfect shade to call back to the heels.

The curls are new, honey blond with an ombre up into her dark roots, and a lot longer than her hair normally is... But if Perdita can't have fun with her hair, including wigs or extensions, what's the damn point? Dita's wearing a denim jacket half off her shoulders and has an umbrella in hand as she steps into the coffee shop, and those eyeliner wings are sharper than the dialogue in a Diablo Cody film.

She takes a moment to place her order, then joins Ravn at his table, crossing her (mostly bare) legs and setting two plain black coffees on the table, sniffing the air. "Mint... and strawberry? Why does that sound good?"

"I'll trade you." Ravn looks up and offers a smile by means of greeting. Compared to the glitter and sparkle that is Perdita he looks positively bland, if not all but invisible; black slacks, black turtleneck, and -- unusually for him -- a white open jacket. The reading glasses resting on his nose perfects the image of academia; this guy is obviously some professor's assistant -- too old to be a student, too young to be the professor.

He takes a second look and then offers a low whistle. "Blond works surprisingly well for you. Any special occasion, or did you just get inspired by our good Shanamarie Johnson?"

Awake. Ish. That's a great way to describe it. Ava comes rolling in and slips her way into line, looking like she needs an early morning pick-me-up. That could be because she just finished an overnight shift at the morgue and still has a mountain of her own paperwork to get through before it's actually time to slip into her bed and a rightfully earned eight hour coma.

"Dead eye," she orders plainly, in a tone that makes it clear that there's a need for exactly that order. She pays and slips money into the tip jar before moving aside to wait for the order. Her own attire is chic, but in a more business casual sort of way. A classic pant suit, with smaller heels that make it so that Ava doesn't risk falling in people innards. The hand that's been wrapped the couple of days since the 7/11 incident is finally free and healed, now wrapping around her order as she turns to spot a table with two familiar face.

She walks over, smiling to the pair. "Mind another?"

There's a pause as at Dita's hair, eyes flickering over it. "Gorgeous. Did you do it yourself?"

"It's what you do when you go through a break up and you already have a fringe. You dye your hair a new color and go a little crazy." Perdita laughs and takes the strawberry and mint monstrosity for herself, sliding one of the coffees over, since it was for him, anyway. As Ava steps over, she flashes a smile. "I'm fine with the company. I did dye it myself, but it's a wig. Just... felt like changing it up a bit.

She takes a sip of the strawberry mint, then tilts her head slightly and grins, "It's actually pretty good!"

"Your stomach is clearly lined with stainless steel." Ravn shakes his head at Perdita's actual tasting of the horror. Then he acknowledges Ava with a smile; there's certainly empty seats.

And then the record-scratch stop. "Wait, go through a break-up?"

"Well, it's gorgeous, you did a great job." Ava slips into one of the empty seats with a thankful sigh to be off of her feet. Her case is settled into an empty seat next to her and her drink is cupped in one hand. Ravn caught it just before she did, her head doing that little double back away from the cup just before she takes a sip. That woke her up better than the triple espresso and coffee would have. "Wait! What happened?"

There's a slight shrug, and Dita slips out of the jacket and tosses her curls over her shoulder in an absent gesture. "We just... wanted different things. It's not like we even had a fight, we just... got to talking about our futures and realized they're going in different directions. I'm never going to be the kind of girl that just casually wants to go for a hike in the forest twice a week, or permanently live in a cabin in the woods... or go camping." she doesn't bother to repress a shudder.

"And as much as I love it in Gray Harbor, I do intend to go back East, someday. And then there's kids, and living arrangements and... it's a lot. Our paths were always going to go in different directions. Doesn't mean I don't love him and care about him, but I learned a long time ago you can love someone and be a terrible match."

"Amen to that," Ravn murmurs. "Also? Sounds like Garrett would have hit it off with my father. There's a reason my parents didn't spend a lot of time together."

He's probably not the camping type either. At least a boat has a kitchen.

Blue-grey eyes study Perdita's face for a moment; perhaps the Dane is trying to guesstimate how much is brave facade and how much is actual coping skill. "Knowing what you want is important. I know I don't want kids and I don't want to go home and take over the family business, either. I'm going to pack my backpack some day and walk into the Veil, and just keep right on walking. Going along with someone else's dream when you know you'll hurt them some day is not a good idea. Still sucks to go through, though."

"That sounds like you were both very mature and reasonable. Which is great." Ava sips from her drink finally, but her eyes are just like Ravn's in the fact that they are scanning Perdita's face. But the doctor is at a disadvantage by not knowing the woman all that well. So blunt will have to work. "On a scale of one to ten, where are you in wanting to binge eat ice cream and down wine while watching terrible movies and venting, though?" she wonders.

There's a pause for a second as horror wipes across her features, head pivoting to Ravn. "That's your retirement plan? Death by Veil adventure?"

"And that's exactly the sort of relationship I don't want. I grew up with parents who fought constantly. I love my mother, and I admire her, but I don't want to become her. Though if I could age like her? Yes, please." Dita notices the study and tilts her head slightly, "Yes, it's a new foundation from Fenty Beauty. Rihanna makes good shit. I could go deep sea diving and this coverage isn't moving." she tilts her head the other way, just slightly, smiling. The concern is noted, but she's not cracking in public.

"That was the other night. Good cry, amazing break up sex, ice cream and wine in bed... Did you know they make alcoholic ice cream?" she shrugs and laughs, "I'm not happy, but... the fire department has missed me, apparently, and I do love a man in a uniform." Perdita's smile is wry. Humor is a good way to cope, as far as she's concerned.

"Death by job application, maybe." Ravn hitches a shoulder and offers a small smile. "They do say that most of the people on the Other Side were once human. That they got Lost and ended up going native. Sounds to me like that if you really want to understand this place, going native is the solution."

Then Perdita paints a picture so far from anything he can see himself as part of that he has to smile. Break-up sex, ice cream and wine in bed? Sure, and next up, unicorn water polo. It doesn't hurt that Perdita is obviously bouncing back in the way a Perdita will -- raising her little fists in a fuck you, life and moving on, rather than breaking apart and falling apart. He approves. Also, the mental image of the Fire Department lining up for inspection is amusing.

"I did not know that they had alcoholic ice cream. Is there a brand name for this ice cream. Or a specific place that sells it? I'm asking for... well, me." Ava laughs, pulling her phone out so that she can type it in so that she doesn't forget in her tiredness. Because that sounds delightful. "If that doesn't sound like the best way to handle a break up, I don't know what does. Good for you. Talk about getting right back on the horse."

"Or Hose, as the case may be, since we're talking fire department." She sits back in the chair and regards Ravn. "Yeah, but you might 'understand' them to the point of becoming one of the ones pulling us into the Dreams."

Ravn's comment makes her raise a brow, and she shakes her head, "You're not doing that any time soon, though." she states, less a question and more an implicit threat of her hunting him through the Veil and dragging him back to the material world forcibly.

"I'll text you the details, mine was from Tipsy Scoop. They can do rush delivery if you don't feel like driving to a bigger city for them. There's one that's tequila, cinnamon and chocolate ice cream. It was, uh... amazing, to say the least." Perdita laughs and takes another sip of her odd strawberry drink. "There's also a dark chocolate whiskey with salted caramel." she tells Ravn with a wink.

"... I wonder if we could get Kailey and Everett to experiment with alcoholic ice cream flavors. I have a feeling I'll need at least one more binge before all is said and done." she admits.

"Dark chocolate whiskey with salted caramel does sound disturbingly appealing," Ravn must admit. "Tell you what -- if Sweet Retreats puts that on the menu, I'll go try it."

Then he shakes his head. "I'm not in any rush to change my address. It's more of a -- predestination? I've felt all my life I was going somewhere. Now I know where I'm going. I don't know that I need to go tomorrow, or this decade. But if I do -- it might not be a bad thing. For one, if I end up like one of them, creating Dreams, at least the Dreams will have to follow the rules of the archetypes they are using. Because what kind of folklorist would I be, if I did not play by folklore's rules?" He grins slightly. "I don't think most of the Lost end up as dolorphages, though. More likely things like the Revisionist -- tries to be helpful but honestly has no damn clue what she's doing because she's forgotten what it's like to be human."

Ava groans. "Oh, you had me at salted caramel." Tapping in Tipsy Scoops into her phone, she can almost imagine it right now. "If you want company of a non-uniformed kind for your next binge, let me know. I could be convinced to wear the lab coat, but I won't be doing a strip tease," she laughs. "That would take a lot of ice cream."

"If Kailey and Everett brought this to town, that would be even better. I wouldn't have to go very far or have it delivered! Win win."

There's a squint at Ravn, lips pursing. "You've thought about this a little too much for my liking, sir. It all sounds so... defeatist. As if you don't have anything to live for here."

"I don't wanna talk about Revisions." Dita says, of the Revisionist. "There was a very awkward Dream wherein I was a damn cheerleader and Garrett was a grunge nerd in a garage band, and..." oh, look, just a hint of emotion, an old ache, "Woke up thinking we were high school sweet hearts, with a renewed desire to strangle Breighleigh Wheaton... and it took hours for the real world to come back." Yeah, that would suck. "That's... part of what caused everything." Now the question is, is Dita making the 'fig' hand gesture because she's irate with whoever brought about that dream... or because she's warding off the Evil Eye.

At Ava's offer, she grins, "Thanks, but I typically like to wallow in my misery alone, unless I'm trying to get Ravn into my bed." she winks at the man, playing it up saucily.

"Oh, he's got plenty to live for, here. For one thing, Kitty is not going to let him wander off like that."

"Ugh." Ravn visibly shudders. "Yes, thank you. I've had one of those as well. I was an exchange student here in Gray Harbor, and I got in a fight with teenage Rosencrantz and the math teacher. Also couldn't speak the bloody language. Pretty sure those Dreams have nothing to do with the Revisionist, though -- she doesn't work in dreams, she rewrites reality."

Pause. "Breighleigh is a name that makes you want to punch somebody, though."

Then he grins slightly. "Kitty Pryde is going to take me with her. You realise she spends more time Over There with the Uncat than she does with me? There's going to be a day where we can't tell Kitty from her own damned ghost because they are the same cat, and they just stop turning up in separate bodies."

The Dane sips the black coffee that Perdita so graciously secured for him and gives Ava a more serious look. "I'm not sure I agree that it's defeatist to expect to end up over there eventually. If you're hoping to manage not to -- then yes. For me it's more that I fully expect to, so I'm going to make it happen on my own terms. I'm going to stay right here and fight back while I educate myself. And some day, I'm going to wake up and feel that now I'm ready to see how it all really works. Maybe I'll feel I'm ready to go over there and make an actual difference. I guess it's all up to what kind of ending you want -- some people want a white picket fence and two point three kids in Sunday school, I want to know how the Veil works."

"I managed about half a very acrobatic routine before I fucked up and slammed back first onto a gymnasium floor." Perdita turns, flipping her curls to the side to reveal what likely was a very nasty bruise about a week ago but is mostly faded into a faint discoloration of her golden brown skin. "If I ever find out who decided a bunch of teenagers should attempt a move so dangerous..." let's be honest. It was probably Teenage Dita.

"I guess I can see why she was such an insufferable bitch. If my parents gave me a name with two 'E-I-G-H's, I'd be pretty goddamn hateful too." Dita admits with another shrug, arranging her curls to once more cover the faint bruise. "Anyway, you don't get to go until Kitty decides you get to go." Dita teases Ravn, smiling. The comment about picket fences gets the slightest hint of sadness on Dita's face. She doesn't want that life, but she wants to want it.

"Breighleigh?" Ava makes a face at that. "That's a lot." Her head shakes as she manages to polish off her drink and settle the cup down onto the table. The glass is smaller than the other pair's drinks, so it's no surprise. But the amount of caffeine in there is already starting to perk her up a little bit. Or perhaps it's the conversation. "I haven't dealt with a Revision. Hope I never have to." Ava crosses her fingers.

Then her hands lift to the air, palms forward. "Hey now! Some of us want a white picket fence and two kids and want to know how the Veil works, thank you very much." The hands press against the tabletop as her shoulders droop. "But I take your point. Nobody gets to decide your fate but you. But, as your friend, I still reserve the right to fret. So I shall."

"Well, don't fret until you see me putting the Vagabond up for sale and trying to re-home whatever cats I've accumulated, then." Ravn offers a lopsided grin.

Then he shakes his head. "Nothing wrong with wanting the white picket fence except that I don't. I have plenty family and obligations back in Denmark that I ought to go back to, ought to find myself a wife and start having those kids. It's all very expected of me. And that's precisely why it's not going to happen. I kind of wish I was flaming gay, just so I could find the most extrovert and outrageous boyfriend on the planet and parade him around at a few family gatherings for the shock value."

The folklorist glances back to Perdita. "I'm sorry you guys split up. I'm glad that it seems to have been -- well, fairly amicable. It's never great but this beats hating each other, or fighting a prolonged trench war after."

"Here's hoping none of us have to any time soon. My history is utterly messed up, but... it's mine." Dita states.

"I'm not taking your probable future cats, Ravn... and if you want to pretend to be flamingly gay, I know you know where to find a man whose fashion sense makes mine look tame." Perdita grins, taking a longer drink of the mixture. "Why is this actually good. It should taste like strawberry toothpaste, but it doesn't."

"Thanks. I wish it didn't have to happen, but... better to rip the bandaid off quickly so it doesn't ruin my friendship with him. Because I'm keeping that man in my life as a friend. He was one of the few nice things the Veil has done for me, and if nothing else, he's taught me that I'm still capable of love after all the shit I've put myself through over the last decade of my life."

Isn't she only like... twenty four?

"You have to first buy the Vagabond in order to put her up for sale. Or did you finally bite the bullet and do the paperwork for it?" Ava asks with a bit of excitement. "Because if so, I owe you a bottle of champagne. But please. Make that many decades down the line if you please. I wish to annoy you with one or two unofficial nieces or nephews at some point in our lives. That will hard to do if you're over there." Her hand wobbles in a vague gesture of over-yonderness.

"Though, I'm sure you could get Aidan to pretend with you if you asked really nicely. You guys wouldn't even have to lie about living together. Just about the sex stuff."

Dita gets a soft smile. "Hey, the only thing the Veil has given me lately is third degree burns and PTSD. So you have definitely gotten the better end of the stick. A good friend, and hopefully some fond memories that sting a little less over time."

"Myes. Much as I could see the joke on my family, I wouldn't do that to anyone I actually like, though." Ravn grins back. "There's a reason my family is in Denmark and I'm not. I've spent most of my life getting away from them and their expectations and I still get a daily text from my aunt asking me if I've met somebody yet. I'm thirty-one, it's not like I'm going to die a sad cat lady tomorrow."

He toys with his coffee cup, trailing the rim with a gloved finger. "No one's incapable of loving, Dita. Whether they can function in a relationship -- probably depends on whether they can find someone whose brand of dysfunctional can work with their own."

And then, a small laugh. "Aidan probably would agree to doing me that kind of favour if I asked, and that's almost the worst part. I am not entirely convinced his girlfriend would approve, though."

"Oh, it definitely's pinged at my PTSD a few times or more, too." Dita tells Ava, with just a little shrug and the slightest smile like she isn't talking about witnessing multiple people die in a very short period and being part of a hostage situation, not to mention the sentient suicidal cows.

"I'm newly single, Ravn. Let's take a trip to Denmark, I can break out some drag king tricks and bind myself down and you can introduce your family to your G-slur boyfriend. We could probably get cousin Yossi along for the trip, tell them we're a throuple and they'll never bother you again." Perdita's grinning, and utterly not touching the comments about being capable of love.

"Or... which would be more horrifying to them. A Romani boyfriend... or a Romani and Mexican boyfriend?"

"It's not like you're going to die a sad cat lady at all, either. You never know, Ravn. I know you think nobody could stand to put up with you for long enough for you to decide you like them back, but I'm convinced there's a few folks out there that would."

There might be more to that statement, but Ava is too busy burying her face into her hands as she giggles at the picture of Perdita dressed as a drag king and throupling it up in front of Ravn's family. "I'm begging you to do this," she manages around the breaths she catches. "Oh please. Just get it on camera if you do. Not just their faces, Dita, but his. I can't--"

Ravn almost spits coffee, trying to not laugh out loud at the idea. "Honestly? It would depend on whether they'd try to process you as an exciting Gypsy prince or argue over which is worse out of Roma or Mexican. They'd likely try for the former, to save face -- inclusion is a good look for the press. The micro-aggressions would be epic. I wouldn't do this to my worst enemy, and certainly not to somebody I like."

He smirks and glances at Perdita. "I know you like Prince Nikolaj. Now think about how his half-Chinese mother got accepted into Danish high society -- her wedding dress Chinese silk, everything had to be 'tribute' to her parent culture, and so on. She was a businesswoman from Hong Kong, raised British. And when they did divorce? Press treats her like a greedy gold digger, with all the scorn usually reserved for Chinese tourists."

Another soft laugh because truly, he can picture his aunts' faces and it would be glorious.

And then, almost as an afterthought (because really, Ravn InnerVision(tm) is definitely playing out the horror) he adds to Ava, "I have a lot of reasons to not think I'm relationship material. Couple of relationships that went very bad or nowhere at all -- and a dead fiancee who has turned up once or twice to make it clear that as far as she is concerned, the engagement is not over."

"I'm down. Even if it's just over Facetime to shut them up for a bit. Trust me, I can make a very convincing boy." she quirks a brow at Ravn, smiling still. "I still keep waking up randomly every so often with my hair all curly and long again, I could totally pull it off in a way that would keep them scandalized."

"... you do know we don't actually have royalty, right?" Dita asks, tilting her head slightly, "Like... anybody who's ever claimed to be King of the Roma was just scamming the gadzikano idiots who believe that sort of thing..." she shakes her head and grins.

You never did tell him I said 'hi', did you? Just because we don't have royalty doesn't mean I don't wanna be a princess and he's pretty much the cutest and least problematic prince I've heard of, press coverage of his mother aside." because being Vizcondesa just isn't enough for her.

"We've all got some crappy relationships under our belt. Though, we don't all have dead, stalker ex-fiances... that sounds like something you really need to talk to her about. That sounds scary as hell." Ava shakes her head and scoots her chair back.

"Okay, I think the jolt of caffeine has hit my system enough that I can plot through my work enough before keeling over. I should get to the office. It was nice seeing you guys. I'm seriously about if you wanna do the ice cream and vent thing, Perdita. Give me a call if you do. Ravn, catch you later." She offers a wave before hurrying out.

Ravn can't help another laugh. "Yes, I am aware that the only Roma 'royalty' is a folk pop band called Gypsy Kings. But believe me, romantic literature did not get that memo. Also, contrary to what you seem to think, I don't actually correspond with princes. I correspond a whole lot of with Afghanistan veterans and academics and for that matter, a couple of writers doing research, but not a whole lot of royalty."

Beat. "Unless you count those folks who buy four square feet of dirt in Scotland for the privilege of calling themselves lord and lady. I know a number of those. It's a pretty funny way to conserve nature, and most of them milk it for every drop of hilarity they can find."

He waves to Ava as she gets up. "Watch your back and take care."

"Ravn. You don't understand. My love life is in your hands, you need to tell this man that you know a hot, insatiable Spanish Vizcondesa who is totally down for wild sexy fun times." Perdita's clearly joking, however, judging by the grin. She takes a sip of her drink, then flashes a smile at Ava.

"Thank you, Ava. I may take you up on it. I did just get the hot tub set up on the roof, and the architect is supposed to swing by with some period appropriate green house plans for one side of the rooftop, so if nothing else I could use a fellow greenhouse aficionado's opinion on them. Good luck at the office!"

"He's twenty-one. Are you sure you don't want somebody slightly older? And if you don't, are you sure you want to get involved in any fashion with the most bloody dysfunctional family in Europe?" Ravn shakes his head, chuckling, "Honestly, that kid should be grateful he's the son of the younger prince. Means he gets to kind of do what he wants -- modelling and whatnot. The direct line, from everything I've seen, makes my family life look positively blissful in comparison."

He sips his coffee and then, with a glance after Ava, adds, plaintively, "And where is my hot tub invite? Is this because I'm ten years too old for you? That's it, isn't it? No room for the senior citizens."

"Ravn, just because I've had a sugar daddy doesn't mean I need a sugar daddy. If I wanted a sugar daddy, I could get a sugar daddy, because I am what?" Dita snaps her fingers with a smirk, "Sickening." Ravn is absolutely not going to get this reference... but maybe Della will.

"I didn't figure you needed a formal invitation, after our wild romp in bed together, but... consider this your formal invitation. The hot tub is welcome to guests pretty much whenever I'm not in it, and since it's in a public area of the home, I don't intend to rub it in Garrett's face that I have gentleman callers by getting frisky in the hot tub... at least while he's home, so... evenings."

"Our wild romp in bed." Ravn cracks a lopsided smile at that. "Hmm, yes. Admittedly, the point here would be getting to spend quality time over a couple of ridiculous drinks. Garrett would be welcome to grab a cocktail shaker and join as far as I am concerned. Not much point to having a ridiculous fruity drinks with paper umbrellas and hot water party without the hostess, though."

He didn't get the reference. No one is surprised. Some references would require a printed manual and a guy in a box yelling cues to the stage for Ravn to get them. It's a choice.

"Pretty certain Rosencrantz would be up too. Scullins, definitely. I wonder where Cameron went off to, speaking of last time, but given I haven't heard a word -- just going to have to assume that for once, someone did the actually smart thing and got out of this pitcher plant of a town, yeah?"

The wild romp in bed that ended in both of them unconscious in her massively oversized bed, spread out far enough that neither could accidentally bump the other, fully dressed.

"Ridiculous drinks sound like a good idea." Dita admits. The mask slips just a bit, for a second, now that she doesn't have to pretend to be fine in front of Ava. "Keeping busy is definitely going to be important the next few weeks. I know it was a pretty short relationship, all things considered, but it's the first real one I've had since Eddie. I didn't think it would be my forever and always, maybe, but... I kind of hoped." She looks down at her drink and sighs. "He needs someone who can genuinely be who he wants, not someone who's... grifting her way through it to make him happy."

"Yes." Ravn nods and curls his fingers around his coffee cup. "You're not wrong. But that doesn't mean it wasn't short, and it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt. My last relationship didn't even begin -- I agreed that we should go on a date, and then we never actually went and I haven't seen hair or hide of her since October. You know it's for the best. You know it wouldn't have worked because what you want is too different, you have plenty of reasons. But down where it counts? You wish it would have worked, and letting go is hard."

Yeah. Forget pretense.

He looks down at the coffee, cooling as it is. "I did that in my first relationship. Tried to grift my way through. Figured that if I just made an effort I could be the person she wanted. I was ridiculously unhappy most of the time, and she was largely disappointed. I am pretty sure she could tell I was largely faking it. You did the right thing, even if it fucking hurts."

"When you do it long enough it becomes second nature. You don't even want to, you just start people pleasing. Still too damn many masks to take off, and I'm not even sure who's under them anymore, or if I'll like her when I finally see her. I wish I could have genuinely been what he wanted and needed, instead of..." she trails off, looking out the window. There's subtle physiological signs that she's about to cry, even if it doesn't show in her expression or her voice. Even trained grifters have a hard time with micro-expressions, those tiny little tells, like the way her lower eyelids have tightened.

She takes a deep breath.

"I wish it would have worked, for you. I know you don't need a partner. You're not a broken bird, and it's not like you lack for friendship and companionship. But I wish it would have worked for you. Relationships aren't the only way to be happy, but damn, when they're good, they're good."

Ravn observes those tiny tells and decides to ease off slightly; no need to ruin his friend's composure in a public place. "I'm not dead yet," he says instead. "I'm thirty-one. Hardly about to retire to a Florida protected community, either. I just have some issues to sort out before I give any real thought to it. Hyacinth was a very highly skilled mentalist -- or is, I mean, she's not dead that I'm aware of, you know what I mean. There is a trick some of them can do, if they have enough power -- they can extend a field of no shine. Meaning that if my angry ghost was to turn up for a bite of her? It might find itself literally punted out of existence."

He shakes his head. "Most people can't pull a stunt like that, though, and most people don't have her 'fite me' attitude, either. So, I need to sort that out and then I need to meet somebody who's willing to put up with my issues. Neither of which are impossible, but also neither of which can be slotted in for Thursday, 10am, after my dentist's appointment."

A more serious look glides over Perdita a moment. "And the same applies you, mi viscondeza. You're not lacking for partners for bed gymnastics nor in friendship. In time you'll find the right bloke. I am pretty sure that the right bloke or in my case, the right girl is not someone you go try to hunt down, though. That's where getting it wrong and ending up pretending comes from -- trying to create something that was never actually there."

"You're so old." Dita teases, once again leaning into humor as she grapples it down. "Just... positively ancient, how do you walk from here to Lola Bianca, then manage to stay on her the whole way home?" She's teasing, of course. If anything, Ravn's likely to have problems because of the shit he's been through.

"That... would be pretty handy. Especially if it could mean a night of guaranteed No Dreams, too... And no, I'm definitely not lacking in friendship or partners. But the vast majority of my partners have been... mundane. It's hard to have a real long term connection with someone who's only half in your world. But, like you said. Young. Plenty of time. It's not like I have a biological clock screaming 'give me babies', after all." or if she does, she's shoved a sock in that thing's mouth and thrown it down a well, Ring style.

"Yeah. We're in the same boat in the same creek, each with the same lack of a paddle." Ravn laughs softly again. "But that's also our strength. Neither of us live in terror of turning forty and not having those two point three kids and the perfect Stepford partner. I'm not joking about some day walking into the Veil and just continuing to walk. I do want to see it, experience it in the kind of way that probably means you're not coming back. But that's not a suicide manifesto the way some people seem to feel it is. It's not a cry for help. It's a thing that makes sense as some kind of long term, pretty vague plan -- and if life throws me a curveball or two, it may never happen. That's how dreams -- non-capital D dreams -- work."

"Oh, I live in terror of turning forty. I fully intend to stop aging at twenty nine through some fell pact. I don't want to be a cougar, and I have a sneaking suspicion I'll become one eventually." Perdita smirks, the moment of rawness having passed now. She finishes off the strawberry mint madness, and turns her attention to her cooling black coffee.

"Honestly, it sounds like the adventure of a lifetime in a way. Just... making sure everything's settled properly here, and going on a long walk about. I'm not one for the real world wilderness, but that does have a certain appeal. I get it, really." Dita nods to Ravn.

"Maybe aim for cool mentor instead. Honestly, when I was twenty? I'd just about have cried tears of gratitude if I'd met a cool forty-year-old woman who might give me some pointers, haul me out of the depression I'd turned into a lifestyle, and shown me how stuff works. A cougar is predatory -- a bad influence, someone who takes advantage. But believe me, the world is full of insecure young men who have no damned idea what to with a girl if they get one, and no idea how to sort themselves out enough that a girl might actually bother with them." Ravn smirks, a little lopsidedly.

Then he hitches a shoulder. "Or we institute a pact that neither of us will turn forty. We'll be thirty-nine and some months forever. I'm on board with that one too."

"Cool mentor might work. I'm definitely keeping a pool boy, though..." Dita does smirk at that, "Sugar baby to sugar mama, the cycle will be complete... Though I quite like the pact idea. What horrifying Veil creature do we make a deal with to be immortal? Oh, do the Fae make deals?" She doesn't sound serious about making deals with the Fair Folk, but... that seems lie a bad idea, all the same. She takes a drink of cooled down coffee and doesn't, amazingly, pull a face at it. "But I intend to stop at twenty nine, not thirty nine. Too close to forty."

"Well, I was thirty when I got here so I missed that bus." Ravn grins, again. "And besides, blokes peak at fifty, all the manosphere tells me so. I'll settle for keeping the young professor look for a decade or four."

Then he gives Perdita's inquiry a bit more serious consideration because while anywhere else that'd just be a throw-away joke, this is Gray Harbor, and running into the Faerie Queen behind Safeway is actually a valid possibility. It may not be likely -- but it is also not impossible, and hence, warrants genuine reflection.

"I think I'd be wary of dealing with the fae," the folklorist says at length. "They're notoriously tricky, and frankly, they got the best lawyers. I know Irving's kind of won the local lot over with baked goods and milk, and I don't think that's a problem -- also, we've met that faerie prince, and he seems at least half-way decent. Brennon's eternal summer deal worries me a bit more because that seems to toe the line of if it seems too good to be true, it's probably too good to be true. But maybe we can finagle something out of the Veil, if somebody on the Other Side thinks they gain enough from it. In a way, the dolorphages are kind of like faerie in this regard. They do keep human retainers."

"... Was the Faerie prince cute?" Dita's forgotten all about the manosphere and Young Professor looks, and is right back to her eternal hunt for a prince. "Are we talking Rupert Everett as Oberon... or some sort of... Brian Froud Muppet looking Fae?" Dita is smiling, at least. They live in the weirdest place, after all, and sometimes it's magical, without being horrifying... or at least without the horror manifesting, just yet.

"I guess what I'm asking is: Should I scrap the wrought iron for the greenhouse, or just have it done over in, say... bronze? Or forgo the greenhouse entirely and go for an orangery with massive doors that allow breezes through?"

"I don't know -- are you into androgynous teenage redheads who are probably Peter Pan even if they spell their name as Petre or Petra?" Ravn smirks. "I'd be a hell of a lot more wary if I didn't know that this bloke abducted me as a kid -- and gave me back. All I had to do was ask to go home. I did eat in the faerie kingdom, by all and any law of the fae ever, I belonged to him. So whatever else he is, he's not an asshole for the sake of being an asshole."

He shudders lightly. "His horses, however? They deserve the label 'nightmare'. Fucking hell. That virgin hair? I will hogtie the things with it myself if I get a chance, then shove every dead Addington out of the way at the old lumber mill, so I can run them through the wood chipper like a Baxter ghost."

"Androgynous, yes. Redheads, yes. Teenage, absolutely not. Maybe if I was still a teen. I remember thinking Petre was quite cute when he came for me. And... technically, he could have kept me, too. I didn't eat in the Faerie Kingdom, but I did eat the pie that was left on my nightstand... and shared it with Garrett. It was really good pie." She looks away again, but she's smiling. "Ugh. Can we get another time skip of just like... a week or two?" she laughs and shakes her head.

"Ah, yes, the Nightmares. I remember those. I still wonder if a virgin remy wig would work for that." she mutters.

"All I heard was wood chipper and time skips, so I'm not really sure what to assume, but count me intrigued."

And with that, a wild Ariadne appears to plop down in a chair at the table occupied by Ravn and Perdita. The weather, being more spring and less soggy-Winter, means she's merely in a cheerfully cherry-red turtleneck beneath a black puffer-vest and jeans, along with running sneakers. In her hand, a to-go cardboard cup of what must be something minty by the faintest whiffs released from it. Her golden-hazel eyes look between her two tablemates and brows lift promptingly. Well?

Sip.

"Don't tell me Della got you on strawberry mint latte as well." Ravn glances towards the cup at the centre of the table; surprisingly, it's empty. He himself is cradling the sad remains of a cup of normal black -- acquired by Perdita for him, no doubt.

Then he offers a wry little smile. "We were talking about nightmares and how when faerie say nightmares they really do mean literal horrible horses. And time skips because sometimes, you really do want to fast-forward your life by a couple of weeks until you feel better."

It's empty, and Dita's breath is surprisingly both minty and strawberry-y. "I'm honestly not mad at it. I'd order it sometime. Probably as like... a frappe, though. It'd be good on a hot summer day. Also. Did you know they make alcoholic icecream, Ariadne? I'm buying Ravn a pint of chocolate, whiskey and salted caramel, and probably buying myself a gallon of hot chocolate tequila. It tastes like the hot chocolate Mamá used to make on cold days."

"Standard mint-mocha, she wasn't able to sell me on minty fruit," the barista replies to Ravn as to her own drink. Her eyes flick to Perdita and she nods, her smile deepening. Duly noted; customer feedback she can share with other bold adventurers in the world of coffee experiments. Shifting in her chair as she listens to both the reasoning for 'wood chipper' and the addendum to follow, she takes a moment to unzip her puffer vest to mid-breastbone. The shop is warm enough, especially with the sunlight filtering in cheerily through the windows.

"I would like to not meet any nightmares then, please-and-thank-you, but I would like to know what I can do to get on this alcoholic ice cream order list. Damn, that sounds good," she opines of the whiskey-laced dessert. "How does it hold up in the freezer? Does it need to be eaten immediately?" A pause and she adds to Dita in particular, squinting, "...you weren't blonde before."

A beat. "Though the blue seems to finally have come out of your hair," she adds to Ravn with a cheeky grin.

"It took a fair bit of washing," Ravn murmurs wryly. "I'll see if I can avoid having a do-over. I am still finding glitter in places I do not wish to discuss, and I will never again deny that glitter is in fact the herpes of the crafting world."

He toys with his cup (look how empty it is, Ariadne, do you see it?). "So, anyhow, speaking of washing, turns out Dita's installed a hot tub on the top of the Bauer Building. Just a general service announcement. I have no financial involvement in this venture. I reserve the right to enjoy the view of y'all wearing little, though."

"Wait, what took washing?" Dita asks, tilting her head innocently. She probably knows about the incident with the 'bomb'. It was, after all, all over social media. But damn is she good at looking like she doesn't have the slightest clue what he's talking about.

She rises to her feet with a wry smile, ordering another black coffee 'for herself' and asking for another strawberry mint drink 'for her friend', but suggesting that it would be better as a frappe... he says. This way, Ravn can get his drink, and Dita can have something enjoyable, too.

"Oh, with edible on the whipped cream, please? You know how he loves glitter." the slightest head tilt, and one suspects that were Dita be-pigtailed at the moment, she would be playing with one.

Observe, Dane, the puckish little purse-lipped smile at his fiddling with his oh-so-depressingly-empty cup of black coffee. Her eyes fall to it and return to Ravn's face, the little smirk intensifying. What's she smiling at in reality? The ploy? His hair finally returning to normal? The glitter? Mysteries abounding.

By Dita's movements and consequential travel to the counter, the catastrophe of the empty cup will be resolved. Ariadne simply snuggles back into her chair a little more, enough that the collars of her puffer vest tickle at her jawline.

"Russ, you know where that glitter is!" the barista calls with no hint of compunction whatsoever while looking Ravn dead in the face and smiling a Cheshire Cat smile. Still gunning to get flipped off, as always. "And twist my arm about a hot tub," she continues, more for Ravn and Dita's ears at this point, glancing at the latter. "Though all I ask is some of that liquored-up ice cream. I'm kind of a wuss about getting cold after leaving a hot tub." Shrug.

"All the glitter," Ravn agrees happily. He's not drinking it. He may get nothing at all, but he's definitely not drinking it.

Then he nods his agreement. "The dark chocolate whiskey salted caramel ice cream does in fact sound damned good. I haven't really got a habit of, what was it, sex, wine and ice cream in bed but I'm willing to budge on at least one of those. Even better would be ice cream tasting party around the hot tub, though. Great view of the stars, all the girl talk. I will consider myself a honorary girl for the occasion and shave in advance. Cheek, not legs."

At least this is edible glitter, and not, you know, regular glitter. It's basically just sugar and food coloring. Both of which are Dita's favorite food groups. She thanks Russ with a flirty little wink, then makes her way back to the table, setting the black coffee in front of Ravn and taking a sip of her whipped cream treat, ending up with whipped cream and glitter on her nose for her trouble.

"Ravn, women can have facial hair. And leg hair. Just because I had mine all lasered off at nineteen..." she laughs and shrugs, crossing her long, far too uncovered legs as she leans back, wiping at her nose with a smile. "Ice cream, hot tub, fire pit, and plans for a green house. Sounds good to me!"

Ariadne watches Russ dig up the glitter in question with a knowing smirk to herself. If only the really sparkly stuff hadn't been on back-order! Dita's wink has the youngest barista smiling broadly and his coworker watches him be quite pleased with himself after that. Ah, to be young.

"I shall de-fuzz myself accordingly for this endeavor," the redhead agrees with a circle drawn in empty air by a sneaker toe-point. She'd gone and crossed her legs in her lounging occupation of chair while Dita had figured out more drinks. "I like the idea of permanently-shaved legs though, you make this laser business sound tempting. Constantly sleek as Flipper." A soft dolphin-like chitter from the marine biologist before she sips at her coffee almost innocently. Who made that sound? Not her. "What am I bringing other than my bad self all aerodynamically-amended?"

"I've heard that some of them even have hair under their arms." Ravn leans in a little to confide this to Perdita as if it was a great, big secret. Then he reaches for his fresh coffee and curls long fingers around it; the warmth is half the pleasure in hands that frequently ache in the cold. "I'm pretty sure that's a lie though. Like girls going to the bathroom or farting."

He sips the coffee; liquid bliss, dark and pure. "Am guessing whatever you want to wear in the tub and after, as well as a high tolerance level for an amateur bartender who happens to be me."

"I'm not going to lie, it hurts like a motherfucker, and I had to avoid any sun exposure before and after for a while, because it doesn't work as well on darker skin, but that shouldn't be an issue for you. Or, well, you for that matter." she tells both of them, grinning wide at the dolphin noise.

"Anyway, bring whatever you like, I'll make... something to eat so we're not eating ice cream and getting wine drunk on empty stomachs, at least." she laughs, shaking her head slightly, "Báte sent over a recipe for my grandmother's lángos. Fried food, ice cream and booze sound like the perfect mix."

"It's true, girls don't fart, and we only go to the bathroom to touch up our make up."

"Oh my fucking god, Ravn," titter-mutters the redhead behind a hand. It's ridiculous and she's not afraid to laugh at it, the idea of fabled armpit hair or any other aspect of femininity. Perdita's further commentary has the barista breaking into honest-to-god giggling at that point, enough to make her slump slightly sideways in her chair. The minty-mocha is set down on the table for her to bring her other hand's fingers to her lips.

"Both of you," she mock-chides after emerging. Tamping down the harder laughter has brought some light color to her cheeks. "The mythical unicorn-level lady-farts, christ on a cracker." Another laugh or two before she sighs. "You make the lalanga, I'll make..." Dita is given a considering look. She knows lángos quite well herself. "Well, actually, I could bring some toppings. If you're mixing some potato into that, nothing wrong with some sour cream cream, green onion, and some garlic salt? Liptauer seems a little aggressive, even if we've got some red wine involved. My mom loves it with liptauer -- a spicy cheese spread," she explains further for Ravn with a glance at him.

Ravn raises his gloved hands in surrender and laughs softly. "I'm already lost. Just tell me what to bring, and I'll do my best to get it. I wish to God I was joking when I say it, but I don't know very much at all about food. I've never cared enough -- most of the time, food is just something I need in order to keep going. I've never really taken pleasure in it, or at least not enough to get on a first-name basis with it."

He ponders. "If you tell me what kind of food range we're looking at, though, I could probably find some good wines. I know my way around most of the pretentious wine connoisseur bullshit, I can get wring a decent bottle of Chilean out of most salesmen."

"Oh, we were too poor for potatoes." Dita jokes, but she looks thoughtful. "I joke. My father's mother could always make food stretch. They always said my great aunt was the witch, but I'm pretty sure she knew some magic in the kitchen." She tilts her head at Ariadne, smiling, "Lángos is a fried bread from The Old Country." as she says it, just a hint of something like an accent slips out. "You can top it with a variety of things, but my favorite was always when she would save some of the dough and make little... donut things. I don't know the word." Dita shrugs slightly, "We mostly spoke Kalderash." she offers by way of explanation, "So... plan for fried food, bacon... sour cream, green onions and some garlicy flavors... as for cheese spread, if you make it, I'll try it."

"Wine, yes. Whatever kind you like, we're going to get white girl wasted until we all forget how to speak English."

Look at Ariadne grin all the more. It shows off that slightly crooked front tooth of hers and dimples both.

"Kalderás. Huh. My mother was born in Budapest," the barista explains, shushing through the S to the T in a local's pronunciation. "She had a friend growing up who was kalderás. How cool is this!" Delight makes her golden-hazel eyes twinkle. "I mean, I was born here, in the United States in Colorado, so Hungarian's not my first language, but it's a home-language, y'know? If I'm that drunk, I'm still speaking English. But I can't get that drunk, unfortunately, not with Sam back at the apartment, so I'm happy to sample whatever fantastic wine Ravn brings and the bacon-laced lángos and bring some of this cheese spread -- though you probably won't like it, Ravn, my mom makes it with horseradish sauce and I'm not skimping on it because it tastes so good with that sinus-clearing heat to it. I can babysit you both and laugh my ass off at whatever falls out of your inebriated mouths."

"I don't get drunk -- not that kind of drunk -- with others." Ravn shakes his head. "I mean, drunk to the point of struggling with English? Sure. English is not my native language, that doesn't actually take too much. But proper drunk? I'm not a fun drunk. I turn into a bitter mess of self pity and resentment, and sit in a corner badmouthing myself. If I'm in that mood I'd rather be alone."

He grins slightly. "So basically, we need to invite a few more people, and Ariadne and I will hold your white girl wasted hair when necessary."

"... What surname?" Dita asks, eyebrows raising. "There aren't a lot of my close family in Hungary, now. My family tried to get as many as would come to the US, but... you never know. I've got family I don't even know how I'm related to, like Yossi. His mother's my father's..." Dita looks toward the ceiling as she tries to do the math, "... cousin?" She laughs and takes a sip of her frappe. "Home language, I get. Báte tried to teach us a little Hungarian, just in case we ran into family who didn't have the tongue, but it was Kalderash with him, Spanish with Mamá..." she shakes her head and smiles, "Amazing I speak English at all."

"I am all for you both holding my hair while I puke over the side of the Bauer building. Just... aim me to the alley, not the front sides of the building, nobody deserves that." Dita is amused by the idea, but would be horrified if it ever really happened. "Because we don't want Ravn to be a bitter mess, and Sam comes first. Especially because sometimes he's a tiger, and I love that for him."

"Invite a few more people, sure. I'm fine with getting buzzed, so it's not like I'll be totally sober," Ariadne shrugs and grins. Hair holding? She'll help out too, though more likely with a cool, wet washcloth and some Gatorade. She winces a little at the idea of Sudden Projectile Wait This Isn't Rain; side-alley it will definitely be.

"Isn't he the best tiger?" She's the proudest pupper parent in passing, beaming up dimples once more. "I was so shocked at that one, no lie -- and I wish I knew the surname, Dita, but it escapes me. My mom always referred to her as Kezia. I never met her, but she sounded like an amazing person. I can ask my mom and get back to you though? If it's possible your family knows her family, it'd be amazing to learn and kind of a 'small world' deal, y'know?"

He grins; a rare, open-mouthed one showing teeth. "Sam is best damned tiger. I'm sure Kitty Pryde would be rolling her eyes so hard she gave herself a migraine for a month, but he is. I wouldn't mind more of those dreams if we can just go without the shooting. Watching you ladies own the room was glorious."

"Kezia..." and once again, Dita shows an alarming skill with names, "One of my father's cousins is a Kezia, but that might be a nickname... She's not on the Kolompár branch... Malikov? Malikova?" Dita shrugs, "I only briefly met her at a another cousin's wedding. If she has a Bibi Mára, she's close family." Dita laughs and shrugs again, "If she doesn't... she's still probably family. Definitely ask your mom, but, uh... don't mention my name specifically." There's a story there.

"No, watching Una and Ariadne own the room was amazing. I got my dress torn off by a Sheikh, then elbowed in the face. Which, to be fair, is the order those two events usually go, but..." Perdita grins and takes another sip of her drink. At least she's able to joke about it, now.

"I could definitely do without the shooting...but yeah, it was pretty glorious." In this, Ariadne doesn't flinch. She knew she looked good then and she's not afraid to be proud of it. A little preening in her mien as she sips her coffee again isn't personally untoward, apparently. Dita still has a point about her demise and the barista's brows quirk in sympathy. "Well, it doesn't mean you too weren't glorious before and after... Can I joke about the bruises being gloriously colorful? Or shall I let you slap my wrist now?" In all fairness, she does offer her hand out towards Dita in friendly funning.

"I'll definitely ask my mom about Malikova and Bibi Mára," she still confirms to Dita with a nod. "And I won't mention your name either. I'll frame it like...a friend of a friend of a friend I met in passing at my new job, she mentioned lángos, holy crap, y'know, etcetera etcetera." A gesture with her coffee cup. "But let's not forget Ravn in a tux. Boy, you were fancy-fancy too." A frank look at Ravn now. "You owned your part of the room as well."

"Unfortunately. I do know how to walk that walk. I prefer not to. I have a reputation to uphold back home -- most eligible stick in the mud." Ravn offers a wry smile. "One of the perks about this damned town. It drives some people crazy -- I love how the rest of the world just forgets you. Last damned thing I need to is to start appearing in the society pages again."

"I don't think anyone ever really wants to show up in the society pages, even if they claim they like it. Not really. Freakin' privacy invasion to the Nth degree, I'm assuming. It's not on my to-do list." Dry flick of brows and Ariadne sips her coffee again.

"Now. I...want to hear about the worst social engagement you've both ever been to because what I have probably can't touch what you've both seen. Hit me. Gossip away. Slander those terrible socialites you'd rather see fall into the champagne tower like the most glorious, shrieking train wreck on the planet."

And so, the barista sits back for the tales.