2022-04-10 - Marina Meditations

Evening on the marina. In another couple of weeks, there'll be the incessant buzz of tourists, of boats arriving in the late day or preparing to go with the daylight, of travellers going for a nice walk of the scenic marina, of kids playing and people doing the things people do on a marina. Somebody will sell ice cream and hot dogs, no doubt.

This early in the season, though, it's still largely quiet. Enough that Ravn Abildgaard sits not in the aft end of his Vagabond, detached from the world, but on the bench on the dock, looking out over the bay. It's one of those evenings; tranquil and beautiful, and prone to turn into a very early and somewhat chilly, beautiful spring night. One of those where light pollution has not yet killed every star, and one just might spot a bit of eternity up there.

He's got a beer and all the time in the world, and nothing he needs to do at all. There are worse ways to spend an evening than watching the seagulls squabble lightly and settle as the shadows grow longer.

Disagreements between Mikaere and the crew working to repair his boat continue, though happily the Kiwi is firm enough in what he'll accept that he's not completely lost the battle to keep his girl from being completely retrofitted and turned into something else entirely. Still, while she's not currently in the water, or usable as a place to rest his head at night, being on hand to check progress remains a priority; it means he's no stranger to the marina by day, and on an evening like this one? No stranger by night, either.

He's got his own beer for once, and though his shorts and sleeveless fleece are perhaps incongruous (especially given it's not particularly warm, and this leaves both arms and legs bare), the weather doesn't seem to be bothering him any-- nor is anything, truthfully. He pads down the dock, eyes on the sloshing shadow of the water, and the darkness drawing slowly in.

"Can't beat a starry night at sea," he says, the first indication that he's identified Ravn, across the way. "But this'll do, too."

It looks like Perdita actually got the memo about it not quite being summer yet, as she walks down the marina toward the vagabond, dressed in an oversize knit sweater and a pair of blue jeans, both of which have quite a bit of paint on them. Her hair is in a simple ponytail, and, for a change, she's not even wearing much in the way of make up.

In short, from a distance she doesn't even look like Perdita Leontes. No one would expect her to be out and about in her paint spattered work clothes, but... Here she is, stopping near the Vagabond and smiling. "I half expected you'd be miles out to sea by now." she teases, holding up a hefty bag. "I brought booze and fried food." she flashes a wan smile, including Mikaere in it, too.

"This is why I like her." Ravn nods firmly, absolutely putting on the boyfriend airs for a joke. "She feeds me."

Then he lightens up in a rare, open-mouthed grin. "Hey, Leontes. Come join us? Looks like I'm not the only one to decide tonight's a night for just enjoying the first proper spring night." There's certainly room on the bench for two people, or for that matter, three or five or even seven people -- because what tourist town does not want as many romantic, bored, playful, whatever people hanging around? Gain a reputation for a good time -- they come back the year after.

That comment from Ravn draws a mirthful sound from Mikaere. "Way to a man's heart, so they say," he remarks, meandering closer-- though for now, he doesn't seem intent upon actually sitting.

"Though there's not actually an 'us'," he adds, turning over his shoulder to turn dark eyes onto Perdita and Ravn in turn. "So feel free to nudge me off on my merry way; I'll not complain too loudly. It's a beautiful night, that's for certain. Far too nice for sitting indoors."

"Hey, I brought enough for a threesome." she quirks a brow at Ravn and Mikaere, her smile gaining just a bit more of that trademark Leontes swagger to it at the joke. She drapes next to Ravn, setting the bag down between them, thus giving him space, before she begins rummaging, setting out a bottle of white rum and a pack of recyclable plastic cups, followed by a 2 liter of cola... and large bucket of fried goodness.

"Exactly, and I felt like being near the water, but not being on the beach. I don't feel up to Baba Y'ga showing up and yelling at me for being a stupid girl, again, and she seems to find me on the beach, usually."

"Joking," Ravn murmurs up at Mikaere. "Leontes is not my girlfriend."

That said? Don't mind if he reaches for a cup. "Myeah. I've met a few too many ghosts on the beach. Not that any of them were bad as such -- just, I'm not in the mood to hear about the woes of some widow from 1936 whose husband stayed at sea, and what have you. Sometimes, you just want to sit and enjoy the stars and feel peaceful. Tonight is one of those nights."

One of a lengthening spate of mild spring evenings has drawn out Ariadne and her dog from their newly-furnished abode. Frankly, the barista is tired of moving things around. Grateful for a healing boost by Una and having somehow managed to slip under logic's radar at the hospital when showing up for stitches removal -- "Honestly, I have no idea how it healed so quickly, you guys are just wonder-workers is all I figure." Charming laugh. Please don't ask more questions. -- she's walking the brindled-red Windhound at a brisk if still somewhat meandering pace down the docks. A violently coral-hued windbreaker and jeans along with sneakers and her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail means she's out for air, not to impress.

Oh, hey, folk she recognizes. Well, two of them, the woman isn't a known factor to her at this distance. Sam lifts his ears as he leads the way at the end of his leash over towards the bench. He cares deeply about the fried food. Priorities.

"Greetings and saluta -- " A pause. "Oh, god, hey!" The barista is laughing because that's Dita in the sweater and jeans and now she feels silly. "Sam, come on, seriously." The sighthound checks himself and swings back around to his owner's side, but he's still only eyes for the bucket o' goodness. Ariadne stops at comfortable conversational distance and eyes the white rum. "One of those nights?" she asks of the group as a whole, glancing between everyone.

Mikaere's laugh is low and melodious, and apparently answers Perdita-- and then Ravn, too. He stops, chuckles again, and then reassures: "I know, don't worry. After that first mistake," it's not his fault Kailey was flirting! "I've paid attention. Besides, most people've more room in their heart than a single romantic partner could ever take up. Room for all kinds of love, aye?"

Ariadne's approach turns his upper body, identification of the redhead drawing a smile in turn. "One of those nights," he agrees. "Best spent out of doors, and, apparently, not at the beach. I'd not ventured down that way, but now it sounds like maybe it's not a place I particularly want to explore."

"Leontes," Perdita tells them, as she opens the rum and pours some into Ravn's cup, then tilting her head toward Mikaere in a silent offer without actually asking, before pouring herself a cup, "is nobody's girlfriend."

"Yes, I know, I look like I'm ready to bed down under the boardwalk for the night." she tells Ariadne with a smile, "I was doing some painting and just... didn't feel up to getting cleaned up just to get fried food." she offers Ariadne a drink, too, then grins at Sam, "I don't mind sharing a bite of my chicken with him if you're fine with him having it. It's boneless."

"It's less a beach in the 'oh, golden sands and wonderful swimming!' and more... fist sized rocks and pebbles that haven't been battered to bits quite yet. It's beautiful, but not exactly the sort of place I want to go walking barefoot."

And when I spread my wings to embrace him for life
Suckin' out his love, I, I'll never be nobody's wife

Ravn is reminded of Anouk's song and hum-mumbles a couple of lines, amused. "For what it's worth, I'm no one's girlfriend either, and I don't think Mikaere is, either. As girls go, the four of us are really quite independent."

He stretches his legs on the bench and sips the rum without adding cola. "Bit of a pity, though, because it certainly is one of those nights for star gazing and holding hands and making promises you know no one intends to keep."

There's enough light from the dock lamps to catch on the barista's grin at Dita. "Hey, I'm due to paint the new place, so I feel you about giving no fucks and wanting to be comfortable. If it's fried chicken...like, maybe a sliver, but that's it. I don't want to be cleaning up dog puke," Ariadne answers honestly as to the very kind offer. Sam just wags his tail, looking between the humans with soulful brown eyes. Feed me?

Ravn's comment has the barista laughing quietly. "Cogsworth says that in Disney's Beauty and the Beast, when the Beasts asks how to court Belle. The clock gives ideas: flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep. God, sassbucket clock, calling it like it is if one isn't a romantic. Still...Dita's said the main reason we don't really go walking down there." 'We' being her and Samwise by how the young woman's hand drifts to start a lazy, fond rubbing at his neck. He leans happily into it. She glances between all again. "Hard on paws and bare feet alike. The barnacles and dead crab shells plus salt water? More like a torture field."

A sigh and she asks, reluctantly, "...is there another reason we shouldn't go walking down there?"

Mikaere's nod answers Perdita's offer, never mind that he already has a beer in hand: he's willing to upgrade. The rest, though, makes him laugh again.

"Unless my identity has slipped out from under me, and I've picked up a partner somewhere along the way... no one's girlfriend here, either, no. Or boyfriend. Or partner. Or fiance. Or husband. Ex-husband, yes, but that's a wholly different matter. I'd like to say I meant to keep all of my promises, but I don't think any of us can ever say that without lying at least a little, mm? I can't, anyway."

His gaze seeks out the darkening ocean as he adds, "I miss the black sand beaches of home. Rocky ones-- well, we've got those too, but not most of them-- just aren't the same. I think I'll avoid, and save disappointment."

There's a nod from Perdita to Ravn, her face pleasantly neutral at the thought of promises one doesn't intend to keep and star gazing and all.

Mikaere is given rum as he should like, though Dita adds a bit of cola to hers, tilts her head and offers to Ariadne as well, before she selects a chicken tender, pulls free a nibble, strips it of most of the breading, before handing it off to Samwise. "There. A taste of the good life, but not enough to make you sick." She tells him, like she's talking to a person, rather than a good doggo.

"The only way to keep promises is to never make them, but, as the great poet of our age, Fiona Apple, once said, "ever is a promise, and you can't afford to lie'." Dita smiles, then finishes off the chicken strip for herself. The bucket seems to contain chicken, fish, fries and hush puppies. One wonders if she just bribed them to throw a bit of everything in a bucket and call it a night.

"Help yourselves, I'm happy to share."

"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep, although sometimes life throws me a curveball and I don't manage. I'm also told I don't have a romantic bone in my body." Ravn laughs softly and sips his rum. The beer? Right there, he'll get back to it later. Even he is not teenage girl enough to do both at once.

Then he shakes his head. "The beach isn't particularly bad that way. Ships have been landing here for lumber since the late 19th century so obviously there are ghosts and memories, but I don't know of anything particularly unpleasant. I'm just not in the mood. Somebody who's walked around since forever tends to have a lot to say when they finally meet someone who can hear them."

When offered, Ariadne does take a cup of the white rum. No Coke for her, waved off by the cup in turn rather than a hand. Samwise is happy as a clam to receive his nibble of de-breaded chicken tender and once it disappears down his gullet, he gives Dita one of those plainly-pleased and soul-warming looks complete with wag of plumed tail.

"Oh god, Dita, you've won him over forever," laughs the barista before she sips at her rum. "Y'all take what you want, I ate dinner before we left the apartment." She's good for fried food for now. Sam sits down beside her after licking his lips and then dedicates his attention to scanning for gulls. Those feathery bastards, always worth chasing. "I'm glad I can't see what you guys can see...plain and simple." Her smile is sympathetic in a way as she looks between all again. "Though this black sand beach sounds really frickin' amazing. Volcanic sand?" she asks of Mikaere in particular.

Mikaere takes cola in his rum (or, okay, rum in his cola, but let's not get too semantic here), and acknowledges the receipt of it with a warm smile for Perdita. Now he has a beer in one hand and a rum and cola in the other, and doesn't seem too bothered about it, though it does mean chicken is not immediately on the cards for him. Such is life.

"Life's too complicated for absolutes," he concludes, sipping from his rum, first, as he turns back to consider the others-- still, it seems, happy to lurk about the edges. "You can't see them at all?" That's to Ariadne, brows raised. "Back home, we're all about seeing them. They're our ancestors; well, some of them, obviously. But yeah, volcanic sand. We've more volcanoes than anyone knows what to do with."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Ravn. You were quite the lovely Maid Marian, the perfect romantic lead." Dita's smiling, that teasing smile. "It's a beautiful beach, it's just... not... volcanic sand." she gestures to Mikaere, smiling. She takes a sip of her own rum and cola, pleased by it.

"There is something to be said for ignorance being bliss, and my life was easier before I started seeing ghosts, that's for sure." Though part of that could just be because she didn't own a massive building or have any real responsibilities.

"Mm-hmm, call me when you need a damsel in distress to rescue." Ravn smirks. "Dreams will cast us as they will, and we play the part. Maybe that's my secret true self, a helpless maiden needing rescued every five minutes or so when I fall out of a tree which I somehow climbed in a dress and seven inch heels."

Well, he did. And he fell out of the tree. It hurt.

He reaches down to scritch Samwise's head. Chicken never lasts, alas. Have to settle for scritches and the dreams of seagulls. And the seagulls in turn -- dreaming of chicken too, no doubt. Those feathery garbage bins will eat anything.

"Can't see ghosts at all," Ariadne confirms for the Kiwi. She glances down as Samwise then gets a head-smooshy-scritch he can't resist; another soft canine groan of please-more as he leans into Ravn's touch. "Like Dita said: life gets complicated when you can see them and my life is complicated enough, thank-you-very-much. Those black sand beaches are on my bucket list now though," specifically added towards Mikaere. She sips at her rum.

A teasing smile then forms on her lips. "Also, where was I for this Dream? That sounds like it would have been way too much fun, exploring the differences in fashion that way." How kind of her; she definitely means 'amusing as all hell'. "I'm reminded of the time when I said to my friend back in college -- dude's still burly as he once was, we're talking...what, 220lb of muscle, broad shoulders, Army-type -- that he couldn't run in heels to save his life. What does he do? A week later, calls me out to the local campus park and dashes in heels about a hundred yards or so. Just to spite me. Bastard ran better in heels than I did at that point in my life. Good times," she sighs.

Mikaere casts an appraising glance at Ravn, as if attempting to reconcile the tall Dane with this image of Maid Marian; by the look on his face, it's a difficult thing to imagine. "Seven inch heels," comes with a whistle. "I... don't think I could walk three steps in heels, let alone run in them," he adds, shaking his head. "But, does that mean you could do it now, Ariadne? That point in your life versus now?" If so, a demonstration might be required. "What about you, Perdita?"

And, quietly, with the faintest hint of wistful melancholy: "You've absolutely got to see a black sand beach once in your life. There's nothing like it. They just... they glitter."

"Will do, fair damsel." Dita winks at him, then pops a bite of what looks to be fried fish in her mouth.

"The differences in fashion were... not accurate to the time period. He had on a corset that had plastic boning in it, I'm pretty sure. It certainly didn't feel like whalebone OR steel."

"I spend most of my days in heels, to the point where walking in flat shoes feels a little weird... but running in heels isn't that hard, until they hit the five inch mark, and don't try anything over six inches unless you know what you're doing." she pauses, as if she just realized what she said, and shrugs, "It's all in the way you use your feet. You can't run the way you naturally run, in heels. Smaller strides, put the weight even between your toe and heel, and if you know you're going to be running in heels, you pick a wider, lower heel, or those heels that are convertible and give you a flat shoe to work with otherwise."

"Also, never anger a drag queen, they absolutely can catch you despite the ridiculous platform shoes." that sounds like experience.

"Myes. Well done, college friend Broad Shoulders, Army Type. Me, I fell on my face, about every three minutes." Ravn nods and then offers a wry little smile. "Better to be laughed at than shot at, though."

He scritches Samwise's head almost absentmindedly; for a man who claims to not be fond of dogs at all, he seems surprisingly willing to supply scritchies. Then again, he's someone whose hands are almost never still, and in the absence of sugar packets or coins to steal and let dance on his knuckles, a pupper head will have to do. He's probably not going to make Samwise dance on his knuckles.

Sighthound sound of contentment. Lean into scritchies. Too much gangly legs for knuckle-dance. There would be mass confusion and chaos.

"Falling on face is much better than being shot, I agree. But." And Ariadne points a finger off of her rum cup at Dita, given the other hand is occupied with Sam's leash. "You cannot say something like 'never anger a drag queen' and not elucidate on that because oh my god, I bet there's a story there." Brows lift as do corners of lips.

"And I can, in fact, run in heels. Dita has it right, in regards to the build of the shoe," she asides to Mikaere, looking coy and pleased.

Mikaere frowns, turning his attention down to his feet. One of them lifts off the ground and does an experimental wiggle, as if he's trying to get his head around the logistics of this information Perdita has imparted. To be honest, it does not seem as though it properly computes, because when he glances up again, it's to shake his head in genuine bewilderment. "You ladies are far beyond my understanding," he says, with a grin. "I'm impressed. I was going to say, I'm not sure a man my height needs the extra, but I imagine there are drag queens out there who'd disagree with me."

"He did, it was... I won't say 'funny' because I know it hurt like hell, but it would have been funny if it'd been anyone without, you know... neuropathy."

"Yes, I definitely prefer running in heels than running barefoot in a crowd, at least in heels I'm less likely to get my toes stepped on... And a bit taller." there's a slight shrug at the last bit. Without her ever present heels, Dita's rather petitie.

"So... when I was younger I used to sneak into bars and clubs, and one night I was really hungry and didn't have any money, so during one of the drag shows I tipped the queen a 1$ bill I'd found... and lifted the 20$ someone had tipped her. She caught up to me a few blocks later, snatched me off the ground by my hair and threatened to beat my ass."

Perdita laughs and shakes her head, "Her name was Ma Petite. She was taller than these two. She ended up taking me with her to IHOP and bought me some pancakes, then broke up a slap fight between two twinks who were fighting over a third twink." A wide, fond smile, and she rolls her eyes at the last bit.

"If ever you need to learn, I'll teach you." she tells Mikaere.

Ravn hitches a shoulder. He knows he looked like an idiot in a corset, veil, and seven inch heels with curly toes, more so when trying to climb a tree or out of a tower window. That was presumably the whole point of the exercise.

He empties the rum and puts the plastic cup down in favour of the temporarily abandoned beer bottle. The stars are bright tonight. Somewhere, a fishing cutter quietly duk-duk-duks its way towards the older, dilapidated industrial harbour. A couple of seagulls glide behind it, hoping for a last snack before going to bed on a roof somewhere. It's too early for them to be fighting over good nesting spots yet; give it another two weeks and they'll be dive bombing anyone coming too close to their chosen perch.

"We women endeavor to remain total mysteries. Like unicorns," Ariadne drolly asides to Mikaere after he comments. But then, Dita story time.

And it makes the barista titter. "Epic," she decides. "I will absolutely never attempt to outrun a drag queen in heels now. Life wisdom: noted. I like that you got pancakes out of it though. It's great that the story ends on a high note rather than you getting your ass whupped."

Samwise sniffs at Ravn's hand, clearly expecting more head-scritchies. Excuse me. Human. You with the thumbs.

Seriously (or not seriously, really, but pretending to be): "You are absolutely unicorns, and I will never understand any of you." Mikaere breaks into a grin afterwards. No, okay: very much not serious then.

"I agree-- that's a great story," he adds in, with a smile for Perdita. "Do you think... I'm going to need to learn? Is this a life skill important to have in this place? I'm not saying I'm not willing to try, mind."

The fishing cutter is watched by Dita, her dark eyes tracking its progress for a few seconds, before she shakes off her reverie. "Probably a wise idea. If they can do choreography in their heels, they can definitely run in them, and probably catch you, too. Unless you're good at parkour or something." There's a suggestion there that Dita might have since gotten good at parkour.

"You be a unicorn, I'll be a sphinx. Good luck solving my riddles."

"You never know, one of those 'Run in heels' marathons may come to Gray Harbor, and suddenly the pressure's on to run for charity, but... you don't know how!" Perdita tilts her head a little, smiling.

Ravn chuckles to himself -- might be no one else finds it funny but he does. "Rosencrantz probably can run in heels, also as a unicorn."

Then he obligingly goes back to scritching Samwise's head. Can't argue with the dog.

Ariadne laughs. Her, a unicorn? Twist her arm. Immediately, however, she glances towards Ravn and is rewarded with the exact thing she was thinking. It makes her laugh more, enough to bring the wrist of her drink-holding hand to her mouth.

"I want to see this, so...since Dita's just full of wickedly-wonderful ideas...how's the idea of this Run In Heels marathon for charity sound to everyone? Not immediately, of course there'd need to be time for interest to grow...flyers to put up...people to get involved... The weather has to get nicer too. Even I'm not fool enough to try it on wet concrete." Pragmatic shrug. Samwise leans into the scritchies. Yes, good human. I'll train you yet.

Mikaere opens his mouth.

Mikaere closes his mouth.

He opens his mouth again, but this time so that he can down the rest of his rum and cola.

And then, finally, with an exaggerated and clearly designed-to-be-dramatic sigh: "If we can find heels to feet these bad boys," his feet, presumably, "then you may teach me, and I will even wear a tutu and a tiara... as long as the charity is a good one."