2022-04-13 - Life is a D&D Metaphor

It's another wet and muddy spring day, and more than one person has tracked mud in across Della the Day Manager's nice clean floor. Una may or may not have been one of them (she likely was, let's be honest: it's not as if there's really a way to avoid it, really, and the rain's been coming down all day so far), but all indications of it are now gone: she's happily ensconced at one of the tables near the window, red waves falling over her shoulder as she leans forward to scribble into the notebook on the table in front of her. Every so often, she casts a glance out the window towards the rainy street, idly searching the passers by; and then it's back to whatever it is she's doing, sometimes with a pause for coffee along the way.

Because of course she's got coffee, and a muffin that so far sits largely untouched, as it so often does.

And who to wonder in on a muddy day like this but one Ravn Abildgaard? He's not here for the coffee -- not like he's going to drink whatever he gets -- but for the wi-fi. Oh, sure, he could just go use the excellent internet service at Five Oak but that's not the point. It wasn't even the point in winter when he lived there.

The point is to see and be seen, only that makes him sound like some small-town Yelp! reviewer who fancies himself an Influencer. The truth is more pragmatic: To do the job the folklorist has appointed himself to, he needs to be out on town every day, talking to the people who live there. When somebody needs to bump into somebody -- he needs to be there, because people don't come calling. When someone falls off a Greyhound into a town of nightmares, he needs to be there. That's his role in Gray Harbor's narrative: He's the guy to bump into.

He orders black coffee. He gets cinnamon chai latte with rainbow sprinkles and a carrot stick. Today is a busy day; Della doesn't have time to look up a genuine horror. She just makes something up on the spot and sends him on his way without the usual argument. And like so many other days before, the Dane accepts his fate-in-a-cup and heads for the nearest table that seems to have an empty seat and perhaps a friendly face.

He pulls out a chair and plonks himself down on it, and the laptop on the table. "How's life?"

Surely it's no surprise to Una, to find a Ravn abruptly at her table. She almost certainly clocked his arrival, given those not-irregular glances up, may even have acknowledged him with a nod somewhere along the way, though perhaps not, too: she seems pretty lost in her own thoughts, too. Still, it takes her a moment after the Dane's arrival to properly glance up and allow a smile to warm her face. Admittedly, the first thing she does after that is to take in the drink of the day, and wince lightly at the-- carrot stick? Carrot sticks do not belong in coffee.

No, she's never going to stop being bemused by Della's abominations.

"Don't worry, I'm not in a mope-y, dismal mood today," she says, in lieu of a full answer. "Life's fine. Life's good, even. I cannot possibly complain about life. The Veil has left me alone for more than a week, my garden is happy, and I am an embodiment of privilege. Does the rain make the harbour all choppy, or do you not even notice? Hi."

"I'm Danish. We notice when it's not raining." Ravn smirks lightly; in this, he is honestly not so different from the PNW natives -- the two biomes may be on opposite sides of the planet but they're on the same latitude and share much the same weather, at least in the coastal regions.

He eats the carrot stick. It's not going in his coffee. Absolutely not.

"Whatever bothered you got sorted then?" Ravn quirks an eyebrow in that fashion that says, he knows it's none of his business and he's not going to ask, but if it's something that should be dragged out in the open and examined, now's as good a time as any.

Una's laugh is light and easy, and evidently genuine enough to make it all the way to her eyes, which gleam-- if only for a moment or two. "Granted," she agrees.

"I don't know about sorted," she allows, "so much as... you know how sometimes everything just piles on at once and makes everything seem impossible? And... well, I get hyper-sensitive and read too much into everything and then it cascades, and... anyway. The point is, I woke up one morning and felt fine again. I had my blip, and I suspect there are still some things I need to work through there, but they're no longer pressing down on me, and I'm good with that. I'm learning to live an unexamined life-- well, no, I'm not. But less over-thinking, and more making conscious decisions about how I engage."

Ravn nods lightly and does not yet turn on his laptop; he can grade that essay later (and really, his interest in yet another take on Ragnar Lothbrok contra the History Channel show is at an all-time low; it's great that fiction gets people interested in the history behind but do they have to fight him all the way on it?). "I guess I can relate, yeah."

Then he smiles, at himself. "I always give people the same advice: Just tell them. You're having emotions for or about someone, go sort it out with them -- whether it means asking them out or threatening them with a lawyer or a stick. If it's town hall, go straight for the lawyer; if it's the IRS, get an accountant. But whatever it is, go tackle it."

Beat. "And of course, if it's a person, don't expect me to ever take my own advice. That's the perk of being the town sage: I get to not take my own advice."

"'Do as I say, not as I do'," concludes Una, with a wry little laugh. She reaches for her coffee, wrapping both hands around the mug as if to leach out any remaining warmth, though given how little coffee is left, there can't be much of that.

"I wish it were as simple as talking to someone. Unfortunately, the problem is more to do with me than anyone else, and I'm difficult to reason with, I've found. My own worst enemy. But that's the plan. Step 1: Stop squishing myself down into a pre-defined box, start working out who I actually want to be. Step 3: profit. There's a step 2 in there, and that's probably the trickier bit, but, you know. It's fine. I'm good."

Beat. "Should I be trying to give you the same advice? Not that I am anything like a town sage. But."

"I suppose it's the kind of advice we always can use on some level." Ravn chuckles and curls his gloved fingers around his coffee mug. He has no intention of drinking the contents, but they're still warm and warmth is nice. "I am working on understanding some changes in my powers. That counts, surely? Sorting out people -- I gave up on that decades ago. Step two doesn't come easy."

He grins slightly. "Do as I say and not as I do. The wisdom of parents everywhere. It's true, though. The whole adage that if you've got a crush on somebody, tell them -- either they feel the same way and all is good, or they don't, in which case you can get started on moving on. Same with most other issues -- is he mad at you? Go ask him. Did she forget to invite or does she not want you there? Ask. And of course, like anyone else, I'll give that advice and then do absolutely nothing of the sort myself, either, because people are difficult and a lot of the time, it's easier to just mind your own business and let things roll past."

"That counts," confirms Una, whose expression has turned thoughtful and intent. "You're talking about how... like, you threw that boulder? Or the... with the nightmares. Like that?" Beat. "Not that you need to tell me, of course. I'm being nosy."

And nosiness doesn't stop her from adding, "But you're right, yeah. There's no point sitting in a corner and feeling like someone is mad at you and you're not sure why when... you can just ask them and know. And maybe they are, and you can fix it. And maybe they're not, and it's all in your head, and if so, that's... well, that's good. It's all about being proactive, and that's hard, but it's important. But it's true in more complicated things, too, of course. Life. It's a mess. But it's a good mess, most of the time."

Ravn nods slightly. "Yes. A while back -- before Christmas, I think -- I had a Dream." He pauses and makes a face. "Not quite a Dream, capital D. A mindscape experience. I was a cat -- that's my mindscape form, apparently. Someone took my collar off. I did not know what it meant, but the mindscape works a lot like dreams -- symbols, patterns, subconscious things. So I came out of it assuming that something had been unleashed, but I did not know what."

He hitches a shoulder a little. "It became clear since. The boulder, the nightmares, a couple of other situations like them. I've never been able to do things like that before. Somehow, I've tapped into power I never had before, or I've been restricted in accessing them and now the restriction is gone. Either way, I need to learn how to use it before I get somebody or myself hurt."

A small smile goes with that. "This, at least, is something I can do. Exploring and testing boundaries. People are a lot more complicated."

Una's eyes widen, just ever so slightly, as she listens to Ravn's explanation. 'Mindscape' is a new term for her, if her expression is anything to go by: it results in a frown, albeit not a deep one. The rest? She exhales, then gives a short little nod.

"So no more 'I can't do more than levitate a sugar packet'," she says, then, with a little not-quite-a-laugh. "That... must be quite a trip. Getting your head around that. Changing... how you see yourself, I guess? I mean, on a smaller scale I get it. Ariadne and I testing things out last week, trying to work out what her powers are, and... part of me desperately wants a system to classify and test. Like, 'if you can do x, you can also do y' and 'you have a level of power equal to a'. But I guess maybe the exploring and boundary testing is more fun?"

"I need to know what kind of power I'm working with." Ravn steals one of those sugar packets -- though with his hands, not by levitating it. "I tried to throw a chocolate bar off a shop display back just before Christmas, and ended up covering half of Safeway in exploding chocolate. That railing on the bridge? Not proud of that either. If I can't trust my abilities do what I expect them to do, it becomes safer to simply not use them at all. Does that make sense?"

He shakes his head and spins the packet on a fingertip; given the glove, some subconscious level of manipulation probably is involved. "It would be nice if we had a kind of manual to go by, yes. But that too applies to people. Imagine that -- shine or people, check the boxes, do the sum. It would certainly make my life easier."

"Yes," is Una's answer, and it comes immediately. "And especially if you have that much more power. I realise that what you do is not the same as what the healers do, for instance, but given what they're dealing with at the moment... it seems like throwing too much power at something accidentally is not wise. It's a good reminder, actually: not to use them as a crutch, because... if that can happen." If that can happen, then it's just not necessarily safe.

"God, yes. I want a manual for life. If reading people-- I mean, just how they act, nothing supernatural-- was that easy... If helping people was that easy. Hell, if understanding my own feelings, on anything not specifically related to other people or anything like that, was that easy. Except I guess that would require people to fit in boxes, and I've already said I don't want to be in one."

Beat. "So how are you going to figure out your power stuff? Controlled tests?"

"How about we stay out of boxes and put everyone into them?" Ravn is not quite serious, judging from the sparkle in gray eyes. "That'd be the practical solution. We get to stay nice and complicated and messed up, everyone else has to fill out sheets and meet expectations. Everyone else has to follow the manual from now on. Make it so."

He toys with the sugar packet; it floats and then hops to his other hand. "I'm going to -- use it. That's how I learned as a boy. Want it enough, something happens. Find out how hard I have to punch a wall before it breaks. How hard to pull the rope for the curtain to come down. How hard to push for a coin to move. Small things. Large things. Can I step into the Other Side and back out? I shattered a Dream once. Maybe I can do it again."

Evidently this idea delights Una, whose smile turns immediately bright and then brighter still. "Agreed," she declares, with a laugh. "Decision made. Everyone else is just going to have to fall in line and do what is expected. No untidy variations allowed."

She's slower to respond to the rest, though clearly not out of disinterest, not given the way she nods, and the thoughtful way she plays with the rim of her mug. "Isn't stepping into the Other Side dangerous? I'm sure someone told me that. I mean... no, obviously stepping there is dangerous, and I don't mean that as a 'oh no, you can't do that, it's dangerous' cry of fear or whatever. What I mean is... that it's easier to create a door in than a door out, I think?" Beat. "Also, for that matter, is it always possible to create a door out of a Dream, the way Kailey did in that Sims Dream, way back when? I have questions."

"Supposedly, creating a door in is not too hard. Creating one out is substantially harder, or so I am told." Ravn toys with the sugar packet. He's answering based on what others have told him, rather than personal experience. "I've seen people open doors a number of times -- and it makes sense, you have a monster that didn't want to be here in the first place and you offer it an escape, everyone's happy, right?"

He flips the packet. "As I understand it, it's not very difficult to get to the Other Side. There's a mirror town over there -- like ours, but not exactly. Dark. Frightening. Off. Lots of things are frightening here -- and I think it says a lot that I've lived here for a year and a half and no one has offered to actually show me yet. Sometimes, the almost-familiar is more frightening than the truly dark, you know? The one thing they do keep saying, though, is that the real risk of doors is that you're not the only person who can use them. Open a door into some nightmare, something may come out."

"So..." begins Una. "What happens if you open a door in, and then can't get back again? You get stuck?"

There's a lot to unpack here, though it's fair to say that Una's concern is intellectual more than wholly practical. "I mean, I know that people get stuck. And I get the impression that sometimes it's because they... fell in, more than anything? And sometimes not. And sometimes, I guess we have absolutely no idea what happened. The 'letting things out' bit is terrifying, though. It's one thing to know that things may happen in Dreams, and... still kind of another to see things come out, properly, in this world. Despite, of course, I get that-- at least if you listen to Jules' grandmother-- it's not as simple as two separate worlds."

Her brow furrows, expression showing something akin to-- if not exactly like-- frustration. The metaphysics of all of this do her head in.

"I refuse to believe that there is not a way back out. The trick may be finding it." Ravn nods; it's certainly something that's kept him awake. "What I do so far is watch. I go somewhere in town and I watch. When I've looked long enough, hard enough -- it changes. I realise that I'm still sitting on a bench in the park but the people around me don't look right. They're hazy like they're not all there, and there are shadows like something else should be there and isn't. I think that's me seeing into the Other Side somehow. I know that that can be done -- opening windows into other realities. August Røn showed me once -- a world that was just like our forest except everything was insect. Instead of elks there were giant bugs. Instead of hummingbirds, hummingspiders. It was not bad -- just very, very alien."

He ponders. "Once, out behind the Black Bear Diner, Vic Grey did the same -- let me and another traveller look into the woods and there were tentacle monsters there, just going about their business. I think this is the first step -- understanding how many realities there are, how it's touch and go where you go. Just like Dreams."

Una opens her mouth to say something partway through Ravn's explanation-- and then shuts it again. He's still talking, and she's still thinking. While she listens, though, she reaches for that poor abandoned muffin, and pulls off a piece of it, chewing and swallowing it methodically.

Finally: "So it's really not just our world and that world. It's... an infinite number of them, all layered over the top. And some are... closer and thus more similar? And other are just... completely different, probably. Fuck, no wonder this kind of thing fascinates people. No wonder people do choose to go. I mean, I don't think I would? And yet, at the same time..."

She presses her lips together, and then circles back, a little: "So opening doors, and all of that, is linked to moving things? Can people who can do one do the other, assuming they have enough power? Or is that complete supposition."

"As far as I can make out, that's how it works. Infinite realities. There's an immediate one that's sort of just next door, which mirrors this one. That's where things like the Revisionist exists. And then there's the rest which are -- what they are. Anything seems to be possible." Ravn nods, checking a mental notebook. "As far as I've picked up from Rosencrantz, doors are connected to moving things. It makes sense, I suppose -- moving things is a kind of bending space if you squint, and so is this. I suspect the biggest hurdle, at least for me, isn't doing it -- it's keeping myself from getting Lost in it."

He looks up and smiles a little. "I do intend to wander off over there some day, see if I can find the far end. But that's -- years, decades into the future, I figure. I need to understand and learn a lot more first. And I kind of want to try to rig the game so that I have a way back, too."

Una's first nod confirms her understanding and acceptance of the concept of infinite realities, and her second? The link between moving things and opening doors, which, even if it does not make complete sense, mostly works.

It's her last nod that is, perhaps, the interesting one: far tinier than the others, barely a dip in her chin, but still there. "You want to be able to create a trail of breadcrumbs," she supposes, gesturing towards the muffin crumbs she's already generated on her plate. "Or metaphorically tie yourself to something so that all you need to do is tug on the rope and you can get back out again."

In the end, her conclusion is to-the-point: "That's smart. You know you want to know. This is your field-- of course you do. But you're going to be sensible about it, if you can. God, and there's just so much to learn, isn't there? Relatively speaking, we know so little. Well. I say 'we'. Clearly there are people who know a lot more."

"I can't ignore how long this has been happening here," Ravn agrees, quietly. "For how many years? I've been in town less than two years and I've already seen so many people arrive and then -- where are they now? Did they leave, without a word? Were they taken and we just don't notice because the Veil does not want us to think about it? It feels like we live in Cowslip's Warren, sometimes. Never ask 'where'. Just accept that some day, the snare gets you. Enjoy life until then, write sad poetry about being the rabbit of the wind and the water."

He shakes his head. "I don't want to be just another fly in the pitcher plant. I want to see it all -- of course I do, I was born for this, I've studied it all my life. But I want it on my terms."

Normally, the Watership Down reference would get more acknowledgement from Una; today, however, given the subject matter, it just results in a twitch of her mouth, and the tiniest tip of her head. "The 'taken' bit is what terrifies me," she admits, then. "It's one thing to-- I mean, I've accepted that I've taken the bait. I'm not leaving town. But to be taken altogether? That's not a fair trade. That's not a trade at all."

She probably hasn't meant to break her piece of muffin into crumbs, but that's what seems to have been the result, fingers moving without her brain really paying any attention. She abandons it, wiping her fingers on a napkin. "So you're going to do everything you can to be ready," she concludes, turning the corner on that admission to focus on the rest. "That makes sense."

"Pretty much. I can't just go back home and get on with my life. I can't because I don't want to. I have obligations aplenty back there, plenty pull. None of it is something I want -- go home, run the family business, find a wife, have some kids, be respectable." Ravn shakes his head. "Go into myths and legends, live them? Yes, please, please. I've wanted that all my life. But I don't want to be just taken and digested. I want an exchange. I want to end up on the Other Side and make a difference for people here."

"Respectability was always overrated," is light, but there's understanding in Una's tone, too. She even has a smile for the rest of what Ravn has to say.

"What kind of difference would you make, if you could? Finding more ways to generate whatever it is they want from us that aren't... full of death and despair?"

"Start smaller, maybe. Rules. Make things follow story patterns. If you wear a red riding hood, look out for wolves and foresters. I feel that what we're so afraid of is that we don't understand the rules." Ravn glances over his shoulder, at nothing in particular. "But it's complicated since there are things out there that want us lost and confused and terrified."

He shakes his head again. "I don't have answers. Not yet. I mean, that's why I'm still here, or one of the reasons I'm still here. It's a work in progress, finding out how it works, how to make changes. I bet I'm not the first one to settle down with that intention either, and I wonder who the others were -- and what became of them."

Una's gaze follows Ravn's mostly by default, but with nothing to focus on, turns back to the Dane a moment later. "We want Dreams, and everything else, to fit neatly into those boxes we were talking about earlier," she says, with a wry laugh. "'This is y story, so the answer is x, and now that I know this, I can play it out and it's actually kind of fun'. And some of them do work like that, and it's fine. But a lot of them don't, and that's-- yeah. I like rules. I like feeling as if there is structure to follow. To bend, sometimes, but still."

She leans back, now, folding her arms loosely beneath her chest, resting just barely upon the edge of the tabletop. "I bet you're not, either. Not in the past two hundred years, and... well, longer than that too, of course. As long as there's been humans here. Did they make any difference at all? Not that it matters. Even if you knew they hadn't, you'd still want to try, right?"

"Well. We know that people can make a difference. The Baxters and Addingtons did. I'm not sure it was a good difference, all things considered, but they definitely changed the current." Ravn half-smirks. "Whatever was here before -- things in the dark, maybe, monsters, bad dreams -- became a lot more focused. The Veil got a lot thinner. Because something they did, because what William Gohl did, because -- well, apparently, those families have a talent for messing things up. But the point remains -- we can make changes."

He looks at his coffee as if for a moment he is tempted to sample it. Then bitter (or rather, sticky-sweet) experience gets a word in, and he sticks to warming his hands on the cup. "I feel this is the one thing that my life is about. You know how people feel sometimes they have a purpose? They'll say things like 'I was always meant to be a mother' or 'I always knew I'd go to the Olympics right from when I saw the thing on TV as a boy', and so on. It clicked for me soon after coming into town: This is my thing. I was born in a place like this, so I'd be ready for a place like this."

Una presses her lips together in acknowledgement of the Baxters and Addingtons, admitting, "I'd forgotten, just for a moment, about everything I know about what they did." Which is-- far from everything, but enough. "Those families... I wonder if they caused the same kind of trouble before they came here. I mean, not that it matters. We're left with what they did do, here."

She smiles, then. "I get that. I get how this place must be for you. It's definitely not my purpose-- I haven't figured that out yet, and maybe I don't have one in that sense, which is also completely fine-- but I can understand how it would be for you. It's your thing. And in a sense, maybe it was waiting for you, too. I mean-- or maybe not too. That's equally fine."

"You'll find yours. I mean, we all do in time -- don't we?" Ravn nods again, with that little lopsided smile of his. "Maybe yours is meeting the right person or the right challenge, and it's just not time yet. The only one who gets to define you, is you. I feel that a lot of the time, we get this wrong. We let others try define us by what they think a good life is. Wife, kids, fancy car, nice house. That's somebody's paradise, but not mine. Getting swept off your feet and dragged around every bridge in Madison County is somebody's dream, but it may not be yours."

"Not everyone," says Una, who does not seem especially bothered by this, at least superficially. "I mean, what does it even mean, anyway? As long as we live a life we're happy with, one that lets us feel like we did something good, do we need a big, overarching purpose? Maybe mine is just to bake cookies for people, and be the friendly girl-next-door," beat, "not usually literally, mind. Just. You know. And maybe there's more to it than that, and that's also fine. I'll figure it out. Or I won't."

She shakes her head. "I have a good life. I met a woman," she gestures out the window, "a little while back. A few weeks ago, maybe. Homeless. Younger than me. Completely confused. And it... I mean. It's not like it's the first time I've met and tried to help someone? But she was so young. And it just reminded me... I'm so incredibly lucky. Whatever shit I've faced in my life, and sure, there's been shit, it didn't lead me to that. And that's definitely luck, and privilege, not some innate superiority."

"They built an entire religion around a guy whose purpose in life was basically to tell people to not treat each other like shit. Friendly person with cookies sounds like a pretty good purpose to me." Ravn hitches a shoulder lightly. "That's what we get wrong -- we think success must be measured in holdings and belongings. By that logic, I won the game being born, and I don't particularly feel like a winner. Helping someone? That feels more like a win if I have to be honest."

He almost has to take that stance; the man is one of the driving forces behind HOPE, after all. If he's making money on that somehow, it's certainly going unnoticed. "I feel -- extremely privileged in some aspects, and I am. And extremely underprivileged in some, and that is possible too. Purpose is -- what we want it to be, what makes us feel fulfilled. Not what society thinks we ought to strive for."

"Yeah, and look what people did to that," is not fair to the religion, but is obviously intended to make some kind of a point: people will corrupt anything. People are shit.

Una nods, though. "I mean, yes. All of that is demonstrably true. And if I can, in my small, utterly insignificant way, make the world a better place, maybe that's enough. But that's on me to work out: what do I count as success. Will baking cookies for the next sixty odd years be enough? And if not, what will? Difficult questions. But ones worth exploring, I suppose."

"Yeah." Ravn nods again. "And for me -- if I can save some lives here, make some sense of a corner of it all, that's a win. We all got to work out for ourselves what it is we consider to be 'success'."

He steeples those gloved fingers -- the sugar packet keeps sitting on a knuckle like the impervious little thing it is -- and thinks aloud, still. "I think for me, success would be meeting a woman patient enough to deal with my shit, forgiving enough of my wandering off and getting distracted by strange things, and then some day, when we're ready, we go take on the monsters together. But I'll settle for less -- so I'm going to keep preparing for taking the part of the journey that I can control. Can't control who you meet or befriend, but I can control when I decide to step over."

Una smiles, this time. "That sounds like a good measure of success," she says. "Not that you need me to tell you that, of course. I hope that works out for you-- with or without her. Because I guess some things really are out of our control, right. Meeting people. And whatever. And that's okay. We control the things we can control, and... now I'm completely misquoting, aren't I? Something about the wisdom to know the difference between the things we can control, and the things we can't, which we have to accept." Handwave, handwave - but literally, in this case, one arm lifted to perform the gesture.

"Anyway. The point is: it can be a good life without perfect, amazing success."

"Or that we define for ourselves what perfect, amazing success means." Ravn smiles a little and then nods.

Grey eyes study Una for a moment and then, thoughtfully, he asks, "Do you feel pressure? To find your purpose, to live up to expectations? I know I do sometimes, even in this town, because people here are raised with the same tropes as everywhere else. That whole, you've been single how long, there must be some dark secret thing -- and that whole, why aren't you trying to do better? Although moving into Oak Avenue helped with that, it was a lot worse when I lived in the trailer park and people kept assuming I was desperate to find a way to make money enough to get out of there."

"Yes, and then what great success is, and so on, all the way down to failure, because it's not binary."

Una's quick to answer that, and much slower to get to the rest, to the point where she busies herself with her muffin again, though surely, at this point, she's not actually inclined to eat it. "Not exactly," she admits. "Most of the time, I feel... no, not invisible, that's wrong. I feel like no one particularly expects anything of me at all, beyond what I've shown already. My mom expected more, but that stopped, and now it's just... I think I've gotten complacent, is the problem, and because people aren't judging me, I need to judge myself in their place. Una, who floats through life not achieving much of anything. Una, who was once considered so bright and promising, and now has not much to show for herself."

Ravn's eyebrows shoot up and then he laughs softly -- not at Una but with her. "Well, there's something we have in common, then. Firstborn son, heir to the family title and fortune, bright academic mind -- turns out he's an introvert asthmatic who'd rather go running off with hustlers and pickpockets. Ends up trekking around the world to do charity work in some nowhere town. Even my aunts have kind of resigned themselves to a stance of oh well, at least when he dies the whole shebang will pass to a cousin. I'm just a blip."

"But here, you're a person who connects people. You know a lot more about useful things than most of us do, even if I know you don't know anywhere close to everything." Una's smile is crooked, and then, she, too laughs. "But yes. We have that in common. I think I worry that people see me... as someone to be protected? Weak, somehow. That because I'm nice, I'm also delicate and fragile. And I'm not. I mean-- I have my vulnerabilities, clearly. But I'm not that pathetic. Not being ambitious, or well-educated, or exceptionally outgoing, or... I don't know, whatever. It shouldn't matter."

"It's not pathetic. And it's not invalid, either." Ravn makes a little face. "I am delicate and fragile. And I hate it. Flick me with a feather and I'm down. Ask me to run and I'm done for. It takes a lot of biting back anger and frustration because I am very often the person holding things back. I am the weakest link whenever things smell like fighting. I come from a world where men are men, from eight hundred and fifty years of manly men being generals, knights, politicians, leaders. Martial types. Strong men, proud men. And then there's me. I'm over it now but believe me, when I was your age I was still choking on it hard. I know it's just, what, eight years, but somehow, that thirty milestone is a big deal. If we're still going our own way at thirty, maybe we're not going to break."

Una makes a face of her own, but acknowledges Ravn, too, with a slow nod. "And now you can throw boulders," is what she says, with a crooked little smile, though that's not the point, and she's not (really) trying to make it so.

"That's encouraging. I mean, a bit. And I guess it's on me to prove that I don't need protection. And to... work out who I am, enough, to know where my strengths are, and to start accepting them. I'd rather it not wait until I turn thirty, though, because that's years away." The muffin plate gets pushed away again. No, she's really not going to eat it.

"I guess, for me, it's less about physical weakness, though. I mean-- I know I'm not a great warrior or anything. I can deal with that, because it also turns out... I mean, I caused my share of damage in that Dream the other week. And I can heal. I'm not physically strong, but that doesn't make me-- I don't know. It's probably mostly in my head anyway."

"It's about feeling like you don't measure up." Ravn nods again; he knows this feeling so very well. "Feeling like you're the pity case or the slightly embarrassing sidekick who's there to make the hero look better."

He steeples those long fingers again and the little sugar packet obediently hops from knuckle to knuckle. "It's bullshit. Brain weasels. But that doesn't mean the feeling isn't crippling. I'll never be a fighter. I'll never be a healer, either. What I am is somebody with a lot of academic knowledge, and I'm a pretty decent thief to boot. I like to think that if this is some kind of cosmic game of Dungeons and Dragons, I'm a bard. I play an instrument, I know weird shit, and I pick pockets. The paladin and the wizard may get all the credit and the fame but they still need me to get them into the dragon's lair in the first place."

Una opens her mouth, and then stops. Yes, says her nod: yes, that exactly.

"Okay," is what she says, finally. "No, that makes sense. And it comes back to..." A pause. A half-smile, this time. "Accepting the things you cannot change. I'm not going to be the paladin or the wizard or the fighter. I'm... if I'm anything, I'm a hedge witch. A smattering of useful but not especially showy skills. Ariadne called me a kitchen cleric. I'm not un happy to be that. I just... don't want to be under-estimated."

It's enough, though, to return her smile, and to ease the tension in her shoulders enough that her hands fall idly towards her lap. "Our brains are absolutely the worst. Ugh, so ridiculous."

"Radogast the Brown." Ravn laughs. "All he does in Lords of the Rings is look like walking hedge, covered in leaves and animal companions. Weirdass eccentric who lives in the wods and talks to mice. And drops the heroes some of the most important clues at all as to what's going on with the whole war. He is in one chapter in a novel that drags on forever, a novel that dedicates two hundred pages to the description of a forest. And without him, the whole story would have gone nowhere."

He grins slightly. "Knowing Scullins I'm pretty certain she did not mean that in a demeaning way. More along the lines of Radogast the Brown: The small things matter just as much to the whole. That paladin and that wizard aren't going to save the world if I'm not there to let them into the dungeon. And they're not going to make it through if you don't give them a lunch pack. I guess the real question there is, can we accept that we're not the people who end up with medals and elf princesses? I can."

Nerd reference makes Una smile. Nerd reference even makes her laugh, one of those little chokes of laughter that doesn't last, but is a peal of pure delight while it does.

"No," she agrees. "She meant it as a compliment, I know that. And I take it as one. I think--" What does she think? She pauses, now, brow creasing in careful consideration as she works through where her thoughts are. "I don't think I mind being Radogast the Brown, no. I don't want a medal, and I definitely don't want an elf princess. I don't want to be lauded as a hero, but I don't want to feel as if my contribution doesn't matter. And," she's quick to add, "I don't think people are implying that, not exactly. It's-- brain weasels, like you said. I'm not going to be on the frontlines of things that go down around here, not except by chance, but I can still contribute, in my own way."

A firm nod, now. "If only believing that were as easy as saying it, you know?"

"Yes." Does he know, indeed. "Our whole culture, our tradition of story telling, puts the spotlight on the brave, the few. The protagonist. So if you're not him, and you're not his trusty side kick or his wise old mentor -- what are you? Nobody as far as modern tradition is concerned. We don't know the names of the little folks. But without them, the whole castle crumbles. And I think people like you and me need to remember that, sometimes. That our part is just as important -- it's the whole that matters."

Ravn smiles a little and toys with his tiny paper packet. "It's part of what I keep harping on about. The whole Team Humanity thing. That's not just finding the heroes and reminding them to herd everyone else to safety. It's that the heroes can't do the hero business without the rest of us, either. In every group Dream I've been in, somebody knew something, did something -- and it wasn't always the powerful people, either. A bloke like Rosencrantz, he is a hero -- he wants to take on the world, fight everything for the rest of us. But he can't do it if we're not helping him stay on his feet -- keeping him going, supporting him. We all need each other. It's far more complex than hero and sidekicks."

"And the rest of us are NPCs," says Una, who laughs, but not in a way that suggest she's particularly fond of being so. No one wants to be the NPC in someone else's story.

"Yeah," she adds, then. "Yeah, that makes sense. And I imagine... being the hero sucks sometimes, too. It's not like they're really getting the better deal. I know that. And let's face it, I'd probably hate feeling like I had to be in the middle of everything, and have all the answers, and be ... well, whatever. The pressure. I'm good at what I am. And I do appreciate feeling like I'm on the team, at least. If we're Team Humanity, hopefully I'm more than just a bench warmer, even if I'm not... Well. Sport metaphor, whatever."

She lets out another little breathy laugh. "So I'll keep baking cookies. Fine. I can do that."

"No, that's not the point I'm trying to make. I'm not giving you a convoluted 'your effort is important, carry on' speech. I'm saying that what you do is important -- but that does not rule out looking for other options. Success and failure, it's up to us, and only us, to determine. If you don't feel fulfilled -- then you're not where you need to go. Cookies are great, but it sounds like cookies aren't all you want to do." Ravn quirks an eyebrow.

From Una, then, an uncomfortable shrug. "I still don't know what that is, though. Yeah, I want to be more than cookies girl, but... I mean, that's the challenge, isn't it? It's one thing to acknowledge not being satisfied. But it's another one completely to really understand what would make a person feel satisfied. I was never one of those kids who knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. College was supposed to help me decide, and then I didn't go, and..."

She shakes her head. "I mean, the cookies were kind of a metaphor. But I guess the point still stands, doesn't it? I need to figure out what it is I want to do and be. Nothing heroic, but still... offering more to the world than batch after batch of cookies."

"Yeah. When I came into town I struggled a lot with this too. Hell, I still do. I don't think that never ends, not unless you really do manage to find a way to do all the things. I haven't met anyone here who doesn't sometimes feel they should be doing -- different things, or other things." Ravn shakes his head. "And sometimes I feel like it's not really about what we can do about the thin spot at all. The people here who seem content, for what that's worth, aren't necessarily the powerful ones. It's the ones who know where they're going. The ones who are where they wanted to be in life, and the whole Veil thing is just an inconvenience. A side quest."

"Yeah," agrees Una. "And... I think maybe I leaned too far in to the Veil stuff because that's what made this place, and my life, different to Seattle. It's not like I didn't have exactly the same issues then, you know? With not knowing where I wanted to be, or what I wanted from life. The Veil is a distraction. It's probably not the answer. In fact-- it's probably pretty rarely the answer, right?"

Abruptly, then: "Ariadne and I were talking about a trip up to Seattle, to see the butterfly house at the Pacific Science Centre. And she's absolutely right that we should, because we need to not let all the supernatural get in the way of just... living life." Beat. "Much like we'll make the most of your boat, over the summer. And... anything else we come up with. Any of us. Related to anything. Just, normal life."

One doesn't live in Gray Harbor without having options for rainy weather. Rainbow platforms with white clouds printed on the clear vinyl are worn with white fishnet stockings that lead into a pair of high waisted denim cut off shorts that have a beaded fringe along the legs. An oversized pink t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. The shirt bears a kitten with a fish's lower body, playing with its own tail, and the word 'PURRMAID'. Dita's hair is back to its usual raven tresses, up in ponytail, and she's wielding another of those clear umbrellas, this one painted with white clouds, as she crosses over to Espresso Yourself.

Up close, she's rocking a fairly subtle (for her) make up look of a winged liner and nude eyeshadow, and a not-quite-nude lip. If the Pacific Northwest won't bring the colorful weather, Dita's determined to remind it how to look, it seems.

Her usual pair of coffees ordered, she drops uncerimoniously into a seat at Una and Ravn's table. Even her purse, today, is rainbow themed, the arc stretching between two white clouds. One black coffee is set in front of Ravn, because he's going to steal it anyway, and she blows on hers before flashing a warm smile at the pair.

"I read. I sail. I walk. I play my violin with Rosencrantz. That's my social life most weeks. It may not be very exciting, but it's what I've got." Ravn nods slightly. "The supernatural is my life. It always has been. I took a break off from it fora few years -- thought I could be normal, do the girlfriend thing. It didn't work. It's very easy to grow bitter because our culture does keep pushing it on us that we're the lead character, and we need to find a happy ending. It's how I know that's where I belong in the end -- it's the only thing in my life I've ever felt properly at home with."

"'Happy endings'," says Una, with a wrinkle of her nose, rather simplifying away from the trend of the conversation thus far: clearly there's a good kind of happy ending (... okay, more than one), but maybe not as society dictates. "It's all about finding what makes each of us happ-- Dita!" The redhead, who has been engaged quite seriously in this conversation, glances across at the brunette, and smiles broadly.

"That shirt is adorable."

"I love a good happy ending." Dita comments, her expression perfectly innocent. She clearly has no idea what they're discussing, she just couldn't pass up the chance to make a horrible joke.

"Thank you. Believe it or not I found it at a thrift store, but the last time I wore it someone shouted something about 'Mermaid Propaganda' at me." She quirks a brow, hiding her smile behind her coffee as she takes a tiny sip, wincing just a little at the heat. "That," she tells Ravn, indicating his coffee cup, "may or may not be plain coffee. Della The Day Manager is tricky and I wouldn't put it past her to spike one she knows is going to be yours before long anyway."

"I guess we'll find out whether the purpose is pranking me or making me miserable, yeah." Ravn smirks and not at all subtly swaps his own, by now quite cold horror for Dita's fresh cup of black. "Thanks, though. I can use it -- this talk got kind of deep."

He shoots Dita a curious look and then nods back at Una. "We were talking about success -- and yes, happy endings. How our culture dictates that to feel successful and fulfilled, we need to be the important character of the story, and end up with the princess in the end. Prince optional as one's preference, you know what I mean. And then there's people like us who aren't big and strong and powerful, and for that matter, not really on the dating market, either. How it can take effort sometimes, to shut those brain weasels up."

Dryly: "Just your usual, casual, Tuesday-morning-at-the-coffee-shop kind of conversation." Una's a little rueful for it, perhaps in acknowledgement that she's more or less responsible for the conversational topic.

"What about you, Perdita? Do you feel like you know your purpose in life? That thing that is going to make you happy?"

She's keeping half an eye on that coffee, waiting for Ravn to drink it: sugary overdose by stealth is always an option. It's important to know.

Perdita gives the slightest of head wobbles to Ravn, indicating that she's listening, but answers Una with a wicked smile. "I fully intend on traveling to seduce Prince Nikolai of Denmark, once I've got the Bauer Building restored to her original beauty. Did you know he's also a French Count?" Dita takes another sip of her coffee, putting the cup down carefully.

"In all seriousness, though, I don't know what's going to make me happy. I find that people are notoriously bad judges of what will actually make them happy. They tend to jump from one obsession to the next. The spouse and house and two point four children and the dog and the picket fence don't make you happy? Well, clearly, it's that new car. Or the one night stand with the pretty girl at the bar..." who mysteriously vanishes with your wallet and your car, of course. "Happy is a transitory state. Searching for the things that make you content seems more like a good idea, to me, because contentment lasts, and means you're more appreciative of the things you already have going for you. Like the wife and the two point four children."

"He's a titular French count," Ravn points out, with a mixture of I am a nerd, I must object and embarrassment that he is a nerd and must object. "The count was his grandfather -- and the actual Count de Montpezat now is his uncle, the crown prince. He gets to keep the title because his grandmother is the Queen and there's some pretty damned complex procedures in place about who gets to lose face where. Anyway. Yes. Somebody ought to warn the poor kid. Somebody isn't me."

Then he nods. "Searching for fulfillment, for content, is not a bad way to put it. And a bit of willingness to settle -- we don't always get it all. Compromises. Accepting what we have instead of thinking about what we want. Just don't let it become a crutch. The whole do as I say, not as I do thing, because it's absolutely a crutch for me, and I'm not about to change that. You go and do better."

"That is a fine plan," decides Una, as if her approval were necessary; her smile is bright, amused, nigh-on delighted.

"Mmm," answers the rest. "You're right. Yes. Happ--" Her phone buzzes, audible from her pocket. She lifts a hand by way of request for pause, checks in, then stands. "Be right back."

There's a slight tilt of her head, and Dita smiles, catlike, at Ravn, "If somebody ruins my attempt to get with the Prince I might have to set my eyes on a Count." she teases, taking a sip of her coffee. "But exactly. Restoring the Bauer Building doesn't make me happy, but it makes me feel better. I'm doing something worthwhile with my ill gotten gains. Things are up and running, I'm providing work to local laborers, who spend that money right here in Gray Harbor. I'm not just sitting up in my gilded tower looking down on the peasants in a fluffy robe."

She's doing that, too, but not just that. She nods to Una as she steps away, smiling, before turning back to Ravn, "But you're married to the sea, and have three beautiful women to keep your attention at all times. Kitty, Lola and the Vagabond. That may not be a perfect life to cause happiness but it sounds like a nice measure of contentment. Also you get to be the crazy local that warns newcomers about the madness that is our fair city. That's like... goals. We just need to get your hair a little... insane looking."

"Yes. That's what I mean when I talk about accepting what you have, instead of pining for what you don't have." Ravn nods lightly and sips his coffee -- only to make a somewhat bizarre face because that was absolutely a hazelnut roast and he expected americano. It's not terrible, just unexpected. "I would like more, but what I have is good. And from the perspective of some people, I have more than anyone should feel entitled to; it's all about perspective. I don't really feel I get to complain. I don't need anything. But it's a step from 'I don't need anything' to 'I have everything I want', and sometimes, it can be difficult to keep the two apart."

"Yes, it can." Perdita agrees, looking down into her own coffee cup with a fleeting expression. "Doesn't mean you can't complain. We're allowed to want more, as the great philosopher of our era, Madonna, once said. Whether it's a partner to share our time with, or just... more. It's when it comes at the expense of those who have less than us that it's a problem. I'm allowed to own a yacht. If I bought it by paying my employees less than their due, that's the problem."

"Myes, my last name is Abildgaard, not Bezos." Ravn smirks a little and then sips his coffee again. "But yeah. You're right. And I do -- just like you do. And just like you, well, we don't always get what we want, or maybe we just haven't found it yet. Maybe we've found the right person but they turned out to be wrong. Or we find the right person and they say, that's flattering but I've got other interests. And that's just life, too. I feel like, sometimes, a lot of things in the world would be better, if we all got better at accepting that it's not always about us, that we don't need to get everything we want."

Una slides her phone back into her pocket as she returns to the table, slotting herself into her seat so that both forearms rest upon the table. "And the trick, sometimes, is working out what we really need to be able, versus what we want. I'm pretty sure there are some people for whom being in a relationship really is a need, because they struggle on their own. It's still probably a want, but maybe the line between is so thin it's difficult to differentiate. Point is," she gives a quick smile to Ravn and Perdita, "We're all a big ball of confusing thoughts and feelings sometimes, I guess?"

"Perfect... for someone else." Dita murmurs with a soft sigh. "Doesn't mean they're not amazing, they're just... not the right fit. No matter how much you love those gold Azimut Caged Booties, if they don't actually fit there's no point in buying them, when someone else would enjoy them just as much." She's probably not talking about shoes.

"Relationships," Perdita states, "are overrated. Friendships and casual sex are where it's at. Just... don't mix the two, or it gets messy."

Ravn shakes his head. "I feel that's part of what we keep doing wrong. To think you need a relationship -- that's incel thinking right there. That you're entitled to somebody, to somebody's body. No one needs to get laid. People need to eat, to breathe, to sleep. They don't need to get off Wednesday and Sunday, and if they do, there are ways to sort it. You can hope to meet somebody who's game for your brand of crazy, but you don't need to. If you need to, you are saying that the universe owes you. The universe really doesn't revolve around us, no matter how much we think so."

Una opens her mouth, and then makes a face. "See, I'm not even thinking in terms of sex, though as soon as you say that, Ravn, I definitely don't disagree. I do think there are people who need-- but yes, maybe it's just think they need-- to know they have someone to rely on in their lives, and they're just used to getting that through a romantic relationship. But," this time, the redhead nods in Perdita's direction. "Friendships and casual sex, for those that way inclined."

She exhales, then. "I think what most of us really need is human connection, and that definitely doesn't have to be in the form of a relationship to count."

"Society tells people, especially men, that romantic relationships are the only form of intimacy that matters. But that ignores the simple, non-romantic intimacy of just... hugging a friend after a hard day. Going shopping and finding an old banjo that needs some TLC can be just as rewarding, in a different way, as coming home to a meal cooked by someone you love." Another of those tight smiles, and Dita looks away, clearly hit by emotion and not bothering to try and disguise that it's bothering her, even if she's not letting the extent show.

"Connections are important, however they're made. We don't need sexual intimacy, though Devláika knows I enjoy it. But friendships, people to rely on when I'm sick and need someone to bring me soup? Beyond, you know, the old woman who drives for Door Dash." a shrug. "And anybody who genuinely feels they need sexual intimacy can hire a sex worker. But that type doesn't want that, of course, they want the real deal without making the effort to be a good partner in the first place."

Ravn sips his coffee again; hazelnut roast is not bad. "No, it doesn't have to be about sex. I'm a bit -- sidetracked there, because the most times I've heard this 'life owes me a girlfriend' jazz, it's been from people in the so-called Manosphere, and that's definitely what they mean. But even if you exclude that whole deal, life does not owe you a special somebody. If you find someone, good. If you don't, have friends. As you say, it's about the human connection. To a Count or otherwise."

Then he nods at Perdita. "That's what I reject. The control aspect. We don't control others, we are not entitled to others. There are ways to deal with biological needs. The emotional needs are the ones that matter -- not a need to control or own others, but to share with them. I spend most of my time alone. Maybe that makes me appreciate what people do give me all the more."

"And the emotional ones are harder, because you can't pay someone to give you that," concludes Una, who has listened intently to what both people at her table have to say. Her gaze flicks past Perdita as the other woman looks away, deliberately making sure not to linger on that vulnerable moment. "I do think there are people who deliberately jump from relationship to relationship because they feel like they need someone, even if it's not right," is an attempt to explain, further, what she means.

"So I think what I'm saying is... not that anyone is ever owed anything, because no, they're definitely not. But that... I don't know." Words are hard. People are hard.

"Friends are important. There's no obligation, there-- or shouldn't be. Just... people, looking after people, because it matters to them."

"A special someone is nice. It's not needed. Wanted by some, perhaps, but not needed." A slight shrug from Dita, "You can't buy emotional intimacy, but for the right price you can find someone who can fake it for you." Dita smiles and sips from her coffee. Hers is plain black, as ordered, but she doesn't offer to switch.

"Obligation and expectation are tricky. What one person thinks is a friendly favor, another person sees as an extreme inconvenience. I'll drive you to the airport and wait for your flight with you, but I'd never dream of helping someone move. I have delicate hands." Seducing a couple strapping lads into doing it for her, however...

"Want is not need, yes. I want a special somebody in my life -- absolutely. I do not need somebody." Ravn nods his agreement again. "But I think this applies to more of our lives than just relationships. It's what Una and I were discussing -- that our story telling tradition teaches us to view ourselves as the protagonist in every story. But we're not. We don't all get to stand in the spot light all the time, we don't all get the princess and half of the kingdom. And we don't need to -- if we can learn to look for the fulfillment we really need. To me, it's not fame and money, obviously. It's feeling that I am part of something, that I belong."

"But equally... we're not the NPCs, either, not all the time. We're still PCs, with stories of our own, even if they're not the most important, the most-- visible."

Una laughs, abruptly. "I won't drive you to the airport, most because I'm not actually licensed to drive, and I don't have a car, but I'll help you move. You're exactly right, Dita-- obligation and expectation end up meaning different things in different contexts, and for different people. The trick is knowing people well enough to ask the right people. And... the more people around you you can trust the better? Because you'll need them all at different times, for different things. And they'll need you too."

Una has no coffee, but she does have an empty (mostly empty) mug, and she picks it up now, more for the weight than anything. "Belonging is important. Feeling like you have something to offer, too. Something real."

"Excuse me, I bring my own spotlight." Perdita tells Ravn with a head tilt and a smile that seek to make it clear she's joking. Though, given her wild fashion for the day... she might not be, entirely. "You both belong, and you're important."

"Everyone is the author and main character of their own story. There's tons of cross overs, but that doesn't mean my story matters more than either of yours. I'm happy to guest star, or to hold the spotlight for either of you if you ever need me to. Everyone should get to feel like they can shine, sometimes."

"That said, we also know there's other authors meddling with our story." she gestures vaguely, the iridescent paint on her nails sending little rainbow shimmers across them.

Ravn nods his agreement. "And that's how it should work. Taking turns, everyone contributes in their own fashion. Some are loud and powerful. Some work in the shadows. Everyone is needed." He smiles lightly. "But it still comes down to finding out what you actually need. It's when we pursue what we think we need, that we don't play team ball. If everyone is trying to be the guy in front -- what's his name, quarterback? Captain Hero on the football team, jock strap and all, then we're not going to be winning any games."

"You still need the bard, and the hedge witch, and the rest of the team," agrees Una, with a laugh that completely acknowledges how mixed this metaphor is getting. "That's what we were saying earlier, and it's absolutely true. But equally true is the need to have the spotlight sometimes. For it to be our story, too, sometimes. Because supporting cast... kind of sucks, if that's all you ever are."

She lets a warm smile curve about her mouth, as she nudges her mug this way and that, back and forth. "But yeah-- we don't always get to write it, not even our bits compared to other people's. Sometimes They do the casting, too, just to make us squirm. Which--" Which what? She shrugs.

"Quarterbacks are overrated, anyway." Perdita mutters to herself, swirling her coffee. "I swear, if we end up in a D&D inspired dream because of this, I will do 3d6 backstab damage to you for it." She tells Una, though she's smiling as she says it.

"I don't want to have to sword fight in a corset... again."

"I've done one of those," Ravn murmurs. "It will not surprise you that I was the rogue."

"Oooh, those are fighting words," laughs Una. "I hope my breastplate of... plus two shieldifying holds up."

Ravn's remark only broadens that smile. "I'm amazed it didn't make you the barbarian, just to shake things up," she says.

Also? She raps her hand upon the table, which may or may not be wood, and which does not matter. "Touch wood, no thank you. I'd like a break from Dreams. I've got other things on my mind to process without going down that particular rabbit hole. I mean-- don't we all."

"I am shocked. Shocked and surprised." Perdita tells Ravn with a slight tilt of her head.

"I may have been a bit of a gamer nerd in my wayward youth. It was a way to escape a horrible small town." Perdita smiles, fondly... and then it's tinged with sadness again. Stupid Dreams. "Yeah, I'd like to stay away from them for a bit, too. Just a few more days, I think. Most of the bruises are finally healed from the last one. Stupid Breighleigh."

"Sometime you are going to have to tell us about Bray Lay." Ravn nods. Then he grins a bit. "I played a bit of D&D at university. Bit late to the party I suppose but it was something to do that seemed sufficiently socially awkward even I could participate. I always played the paladin, though. I guess I really wanted to see myself as some kind of hero back then."

He pauses. "This at a time in my life I picked pockets and traded pot for shit and giggles. Go, me."

'Breighleigh' (or 'Bray Lay') means nothing to Una, but she gives Perdita a rueful nod of acknowledgement nonetheless. "And my doctor is officially pleased with how my chest healed up, and considers me a model patient," she says, making a face. "Which is no reason for me to be pushed into something else immediately, thank you very much."

She grins, then abruptly. "Paladin, really? I've never actually played D&D, not properly, but I have played the computer game equivalents. I tend to go for the fighters or barbarians-- big swords or axes, heavy armour. Mostly, though, because I'm shit at the games, and it seems easier to bash at things with a big weapon, with lots of hit points to back me up, than try and fumble through magic, or shields, or anything else."

"High school mean girl, not super smart, pretty damn racist, not much to tell. She was a cheerleader and she lorded it over those of us who weren't, stereotypical bullshit." Perdita shrugs, "Ran into the Dream version of her, it ended with me slamming into the ground back first, and her shoe jamming into my lumbar region, all because I dared talk to the head cheerleader's ex boyfriend. Who was trying to figure out if he was gay." She rolls her eyes. "He totally was, by the way."

"My last character was a Witch. Fun class, but I much preferred the catfolk rogue I played before her." of course she did. "The Cleric of Sune was fun, though."

"Paladin of Lathander the Morninglord." Ravn chuckles. "Today, though? I would definitely pick something else. Somebody boring. Maybe I could just be the guy who carries stuff -- the henchman."

He shakes his head. "I've had high school dreams -- which is bizarre, given I obviously did not go to high school here. But I have, and they were bloody strange, and I really don't miss being a teenager, not in dreams and not in reality. I was an awful kid. Hated myself, hated my parents, hated everyone."

"I... do not want a high school Dream. Do not want." Una is not often this definitive in her statements: this one, however, requires nothing more than absolute certainty. "High school was the absolute worst, and to relive it, in any form, would be-- I just-- ugh."

She shakes her head. "I was a good kid, as these things go. Obeyed the rules, did what I was supposed to. But I was miserable, most of the time, and it just... no. D&D would be much more fun, whatever class I ended up as. Or race. At least in D&D you're being someone else."

"You're not boring, Ravn. You're about as far from boring as I could imagine without going into the realm of science fiction. But yeah... High school dreams are unfun enough, making them high school Dreams makes it worse. I'd much prefer D&D to... dreams like that." Perdita agrees, fiddling with her coffee cup for something to do with her hands, and somewhere to focus her eyes. "I'd probably play something crazy, now, like a wizard or a warlock of some sort."