2022-04-15 - Una's Kitchen

There's probably a WhatsApp group, or the equivalent. Una's not so good at bringing herself to text people directly unless she has specific reason to, but sending messages out into a large group, where they're less focused and more of an FYI? That's easier. (Una's brain is fun that way, sometimes.) And so the message went out: < I made these boozy brownies and I need taste-testers, if anyone feels like popping in. Kitchen door's open. >

See? So easy to ignore, if one doesn't wish to join. So easy to respond to with a 'oh man those sound great, but I'm busy'. No pressure. Everyone wins.

Including Una, who stands in the midst of her kitchen with the back door open to let in the warmth and sunshine, and a tray of the aforementioned brownies sitting in the midst of the battered old wooden table. She's washing up at the sink, ignoring the ancient dishwasher in lieu of doing it all by hand, one bowl at a time. Her phone, abandoned, sits on the bench across the room, where it can buzz away and she doesn't have to immediately look at it.

But. Well. It's a normal April Thursday. Who wouldn't want to brighten their day with a boozy brownie, even if the alcohol did bake out in the oven?

Hair still damp from a morning shower literally next door, Ravn Abildgaard is quick to poke his head in. Brownies? He's not much of a foodie; he is just as awkward at social relations, however, and 'there's a brownie with my name on' is as good an excuse as any for a bit of social time (that isn't about lobsters, he's got plenty of that right now, yes, the season is about to begin and bloody hell, he's seen a lot of lobsters this week, with questions about their condition, their sheen, and is it cheating to use this or that armament).

The Dane's dressed lightly; the usual slacks, black shirt, and light black blazer that seems to be his staple go-to for most situations. He's got a book tucked under one arm -- The Golden Bough, Revisited -- and a smile to offer as he knocks on the doorframe. "Somebody threatened me with food. I am here to be a good hostage."

Ava was out in the greenhouse doing the gardening thing and setting everything up as best she could when her phone buzzed. Boozy brownies? Who could resist? < Let me get cleaned up and I'll head over > came the reply. It doesn't take too long for her to arrive, hair pinned up in a lazy bun with wisps of hair tumbled loose. She's in a breezy white shirt and blue, cuffed shorts, perfect for the summer. There's a folder in her hand that gets plopped on the table before she settles into a seat once she's been invited inside.

"Now, these brownies. I'm assuming all the alcohol has sadly left them during the cooking process?"

The most Una is likely to say about lobsters is related to the cooking of them (and the resultant eating), but not today-- or, at least, not yet. Armaments are absolutely off the table.

She turns her head, grinning crookedly as first Ravn, and then Ava, answer the call. "Your compliance is noted, and will inevitably impact your treatment," she tells Ravn, gesturing one rubber-glove'd hand towards the table. "And there's coffee coming up. Hi, Ava. Sadly, yes, though I'm pretty sure they'd taste amazing with a glass of whiskey, or a nice stout." Beat. "That being what went in them in the first place, along with all the chocolate. Come on in, guys. I'll be done in just a minute."

"I can provide a glass of whiskey if you like." Ravn cracks a lopsided smile; his stash is just next door (another reason Oak Avenue won't be rid of him this easily). He runs a gloved hand through damp hair. "Truth to tell? Had a bit of a rough one last night, I could do with a bit of nerve medicine myself."

A grin is offered up towards Una. "Well, I'm down for a little overindulgence if you are. I'd say if anyone has deserved it lately, it's been us. Plus, if you guys are a little liquored up, we can get some honest opinions on these estates for a possible new site for the Historical Society. Because, honestly, that post office is too small. We need something more grand." She glances towards Ravn, slowly, so that he can see it, reaching out a hand to very gently cover his. "Why don't you go get it and if you feel like talking about it, we can. If you just want to drink it away, we can distract you. Sound good?"

Una's expression immediately scrunches into sympathy in reply to Ravn's admission. "I have a local bourbon," she reports. "Well. From Seattle, anyway. Woodinville Whiskey. But I know that won't be to your taste, so-- yeah, go and get your fancy liquor, and we can listen and/or distract as is your preference." The last dish is added to the dish rack, and she removes her gloves, pulling from the fingertips.

The coffee's done too. The kitchen smells delightful: warm chocolate, warm coffee, sunshine.

"More grand. I'm sure Shanamarie," did she get the name right? she doesn't pause to reconfirm, "would be delighted to find you some excellent options..."

"Am I that bad a snob?" Ravn can't help chuckle as he's shooed back out to fetch a more high-end spirit. He doesn't protest; after all, it's true, he is, he is so much a whiskey snob. He owns stock in several Scottish breweries simply to make sure they stay in business, that's how far his snobbery goes.

He doesn't talk about it. Often. It's a little embarrassing. A man's gotta have his vices.

Back on Oak Three he quickly inspects his cabinet. This one will do, yes. He picks up a bottle, previously unopened, of pale gold liquor, and heads back towards Number Five. And as an afterthought he picks a pack of ice as well because Una probably has ice but he better make sure.

"Oh, I have no doubt that Shanamarie can help when the time comes. You can bet I'll be asking for her help when it comes to negotiations, for sure. But I already have a couple of options here that I really like, but I wanted to get your opinions, too. My favorite is at the bottom. So you have to go through all the others first."

Ava waits to say any more until Ravn gets back. "Alright. So we have coffee, whiskey, and brownies. Plus real estate. Quite an afternoon," she chuckles. "I'll work on pouring the coffee, Una you get the brownies. Ravn, you take care of the whiskey?"

"No, I just know your preferences, and that bourbon is not it. Even good bourbon, which this is, by the way." Una pauses, makes a face. "Though I preferred it before it was bought by a multi-national. All good things, etc."

All of that is by the by: unimportant in as far as the order of the day goes. Today is a day-drinking day, and if there are preferences to be had? So be it.

"Good deal," she tells Ava, setting out plates and forks and napkins just in case they're required, though of course, even gooey brownies like these can be eaten by hand.

Ravn settles at the kitchen table with his bottle. "Glenmorangie Nectar d'Or, single malt, aged fifteen. If this isn't good enough, nothing is. More importantly, it's a sweet whiskey which I feel will go well with brownies -- not syrupy."

He pours into provided glasses; his own goes on plenty ice just the way he likes it. "Coffee, whiskey and brownies. I've had worse days, honestly. And I concur when it comes to the Historical Society but for different reasons: The old Post Office is fine for meetings and events -- it serves just fine as a tourist office and similar. But if we're reviving the Society we need something larger, with proper storage space. And if I may be a little blunt: Something not controlled by the Addingtons. I know Hyacinth used to say she's not carrying on old Margaret's way of doing business but Hyacinth may not be the one who actually gets to make that call. Whatever the devil's bargain the first Addingtons made, it's kept things shushed so far. You want to make sure that this venture is independent, all the way. HOPE is too -- we receive donations from the Addington family and we appreciate them, but they have no legal sway over us."

Ava moves to grab the mugs and starts setting everything up that's needed for the coffee, thankfully it's not much because at least two out of three of them just like their coffee black. Coffee is is poured and set out in front of the proper chairs. "So, did you want to talk about happened last night, Ravn? Was it another Dream? Or just a bad night in general?"

Right into Historical Society stuff. She nods and moves on with that topic. "Not controlled by the Addingtons seems like a very good move. The only problem with that is, how do we get all of the stuff that's in their basement currently from them? They're going to want something in exchange. Also, I don't want to not include them. Just, not be controlled by them, you know? It's being able to tell the difference when they're very clever and being able to hide manipulation that's the problem."

Crystal whiskey glasses, additives for anyone who feels the need to adulterate their coffee with something; all of these things are set out for use. Una's kitchen contains all.

The redhead claims a glass of whiskey, a mug of coffee, a brownie, a napkin-- and then a chair, though it may have been easier to manage if she'd claimed the chair first. No matter; she makes it work, settling in with her bounty in front of her. "Definitely better than my whiskey," she'll allow, for Ravn's explanation. "And that sounds perfect."

On the subject of Dreams she makes no comment, though those brown eyes do flick thoughtfully towards the Dane as Ava asks. Instead, she focuses on the more tangible issue. "I expect it'll involve a whole lot of counter-manipulation, won't it? Convincing them that this is for the best, and that you can be trusted with it. It's a pity we don't have an Addington to involve, though I suppose that's half the point in the first place, isn't it?"

"One step at a time. One book at a time, so to speak." Ravn nods. "A lot of the Addington hoard is likely available on request as long as we play by the usual Gray Harbor rules -- make it look normal, don't make too many ripples at once. It's not like they're really trying to keep much secret anymore, given how much we already know."

He nods at Una. "I miss when Hyacinth was approachable. Her signature opened a hell of a lot of doors. I also miss her for other reasons but in this respect? Yes. She is the sane one, and that's probably why the Veil has found some way to keep her busy or preoccupied. But we'll do what it takes -- and there is one thing we can do which previous generations seem to have missed: The most powerful way of preserving information in the history of humankind is not writing things down. It's oral tradition; we have folk-tales in which core elements have been identified back to the literal stone age."

Of course he needs to go into detail. "One of the oldest stories we have on record in Denmark was recorded sometime around 1880. It's a story of a girl named Gerd who drowns when the sea floods the oaken forest in which she lives. It was assumed to be just a fairytale because the location in which it happened is deep inland and there is no trace of oak forest. And then archaeological digs happened -- and revealed that six thousand years previous there was oak forest, and yes, a tsunami had washed the ocean that far inland on that occasion. Gerd was real. Gerd died there. The memory of Gerd was preserved for six thousand years, and if we can do that, surely we can remember the important bits about a local family's fuckery."

Ravn would by far (obviously!) prefer to talk about the Addingtons and the Historical Society but he's not quite naive enough to think he'll get away with just ignoring anything else. He sips his whiskey -- tones of stone fruit, apricots, and then a lingering finish of oak and vanilla -- and then hitches a shoulder. "Just a Dream. Not one of those god-awful ones where everyone ends up in the ICU. One of the quiet ones where nothing much happens in action terms but it hits you emotionally like a knee to the fork."

Once everyone has drink and drink and treat, it's time to settle and enjoy. Ava does exactly that, looking at her hoard of goods like a pleased little dragon. "One at a time would take sooooo long. I don't suppose we know someone who is really good at that door thing and we can use The Veil like a secret tunnel to just caper it all out, huh?" She peels off a bite of brownie at the mental image and smirks a little.

"Hyacinth sounds great, but, yeah. It sounds like she might be being kept away for a reason. Maybe not even by the Veil. It could be her own family who isn't wanting her around right now making things so much more accessible to everyone." Sad, but possible. "Oral is good." Phrasing, Ava. True or not. "But I really did like your idea about making it a game, too. Setting up a Bestiary like an RPG of sorts. It could work for all the new information we take down from now on. We just have to figure out a system. Rules."

Sympathy touches her face. "Emotional ones are sometimes worse than the broken bones. Bones are a lot easier to heal."

"Emotional ones suck," agrees Una, no hesitation there. "The emotional hangover is the worst." And for that? Whiskey. Cofffee. Chocolate. At least there's a remedy.

"That story-- Gerd, you said? That's awesome. I mean-- and you're right. I wasn't around when a lot of things went down, but you've told me the stories, and I've told them in turn, to other people, and... presumably they'll share them as well. So the stories continue. Maybe all the little minutiae won't be the same, but the core of the story will be. In that sense, the historical society is maybe as much symbolic as actual. We're already preserving things."

Which is... a thing. Big enough for Una's brow to furrow in thought, and for her to turn that into her glass, sipping carefully, then tasting a bit of brownie, then sipping again. The combination seems to please her, but the seriousness remains. "But the physical stuff is useful, too. Stealing it seems like a bad plan, I guess. But we can move slowly. Focus on the bits we really want to see, right? 'I need access to x for a research project'."

"I wouldn't honestly trust anything if it was snuck in and out through the dream world," Ravn murmurs. "So easy to make little changes, little edits in transition. No need to make it easier for them, you know? That said, the person you want is Vic Grey or Itzhak Rosencrantz. Or me, assuming I ever learn how to open and close doors instead of just breaking dreams."

Once again he nods. "We can make requests about specific things. Ask for specific records. Dress it all up as a game or the kind of tourism jazz that every other town has going, to attract outside money. The Veil is not a sentient entity; it doesn't have a complete picture. As long as we're not causing ripples in the pond we can likely get away with a lot. It's not such a big deal what exactly happened back there. It's what's happening now that matters."

Hyacinth Addington's scarcity is a sore spot for the man who thought he was about to enter a relationship with her when she went incommunicado instead. He decides to not elaborate and just nods. "Yeah. I can handle it when it's me the Dream wants to humiliate and embarrass. It's a little harder when the Dream uses me to humiliate and embarrass somebody else. I don't much care for being used to cause others discomfort and pain."

Ava glances towards Una and nods. "So don't steal it all at once, just very very slowly. The problem is, we don't know what all they have. I didn't get enough time to really go through all of that stuff. It was too much for less than an hour, honestly. I'd need a couple days down there." She pushes fingers through her hair. "If we can find out a way to arrange that, it'd be much easier to figure out what it is we might need from them down the line. Or if they even have what we need."

Her eyes flicker between them. "Or we could just make it an outright offer. We saw the state of the post office, we're buying this estate, we would love to have the honor of housing your things here where we'll treat them with the utmost care and respect they are due, and you, of course, have twenty-four hour access to. Or something." She wobbles a hand before reaching for her coffee.

"Dare I ask who it was trying to embarras or how?"

"I imagine," murmurs Una, "that the details of the embarrassment might be embarrassing for whomever was involved. Regardless-- that sucks, and I'm sorry, Ravn. I'd definitely rather take on an abusive pine tree."

In lieu of lingering on that particular topic, the redhead circles back to the main topic, with a minor detour to coffee-land. "Or better, maybe, something about-- 'anything you have to donate to our collection would be appreciated.' I know I have boxes and boxes of stuff in my attic that may be of interest, or may just be junk, and the point is, it adds to the collection. But if there are things we absolutely want to know about, we ask directly, separately. Though, of course... officially, none of us have seen that basement of theirs, right?"

Ravn nods lightly and sips his whiskey; he has yet to secure himself a brownie but he will. Even if he does not manage to eat it, he wants to at least taste it. "Yeah. It's not a big deal. Just a bit of emotional blackmail, putting someone in a situation with me that they'd rather have been in with someone else, I think. Still better than somebody needing an ambulance, but I do feel like today may be a pass-the-whiskey day."

He reaches for the brownie. He can do it. Yeah. "Could definitely drop word that the Society takes donations pertaining to town history, hint, hint. I doubt the Addingtons have a full index of their things, either, we might get things that are useful without them even realising. And we do know the layout of that basement now. It ought to be possible to go there, but on the Other Side."

With all the risk that travelling through the Other Side pertains.

Ava looks chastised for a moment, and for good reason. "You're right. You're right." Damn Una and her empathy, getting in the way of the good gossip. With all her rightness. "That really sucks. I'm sorry. For both of you. Both sides of that is a crappy place to be, to be perfectly honest. I would hate to be used like that." There's a frown, and this time she's going for the whiskey.

"Donations are good. That way we also get things from other families that might not have donated to the old one, as well. I like that idea. I also do want to peek in your attic at some point now that you've said that, Una." Don't think that slipped by unnoticed. "You want to go to the Other Side Addington House? That would mean we'd have to find the Other Side Gray Harbor. That would take some exploring." She sounds excited, rather than trying to warn anyone away from the idea.

Una's little tiny nod acknowledges, further, Ravn's explanation of that Dream, but she's done so much as mentioning it. "Is there an Addington House on the other side?" This has the redhead straightening in her chair, and pausing in her pursuit of more whiskey, the glass hovering (but, you know, within her hand: there's no current need to hover anything in that sense) just below her mouth. "I hadn't thought of it working like that. I know there's another City Hall, for instance, but... it's kind of trippy."

Of her attic, she's much easier in her reply: "Any time. Della and I have been up once or twice, but we always get distracted. Some beautiful clothes, if nothing else. We haven't been up recently, though-- I wonder whether she'd pick up resonances on more things, now." Which is, if the redhead's thoughtful expression is anything to go by, an interesting thought.

"I haven't gone to the Other Side yet. But from what I've been told, the Other Gray Harbor shares the layout of this one, more or less. So there almost has to be? Except everything over there is a bit fluid and twisted, so it might be unwise to take anything for granted." Ravn nibbles on his brownie -- the taste blends as perfectly with the vanilla and oak of the Glenmorangie as he expected. "It's my understanding that the next reality over is kind of a mirror of this one except different in places -- that's where you find things like the Revisionist. And they in turn affect us."

He shoots a glance at Ava and offers a wan little smile. "It's not that awful. Nothing untoward happened, nothing to sort out the day after. Just that urge to go kick some dolorphage arse. A bit like turning up for a blind date your buddies arranged without telling you, and you can tell the girl really hoped to meet somebody else."

The way Ravn phrases it really doesn't make it sound any kinds of better. Which makes her move into the Una boat of moving on past it so that he doesn't have to linger on how much it sucked. Ava offers him an adoring smile and then glides right past the subject.

"I've been in the presence of one of the -ists twice now. And both times just being around her was pretty dangerous. Is that because she was coming here? Or, if we go there, is there power going to be that big there? Because it'll be a little hard moving around town, if so. You know, you were there for one of the instances."

"I wonder what our faerie garden looks like, on the Other Side," muses Una, which is a distraction to this main topic (and she knows it). "Anyway, it sounds like it could be a useful place to visit, just to see. If-- well," the redhead inclines her head in Ava's direction. "I haven't had any experience with any of them, not directly anyway, and I'm pretty sure if it was dangerous for you, I'm not going to be much good. But I'd love to see, anyway."

Una's quite matter-of-fact about her own capabilities, today: whatever dark and twisty moods she's been in, they've quite cleared for now. Maybe the brownies are helping. Or the whiskey. Or the coffee. Or just-- life. It moves on.

"I've interacted with a couple of them. Enough to understand how powerful they are. The Revisionist is probably the most dangerous because she can rewrite reality. She not only declared me a Swedish celebrity chef -- even people I grew up with back home were convinced of it. People who remembered beating me up like the skinny little nerd I was in school also remembered that I was the Swedish kid, and somehow, they reconciled this without question. For the record, I don't cook." Ravn toys with his whiskey glass.

"The Exorcist -- I don't know whether she's still around. Last I saw her was in the lumber mill and she loudly announced that she quit. Something happened with the Baxter ghosts that day, but no one seems to have been able to find out what. All we do know is, they've been silent since. But given she apparently controls the Haunting Department in Other Side Town Hall, I doubt she's someone you want mad at you, either."

"Oooh, I bet it's magnificent. I wonder what the greenhouse looks like. Or what the fruits are there. Though, since it's Veil fruit, it's probably the same. Or maybe, it's normal, human fruit for them? That'd be funny!" Ava's eyes light up at the thought. "We should all visit, if we can find it. We should find it." This is why it's good that Ava can't open doors.

"The Vivisectionist. That's who Aidan says I've been dealing with," she tells Una. "With the pink post its. She's done stuff before. I have to talk to Vyv. Apparently he has even more information about what happened." Her eyes go wide for a moment. "I'm sorry, did you just say Haunting Department??" Because of course that's a thing.

"Haunting Department." Una makes a face. "Of course that's a thing. What happens to that department if she's actually quit? I guess-- I mean, I guess it doesn't matter, since it's not as if we can control it, right?"

But more importantly: "The vivisectionist doesn't sound like someone I'd want to interact with either, though. I mean. Isn't vivisection doing live experiments on animals? Like... cutting in to them? I don't want people to be cut into. Animal testing is cruel."

Maybe she doesn't want to venture to the Other Side, or be more powerful, after all. Maybe it's better to be small fry.

"It does seem to hint of medical experiments, yes. A vivisection is an explorative surgery on a live subject. Not to heal but to study." Ravn makes a face and sips his whiskey. "But yes -- Vydal's been over there. He's said as much. I've asked him to go a couple of times -- and the fact that he's kind of dodged suggests to me that it's a place to be taken very seriously. I have every intention of making Rosencrantz teach me how to go there, mind -- because I'm pretty certain there's also an Archivist, and hello, I'm a historian."

Then he offers Una a wry smile and nibbles on brownie (look! he's eating it!). "Given the sheer amount of ghosts that fuck around this town, I wouldn't be very surprised to find that Other Side Town Hall actually does have a Haunting Department you can dial into and file a request with. Makes you wonder if they have retirement plans and health benefits for the walking dead, that sort of thing."

"I mean, it doesn't matter, but it does matter. Even if we can't control it, it still sucks for us. If she quit there may be a way to talk her into un-quitting. Or ...finding a replacement? I don't know. But it seems like it's something to keep an eye on." That calls for a longer sip of whiskey, which Ava is taking now. "Ooh, an Archivist. That would be very helpful."

"Maybe that's where I can have Itz take me when he brings me into the Veil. I don't he'll go for it. But it doesn't hurt to ask, right? We can shoot for it, see if we land there."

"Yeah. Vivisectionist. Someone who likes to experiment, but likes to deny other people their power. How ironic. Maybe that's part of her experiment. Or plays into it. She's doing something that requires that level of healing to mend, and she can't have anyone stopping it."

Una's pleasure in Ravn's consumption, however slow, of her baking is somewhat dimmed by the seriousness of the topic at hand, but that doesn't mean she's not watching (and, every so often, giving an approvingly little nod). Her own brownie is largely gone, but there's still the remnants of her coffee to drink, and after that? The rest of the whiskey, too. "I wonder if you can file a request for a ghost to be retired, too," she says, a little wryly, and with a glance towards the (closed) door that leads further into the house, towards her oft-haunted library.

"And... what, she managed to take all the extra power when Gohl was reburied, or whatever?" Una's still working her way around this whole topic, piecing it all together. "This places does my head in. But. Okay. Super dangerous, not people we want to cross, not at all, even if yes, okay, the Archivist sounds like someone who'd have lots of interesting things to share. I can see why people choose not to go, I guess." Her shiver is a little theatric, particularly given the sunny warmth of the kitchen, but the point is made.

"I'm pretty certain that if we could just walk in and file a complaint, this town would have a hell of a lot less awful things going on." Ravn nods his agreement with Una and reaches for coffee to go with brownie and whiskey. "Hell, I'd apply for a job. Surely they need a Folklorist."

"To be fair, you can walk into our City Hall and file a complaint. It's just that from what I've heard, you might not like how things get changed if your complaint is approved. Because the Revisionist doesn't think like we do." Ava smirks a little at that, finishing another bite of her brownie. "They're all terrifying. But that really doesn't stop me from wanting to go there and see what I see."

"I don't know if it's just that I am that stupid, that eager, or that curious. Probably just a mix of all three." Her eyes flicker to Ravn, smile turning brilliant. "But I'm in good company, right?"

"I mean, most things about this town are terrifying, and yet... here we all still are," agrees Una. "I'm not saying I wouldn't take the chance, if I had it. To find out. Though I'd probably rather avoid the Revisionist, because the last thing I need is someone rewriting my life."

Probably. It makes her frown, though, as if she's second-guessing that... just a little.

No. No revising life. Self-revision only.

"So Ravn needs to learn how. Probably getting tips from Itzhak? Or you need to recruit someone else. And if nothing else... we need to try and get access to the Addington archives, on this side of the Veil or the other."

"Well, given that I have filed a complaint with the Revisionist once, I suppose I'm not the person to tell people to not do it. All I'm going to say is, make sure you're ready to accept the outcome. My parents probably didn't see a brilliant future for me as a low key crimelord organising illegal crustacean combat on the docks of some small town in Washington State," Ravn notes with a hint of wryness. They really, really didn't. "I've thought about it a few times -- trying again, see what I get. But to be honest, this doesn't hurt anyone so on some level, I think I'm going to leave well enough alone."

Then he nods. "I'm working on it. There's a lot of knowledge to pick up. It's not that Rosencrantz isn't willing to share, it's that there's so bloody much."

"It would be like working with a genie. You get your wording wrong and everything ends up upside down. Only, even if you got your words exactly right, she could still misunderstand and things still get fucked up. Being a doctor is my life. Being a coroner, and having my ear to the ground has helped me save other lives in ways you wouldn't expect. I'm not willing to risk that." Ava shakes her head. "Not a chance."

"Oh! Don't forget, you guys need to look at these and tell me what you think. That's on the agenda, too." She nudges the folder with the real estate listings in it. "Also we need to scope out the books in your attic."

"I imagine it's not even wording; they'd do whatever they want to do." And yet-- some part of Una still looks almost (almost, but not quite) tempted: at least it would change up her life.

But no. No.

"Oh yes. Real estate. I love looking at real estate." Una's coffee is done, and after a quick final sip, so is her whiskey, and that means she's got both hands free to reach for the folder and open it up. "We'll have to get to the attic another day, but I promise, the historical society can have anything it desires from it. The library, too, if there's anything in there. To be honest, I tend to avoid checking, for the most part."

"I think -- it is also a matter of, are you willing and able to surrender control?" Ravn sips his coffee and thinks back.

He puts the cup down. "When I wrote the Revisionist -- I was in a very bad place. They did this thing to a lot of us. No warning. No purpose that we know of. None of us knew -- but everyone around us knew. So suddenly I am this celebrity chef? Me, who hates attention, hates press? Me, who literally left my home because I don't want to be a name in the morning papers? And then the allegations began. Coincidences, people gossiping in bad faith, the Veil pushing my buttons. Before I really realised what was happening, several women were having their reputations trashed because of me -- that I abused my standing to get them to do what I want, that I drugged them, horrible stories."

He picks his cup back up and cradles it. "None of the stories were true. But it was terrible. So I wrote -- and I wrote that. That I didn't care what position I was in, but I wanted to not be used to hurt somebody else. And then I woke up and now I only hurt lobsters. It's a terrifying loss of control."

Ava sees that look on Una's face and arches a brow just a hint, but there's no judgement there, just curiosity. "What is it that you would change if you could? I know that you wouldn't. But I saw that face."

Her face wrinkles up as Ravn speaks, looking horrified at what he's talking about. He's mentioned bits about it before, but she hasn't heard the whole thing. "That's pretty gross. Did that happen to a lot of people? Their lives getting flipped upside down like that? I'd have been pretty pissed off if that were me. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing in your shoes."

"If only I knew," is Una's answer, made with a laugh, and without her glancing up from the folder she's now flipping through so surely. "But that's the thing, isn't it? Loss of control. What Ravn said. I don't want to cede control. I just want someone to be able to give me a nudge in the right direction, which means this is absolutely not something I would want to consider. Ravn's story isn't new to me; it's absolutely not something I'd want to do."

She adds, then. "The lobsters are definitely an improvement. Absolutely. One hundred per cent."

"Everyone has things about their lives and themselves that they would like to Revise," Ravn murmurs. "I can certainly come up with a list of things of my own. But that's not what the Revisionist does. She doesn't change you. She changes how others perceive you. She may cast you in some other life -- one that would likely be more absurd and more exciting, and on the whole, more soap opera -- but you would still be you, and the loneliness and inadequacy would not have gone away. You might end up famous and miserable instead of just miserable."

He toys with the remains of his brownie. "It happened to a number of people, yes. It was not great for some of them. A girl of twenty-something was suddenly believed to have twelve kids by two husbands -- she'd have had to have started breeding at ten or so, but no one could see that. Some of it was outright mean -- Hyacinth Addington ended up married to the man she was in love with, only as far as he and his actual girlfriend was concerned, they were not married."

Una earns herself a nod. Yep, check, got it. "The lobsters are getting off the hook lightly, and what the hell, it's funny and pretty harmless. So I am not asking for another Revision."

"I don't like losing control in a normal way. Losing it in a magical way sounds terrifying." Ava agrees with a small sigh. "Sounds like you need a guru not a Revisionist," she chuckles, offering towards Una. Her brownie is gone now, the next thing in line is the glass of whiskey, which she's working on now. "I've got enough soap opera in my own head to last me for a little while, thank you very much. It's a mess up there." She offers a cheers gesture towards Ravn.

Horror comes across her face. "Poor Hyacinth. She was actually in love with this guy?" Her free hand presses to her heart. "Ow. Did the twenty something year old kid actually have twelve kids suddenly. Like, the kids appeared? Or did everyone just think she had them?" Important distinction there.

"Probably," agrees Una. "A guru who can see straight into my soul, or whatever, and tell me exactly who I'm supposed to be, and what my purpose is." At least she grins as she says that, more amused than woeful. "I don't know that I want me changed, either, except perhaps parts of how I react to the world, but..."

Moot point. Not going to happen. More importantly: "That sucks for everyone, definitely. No, we're definitely better not getting her involved in anything. The Archivist, if there is one, seems like the only one that might be of actual use to anyone, except I don't trust anyone from over there not to fuck things up one way or another. No. No, thank you."

"Hyacinth never talked about him a lot but given she had asked him to marry her previously, I'd assume so. Even if he declined. She never felt like she was -- entirely over him, if you know what I mean. Talked about him like family." Ravn shakes his head. That's one stunt he will never forgive the Veil for; there's fucking with people, and then there's making it personal. "As for Sparrow -- no, the kids never existed but there she was, slinking around town being talked about like a teenage prostitute. And the two husbands did marry later on -- each other, not her. Another girl -- Mac, she used to run a game store here -- got set up as that she and August Røn were a couple. Røn had just gotten married to Eleanor. A long part of the way, this all felt like the whole point was to make us miserable enough to do stupid things. Get into fights. Like in a soap opera. Because our lives were so boring."

He nods again. "I could see using this if someone's situation was so terrible that literally anything is better. But until then, the Revisionist is someone we really don't want to get involved."

"Seems like you just need to start trying a bunch of new things until you find something that sticks. That's the old fashioned way. It's worked for centuries. Why stop now?" Ava lifts her brows with a chuckle. "Wanna make a bucket list? See what we can cross off of it? Could be fun."

The more Ravn gets into what happened, the more horrified Ava's expression gets. "Okay. I'm really really glad that I was out of town for all of this. That all sounds needlessly hurtful. Like, emotionally just twisting the knife. I can already see exactly how it would have fucked me over, and I do not want that at all. No thank you." She shudders at the thought.

There's the faintest curve to Una's mouth at mention of a bucket list; a suggestion, perhaps, that she's not ignoring the possibility, or dismissing it out of hand. For now, though, she's toying with the edge of her coffee cup and concluding, "Yeah, no. We don't want to attract attention from that quarter, not even a little, not ever. Not even if someone's situation really was terrible, maybe, though I guess it depends on how terrible."

There's always a point at which literally anything is better. Not a happy place.

"Ugh, talk about depressing conversation. More coffee, anyone? More anything?"

"It's not all terrible. Vydal's Patisserie was hit by it, too. He petitioned her as well, and it all just -- stopped. No other new story, just nothing." Ravn sips his coffee, and then holds out the cup for a refill. "But yes -- the genie principle is in effect. Or the Monkey Paw principle, whatever you prefer. Don't ask lest you get what you ask for."

Then he offers a small smile Una's way. "Go out there and do the thing. You don't need some otherworldly bureaucrat's permission. People like you and me? We just need to be more -- or maybe less -- convinced our own needs don't matter, or that we're being too selfish."

"I'm not going to push my luck in that regard. I will avoid that sort of 'wishing' or revising, or whatever, as much as possible. Unless something becomes completely unavoidable. Like... if one of you die, I can't promise I wouldn't try to revise it. I'd eat the consequences for that if it meant you were alive and well. Assuming you didn't also eat consequences. Which would be in my request."

Ava bobs her head. "Both of you should take that advice to go out there and do the thing. Because you both rock, and deserve happiness. You guys know that, right?" Right?

"First step: figure out what the thing even is." Una's not particularly rueful for this, and has a genuine smile: first for Ravn, then for Ava, though the latter's remark draws the faintest little hint of a blush.

"I'll try not to die, regardless, I promise. And I will figure out what the thing is, and do it. I promise. Because--" A nod, this time, aimed at Ravn. "Our needs do matter, and we're not being selfish by pursing them. Or wanting things. Everyone's allowed to want things."

"As long as you don't want what others don't want to give you, yes." Ravn sips his coffee and nods. "But we know that's not what we're talking about. No one here thinks they have a claim on somebody else unless that somebody else wants them to have it. Which is why I feel terrible about Dreams that put me in a position where somebody might end up thinking that I feel entitled to them, somehow."

He smiles a bit. "Other things, though? Yes. Go do the thing. There are very few things we can't do if we want them enough. It's just ourselves telling us that we can't. We're usually wrong. Also, I am great at giving others advice that I have no intention of taking myself."

"Isn't it a shame that I am so great at wanting things that others don't want to give me, then? It makes me ripe for the picking." Ava sighs. "But I also have many things that I have wanted that others wanted me to have. So I am also blessed. Which is also important to remember right now. Because I have been letting myself get really dark lately, and I'm trying to be better about that."

"Well, Ravn. Luckily you have people in your life who love you and will help make sure that you take your own advice. Whether you like it or not."

"I'm sure the people around you know that you would never do it deliberately," says Una, in a small but firm voice. "Because-- yeah, no. Obviously we all know that we aren't entitled to anyone else. We have no claim. We offer what we offer, and it's up to everyone else to decide whether they want to take it up-- in whatever way that is. Friends, lovers, whatever."

Una reaches for another brownie. Some things do call for more chocolate. "I think it's basically just called being human. We all want things we can't have. And we're all pretty good, in my opinion, at sabotaging ourselves as well. Misreading things, or just plain making them up. Or wanting things that we know aren't reasonable. But--" Una breaks off, and lets out a wry little laugh. "Yeah. We'll just all keep pushing each other, right? To be better."

Ravn laughs softly. "I don't really need anything. I am insanely privileged in some ways. But I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't want to change anything about their life if they had the choice, and no fear of consequences."

And then he winks at Una because why pass up on a chance to be a smart ass. "Yeah. We'll all keep pushing you to be better."

"You are privileged in the fact that if you were anyone else, I would flick you right now." Ava smirks at Ravn, waggling a warning finger in his direction, looking amused. "Everyone needs things. Even if they can't admit it to others or even to themselves.. It's the ones that they can't admit to themselves that are the real bitch, though."

Her head bobs towards Una. "Damn right. Keep pushing each other. That's what friends are for."

Una immediately sticks her tongue out at Ravn, because if he's going to be a smart ass, she's going to be childish. It's only fair.

(Also, she's had whiskey, and who knows whether there was any real breakfast before the brownies, so, you know.)

"I'm pretty sure I said want things and not need things, and as we established the other day, there's a definite difference between the two, so there. There's no such thing as a perfect life, so, yeah, we all want things. We'd all change things. Though in my case, I don't want to change me so much as... smooth off some edges and maybe add a few new features. Same foundations. I'd hate to be anything other than me."

"Yeah." Ravn chuckles and manages to nibble another bit of brownie. "I could do with a few edges of my own sanded off, I suppose. But I also think that's part of the human experience -- that we never stop growing, and that means we never feel quite satisfied. Even when we know we have everything we need, there are still things that we want. And things we have that others think are very important or impressive, but which mean very little to us. I'll admit that I feel horribly shallow sometimes because I do realise I have things that others want very much, and all I do with them is ignore them completely. It drives Dita insane, for one. La Viscondeza does not entirely approve."

"Ooooh, she got you there! Want and need are very different! Privilege means all your needs are met, doesn't always means that your wants are. Because a lot of those tend not to be material! Nice one, Una." Ava offers the red head a cheeky grin at that.

"Speaking of Dita. Now that she's single again, do you think you two might work towards a relationship?" A sly smile touches her lips now as she peers over the rim of the coffee mug that has replaced the empty whiskey glass.

"God, if we were completely, one hundred per cent satisfied, how boring would that be? What would the point even be?" Una may be wistful for 'having things sorted out', but that clearly only goes so far.

Maybe she'd comment on Dita, and what drives the other woman insane, but Ava's just asked that question (and yeah, there's a grin, first, to answer the other woman's cheekier one), and sets Una to giggling. "Way to put him on the spot," she says, laughingly.

Ravn puts his cup down without spraying coffee all over the table; it's something. "I can't really say I had -- considered that. I don't think Perdita is looking. She was not exactly happy about having Emotions for Garrett in the first place. I am fairly certain she does not have those emotions for me. And also fairly certain that I don't want to be somebody's rebound again. See above, Hyacinth Addington, didn't get the bloke she did want, haven't heard from her since."

He chuckles. "So, no, I don't imagine that that's the case."

"Well she might not be in love with you, but she has emotions for you. She made that very clear when we were first introduced and she talked about dashing herself at the rocks of your shore, just for you to ignore her. Now, I know she's dramatic, but that's not someone who just wants to sleep with someone. Much as you might like to convince yourself otherwise." Ava seems sure of that as she smugly takes a sip of coffee.

Her glance turns towards Una with a conspiratorial air. "Sometimes you have to put them on the spot to get the truth. Don't give 'em enough time to think of a good lie!" she laughs.

"But I do get not wanting to be a rebound. I wouldn't want that either. However." There's a stern look for Ravn. "The fire department was her rebound. You would not be. If she comes for you, it would not just be for sex. If you think it is, you do her and yourself a disservice."

Una shoots Ravn an appraising look, though at least she doesn't go so far as to offer sympathy: it's just, perhaps, an acknowledgement that rebounds must suck, and relationships-that-never-quite-were suck maybe even more. "Maybe," she tells Ava, in lieu of addressing the issue at hand per se. "But maybe... maybe not everything's meant for a straight answer, either. Truth doesn't belong to us."

It's not really a chide. She still sounds mostly thoughtful. "I don't know if I think Dita really wants Ravn. For sex, maybe. I think otherwise, though, maybe she's got what she wants from him: friendship. But--" She cracks a smile. "What do I know about relationships, right?"

Ravn manages to not turn more than a light shade of pink. "I don't -- do that. Casual relationships like that, I mean. If I don't intend to commit, I'm not going to go through the motions. That said? I'm very fond of Dita. She is a close friend, and I'll take a bullet or a Veil monster for her any day. It's not passing judgement -- I'm just not built for, well, sleeping around. A few hours of fun aren't worth the risk of ruining a friendship for. Dita knows perfectly well that my lack of interest in casual hook-ups has nothing to do with her. She's smoking hot, and she knows it."

He grins at Una. "Also, that. What do we know about relationships? I've been in one and it ended miserably."

"Exactly my point. Dita knows that you aren't interested in anything casual. So. If she comes around. You have your answer about what it is she's looking for, don't you? Not casual." He's made her point for her and Ava looks pleased. "But yeah, you guys are right. I've only been in three relationships in my life. I just started my fourth one and I still --" oh, don't finish that. Not enough coffee. She pounds that cup back.

"I love you guys. Look at those photos and tell me which one you like. I need to go finish planting those fruits before I forget. If I have any more whiskey, I will totally forget." She grins. Her cups are placed into the sink and rinsed out for easy cleanup later. "Thanks for the invite!"

Such a good guest, cleaning up after herself! Una's smile is approving, but then, it's also more than that. "I'll report back," she promises. "Good luck with the planting, and with--" The relationship? Maybe. Maybe, too, there's the smallest amount of dubiousness there, but that's not a conversation she needs to have, is it? Respecting boundaries.

She glances back at Ravn. "She is smoking hot, and yeah, she knows it, and will have no trouble getting casual sex if that's what she wants-- which, it sounds like it is. Good for her. But yeah, relationships, basically a foreign country. Ava talks about her 'only' four, and I... well, you have to laugh, right? But it's fine. It's all good."

"Plant all the things." Ravn waves to Ava, and then he has to smile. "A bit. Only four. Yes. Although I suppose that that's still not a lot compared to many."

He chuckles and picks up his coffee cup. "Dita is on fire. And I am extremely fond of Dita, but I am also extremely convinced we'd drive each other insane. Much as we get along just fine, I am everything she hates. She doesn't hold that against me personally, but it'd still be an endless list of things to clash over. I remember how upset she was about the whole getting emotions thing in the first place. I think she actually does prefer to shag the Fire Department and make no promises. And maybe that is the healthy approach to take for her, at least until she meets the guy who does want what she wants. You know, that one bloke that's for the rest of life."

"Four meet cutes, four first dates, four-- you know, all of it. It's not nothing." Una's going to stick with that.

She's also going to pour herself more coffee, because there is some, and maybe it's just something to keep her hands busy, or maybe she just needs it. Or likes the taste. Whatever. She'll offer Ravn more, too, because she's polite: just a gesture of the pot.

"I can't imagine you and Dita together either," she admits, then. "You're very different people, and maybe sometimes that works, but... you have to still want the same thing, and I don't think you do. I imagine..." A pause. "Maybe catching feelings has taught her that it is something she could want. Maybe not, though. I can't speak to what she thinks. I don't know her that well."

Ravn shakes his head. "Don't get me wrong, I love Dita as a friend. The pure physical aspect? Sure, she's plenty attractive. But the chemistry for the kind of relationship I want is not there. Dita and I were made to be friends, hell, partners in crime. But not lovers. Is it silly to say I feel more like she's a kind of sister?"

"Right," agrees Una, pretty much immediately. She settles back down, coffee in hand. "No, not silly at all-- I can see it. That's the kind of bond you have. Some relationships... can be super close, and not ever meant to be anything other than platonic."

She grins across the table. "I like it. Dita's your kick-ass little sister. It's accepted as fact, now."

"Works for me. And I do outrank her, after all, and never forget to remind her of it. Seems like a brotherly thing to do, mm?" Ravn grins slightly. Perdita's 'viscountess' title is as real as her name and on many days, her hair. "I love her. But no -- not that way. And the rebound thing is also in play. She's not back on her feet yet, no matter how much she tries to make t seem that way. She's hurting."

Una makes a sad little face, nodding. "Of course she is. She may not have intended to, but, as you said, she caught feelings. You don't just turn feelings off. I mean, maybe it's possible, but if so, that doesn't seem like real feelings to me. No; of course she's hurting. It'll probably take a good few firefighters to get her back to equanimity properly. And time."

"Heaven knows life would be easier if we could turn our feelings off." Ravn upends his whiskey. "And heaven knows we'll be there for her as much as she'll allow. But also no more than that -- because she doesn't need us to get meddlesome and try to hook her up with every single bloke in town."

"It might be... I don't know. I'd probably miss my feelings, if I didn't have them. Maybe there are some that can just be turned off, but, well. At least the awful ones are a good reminder of being alive, I think?"

But maybe not, too. Already, Una's brows are drawing into a frown as she considers this. "We will. As much as she wants, and no more than that. She gets to set the rules, and the agenda. Within obvious reason."

"Selective feelings, that's what we need. Turn off the inconvenient ones." Ravn grins lightly. "Anyhow, I need to get myself back to the docks. Lobster season starts tomorrow and I need to be ready for whatever ridiculous plot twist the Veil comes up with -- you know there will be one."

He too knows how to rinse out a coffee cup. And he leaves the whiskey bottle -- perhaps in the hope of a repeat invitation one of these days? Probably. "I want to say, though -- speaking of, you know, the whole network and friends thing. You're in it, you realise? You're part of the silly family here. You fed us, now you have to keep us."

Poor lobsters. So it begins.

Una opens her mouth, then stops. She's good at that. "Yeah," she says. "I know. I mean-- yeah. Thanks, Ravn."

The reminder? It's always a good one. It never hurts.

With luck, the whiskey bottle will still be here, still at the same level, next time. And if not... there's always more whiskey.

And coffee. And chocolate.