2022-04-23 - I Will Call It Squishy And It Will Be My Squishy

"I'm glad it stopped raining."

Says Ariadne who squints censoriously up at the thin grey layer of clouds above the bay today. She knocks on a weather-rotted spar of wood anyways. No more rain. Dressed in her biologist's wading boots, a professional pair which reaches to her knees, jeans and layers beneath a waterproof windbreaker, she's even got a pair of waterproofed gloves hanging out of one pocket. Today?

We hunt tidepools.

And she's brought a friend. "Rocky beaches are the best place to find things around here," she shares, grinning. Loose strands of hair dance loose from her hairclip, but that's her curse. "We'll start with overturning a few rocks so you can watch the little crabs go eeeeeee and run away." Motioning for Una to follow, she leads the way down from the sidewalk near the parking lot and towards the soft shush of waves.

"Me too," says Una, and truly, genuinely, that's the case: the beach is a much more inviting prospect when the rain stays away, particularly at this time of year when, excepting Oak Avenue, it's not especially warm. She's wearing what some would call gumboots, or galoshes, or wellingtons; none of these names quite seem to fit, though, when they're bright pink and sparkly, delightfully clashing with the red of her jeans, and the purple of her jacket.

"Eeeeeeeeeee little crabs," is delighted, though, Una's enthusiasm for this excursion demonstrated ever so clearly in the brightness of her smile, and the eagerness with which she follows Ariadne towards the beach, and the not-so-distant ocean. "I feel like I really missed out, not spending any proper time at the beach when I was a kid. The Sound... isn't quite the same, you know?"

"Yeah, the Sound is really not. This is more pristine water, to an extent." Rocks shift after under their boots as they travel with soft gritting scuffs. "I can't believe what manages to live in the Sound anyways, what with all of the commerce boat traffic. Ferries too. If you haven't looked up the wolf eels which live under the bridges in the Sound, look them up. They're so ugly, they're adorable."

Only a marine biologist would say this.

"And you're never too old to turn over rocks. Okay, well, you are when your joints complain, but then you make the youngins do it because they too make high-pitched sounds when the crabs flee the day-star." Fingers are twiddled while Ariadne laughs. "Lemme glove up and we'll turn over a rock here. I'll learn you about what we find." She tromps a bit farther down the beach to find one that's appropriate, a barnacle-speckled individual sporting a draping of green kelp. "Alright, and a-one -- "

Rock flips as she grunts and then crouches down. "Oooooooh." At least a dozen quarter-sized crabs scuttle about in a frenzy of glistening motion. The water collected showcases other things as well: a thin eel-like gunnel fish and -- "Check it." Ariadne pokes at what appears to be a fleshy-colored blob on the rock. It squishes and squirts a little water. "Anemone."

Musingly, "Life finds a way, I guess," though Una seems impressed at how well it manages: by rights, the Sound should 100% be empty of life, and the fact that it isn't? It might as well be magic and not biology at all. (This does not stop her from being ever so slightly dubious of the sound of these eels, though comment on that will need to wait for another moment, or possibly another day).

"I one hundred per cent want to make the kids turn rocks over for me one day, definitely, no questions asked. The squeals, yes!" She leans in, positioning herself carefully so that she's not casting unnecessary shadows over the rock in question, with knees bent enough that she can crouch in and get a good look. That is definitely a happy squeal of her own, following the release of those crabs, and the revelation of everything else.

"Ooh, I didn't know we had anemones around here. I just think-- I don't know, Finding Nemo? Tropical. Did it just squirt at you. Oh my god, that's adorable."

"Yeah, it's a defensive reaction -- and we do have anemones, yeah! They're just not brightly colored. More...peach and pale violet and stuff, no bright blues or reds or anything. We also have a lot of sponges around here, but they're not so lively." Reaching down into the collected puddle in the divot of the rock, Ariadne scowls and mumbles to herself. "Come here...little shit...stop being so wiggly."

The two inch-long gunnel fish is not having it! Until it is, scooped up in her fingers carefully. "This is a gunnel fish. Isn't it cute? It's adorable. They get caught in these little pools and hang out until the tide comes back in again. They can be sort of dry for a little bit, but not forever." The fish gives them a look. EXCUSE ME. "I'll put him back in the water proper." She glances over at Una, grinning. "I hope we find a California sea cucumber. You're going to just skreel if you touch it. It squishes like nobody's business."

And also looks like a giant flaccid you-can-guess, but she isn't going to inform Una of that until they find one -- if they do.

Una drops one hand to the rocky/sandy shoreline to brace herself, making her crouch just that little bit more stable. It means she has fingertips to dig into it, an idle, reflexive gesture that she may not even be aware she's doing. "Oh, it's like a worm? Or an eel?" Is it adorable? Maybe, maybe not. It's definitely interesting, though, and has the shorter of the two redheads leaning forward just a little to get a better look.

"Squishes? Okay, yes, I do want to see this. I've never even heard about half of these things. You learnt all this in College? Or were you already-- I mean, you must have been interested before then, too?"

"Fish! Like an eel, but not one," Ariadne explains of the gunnel fish now ribboned up in her hands. She cups up water and then carefully straightens, intending to walk over and release it in the slowly-receding tidal water. Over her shoulder, she adds, "We moved up here when I was young from Colorado. I've always liked the rivers, but man, tide pooling in the Sound? Alki Point is where it's at. So many crabs there."

Crouching down again, she releases the gunnel fish into the water. Thwip -- gone.

"University of Washington had a bachelor's in it and bah-dah-bing. It's my degree. I really want to find those orcas Ravn's talked about though. They're so rare, coming in here, and if I could just see them..." What a wistful sigh. Somebody clearly likes orcas.

"Is there a season for orcas? Or is it just pure luck?" Una has straightened, too, as Ariadne does, padding after her in a way that suggests she's idly doing her very best to leave perfect footprints wherever there's sand enough to do so. Also? "Goodbye, little gunnel fish!"

The not-an-eel is gone, and so she turns her attention back towards Ariadne, thoughtful in a way that suggests she's genuinely interested, both in what the other woman has to say, and in what they're finding, out here on the rocky beach. "I wonder if people can call to them. I mean-- mentally. Some people have that power, I think?"

Una gets a stare as Ariadne straightens.

"...holy shit, there are people who can call to them?" Immediately, the barista looks out towards the bay, as if half-hoping to see one of the recognizable dark fins sleeking through the water. "I...really, really hope I can do that," she admits very quietly and then laughs, pinking for it. "Otherwise...yeah, it'll have to be luck. The pods are normally found more or less up north, around the San Juan islands. We have the oldest matriarchs on the planet in one of our pods, it's a pretty big deal. The pods are led by females," she informs Una.

"I think so?" Una sounds less sure of it, now, and it's not as if she was especially sure in the first place. "I mean, I hope you do too. Imagine talking to them. Actually communicating with animals. I mean--" A pause. A frown. "It's probably not that simple, right? Probably not the same as you and I, talking to each other mentally. But there's probably something in it."

Ariadne's reaction has made her smile, though: warm and happy, the possibility of Ariadne getting what she wants. "Matriarchal? Awesome. More things should be matriarchal. How do we know that we have the oldest, though? Is it possible to-- date them? Er. I mean... you know what I mean." We don't date whales.

Ariadne can't help the giggle.

"I do know what you mean, yes. I'll ask Ravn about the talking to animals bit because holy shit. If I knew what Samwise was thinking." A pause. "...I dunno, that might be Pandora's Box. Anyways," and the barista waves aside her own diversion. "How can you tell how old an orca is. So! Granny is the oldest orca around here, over a century in age, part of the J2 pod." Ariadne lifts brows. "Scientists used to think they only lived to thirty-five years in the wild. She blew expectations out of the water. Each orca, on their dorsal fins, tend to accumulate scars and markings. You can identify them quickly that way. Granny has a half-moon chunk missing about a third of the way up from her body on her dorsal fin. Scientists back in 1970-something caught her and released her. They estimated she was born around 1911 by how old her offspring were -- and even if the scientists are wrong and she was actually only about five years old back in the seventies, think about it: she's older than thirty-five now."

Una's grin answers the giggle; her giggle comes a few moments later, for Pandora's Box.

Giggles, though, give way to a clear listening face, as the marine biologist answers her question. Una's gaze rests upon Ariadne for a few moments, then dreamily meanders out to sea. It's not that she's stopped listening: it's that she's imagining.

"Holy shit," is a genuine reaction. Pleased, yes; delighted, even. "That's incredible. 1911. I mean... I mean wow. Imagine living that long. Imagine how much the ocean has changed in that time." Possibly a less cheerful thought. "Just-- so much. So much change."

"It's nuts to think about, yeah...and we know how smart dolphins are, so think about how smart orcas are." Ariadne follows her fellow redhead's gaze out over the waters again, her hands rested lightly on her hips. "I'm convinced that orcas, dolphins...really all the whales -- and octopi -- think we're total fucking idiots. Herp-derp, I'mma human on my two legs, derp-derp-derp, what is water, derp." A clownish shrug of her hands up at the level of her ribs and tilt of head to follow.

"But yeah. Orcas. My kingdom for seeing an orca around here, even if I can't speak to them. That's another Pandora's Box anyways. Imagine an orca telling you that yes, your forefathers were idiots too. Brutal insult." She turns and walks over to see about putting the rock back into place. "Here, let's go farther down the beach, there are some open tide pools there. I want to find a sun-star," the marine biologist declares.

That, again, makes Una laugh, and has her turning her attention back to the other redhead to grin clownishly. "I mean, they'd be right. We're absolute fucking morons most of the time, aren't we? Our forefathers definitely were, too; I know that for a fact."

But she doesn't seem inclined to dwell on that thought: she's already acknowledged the suggestion, and agrees, "Okay. What's a sun-star? You're going to have to explain all these things to me in small, easily digestible words. Even if I have heard the bigger words, it's probably only in written format, so I won't know what you're talking about."

Rock back in place. Gesturing for Una to follow, the barista chuckles.

"Sun-stars are starfish and starfish normally have five limbs. Sun-stars have fifteen to twenty-odd or so. They're like giant multi-limbed Frisbees, about..." She measures a dinner plate's worth of space before her two uplifted hands. "Yea big. But don't Frisbee them at people, they weigh a ton. I watched somebody do it once. A, rude, and B, they knocked the other person off the dock. I can't control my cohorts. They're pretty active in the spring and summer. Maybe a sand dollar bed too, that would be cool to find, but it's a little rocky around here. I know we'll find a clam bed. Do you know what a sand dollar is?"

She pauses to crouch down and flick over a half-shell. "Scallop, ooh."

It's not really funny, and really, Una should wince in sympathy for the poor person, knocked off the dock with a multi-limbed Frisbee, but it's also kind of funny anyway; she snickers, just a little. "Are they... brittle? I guess that's the word I'm looking for. Do they snap and break? Or are they more malleable? I do know what a sand dollar is-- that's one thing I've heard of, anyway, though I think I've only ever seen them, like, on people's mantlepieces? 'Here is my collection of shells and whatever from my trip to the beach'."

She follows easily enough, still making deliberate footprints through the sand and rocks. "Scallop! I've heard of them, at least. And eaten them, too. Never tried cooking them, but I think that's mostly because I'm afraid of spending money on ingredients and then fucking it all up."

It makes her lean in again, though: putting images to names of things, but in the wild and not on a plate.

"I'd stick to eating what the restaurant serves, in regards to scallops. Harvesting them wild is sometimes dicey with tidal algae and all. Not worth the pukes." Ariadne straightens again and continues down the beach at a sedate pace, watching where she's placing her feet simply because she wants to see what she walks by or over. "And sun-stars are...sort of brittle? I mean, if you pick them up by the limbs, the limbs come off, but they grow back with time. You normally have to find them stuck upside-down in order to get a-hold of one. Otherwise, peeling them off the rocks hurts their little suckers."

A wave washes up more seaweed near to her boots and she glances over. "Bull kelp," she points at it. "That's what the sea otters love to sleep in. Sometimes the sea urchins eat too much of it, but the otters are there to counteract this."

"Yeah, there's no way I know anywhere near enough about any of this to harvest my own anything," Una promises. "I'm pretty confident there are things on this beach-- well, maybe not this beach, but in general?-- that could make me very unhappy indeed." Or dead. Dead is always a possibility when it comes to eating things you're not sure of.

"Wait, they grow back? Grow back." This is a little unnerving. Fascinating-- but unnerving. "Wait--" More waiting. Just wait, Ariadne. Wait! "When you say the otters are there to counteract this, you mean?"

"Whoops! Enthusiasm, sorry," and Ariadne stops in order to fully look at her fellow redhead. Tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear carefully, she then explains, "Since sun-stars are a member of the starfish family, and starfish grow back limbs, so do sun-stars. It takes them a while, but yeah: they can regrow a limb from a stump. They're sturdy critters."

She toes an another empty scallop shell idly. "The otters eat sea urchins. The sea urchins eat the kelp at their base and along their stalks, up from where the kelp grows on the rocks, and it breaks the kelp away. Kelp actually makes underwater forests, in a way. Those are rare and it's sad to see them damaged. The sea otters will dive down and grab sea urchins and bring them up. They rest a flat rock on their belly while they float on their backs and whack the sea urchin with another rock to break them open. Tool use. They're cute and smart."

"Wow," says Una, and she genuinely seems to mean this, her expression lit with enthusiasm. "I mean... we rage on about the weirdnesses of this place, but there's so much natural weirdness, right? Regrowing limbs. How long's a while?"

She leans down, picking up one of the scallop shells and turning it over between her fingers. She's examining it, but only lightly, most of her attention still intently focused on Ariadne's explanations. "'Underwater forests', that's awesome too. And the sea otters. They sound adorable. I mean-- all of this does. But the orcas are your favourites, right?"

"A week or two, for a sun-star to grow back a limb...and yeah, orcas are my hands-down favorite." Her smile is pleased. Clearly, this is her forte. Not only Ravn gets away with himself in his field of interest. Her eyes drop to the scallop shell and she watches it rotate in Una's fingers.

"But you must have a favorite sea critter? I mean, I figure you do," the barista shrugs, lifting her brows. "What is it?"

Una looks up again, her brown eyes carrying the same smile she holds on her lips: she's smiling with her whole face, really. Passion is attractive (as it were)-- and illuminating, in its way.

"Hm," she says, in answer, her cheeks flushing just ever so faintly. "I'm not sure. I think... I really liked the jellyfish, at the aquarium. They-- it seemed like they were dancing? And there were lights, and so it was like they glowed, too.'

"Oh yeah! The revolving moon jellies! We get those around here in the bay too, but I know exactly which tank you're talking about at the aquarium."

Because of course Ariadne does, marine biologist geek that she is.

"I don't think they'll show up around here until later, more like June or July or so. They'll wash ashore and stuff. They get so big too, it's nuts." Again, she measures out a dinner plate's worth of size between her hands. "Blobbles. Big squishy blobbles. Charming if weird and painful. I think I know what to get you for your birthday now though...and no, it's not an actual jellyfish," she laughs.

Una's eyes light with both surprise and delight, starting well before that mention of her birthday and lingering long past. "You've ages to wait for that-- it's not until September. It's a good thing I'm already prepared for yours."

There's a teasing lit for that, though it's followed promptly by the admission, "I had no idea we got them here-- I guess I spent so much time staring at the tank, mesmerised, I didn't actually read the placard. I mean, I guess I don't necessarily want to run into one of them in the water, but it's nice to know that they'll be out there. Blobbily dancing in the waves." Happy little blobs.

Ariadne's own brows lift. "I mean, you know I'm good for cake, so cake by itself is absolutely fine," she assures Una with a pleased little grin despite herself. "You still probably don't want to step on or get raked by one of the moon jellies though, yeah. They're pretty, but leave them be to do their blobby dance." The marine biologist then lifts out her arms and does the wave by herself in a grand manner, pretending, apparently, to float away down the beach by a foot or two. She laughs and then gestures for Una to follow.

"If we're lucky, we'll see a Spanish Shawl. They're a kind of sea slug that's bright purple and gold, absolutely fucking beautiful. They're teeny though, so you have to look hard for them in the pools," she explains.

"Cake," says Una, with a happy little laugh, "goes without saying. I'm going to need some ideas for Ravn, though, that aren't cake, because we all know he won't eat it." If her smile dims, just a little, it's surely only for a moment-- or maybe that's just because she's distracted, enjoying that little float-y dance, not to mention following after with a hop-and-skip of her own.

"Ooh, and called a Spanish Shawl because of the colours? They sound like my kind of thing, too. Colours. Always, always about the colours."

"Because of the colors and the way their little gold fringes are, like the edge of a dress." Ariadne pauses until her friend is beside her before marching on. The tide pools are another twenty yards up the beach and she can see the wan sunlight reflecting from them.

"As far as Ravn goes...a book would never be bad. He likes books, remember the bookstore? A book about..." Uh-oh, that's the troublemaker smirk. "A book about vampires. Or the Little Mermaid, if you're brave. Or...I dunno, maybe something outside of his folklorist field. A good, solid classic. Or...a scarf? A colorful scarf. You're about color: something with color? Colorful socks." She pauses, staring. "Oh my god, BARNACLE SOCKS."

Ariadne marches; Una skips. Carefully, mind, because she's hyperaware, now, of not stepping on anything important, but still: skips. Because she can. Because, well, why not?

That smirk draws a grin of her own, growing steadily broader throughout the suggestions until she can help it no more: she begins to giggle, ultimately needing to stop, and hold her knees, as she laughs and laughs, outright, her hair blowing about in the wind, her eyes shining with salt and sand and tears of laughter.

"Yes," she says, when she can speak again (it takes a little while). "Yes, that is absolutely going to happen."

"Look, like, twenty millions points if there's somehow neon involved because barnacles and lurid colors? It's the perfect present," the barista insists before she too can't help but laugh. Her friend is all but bent in twain! And howling! She ends up wrapping arms around her stomach and guffawing like a lunatic. It's Grey Harbor, they're clearly losing their minds, right? A seagull flies by overhead, drawn by the sound, but continues on. No food fights. A shame.

Una confirms the plan and after a few more breathless chortles, Ariadne runs a knuckle under each eye. Blowing a sigh, she nods. "God, I have good ideas." Another blurt-laugh. "Look, I'll get him a barnacle shirt. It'll be perfect. He'll be all barnacle'd up and ready for a summer without them on his boat. I would know, I scraped enough of the damn things off. Oy."

Some things are funny. Some things are more funny with friends, on a beach, in the wind, in Gray Harbor.

As she straightens again, grinning like a loon, she confirms it: "You have the best ideas. Between us, we'll make all the barnacle dreams he never wanted come true."

There's a moment, there, where she likely second-guesses that comment; where the reality of Dreams collides with the amusement of the shared joke. She shakes it off, dropping her scallop shell back to the rocky ground and wiping her hands on her jeans. "That was kind of you, helping with that. Volunteering?" The question is light, but her expression thoughtful.

Another tilt of Ariadne's head and she's moving on down the beach once more, her steps measured to make conversation easy.

"Yeah, volunteered," she replies, her own expression equally thoughtful. A little smile hovers about her mouth regardless. "Back at UW, we had the research boats, right? Part of being a student there, especially as an undergrad in the three and four-hundred level classes, was learning to get the boats ready to sail each spring. If anyone was going to be on their own boat one day, it helped them learn the anatomy of the boat, what to do in basic emergencies, what constitutes needing a call to the Coast Guards, etcetera. Scraping barnacles was part of that. They're stubborn little shits and you get a work-out removing them, but the nice part is if they're air-dried, it's just the husks. You just have to not hurt the varnish on the boat."

"Hm," says Una, lengthening her stride to meet Ariadne somewhere in the middle, though she's still got a skip to hers; she's somehow freer out here than she often is in the world, as if the relative lack of people (Ariadne being a happy exception) eases some usually-present tension.

"That makes sense. I suppose you need to understand the realities of the work, too: it's not all fun creatures and explorations, right? It's also maintaining the equipment, and the boats would, I guess, be a big part of that. I can't say it sounds like fun work, but I can see how it'd be important. Do you... miss your student days?"

The marine biologist herself has a different stride as well, one which evinces familiarity with the terrain and a simple appreciation for it all -- even if the wind is still slinking cold fingers down the back of her coat. Ugh.

Another glance over at Una when Ariadne is sure she's not going to suddenly eat rocky beach. "Hell yes, I do. It was a lot of discovery then. It's no wonder people go on and on about their college days being their best days. Anybody who says high school was awesome is...confused," the young woman decides and then laughs. "But yeah, discovery of my field and myself in the process. Empowering." Her chin lifts a touch as she looks down the beach again. "You said it perfectly: it's not all fun. Exploration comes with difficulties. If you don't put some elbow grease into maintenance or decide you're too good for it? You turn into one of those asshole primpy researchers who can't be arsed to wet their hands wet, as one of my profs used to say. Nobody likes those folks. I'm not saying go shove your hand into a lemon shark's gullet to make a point, but hauling in the research nets, scrubbing buckets, being the good sport who tackles the hagfish slime -- that earns you respect. Barnacles on a sailboat? Easy-peasy in comparison to hagfish slime -- ooh."

Pausing, she crouches down again to point out what appears at first to be a car tire-grey leathery strip washed up in the wave-foam. "Check it. Part of a moon snail eggshell sack. Here, feel it. It's like...sparring mat foam somehow," the biologist explains as she does this very thing. "Sand and mucus formed together until it hardens. They're actually more ovaloid when whole."

Una's dark huff of a laugh coincides with Ariadne's comment on high school, a point she clearly does seem to agree on without hesitation. After that, though, there's a certain amount of wistfulness; this is an experience she never had, and now likely never will, and as much as this particular course of study would never have been hers-- well.

That 'ooh', though, has those steps pausing, and after a moment's hesitation the shorter of the two redhead crouches opposite Ariadne, leaning in to get a better look at the-- leathery strip, huh? Her brows knit in against each other, but she's dutiful-- maybe even more than dutiful, really: she's interested-- in reaching out to feel, as instructed, which...

"Wow, that's... that's the weirdest non-man-made thing I think I've ever touched." Poke, goes her finger. "Mucus, though? What kind of mucus?"

"Snail mucus? I guess I can't answer that question well," Ariadne then huffs in amusement, perhaps at this inability. "General mucus, I suppose. It's not laced with anything else insofar as I know. Just pretty sticky and gluey to bind the sand together and all. The snails are huge though, big enough for their undersides to sit from your wrist to your fingertips." She holds up a hand flat to demonstrate. "They disappear into the sand really well, so it's hard to find them, even with how big they are. If you're lucky, you see the bulge of the top of the shell and dig them out. I haven't spotted one yet. You'll know -- I'll make this high-pitched squeak sound."

Standing up again, she then laughs. "Sorry, here I am trying to get us to the tide pools and we're still not there. Come on. No more pausing unless absolutely necessary!" There's a knowing ruefulness in her words, as if she knew one more thing might trip her up on the way along the last five yards or so.

Something Ariadne doesn't know in detail? That makes Una grin, this time with genuine amusement and not just interest in the topic at hand. "I hope you do spot one," she says. "Because I want to hear that. Don't apologise! I-- really like how passionate you are about this. It's the difference between... like, having a science teacher in school who didn't care about their subject. Or any kind of teacher, I guess? Just... it makes such a difference when someone cares, so I don't mind the pauses. They're all interesting!"

She does straighten, though: ready to keep moving.

"Gosh, you're a doll." Una get a twinkling grin which reaches the barista's golden-hazel eyes. "Yeah, this is my jam. I appreciate your patience regardless. There's going to be some good stuff in the pools, I just know it." It is with not a skip, but still a lightness to her booted feet that Ariadne leads the way to the pools. The natural rock shelf, pocked with nature's wrath and barnacles and all sorts of erosion, has broken up into large boulders in places. Dotted throughout are some serious tide pools, some a foot deep and layered with collected sand.

Of course, like she was twelve and not over thirty, Ariadne steps up onto the first tide pool and crouches down so her shadow doesn't cross the interior.

"Eeeeeeeeeeee!" Lo and behold: the squee. "Ohmygod, UNA. No, come here -- I can't pick this one up, but I can point it out. LOOK. Follow the shadow of my finger." And if one does look carefully where that finger is pointing, there's what appears to be a -- "Juvenile dogfish shark, holy craaaaaaaaaaaaaaap!" It's not too large, only about four inches long, but it lurks in half-sight against the wall of the tide pool, gills slowly working.

"I get it," is earnest. "You haven't heard me wax lyrical about baking techniques, or thrift shop finds that are absolutely perfect. Well. Maybe you have. The point is--"

The point is that Ariadne has reached the tide pools, and found her shark, and Una? Una grins, no hesitation and no reservations. She steps closer, crouching to try and see, her eyes trained after the direction that finger points in. "Wait-- wait. Is that a shark? Or a fish? I mean, it's adorable."

"It is totes a shark." Ariadne can't help moving the shadow of her finger, as if like Peter Pan, she might pet the little fish. It doesn't move. Lurking is its game right now, what with the tide out and it trapped in the tide pool. "They get to be about four feet long or so and live over fifty years. Salmon sharks are more likely to bite you. These guys won't unless you offer them a golden chance -- like trying to pick them up." A wry glance at Una. "These gloves are not made for sharks."

Her gaze lingers on Una regardless. "I didn't know you were a thrift store shopper. Reeeeeeally." Look at that curious grin.

"No! No. Why would you pick up a shark? The little things are one thing, but-- sharks are swimmers. They don't need to be picked up." Una doesn't know a lot about this particular subject area, but she's very firm in her beliefs on this. "Even if you could. No. Absolutely not. How big do salmon sharks get?"

Una's curiosity comes to her genuinely: she's the kind of person who really does find everything fascinating.

"What? Oh. Yeah-- absolutely. I worked in thrift shops for most of my adult life, until I came here. Most of my wardrobe is thrifted, or-- re-made, following thrifting. I tell you, my grandmother's house is like a treasure trove, too. We have all these boxes of clothes and belongings up in the attic. If we ever have a costume party of any kind..."

"Duuuuuuuuude." Ariadne's eyes have lit up brightly at this point. "Costume party. Oh my god, I'm so down with this. It needs to be a thing. We will plan if for no other reason than..." An idea shoots across her mind like a falling star. "I mean, summer solstice is coming up in a month or two? Could do one for that. Granted, your backyard has a faerie ring, so...maybe we'll check on local wisdom for it."

Still. It's an idea she's not letting go of easily, not with that particular grin on her face. "And that's actually really cool that you got to see all of those neat things show up in the thrift shops. I had a friend back in college who used to haunt those for the rare goods. She'd snag them and re-sell them on Ebay or Etsy after they'd gotten a little love. Some amazing things showed up. Like, a pair of women's riding gloves from 1902 or something like that. Beautiful, lace at the cuffs. Nifty hats, like pillbox hats. Shawls. God, I bet your boxes are full of goodies." A beat and she adds, "Salmon sharks get more towards five feet or so and they're unfortunately not fussy. The nice part is nobody really goes swimming around here during salmon season, so bites are rarer."

Slowly: "Summer solstice costume party. Yes. Yes, I think this is a thing that needs to happen." Una's expression? Suddenly bright with enthusiasm. "I mean, I've yet to see the faeries for myself, so... it should be fine. We'll make sure it's fine. Enough baked goods, maybe some beer or something harder, and they'll be fine."

That grin seems to have infected Una with one of her own; this is an idea that may propagate itself. "You do occasionally get some amazing things showing up in thrift shops-- that' s absolutely true. People don't always have any idea what a treasure they have. I think that's why I'm reluctant to get rid of anything out of my attic, because I know some of it is incredible, and I'd hate to see it just... tossed around. I'll absolutely share. We'll have costume bits for everyone."

And even so, that's not a complete distraction from the real topic at hand, because, "Right, avoiding the salmon sharks. Why does everything come back to salmon around here? Jules-- well. Jules." A harder line of her expression, for that. Jules. It's a sore spot, right now.

"Party hearty." It appears to be a plan indeed for the future.

But Ariadne isn't so enamored with the visions of midsummer night's costumes floating through her mind or the presence of the rare dogfish sharkling to be distracted from the flicker through Una's face. Her own smile melts without disappearing entirely. "Salmon are critical around here for the infrastructure of the ecosystem and the food chain. We lose them, we lose it all, from what I can tell." Her head tilts as she searches Una's face. "But that's some heaviness to those words there. If you want to talk about it, you're welcome to, but I'm not going to push. If there's one thing you'll learn about me, it's that I'm here to listen and solve problems, not propagate gossip. I get enough gossip at work," she explains drily, her smirk there and gone.

Una is still watching the dogfish shark, far too focused on that to meet Ariadne's gaze. That doesn't mean she doesn't, after a moment's hesitation, murmur, "Jules is going on some kind of... spirit quest thing. Off into the wilderness for maybe weeks. Alone."

Maybe she considers that enough to explain her disquiet on the subject, because she doesn't elaborate further, except to say, "Salmon are important. I do get that."

Ariadne's eyes fall to the tide pool and what lingers below its surface. She reaches down to touch the surface, more than anything to create ripples on it. Another small fish, a little brown sculpin, darts from one seaweed patch to another within it. The waves continue to shush up against the rocks as the tide pulls out the last yard or so.

"They are important," she then quietly agrees. "And that's brave of Jules, going off alone like that. You're concerned it won't be safe for her?" It's a logical guess. Ariadne glances over at her friend again, letting her forearms dangle off of her knees and her gloved hands in the empty space between.

"Yeah," comes after an exhale. "That's a lot of time alone. In the wilderness. And without enough food, so far as I can see."

It's more than that, for Una, but she doesn't seem able to express it: her frown is a deep furrow, her expression unreadable except for the so-clear distress.

She watches the water, and the things in the water, rather than lifting her gaze towards Ariadne.

"Ah-hah, definitely a spirit quest then, if it's without enough food. She's looking to find something, I'm going to guess? I don't know enough and I readily admit it." Her golden-hazel eyes linger on Una yet, watching the woman's profile. This is when it might be difficult having a scientist for a friend, when the attention becomes focused and watchful. Something moving by her boot makes the marine biologist glance over. Ah: a tiny hermit crab. Very carefully gathering it up into her palm, she then holds out the dime-sized crab in its wee spiral shell for Una to see. Little eye stalks poke back out into view after a second.

"I wish I could help," Ariadne then adds. "It's not my business to butt in. You'll let me know if there's any way I can? You've been more than kind to me and everyone else lately." Such empathy in the barista's regard.

Hermit crabs, as small and relatively inconsequential as they are, are something for Una to focus on: something that means she's looking at something and not away, because the complicated emotions are too difficult to work through. "Awww, look at him. So cute."

Focusing on that gives her, it seems, enough headspace to add, "A spirit quest, yeah. I don't really know enough either, and I know it's important to her, it's just--" Just. "It's so dumb. I'm allowed to be worried, but freaking out about it is ridiculous. I'd resent people trying to look after me like that. I just hate people leaving. It's fine. I know I'm ridiculous."

"Eh...I don't know that you're ridiculous. People leaving can be hard." The little hermit crab appears more from its shell, wee eyes gleaming. It moves on the black fabric of Ariadne's glove by about a centimeter and freezes again. "Especially if you care and you're not sure what's going to happen to them. Did someone give you a ration of shit for expressing your concern?"

Her gaze still lingers on Una. Above them, a few more seagulls circle on and a flock of sandpipers flies over like miniature fight jets, purely streamlined, peeeeeping as they go. They're headed for the sandier sections of the beach, clearly.

Poor hermit crab. Una understands; the world is scary, sometimes, and hiding in your own shell may be a better option. "Everyone gave me a ration of shit, as you put it," she says, with a wry little laugh that is both self-effacing and a little bitter. "Everyone trying to convince me I'm overreacting. Trying to protect me. I hate that. Feeling like people think I'm some... what's that old meme? Cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure? Making mountains out of molehills?"

That may involve just the tiniest amount of bitterness, too.

"I know I worry too much. I just wish people didn't think that made me weak. Maybe I'm just being ridiculous. What else is here? Show me!"

Mountains out of mole hills.

It sounds familiar. Ariadne looks down at the hermit crab in a moment of introspection. "I don't know that there's worrying too much, but...maybe it's something like, believing that the other person is strong enough to make it through? Having faith. And that way, you're empowering yourself in turn because you're keeping the worry at bay? I don't mean faith like religiously, I just mean plain and simple faith. Belief. Hope, I guess." She smirks faintly, watching the little hermit crab move again on her palm. "Hope's important around here. I mean, hell. HOPE, right?" Emphasis capitalizes and identifies the word as the place now. "It doesn't mean any worry is invalid. Maybe it just means being sentinel until they come back. Helping them if they need it."

A shuffle and she then lowers her hand into the tide pool. The hermit crab rolls off and floats to the sandy bottom. "Little guy was too dry." Squeezing her hand gets the excess water out of the glove and she then shakes out her hand like a disgruntled cat. "What I'm hearing is I need to be a support system, not a bulwark. I gotchu, friend. Done deal. But let's see...what else." A beat and then she points at a cluster of small rocks in the pool. "See the anemone with its little arms out? There you go, proof they exist."

"I think I mostly just believe people are going to leave," is so very quiet, a statement that Una may have made without even being fully aware that she's said it outloud-- though that impression can't last, surely, and hasn't lasted: the pink flush that follows is sure enough indication of that. "But... yeah. I guess so. Hope. HOPE."

Brown eyes follow the path of the hermit crab (goodbye!) and then she lets out a wry little laugh. "Yeah. Support system. Please. -- Ooh, anemone!"

A fine distraction. A good one. "Those little arms! I love it. This would be your dream job, wouldn't it? Doing something with... all of this."

"I'd certainly be happy doing it. Wait until I find a big Dungeness crab. You'll be like, Ari, seriously put it down," the barista laughs. "But it's the orcas more than anything else. I want to know more about them, why they came in here of all places. It's odd behavior. If there's something in Grey Harbor influencing them? I want to know. They're intelligent, like we talked about. Maybe they can tell us more, one way or another. Oh."

Another point. "Look, that sculpin. He's hard to spot, but see his spiky fin sticking up? Right there." Barely visible against the pale sand, the small fish, about an inch long, shifts. "Those guys are hard to handle, they sometimes sting if you're not careful." A glance over at Una. "If I promise that I'm not going anywhere because I want to study the orcas here, does that count?" A seawater-logged fist is then offered up for a fistbump. Redhead solidarity?

Una hesitates, but then she grins, broadly, and her fist-- far less seawater-logged, but not unwilling to get in contact anyway-- lifts so that she can bump Ariadne's. Solidarity, yes. "That counts," she confirms. "And you're going to have to tell me more about the orcas. What do you mean, odd behaviour?"

Not that this means she's not looking at the sculpin, now that it's been pointed out to her. Not that she's not entranced.

The sculpin's little fins continue to wiggle as it hovers on its spot next to the rock. It think it's invisible still, definitely a win in its book. After all, the dogfish shark is still within the pool as well.

"The odd behavior is that they came into the bay in the first place. This isn't going to be a natural place for them to even be nosy about. Not only that, but remember how I told you about how they're all up mostly by the San Juan islands? Those're way up north and through the Strait. Hundreds of miles away. Why would orcas drift this far south and into a small, contained area of water when they should be on their way up north or hugging the coastline instead? Now," and Ariadne pauses, lifting a soggy-gloved finger. "It could be that they were curious. They'll follow kayakers around and bump the kayaks out of curiosity, or play with buoys, or even...kind of like cats do with birds, play with the sea lions they catch." A little wince. It's graphic, to say the least. "But this is what requires studying: the why of it."

Her attention returns to the sculpin. "God, I love figuring out why," she murmurs to herself before laughing under her breath.

"Oh!" says Una, a little exhalation of a comment that comes complete with a frown, now, that is nothing to do with her own emotional burdens, and all to be with this little mystery. She's lifted her gaze to focus it on Ariadne as the other woman talks. "Okay," is what she says, finally. "No, no-- that's a huge mystery. And you're going to try and find out why? How? Do you need... like, research boats and equipment and so on?"

Another laugh and a humorously-forlorn sigh from Ariadne. "Yeah...a research boat would be nice, something that could navigate the deeper waters and hold as well as run the gear. I don't want to put it on anybody here to be taking one of the sailboats out onto the ocean. It can be dangerous. I wouldn't want to be responsible for the reason for going out in the first place. I might just have to see about chartering something...or getting lucky and just maybe..."

Una gets a small smirk. "...maybe Grey Harbor manages to entice them into the bay again when I'm here with a pair of binoculars. My birthday is coming up. You never know." Tendrils escaped from her hairclip then catch across her face as she shakes her head, sniggering. "This place...being nice like that. What a pipe dream, oy."

Una's frown gets caught between that and a smile, an expression that is a little complicated but still easy enough to read. The frown gives way to the smile by the end, though; it helps that she's laughing outright, albeit without the uproariousness of earlier. "Nice, this place. Ha. But if it is possible for someone to talk to them-- well, maybe it could happen."

Having said that? A pause. "How dangerous, though?"

"Maybe," the barista allows as she reaches to tuck a few of those loose strands of hair behind an ear again. She meets Una's eyes at the question. A half-smile shows on her lips, checked by a fond dubiousness. "Well..."

With a grunt, she rises to her feet. "The swells, the wind... If you have a shallow keel on the boat, it might heel so hard that you take on water. Orcas don't really stick that close to shore despite what I said earlier. I meant close like...a mile off-shore. Definitely not in the shallows. I don't know if anyone here has a boat that sturdy. I mean, Ravn's boat is pretty sturdy, but I'm not about to plant that idea in his head until I know more about the boat in turn. He'd say yes, let's take the boat out just because he's a nice guy to his bones." A tilt of her head encourages Una to follow her to the next tide pool.

"And orcas are big," concludes Una, slowly, as she rises back up and moves to follow. "Not as big as some whales, but still big and heavy. I've never seen one, but-- I do remember that much from science class."

Biology 101: Whales Are Big.

She's not been touching much, but she brushes her hands over her jeans, anyway. Perhaps it's just the salt in the air, the moisture. "I imagine you want to be able to move with precision, too, on the water. Get out of the way fast. Proper scientific vessels have... all the kit." What kit, she doesn't know; that's not the point. "So you know what's coming, and from where. You don't want to take chances. Ok. That all makes sense."

"Right. Orcas are big and dense. Thick blubber and muscles meant to propel them constantly through the water, much less let them take on humpback whales if they see a chance? A sailboat isn't going to survive a solid impact from one of them, even accidentally. I don't know that a research vessel is going to be able to dodge one, but it's also going to be way bigger than one of the orcas in turn. Something like that would survive a sudden headbutt."

The next tide pool over is shallower but broader. "Ooh, starfish, lookit." Ariadne points; they're the standard five-armed affairs, one orange and one a matte-grape color in turn. One has an arm up out of the water and she crouches down to gently run a fingertip along it. "The texture is always so gnarly on these guys."

Una's expression has turned just slightly pained, but she's also being very careful here: she knows it's not her place to tell people she cares about to be careful, to not do things that might be risky, but... but. She straightens, squaring her shoulders and attempting to compose her expression.

The starfish helps, too, because disquiet at this level is easy redirected in the face of pretty-- and frankly, somehow ridiculous-- sea creatures. "And they're alive?" she says, as she reaches her own hand towards the water, to take a turn at touching the arm in the air. "I mean, I remember that they are. They're animals, not... when you think about it, it's a bit weird when people, like, collect them, and put them out as decorations?"

"A little weird, sure, but people also display feathers and animal skulls. As long as the starfish were deceased when they were collected, I don't have a problem. But this guy? Yeah, he's alive. If you lean over really kind of awkwardly far here, you can see the little suckers wiggling around. I bet he was trying to figure out if there's more water beyond this point. They move so slowly that it's hard to tell sometimes that they're alive, but see how the bottom lining, the softer part there, is paler? Alive," the marine biologist informs Una.

Movement in the tidal pool draws her attention. She visibly frets her lip and then gives Una an enterprising glance.

"Bet me that I can snag that Dungeness crab and not get pinched?" That dusky-red crab there -- as wide across the shell as one's fingers when they 'hang loose', about seven inches -- and with pinchers about three inches in length. It's thinking it's hidden while it sifts through a chunk of seaweed.

Una doesn't seem especially bothered by feathers, but animal skulls? Yeah, that deserves a face, albeit one that is aimed towards the poor, live starfish and not Ariadne herself. She's starting to lean, one hand bracing herself against the ground, but the marine biologist's attention has moved on-- and she's caught that glance, or at least something of it, out of the corner of one eye.

So she pauses, hovering where she is, her attention turning. "Oooooh," she says. "Do it. I bet you can, yes. Does... does knowing all of this, about all the different animals, turn you off eating the?"

Beat. "You can answer that after you've got him, though. I guess you probably need to concentrate."

Ariadne can guess at the unfinished thought as she moves around behind the big crab's field of view. She then crouches down, replying distractedly, "I'm still a huge fan of calamari and crab cakes and many of the fish. Eating whale is definitely beyond me, same with eel."

Her hand slips under the water as slowly as possible and reaches towards the back of the crab's carapace, between its spread of hind legs. She continues, nose twisted in concentration, "I can't imagine eating seabirds. Nobody's ever paying me to eat pufferfish."

Almost...got it... "I don't have a death WISH -- yes!"

And for a split second, she has that crab by its back. However, crab is not having it. Crab wriggles abruptly and reaches around to close one of those claws right on the middle flat of her middle finger.

"OW! FUCK?!" Seagulls take off in the distance. Ariadne laugh-weebles as she pulls her hand out of the water with the crab hanging from it. "OW GET A STICK, GET A STICK, SHIT, FIND DRIFTWOOD OR SOMETHING, DISTRACT IT, OW OW OW OW -- "

Whale, ew: it gets a wrinkle of Una's nose. Eel-- well, she has less of a reaction to that, unless of course that lingering wrinkle is related to that, too. Most of her attention, though, is on what Ariadne's doing and not what she's saying. She's still listening, of course, but...

For that split second of triumph she has an unrestrained cheer of delight, one that gets caught out, partway through: no longer an appropriate noise, it gets swallowed and muffled and turned into a squeak of dismay. For a moment she pauses, as if torn by indecision and lack of certainty over what the best approach would be.

And then she dives into action, grabbing for the nearest bit of driftwood she can find, with which she attempts to poke at the crab. Hard. Okay, so it's probably more of a whack, really: panic!

That's like a distraction, though, right?!

The crab is apparently not enthused with the idea of free-hanging off of a middle finger while being poked with driftwood. It unlatches after a second of madly fencing with Una's little spar and PLOP: back into the tidal pool. Ariadne then stands up and shakes out her hand with all the fuss of an irritated cat, cursing a blue streak in Hungarian. Such words. Such venom. Her mother would not approve. Her dad might be impressed.

"Owwwwwwwwww," she finally whines. Plucking the glove off proves this very thing to have saved her skin from being broken. It'll still be bruised come morning though and right now, it's bright red. "Ahhhhhh-hah-hah, shit. Okay, so, like...I was supposed to able to do that without fucking it up," she tells Una, grimace-smiling as she works the glove back on. "But I didn't. So you can laugh at me now, it's fine, I'm not as bad-ass as I appear."

A quick glare at the crab. "Evil little pinchy bastard," comes the grumble.

Una lets out a little shriek of her own after whacking at the crab, and again as it plops back into the pool. The danger may be over, but the driftwood remains firmly in her hand: Una is ready and willing to defend against any and all comers. Fear her driftwood, etcetera etcetera.

Ariadne's whine, though, draws a rueful and apologetic glance, one hand twitching away from the wood as if it half intends to reach out-- or possibly do more than reach out, given her healing skills, even though the skin is not, indeed, broken. It hovers, and then draws back to the driftwood, and Una's brown eyes lift to meet Ariadne's.

"I'm not laughing!" she insists, staunchly. Is it a little funny? A little bit? Maybe it will be in a moment or two, when the adrenaline stops racing through her. "Those things are terrifying, and deserve to be eaten. You're okay?"

"I promise I'm okay. My dignity is more injured than my finger is," the barista reassures her friend. She flexes the hand a few times, testing whether or not it's going to swell, and decides to herself that the cold of the bay water actually isn't half-bad right now. It'll keep swelling to a minimum. She might still have to wrap the finger somehow. "Man, motherfucker, that stings, ah-hah-hah." The laughter is true if rueful and she gives Una a thankful grin.

"My hero, Zorro, with your spar of wood and all," Ariadne says, her smile gaining another watt of luminance or so. "That crab didn't know what was coming for her. It was a 'she', by the way; I saw the shape of the back of the carapace." Yes, be pinched mercilessly, but acquire information nonetheless. Typical of the marine biologist: suffer for the knowledge! "You're also allowed to laugh, you really are, I'll be laughing with you. It was practically a slapstick situation."

Una's eyes stay fixed on that poor hand far longer than they probably need to, but do finally rise to look at Ariadne. She grins, a little rueful but undeniably amused all the same. "I-- yes, okay. It was pretty funny. Your reaction!"

She seems to have remembered that she's still clutching her driftwood only slightly late, and it, too, gets a rueful glance. "I hope I didn't hurt her either, then. Poor thing. It's probably no wonder she reacted the way she did... even though you really weren't intending to hurt her! What's the difference between male and female, then?"

Somewhat reluctantly, the driftwood is dropped back to the ground, and given a somewhat hesitant look: what if she needs it again?!

"Nah, she's fine. I can see her where she's half-hiding in the seaweed clump there." Ariadne tilts her head to squint. Yeah, crab is fine if bubbling away in affront. "The back of her carapace, the underside? It was oblong and bumpy, kind of like...well, I mean, the stomach muscles on a guy with a six pack. Those ordered sections, right? That's a female crab. A male crab has a triangle-shaped plate where the top points towards his front."

One last careful shake-out of her hand and grumbly whinge in Hungarian before she laughs. "Oh god...this is going to be a few days at work. Ari, what did you do to yourself? Well. Let me tell you what I did, Russ, except I'm going to not tell you what really happened and make it way less embarrassing in turn. I punched a wolverine, okay, m'friend?" She lifts brows at Una and grins. "That's the story and I'm stickin' to it. As the saying goes, you should see the wolverine. Come on, I want to check out this tide pool over here. I'm still dying to find a Spanish Shawl if we can. You're going to love the color, seriously."

Una's gaze tracks after Ariadne's, but maybe she does and maybe she doesn't actually see the poor crab in question. It's enough, though, to ease her guilt and result in her quick nod. "Wolverine punching, got it-- I faithfully promise that's the only story I'll tell, if it comes up." Though, and this does draw a pause, "Are... wolverines a thing-- no, wait, it's fine. Wolverines are rare. Jules is not going to run into a wolverine. Or turn into one."

Moving on to the next pool is a much better idea, and Una adds, firmly, "I really, really hope we find one of these Spanish Shawls, now. You're building it up for me! I have anticipation; don't let me down."

"Hey, Momma Nature's gotta hold up her end of the bargain here! I have my fingers crossed too though, this weather and tides have been so perfect for them. Wolverines aren't local around here either," she informs Una, glancing over as they pick their way to the next tide pool. Seagulls on nearby rocks watch them with beady eyes, clearly wondering if there's some nibbles involved with these two individuals. Fries? Popcorn? A sandwich easy to purloin.

Alas. Ariadne ignores them, instead looking just a little sly. "But...I have my end of the bargain to hold up too." What an innocent look as she literally reaches into the sleeve of her jacket -- like it's a magic trick -- and pulls out a plastic-wrapped cylindrical shape. It's offered out towards Una with a twinkling smile. "Here you go, Kitchen Cleric. I went for a blend of polyester and cotton for maximum softness." The shirt itself is a pleasing forest-green within the wrapping. "I'd keep it in the plastic for now, since we're out by the pools, but I can tell you that the lettering is white and it says 'Kitchen Cleric' across the chest and there's some great little stats listed on there too. You wear it whenever you want!"

"What?" teases Una, "You mean to say you don't control everything?" Beat. "Everything but crabs, anyway. I'm disappointed."

Said disappointment, mock though it is, disappears in a moment's notice, however, with the presentation of that cylinder: Una's hands clap together in brief delight before parting again so that she can accept the gift, her cheeks pink with pleasure and her mouth drawn wide with a smile fit to split her face. "Thank you," she says, still beaming. "I'll wear it with pride, don't think for a second I won't. It's perfect."

She hasn't seen it yet, of course, but she knows.

"I'm glad you like it." Ariadne's own happiness is sweet and simple, kept from being like toys exchanged on the playground per age and gravitas. "If for any reason it doesn't fit or...like, you're allergic to the shirt dye or something like that, just let me know. I can exchange it and figure out something else." Her gloved hand reaches out to give Una's shoulder a gentle squeeze before she continues on.

There's a scattering of the pools on an upraised bed of what was once dark volcanic rock. "Up'n'see," the barista murmurs to herself, the phrase having a singsong lilt of something perhaps said from childhood. Up onto the rock shelf she goes and pauses to see about offering a lift-up in case it's needed. Either way: "...no -- fucking -- way."

Because there's no need to point. At least seven of the pockets of sea water all seem to sport one or two little brilliantly-golden fringe-strips in their depths. They're wee things, the Spanish Shawl sea slugs, but they seem to defiantly display their color against the drab Pacific tones of their environment. Ariadne all but does a Home Alone impression with hands to her cheeks -- and squees.

That squeeze, and the words it follows, only reinforce Una's smile, brown eyes seeking out Ariadne's to emphasise the acknowledgement and gratitude: it means a lot.

Not so much that she can't return her attention to the pools and their quarry, because at some point, belabouring the gratitude would get awkward, and although awkward's always a possibility with Una, it's not something she deliberately aims for. Carefully, she tucks the rolled shirt into a convenient inside pocket in her jacket, and having done so, is just in time to gratefully accept that lift-up-- maybe she could do without, maybe not, but i can't hurt -- and then:

"Wha-- oh." Oh, oh, oh.

"Oh, they're beautiful, holy shit. The colours. The fringes!"

"They're seriously one of nature's rave parties," the marine biologist agrees as she quickly makes her way over to one of the shallow pools and crouches down. Like anyone's going to stop her from very gently picking up one and showcasing it better for Una to see up close. Given their size, they're a thing to be handled with care, but oh, their color.

Keeping a little pooling of sea water in her gloves, Ariadne holds up the small sea slug, grinning from ear to ear. "Aren't they great?" she says, voice quiet out of sheer glee in turn. "I remember finding one of these when I was about eleven or so. You'd think I'd found a unicorn or something by the amount of fuss I made."

Una, too, steps into a crouch, leaning in as close as she can so that she can get a better look at the tiny, but beautiful creature. "I mean, it's pretty much exactly the kind of thing to appeal to an eleven-year-old girl, I think," she agrees, with a grin. "All that colour. How common are they, around here? I assume there's... some kind of biological or lifestyle reason for the colouring? Protection of some kind?"

She's no scientist, Una, but she's got a natural curiosity to her; the interest, and her quiet delight, is definitely unfeigned.

"Not super common." Tenderly, the marine biologist uses a gloved finger to stroke the golden-red fringes along the slug's back. It doesn't seem to mind, but it certainly doesn't arch up into it like a cat. Maybe it hasn't noticed it's been borrowed from the tide pool yet. "They're way more common in California and warmer waters like that, but because it's getting on summer around here, some of them drift up as far north as British Columbia in Canada. These fringes along the back?" The ones gently touched earlier. "We think they help them blend in with the anemones they nibble on. These also store the toxins they absorb from the anemones. Bright colors mean this little thing tastes very, very bad. Think of the tropical dart frogs."

She dips her hand underwater to collect more of it and then brings the sea slug up again. "I wouldn't go touching these guys with bare hands myself because of it. But man, they're just so gorgeous."

"Toxins," murmurs Una. Of course there are toxins. Of course there are.

Still: "It's... kind of a nice reminder. We-- or maybe just me, I don't know-- get a little wrapped up, sometimes, in all the... supernatural-esque things we see and experience. And this is such a good reminder that the real world, the normal world, is equally full of the weird and wonderful, right in front of our noses. Like this little guy-- girl?-- just living its best life, absorbing toxins and scaring off predators. I kinda like that."

"Right?" Una gets another pleased grin. "Definitely guy-girl. They're hermaphrodites. It's a simple defense and really does make any predator who tries anything feel dumb. Look at the colors. You ignore the colors, you get the toxins." One last dip of hand underwater for one of those squinted, up-close looks for herself. Ariadne tilts her head back and forth, wanting to see along the sides of the little creature. "You're not wrong though."

Una is offered a last look before the marine biologist returns the sea slug to its tide pool. "It is a nice reminder to kind of...push everything off to one side for a little while you indulge curiosity. Wonder. The squees. I come out here and I don't need to think about my shifts this week or what someone said that's still bothering me or rent or any bad dreams I had. It lets me just...breathe for a bit." Her eyes rise to Una again and her smile is friendly-fond in spades. "I'm glad you appreciate it too. There's something about hanging out with a friend who appreciates it, really. Sometimes, I'm just the wildlife nerd."

"Oh!" Una had not expected hermaphroditism, though perhaps it's not so big a surprise as all that. "I mean, yeah. That makes sense."

She keeps focusing on the slug, even once it is back in the water and out of Ariadne's hands: it's too pretty to stop watching, not that it means she's not actually listening. It's coincidentally close to when Ariadne looks at her in turn that she does glance up; when she does, she's got a smile of her own. "The squees-- that's exactly it. I think we all need to be able to breathe. It makes a difference. I'm-- glad you were willing to share it with me. There's nothing wrong with anyone's nerddom, I think. Even when we don't get it, we can still appreciate the need it fills, right? But this?" A sharp nod. "This, I get."

Nodding, the barista reaches to tuck one of those stubborn wind-loosened tendrils of hair behind her own ear. She's forgotten of how wet (and cold) her gloved hands are until she touches her ear; look at her twitch and then appear rueful at her forgetfulness. COLD.

"Well, if you want, you can be my tide pooling buddy? There's not always going to be such cool stuff out here, but it's a thing of not knowing until you check," Ariadne opines, looking almost a little shy at the offer she'd just extended in turn.

The twitch draws a twitching smile in turn; Una acknowledges it ruefully.

"I'd... like that. Yes. Please. Particularly as the weather gets warmer, but even now... there's something lovely about it now, too." Una's smile has broadened for the confirmation, and perhaps too for that almost shyness. "Next time I'll bring cookies. I almost did this time, but..."

She didn't.

"You bring cookies, I'll bring another pair of gloves so you can pick stuff up, and we'll make an afternoon of it? Or a morning. It's really whenever tide's out, so not something I can control," the marine biologist laughs. Her attention returns to the pool again. The sea slug they'd released back into the water appears to have traveled about half a foot or so since, truly traveling, its long eye-stalks searching about as it veers towards one of its fellow slugs. Competition? Mate? Who knows. Sea slug minds are mysterious places.

"Oh, I also wanted to ask you about making petit-fours. I can do cookies and stuff, but I've always loved those little things and they seem like... I mean, I feel like I'd be a total clod trying to make them without help. Can I ask your help in this?" asks she with a little smile at Una.

"Deal," says Una, pleased. Cookies for gloves? This is absolutely a fair trade. She, too, allows her gaze to slide back towards the slug, and watches it for a moment more before turning her attention outwards: out towards the distant horizon, the sun and the clouds. She arches her back, stretching, but doesn't move.

"Petit-fours? Oh, we can absolutely do this." She sounds delighted for this, her enthusiasm unbridled. "They're so adorable, aren't they? A little fiddly, but we can absolutely make it work. Do you have a preference on what kind? I have to own... I can do broad-strokes cake decoration," like the frosting hair she managed, the night they dyed Ariadne's hair, "but the little tiny bits of pretty decoration are... more difficult. They're fine! But. So don't expect perfection from me either, I think is what I'm saying."

What kind? Ariadne looks briefly confused and then indulges in a slightly-sheepish smile. Duh, Ari, of course there's more than one type of petit-four, she thinks to herself. Una's smile is impossible to keep from returning.

"Honestly, everything you do is nearly magic to me, so don't consider me a tough audience. I'd love to learn about more frosting techniques -- and...I feel a little silly, but I didn't know there were types of petit-four. You mean, like, the cake batter beneath the frosting? Or is it glaze? I have no idea." Gloved hands are lifted up in a helpless shrug. Enlighten her!

Una clearly enjoys being the teacher as well as the student, and positively beams back at Ariadne. "All of the above," she explains. "In effect, the term mostly just means 'bite-sized cake' so you can make just about any kind you can imagine, though of course the idea is usually to make them beautiful. Actually, I think in French it doesn't even need to be a dessert, but for our usage: cake, yes. Sometimes covered in fondant, sometimes with a glaze... really, anything goes. Small cake, fancy decoration."

"Oh, whoa. Okay, so...wow. At risk of sounding like, yet again, a geek, the world is our oyster with these petit-fours."

Cue Ariadne giggling. It was too appropriate. Somewhere, a clam squirts water and retreats down into the sand because UGH, HUMANS.

"I vote the simplest way to start with. Let's go...yellow cake with...I dunno, frosting or glaze, whatever's easier, and then frosting tubes and pipettes and those little metal fancy design tippy widgets and we'll go wild. Wild, I tell you!" A nearby seagull takes off. What's an inside voice?

The giggling makes Una giggle in response, her eyes lit with both mirth and enthusiasm. "The possibilities are endless," she agrees. "Endless. That's what I love about baking."

It's not-- or rather, it's only one part of it, but every part is a worthy part, and for now, it's very happily enough.

"This is absolutely doable. Yellow cake, some kind of glaze, and then we'll decorate. And any that end up looking terrible, we'll just eat, and no one will be the wiser."

"Oh my god, I'm so down with this. Eat the weak links in the chain. Only the strong in fondant survive. Or maybe the better-decorated. I dunno, I might be a jerk and just pick one nicely-decorated one at random for the sake of genetic diversity."

Sorry, Una, you're friends with a total geek.

Laughing at herself and then sighing out a grunt, Ariadne straightens. "Geez, that's rough on the knees after a while." She tugs down her windbreaker and then looks farther down along the rocks as well as back the way they traveled. "What do you think? More tide pools or are you tide pool'd out for the day at this point? We have been in the sun for a while."

Dryly; "Well, we can't let the good ones feel safe either, can we? They might get complacent." Una's eyes glitter with mirth for that: if this is geekery, she's on board for it. "And happily I'm a cleric not a necromancer... I think that metaphor may have been a bad idea. Nope. Okay."

She straightens after Ariadne does, pausing to consider. "Let's head back," she concludes finally. "Not that I'm not absolutely enjoying this, but-- this skin, it does not much enjoy over-exposure to the sun."

Not that it's that sunny, even now, but even small amounts of unexpected sun can do damage, and Una is smart enough to know what her skin can take. "But we'll absolutely do this again."

"Mummy caaaaaaaakes," drawls Ariadne in a zombie voice because cake Necromancer. What a thought.

Regardless, she begins leading the way back towards the car with a grin on her face. "It's a plan. We'll do this again with cookies and extra gloves. For now...hmm. I'd say at least a cup of coffee before we head home? To warm up. The wind was a little cutting and my hands have been wet for a while." Gloved digits are wiggled up in display. "I can pop in and out of Espresso Yourself for whatever. That way, when you get home, you've got something warm to sip?"

"Mummy cakes! One day, I'll have to try that. Lots of layers of fondant for wrapping? And maybe greenish icing inside, to splurt out when you cut at them, because..." Mummies. Known for their green insides. Apparently.

There's still that skip in Una's step as she meanders her way back alongside the other redhead. "Coffee would be excellent," she agrees, with a grin. "It's cold out here, and I am way, way too used to my nice, summery Oak Avenue. Thanks, Ariadne."

"You betcha, Una. Now, about these mummy cakes... I know October is far away, but oh my god -- consider these and also vampire cupcakes, which are made with red velvet cake and a raspberry filling and frosting so red that it stains your tongue. Hmm?"

Ariadne, full of ideas, prattles away about the potential seasonal delights as they walk. Of course pumpkin spice comes up, that love-hate affair of the month. Whether or not she likes this?

Only time will tell. For now, no tripping over rocks, stepping on sand dollars, and the promise of a hot cup of coffee to stave off the chill.

And nobody telling anyone about the Crab of Despair. Wolverines, people. Wolverines.