2022-04-26 - A Perfectly Pleasant Breakfast Scene In A Perfectly Pleasant Town

A beautiful summer's morning; not a cloud on the sky, and the temperature on Oak Avenue one through five is well within the pleasant range even if the rest of Gray Harbor feels a bit chilly at the edges. The porches of these old houses seem made for communal eating and sun worship. And at least as far as Ravn Abildgaard is concerned, they are also made for pestering Una Irving because when you do, interesting and edible things fall out. Watch the man take lessons from his cat.

A couple of goldfinches hang about in the bushes, hoping to pick up nuts and crumbs once the humans are done; Irish folklore claims that they live wherever faeries live, and the population has certainly increased in recent weeks. There may be something to the story; American goldfinches are a bright shade of yellow; these are obviously a) European and b) not in Europe.

"I brought sacrificial coffee," Ravn tells Una as he claims a seat and waves at Ava -- because what is this if not one of those mornings where everyone gets together, whether invited or not? "Not that there's anything wrong with yours, but my aunt sent me another pack of Jamaican Blue because she's convinced Americans can't do coffee. And given it's really quite remarkably good, I figured I might offer to share."

It's common enough knowledge that with her housemate, Jules, having departed on a (stupid) vision (dangerous) quest (suicide-mission), Una Irving is in need of distraction... and there's only so much food that she and Della can eat. This makes pestering Ravns perfectly acceptable visitors (though, of course, they generally are)-- and Avas, too. "I accept your sacrificial coffee," she tells Ravn, significantly more cheerful than the last time he saw her, just a few days ago. "Mine's fine, but it's nothing special, and... some mornings need special, don't you think? Good morning!"

Possibly that cheerfulness is a little forced.

The table's not set so much as prepared: a stack of plates, a stack of forks and knives, plus mugs and glasses and a few stoneware pieces containing (presumably) condiments for whatever deliciousness is soon to be coming their way. "You want to deal with the coffee, Ravn, and I'll go get the food?"

"Mmm, more coffee. That is exactly what I need this morning. For some reason I just can't fully wake up." Ava has been up since five am, already had her run and shower. Plus, she's already all dressed for work. But for some reason, it's one of those dragging mornings. Not enough coffee. Her hand reaches out for the some of it like a greedy little thing. "Gimme. Oh." Ravn gets put on coffee duty, so she's not going to steal it from him.

Instead, Ava will busy herself actually preparing the table for the group instead. Leaving the cooking to Una. Because lord knows she's useless in that regard.

"I apologise in advance for my aunt's posh-ass ideas about proper coffee," Ravn murmurs and plonks himself down on a chair. He reaches for a couple of mugs before screwing the lid off his generously sized thermos bottle. "She'd probably die on the spot if somebody was to tell her I'd poured her precious gourmet coffee into this thermos bottle instead of serving it in proper Royal Copenhagen porcelain."

He unscrews the lids and pours into mugs. Gourmet coffee, apparently, is a very dark shade of brown, with a slight green tinge. "I recommend trying it before you decide on cream or sugar. It's a bit different from regular coffee -- fuller taste. I promise, it's not as posh-ass as to have gone through a civet, but it's close."

"Posh-ass, civet-- ha." Una doesn't quite laugh outright for that remark, but she makes a gesture to it-- and also pauses, rathe than immediately rush off to the kitchen. Her cherry-red mug is tugged towards her with eager fingers, and then lifted to her mouth so that she can take an experimental sip. "Ooh yummy," she says, after swallowing. "It's much richer. I know I've got a proper coffee pot somewhere, but... the thermos will keep it warmer, and the last thing I want is for that coffee to go cold."

She sets the mug back down again, green tinge and and all, and gestures towards the kitchen. "I'll be right back! Food's just waiting in the oven, keeping warm."

"As someone who has her own posh ass ideas about proper coffee, I assure you that it's fine." There's a pause in Ava's preparation of the table so that she can grab a mug in order to try the coffee. "I wouldn't cream and sugar normal coffee, why would I do it to this? Blasphemy!" After that first sip, there's a pleased groan and eyes rolling pleasantly back into her head. "Oh, if you can get her to send more of this, I would so owe you one. I love it."

"You're an angel, Una," she calls after the woman as she runs to grab the food. "Oh! Ravn, did I tell you that I texted Itz about the photo. He sent it to me. It's as glorious as you said. I would one hundred percent save it as my wallpaper if Deacon would freak out.

Ravn grins and sips his own coffee, and then curls long, gloved fingers around it for warmth. Something small and greenish floats on the surface; a bit of a leaf? It shimmers slightly; bit of a bug's wing, then.

"It's a glorious photo. And if you've seen it, you can tell why I think he's the one who should be handing it out, not me. Sure got him a lot of attention, though -- and de la Vega as the big bad wolf." The Dane smirks at the recollection; he's not afraid to admit that he did as much of a double take as anyone. "I admire that man's confidence. I feel like I'm taking up too much space if I put on a colourful shirt, he turns up in a skirt so short that he'll run out of fabric if a pretty girl walks too close."

A small, lopsided smile. "That's Rosencrantz for you though. Women love him, blokes love him, and he's only interested in one of the whole lot. People always want what they can't have, yeah?"

"I hide my wings under my shirt, it's true~" Una trills, as she heads into the kitchen.

It takes but a moment for to return: enough time to miss the conversation about the photo (it's true, though, that it is a spectacular photo), but not long enough to entirely loose the thread of what's going on. She kicks open the screen door with her foot, manoeuvring her way around carefully so that the big platter of food she's got (seriously, that's more food than three people can possibly eat) gets full clearance of the door, the wall, and anything else that might get in her way.

She sets it down with a happy flourish. There's bacon (of course there's bacon); fluffy scrambled eggs; pancakes; fried mushrooms; roasted tomatoes; hash browns.

And something... something smells just faintly off.

"I knew it!" she calls after Una with a laugh at the mention of wings.

"de la Vega as the big bad wolf?" Something clicks behind Ava's eyes and her lips part in a sudden and knowing nod as if a puzzle piece is suddenly pushed into place. Itz wouldn't give her a name, but Ravn just accidentally did. Things make sense now. People want what they can't have. "Yeah," she murmurs quietly, a soft sigh drifting past her lips forlornly.

But there is distraction by way of food, and it's a wonderful distraction. One that she can really use right now. "You really outdid yourself, this looks fantastic!" The table is finally done being set and Ava settles herself down into a seat after making up a quick plate, with more than a little bacon. There's a pause for a second, her eyes darting to the side. She glances around. "Do you guys smell that?"

Ravn quirks an eyebrow and sips his coffee; whatever it is that shimmers, he seems to pay it no heed. "I'll admit I was a bit distracted that night. Rosencrantz' costume was quite something but there was someone else I kept hoping to bump into, and well, I didn't, but I could have. Story of my life, really."

He sniffs the air a few times and reaches for a roll and the bread knife. He cuts through it and the halves fall apart on his plate, revealing a couple of grumpy looking weevils; privacy plz? "Bacon, bread fresh out of the oven, coffee? I smell lots of things. Something in specific on your mind?"

"Maple syrup," Una suggests, nudging the little glass jug of it towards Ava. It's a little... tar-like. Gluggy, and shiny in a way that maple syrup really shouldn't be. She snags herself a piece of bacon off of the plate with her fingers, popping it straight into her mouth without seeming to notice the furry green growth down one side of it.

"Thank you. I like having people to cook for. Appreciative audiences make all the difference, you know? Ravn, you should make yourself up a sandwich. That'll be easy for you to take home and eat later if you like."

Using her fork, she reaches out to grab one of the pancakes, which oozes a yellowy goo when split. It ends up on her plate a moment later, and she lowers her gaze to focus on spreading a layer of strawberry jam on it.

Ava lifts her hands away from the table as the weevils fall out of the bread, looking up towards Ravn as he doesn't even acknowledge it. "You don't see the weevils? You don't smell the... I don't even know what it is." Her eyes move to the syrup, staring at it blankly for a moment. That is until she spots the furry underside of the bacon that Una is about to eat. "No!" A hand reaches to stop her but it's too late.

The hand moves to cover her mouth, eyes scanning over the table. Everything is wrong. "Fuck. It's a Dream. I hate when they're so real like this."

Ravn quirks an eyebrow and applies (somewhat green-tinged) butter to his roll (grumpy weevil protests ignored). "If this is a Dream I'll take more like it. Most of mine involve somebody getting hurt or humiliated. Though I suppose it's not too late for somebody to drive up in a cart drawn by rabid meese and start gunning down people at random with a repeater crossbow."

He bites into the roll -- a careful, tiny bite that for a moment might suggest that he has an idea what he's tucking into; but no, this is just Ravn the picky eater who's probably going to nurse that roll all morning and then leave half of it in crumbs around his plate. He looks down at it -- and then acknowledges what Una said earlier, with a somewhat grateful look. "I'll take the other half of this home with me, if that's all right?"

No? Don't eat the delicious (furry) bacon?

Una frowns at Ava, and looks-- well. Hurt. "Breakfast with Ravn and I feels like a Dream?" she wonders, very quietly, in a voice that is a little uncertain, and a little sad. "You're not eating. Is my food not good? Even Ravn is eating." He gets an acknowledging nod: of course he can take the other half home with him.

An insect of some kind crawls out of the corner of her mouth, buzzing around it for a moment before it flies off into the world. Another one joins it a moment later, rising up from the platter of food.

Ava puts both hands over her mouth, eyes wide in horror. "Una, this isn't real. Your cooking is the best, you know that. But this isn't right. Oh god. Your mouth. Bugs. There's..." The hands over her mouth gesture to the side. Her chair is scooted back as she starts to look around a little more urgently. Trying to piece together what else is possibly wrong here.

This is a Dream, right? Then why aren't the others worried? This is not how Una and Ravn usually act when they're all in a Dream together. They're usually more annoyed than this. "Is this not a Dream? We're in a Dream, right?"

Ravn looks around, frowning. "I don't see it? What are you seeing?" If his roll of weevils and rotting butter tastes strange he doesn't seem to notice. Meanwhile, the silvery thing in his coffee cup finally surfaces. It's a frog, belly up. It's had better days.

"Anyhow," the Dane says, still glancing at Ava because the fact that he does not see anything out of the normal does not mean nothing is out of the normal. "I talked to Jules yesterday. Didn't expect to, because she was supposed to be off on her vision quest. Turns out she got delayed a bit. Apparently that bloke she met at lobster opening night gave her some trouble. She made it sound as she's being stalked. I'm kind of inclined to try to maybe find him somewhere, find out if he's harmless and awkward or -- well, not."

There's kind of a rotting egg smell in the air as Una cuts into her pancake, and the jam she's spread over the top of it does nothing to dispel that. "Ava... I made all of this this morning. But if you don't want to eat my food... I might have some cereal somewhere. Toast? Drink some coffee, at least." She still looks hurt, though, and her shoulders have stiffened; it's not impossible that tears are not far off.

Thick swallow. She drinks some coffee of her own, likely forcing herself to turn her attention away from Ava-the-ungrateful-and-hurtful, to Ravn-the-making-an-effort. "Della says she got off okay," she says, and at least this disquiet has nothing to do with Ava's utter rudeness, and more to do with the rest of Una's messed up emotions. "I haven't seen her since-- what happened?"

Ava stares around the table. "Weevils," she points. "Sick frog. Rotting butter. Oozing yellow goo. Tar syrup. Weird smell." Her face falls as she looks at Una. "Insects coming out of your mouth. Stop eating!!! Both of you. How do you not see it??" Her hands grip at her hair for a moment, eyes wide and breath heaving. "Shit." The doctor has to take a step away from the table to start pacing. "If it's not a Dream, could it be a backlash? But I haven't used any powers today, so that can't be it. So what?"

"Shit. You guys aren't helping at all. What is wrong with you?"

Ravn looks at his roll with a mildly horrified expression. He's already got an eating disorder to battle; and now he has to question what he's putting into his mouth? Maybe he should just never eat again. Learn that breathing shit a certain crowd is all on about. Have a quiet panic attack, maybe. Is now a good time for a panic attack?

One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi. Oh, thank God. It's not.

He fixes his blue-greys on Ava and asks, "Are you sure you're all right? I don't see anything wrong with this food. It's delicious and I feel terrible as always about not being able to give it to the love it deserves."

Another look at the roll. The weevil looks back; it wriggles a feeler. It does not spell out don't eat me in the butter. It could have.

He shakes his head and takes another bite. "She ran into the bloke who tried to rescue the lobster. And apparently felt very crowded by him? You know Jules, she doesn't give a lot of details. Said she got his number and she promptly blocked it. The way she talked about it made me think this bloke is some rich kid with no idea how to act around normal people at all."

Oh look: a tear.

It slides down Una's soft, warm-hearted face, eventually plopping straight into her pancake (which is nothing compared to the ooze coming out of it already). There's another one already forming in the other eye, but the redhead hurriedly dashes it away, pressing her lips together tightly as if this, and force of will, and a hurried blinking of her eyes, will absolutely be enough to keep more tears from forming.

She can barely bring herself to look at Ava. Ava the ungrateful; Ava the rejecting. Ava. "You don't have to eat if you don't want to," she mutters-more-than-murmurs. "It's fine."

It's not fine.

"Oh," she says to Ravn. It's not helping. Jules is a sensitive topic right now. "Well. I'm sure she told him."

"Oh my god," Ava cries out as they continue to ignore the warnings. Now Una is crying? What is she supposed to do with that? She's hurting poor Una's feelings and she's not even sure if this Una is real. "Stop it! Stop it!" Her hands slam on the table. "It's not about the food. There's something wrong. THEM wrong. What is wrong with both of you? I'm standing here telling you I need your help. I'm not alright. This is not alright. I don't give a shit about Jules' problems right now. Holy shit."

Her body stoops, balancing all of her weight on the balls of her feet as she wraps her arms around her head. "I don't know if there's something wrong with me, or if it's something wrong with you that you can't see what I'm seeing."

Ravn looks from one to the other. Crying women? Abort mission, run. Yelling women? Abort mission, run. His mind is full of suggestions. Yell something about leaving the kettle on, and run. Yell something about your cat stuck in the laundry machine, and run. Claim to have an important phone call coming up, and run. Pretend you're having a stroke, and maybe don't exactly run. Pretend to faint. Just run. He manages to let it all stay in his mind. After all, the best defence against most unwanted reaction is obliviousness; his most determining trait of character. Obfuscating obliviousness, deploying now, sir.

"Ava, are you sure you are all right? You seem worked up. Did something happen?"

Yes, Ravn, she just told you. Never mind. Look, it was a stupid idea. If it doesn't work, pretend to faint. Can never go wrong with the possum routine.

Una's working valiantly at this whole not-crying thing, and it more or less seems to be working. Oh, the look she's giving Ava now is one of betrayal and woe, but that's not the point: she's not crying. Priorities, people.

The slam of hands on the table makes her wince, but the yelling? That just draws a long stare. "Ava... please calm down. I don't know what's wrong, but I think you need to take some deep breaths. Maybe coffee wasn't a good idea... do you want some tea? Nice, calming tea?"

Well, if this isn't a Dream, then there's one pretty easy solution, isn't there? Ava pulls her head from her arms and scrubs her face and the tears she was hiding with her hands. Her hands push into her knees as she makes her way back up to her feet. "I literally just told you what was happening, and that I'm not alright. Something is wrong. I asked my 'friends' to help me. They couldn't be assed to do so. So I'm going to go. Enjoy your fucking breakfast."

On shaky legs she turns her back and starts to stalk off.

"Ava," Ravn says and half-rises. "Are you all right? You're seeing something we are not seeing? Are you sure you aren't overworked? It's not that time of the month, is it?"

Because nothing helps a table flip along like a hefty bit of condescending male mansplaining your own discomfort back to you.

"Ava?"

Una, too, half-rises in her seat.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat something? Maybe you're just hangry. Ava, come back and eat. Please."

Look, this mushroom is red with white spots, and absolutely not poisonous, not at all.

Keep walking, just keep walking.

Ravn's comment? That gets a very unladylike, very un-Ava middle finger from over the doctor's shoulder.

God she hopes this is a Dream. If not, it's a nightmare. Walking towards her own house, she swipes tears away on the sleeve of her blouse, stomach rumbling. Oh god, she drank frog coffee. There's a moment where she pauses, heaving. But she manages not to heave in the hedges.

Ravn settles back down and looks after the departing doctor. "Well, that's just rude," he tells Una. "She must have had a bad day at work. It's not like Brennon to be a flaming bitch. She'll probably come apologise later. I mean -- she's our friend, right?"

He bites into his roll, neatly severing the weevil in half, and then chews before washing it down with dead frog coffee. Jamaican Blue at its finest, with extra ingredients. Such a lovely morning.