2022-04-29 - Experimental Cocktail Night

The Pourhouse is better known for its beers-- you know, manly dive bar drinks-- than its selection of cocktails, but every so often people like to shake things up a bit, and with tourist season well and truly pending, today's experiment is just that: what are the weirdest, most random cocktails we can come up with, and who can we convince to drink them? It's fair to say that a reasonable number of the regulars aren't particularly inclined to give anything a go, but there are others (some of the mill workers, some of the locals, some of the random weirdos who always end up in this town for some reason) willing to sacrifice their taste buds to the cause.

One of these is one Una Irving, a plump redhead in her mid-twenties who sits at a bar stool watching the quote-unquote magic happen. She's just finished with whatever it was she was served the first time around (and by the remnants in the glass it may have involved midori or possibly chartreuse: it's vividly green), and seems vastly amused by the selection of ingredients currently being added to the cocktail shaker. Rum, rum's fine. But is apple sambuca really necessary?

A tall copper blond heads for another tall chair by that bar. He might be one of those tourists out slumming it a bit -- black slacks, black turtleneck, black blazer, all he needs is a man-bun and he's right out of some Seattle art gallery. He might be a local, though -- at least a number of those flannel and denim wearing locals not only greet him in passing, a few of them actually stop and ask him his opinion on whatever colourful concoction they've been issued. Whatever he's drinking, it's from a bottle under the counter, it's golden in colour, and comes with ice cubes. So much for experimentation.

He plonks himself down on the chair next to Una's and offers, "When you find the absinthe fairy, do you need help holding her down and going through her pockets for spare change?"

"You, sir, are a fuddy duddy for not even trying. By the end of the night, you have to try at least one of these weird glasses." Ava is walking up with her first glass, eying it oddly. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to bath in this, or drink it, but it was too cute not to pick. Look at it!" Ava sticks out like a sore thumb in a place like this with designer shoes and a dress that probably costs more than the bar will make tonight. But, she's still a local, and the locals seem to know her and treat her as such. She settles with a bubbling drink. No really, it looks like you can just sink right in and take a bath. Complete with rubber ducky.

"I think they said rose and poppy seed, amongst other stuff in this one. I don't know how to drink it without getting it all over my face." She nestles in right next to Una.

"I'm convinced she probably has a small fortune in those pockets of hers, so yes, let's collectively hold her down and keep it for ourselves. It's only fair, right?" Una doesn't glance up as she says this: she's busy watching the sparkling elderflower that's being added to the concoction in front of her. Does that go with everything else that's been added? Let's find out! "Ava's right, though-- hi Ava, hi Ravn-- you should definitely try something. I bet they can make something appropriately black for you."

Una glances up now, finally, probably because the drink is being poured into a glass, and that's the less interesting part (skilled, put-on-a-show bartenders these people are not). "Can I take a photo of you trying to drink that, Ava? Better yet, video? That's... quite the drink."

It is a building with liquor, this magnetic edifice manages to snag Mainio into it's depths. The simply dressed, graying man strides into the building with that tourist look that virtually screams 'Mug him'. Judging by the bruises on his neck, and the large band-aid covering his right cheek that may just have happened. Or, as he walks into the 'please be seated sign' and knocks it down to the floor, may be just signs that it's been a day outside without his helmet on. Mainio bends down and tries to quickly lift the sign up, and turn it this way and that until it is close to being where it was. Then slowly he slinks towards the bar and raises two fingers. "Hei, one beer.." There is a pause and glance back at the sign. "Kaksi, er uh: Two Beer. One for each hand, yes? Hah?"

"Getting white foam all over your face is the point," Ravn points out to Ava, in his capacity of having almost three months of bartending. "It's so that we get to make all the jokes you're expecting, about getting a face full of white foamy stuff."

Cue appropriate hurhurhurs from a couple of blokes waiting to receive their drinks. They get that joke. And so does the guest bartender, who slips them Friendship Is Magic -- a pink concoction with a rainbow paper flag, served in a tall glass. It a) contains unhealthy amounts of cherry syrup, b) smells like you imagine My Little Pony farts might smell, and c) was invented about fifteen seconds ago, for the occasion.

He shakes his head. "Black drinks are invariably anise liquor based and if I want to eat licorice, I'll eat licorice." Attention is caught by the man next to him; it takes Ravn a moment or two to place a few words -- and then he offers a small grin at the older man. "Finnish. Yes? Almost like a letter from home. Danish, myself. And, yksi, kaksi, kolme is literally the extent of my Finnish vocabulary."

"Oh. Well." Ava's cheek pinken slightly at that as she looks at the drink, then there's a shrug. "At least I get a rubber ducky out of the deal, right? Can't go wrong with that." There's a giggle, eyes sliding towards Ava. "Come on now! You should know by now that if you're trying to talk me into something you have to add 'for Science' to the end of it." Her grin can only broaden at that. "But I don't see why not. But it better not end up on any weird websites or I'm coming for your kitchen, lady." A finger waggles in pretend threat. She would never.

"The only good licorice is red licorice. Black licorice taste like shoe polish." Her attention shifts towards the man knocking things over, still not drinking her drink until Una can ready her camera. Well! That's a new face. A new face to Ravn, too? How unusual. "Hi!"

There is a few blinks from Mainio towards Ravn then he makes a left right motion with his left hand. The index and pinky fingers going up and down as he speaks in that kind of Swedish you are mandatorily required to learn in school and promptly nearly forget. "God kv�ll! Hur m�r du?" He clears his throat and taps his chest with his right hand. "Mainio, they call me." His accent, unlike most Nordic ones almost comes off as a severe case of paint chip eating. This is of course followed by an easy smile and a nod in return to Ava. "Hallo, Hallo."

The man's brow furrows as he looks from one overly exotic drink towards another, then down at his first beer as it arrives. "I think perhaps I do not eh, be as Disney in my drink?" Mainio grins and holds up his beer before he manages a few bars. "Skumps! Skumps! A toast to this night! The outlook is rosy, the future is bright?" He raises his beer and takes a long pull. "Yes?" He adds as he lowers the drink and looks from person to person.

"Jo tak, det kunne være værre," Ravn returns to the Finn with a grin, and holds up his whiskey in a friendly return of the other man's salutations. "I'm sorry, I understand Swedish, but I don't speak it. Finnish, I honestly only know those three words, and I know them because in Danish tradition, they're the equivalent of abra cadabra. "

He glances Ava. "She's the Red Licorice Eater Who Must Be Shamed. I'm Ravn Abildgaard, resident bookworm. You're new in town, then?"

"I will not be shame for my licorice habits! Not now, not ever, good sir! Hmph." Ava's shoulders square at that, jaw lifting in defiance. But there's a bunch of words that she doesn't understand, and then a toast that she can get behind. "Here here." That bubble bath martini is lifted into the air. "I'm Ava Brennon, nice to meet you." Una better be ready with the camera because it's time for Ava to try to navigate that drink.

Her head moves one way, then the other, trying to figure out a clear way to get to it. She leans in and opens her mouth enough to start sucking some of the foam in, like a cheater. Of course, that doesn't stop the top of the bubbles from starting to gather up on the tip and top of her nose.

Another pull and seemingly drained, first beer is traded out for the second. In changing his drinks his hands are quick and deft. The well calloused and worn digits about as close to wood as flesh gets, with knuckles like lug nuts. "Then perhaps English is best. My Swedish is really bad." Mainio smiles towards Ravn and nods. "Yes, today new. I find hotel, and gym and then bar, and interesting people. It is good day."

There's a grin towards Ava. "Red licorice? Hah, back home we have eh, salmiakki. Is made with soldering acid. I think perhaps red is much nicer." He watches the drink diving and gives a low whistle. "Good way to keep handle on drinking, make it puzzle to get too." There's a good natured laugh that is finally muffled by another long pull on his beer.

"Salmiakki is great. And proper black licorice, made with horse's blood." Ravn waits for it; Americans have Opinions on the consumption of horse meat, he knows this. And Ava's attempts to wrap herself around that clumsy and complicated gag drink is the right moment to say something like that. Here's to hoping for a funny effect.

More interesting, though, the newcomer. He studies the man a moment and then asks, "What brings somebody all the way from Finland to Gray Harbor, then? It's not exactly the centre of the world -- or even the state. Coming through, or --?"

Such an inconspicuous question except either woman present likely recognises the subtext; this man has that certain something about him that suggests he's no tourist but another fly drawn to the pitcher plant.

"Salmiakki-- wait, what. Blood?" Una's distraction has been related to the delivery of her drink, and the necessary initial consumption: she's tasted it now, experimentally, and though by the look on her face it's not a taste sensation she's entirely sure of. It's better than blood of any kind (horse, maybe in particular, but really: blood is the biggest issue here)."

A pause. Then; "Una Irving. Only English, unfortunately. Welcome to Gray Harbor."

"Soldering acid?" That gives Ava a little shudder. Of course, then there's mention of horse's blood. Another shudder. "I prefer the blood be cooked out of my food, not into it. What the hell? Blood in your candy?" Yeah, horse, no. But mostly, it's the blood. Yuck.

Of course, it's hard to take Ava super seriously as she says this with a blob of bubbles on the tip of her nose steepling upwards. It wobbles as she speaks. Kind of ridiculous.

"Horse blood? Hah! Oh, I do not think Farzer would advertise that." Mainio chuckles, and sips his beer then makes a circular motion with the bottle. "I am seeing the world, decided to travel before I get too old to be away from good healthcare, eh?" He grins teasingly and chuckles. "I think famous comedian once say how your eh, Michigan and Minnie-soda were colonized. The, uh, Scandinavians came over and started drinking and leaned right until they felt they had managed to walk home?" He raises the beer. "Maybe I choose weaker drink?" There's another smile and a careful slant to his eyes as he evades question. That fades as his attention is drawn towards Una.

"Hello Una, and thank you. I am liking the area, reminds me of home, even before liquor." Mainio says with another chuckle. "Back in the old country, lots of things have blood in them. Waste not, want not, eh, not have to deal with many tourists. Until someone invented legos of course." There's a grin towards Ravn before he nods towards Ava.

"Well you must have weird things to eat and enjoy here in the states? I had fried snickers bar in Iowa. You would imagine it not really good, but it actually is. Though I think I may have given up a week or two of my life. At least I am sure my heart would say so."

"Tell me about it," Ravn murmurs with a soft laugh. "I live less than an hour from the Lego factory, back home. The tourist invasion is real." Then he nods slightly. "The climate does feel familiar, doesn't it? More mountains than Denmark, obviously, but rain most of the year feels much like home -- and so do yachter tourists everywhere. Two more days until the season officially begins, folks. Today is a good day to reconsider owning a boat."

Pause. "My boat is of Finnish make, incidentally. King's Cruiser 33, one of your biggest exports in the seventies."

"The world is one thing, but... Gray Harbor? Did something draw you here specifically?" There's a meaningful widening of Una's eyes as she asks the question, though she's learned her lesson in pushing too much. "Fried snickers bars, though, that's definitely a thing. There's nothing like the occasional," or perhaps not so occasional, "treat, especially when you're travelling. Being boring and healthy can wait. I don't know that I have any weird food to offer up." But then, food isn't weird when it's normal."

Her good natured groan is for Ravn's reminder of tourist season-- quite as if she, herself, is not still a recent transplant. "Farewell, quiet evenings. How awful is the marina going to get? All those people everywhere. Ava... can I please take a photo? You look hilarious."

"Well, I am a doctor. So if you need good healthcare while you're here, be sure to let me know. Also, I'd be sure to not let the fried snicker bars become a habit or they really will start taking some time off of your life. No matter how tasty they are." Ava laughs. There's a pause for a picture, letting Una get a shot or two in before she's swooping the foam from her nose with a fingertip and popping it into her mouth. There's a little more finagling with the drink before she's really able to get all of the foam down enough to get to the actual drink itself. It's a little messy, but worth it.

That first sip is taken, and of course she's forgotten to remove the duck. She saw it, knew it was in there, but taking it out wasn't on her mind for some reason. So, plop. There's a slow blink, glass lowered enough to grab the ducky and pry it from her cheek so that she can finish her sip. Her eyes drift to Mainio at the question of what drew him in, if it was something specific.

"More mountains, yes and less lakes. Strangely same amount of Russians." Mainio chuckles and takes a sip of his beer. Then he shrugs in response to the boat comment from Ravn. "I will take your word for it, I took ferry across to Estonia every year before EU put in taxes. Then uh, much eh, smaller boat that rows in lakes. Never much for yacht." He grins. "You fish on boat?"

Mainio shifts his attention towards Una as he is asked for the second time why he is here. There is a definite shift in the man's body language at that point. Once again, those hands are brought front and center as he finishes his beer and sets it down. Using the drinking likely to organize his thoughts. "Well I felt like this was a place to be." He smiles again, though this time it's more of a muscle reflex then a sign of genuine emotion. His feet shift as he changes up the center of his gravity and it is fairly clear that man is wearing clothing that hinders his movements not in the least.

"Ah a doctor, I now know who to pester." Mainio adds with another bit more genuine smile. He taps the bandage on his cheek with his left index finger. "I uh can be a bit prone to the boo-boos? Is that how said yes?" His right hand already has his wallet out as if it is clear he is about to leave the semi-interrogation.

"I need a copy of those pictures," Ravn tells Una with a grin. "Purely for blackmail purposes, and perhaps to inspire somebody else to try something similar."

Then he shakes his head. "I mostly sail for leisure. Drop by the marina sometime if you feel like boarding a bit of your homeland. Look for the Vagabond. If you decide to stick around town for a while? Here, the coffee shop, and the HOPE community centre, that's where I'm likely found. I'm a bit of a local historian, so if you come across anything interesting I might be able to tell you a story about it."

He too has learned his lesson in encounters past, about pushing things too hard on fresh arrivals. Drop the hints, let them work it out at their own pace. Before you know it, someone's banging on your door at three am, demanding to know about people eating sirens or cats with too many teeth.

Una takes her photos quickly, and with a grin that doesn't especially speak to mischief: amusement, yes, but no particular intention to share the results far and wide (probably)-- except then Ravn makes his comment, and she laughs. "Oh well, since you asked so nicely..." Her phone goes away again, and her glass gets reclaimed, though she seems more inclined to nurse it than to drink it.

The shift in Mainio's stance does not go unnoticed, and the redhead hesitates, making a quick, apologetic gesture with her free hand. "That happens," she agrees, neutrally. No further interrogation required, promise: look at her smile, so warm and open and unappraising. "It's a nice enough town. Bit weird, sometimes, but nice."

"My clinic is in the Bauer Building, but I keep odd hours because I'm also the town Coroner. But I can get you my card, if you'd like. If you're ever really in trouble and need a good patch up, you can just give me a call. I do home visits. Or hotel visits in your case." Ava grins. The ducky gets a little shake to get the liquor off of it before he's set on the table. There's another sip from her drink as her other hand, now free, goes digging through her purse to grab a card.

A finger waggles at Ravn. "No blackmailing! That'll mean war! Don't you go encouraging him." A shoulder bump is given to Una. There's a gesture to her own cheek, but eyes are all for Mainio. "You didn't get mugged, did you?"

"Vagabond?" There is a pause as Mainio cracks the mental dictionary. "Ah, okay." He offers a slight grin. "Thank you for the offer. I keep in mind. I think yes, I stay around awhile. Good gym, hotel does not charge too much. Everyone very friendly." He says in reply to Ravn. As he doles out the correct amount for the bartender he nods towards Una.

"Weird can be good, it cannot be weirder than home. " He offers a grin and a motion with his hand towards his cheek as Ava comments. "Uh, yes and no. There was cat that was looking at me. So I pet cat and it uh not happy cat. Never see cat do that before. So uh, yes Bauer building." He says the last in the tone of someone who has no idea what or where that is. This followed by a nod. "Thank you uh, for the interesting welcome. I think." As his change arrives. "I think I go before I put on too many beers and have to go back to gym." With a soft smile Mainio pats his stomach through his shirt.

"Don't let anyone tell you the murder motel is a bad place," Ravn affirms with a chuckle. "It's misnamed. Honest. Bit of a local prank, scaring people with the name. I've been there often enough, I've never gotten murdered."

He chuckles. "Sorry. It's not a bad town, it really isn't. Don't be a stranger, Mainio. Feels like getting a letter from home. Bauer Building's downtown, off Main Street."

"I guess that depends how weird your home is," murmurs Una, though she's smiling brightly enough. Everything is fine. That's Gray Harbor's motto, after all.

Ava's shoulder bump earns the doctor a grin, but the redhead hesitates, considering Mainio and his explanation before she adds, "Oh, a cat." A cat. "It was nice to meet you too. Stay safe."

Ava offers a hand lift and a wave to Mainio as he starts to depart. "Cat claws can carry lots of stuff on them. Be sure to clean that out really well. If it starts to look odd, please please call me." Juuuuust in case it wasn't a normal cat. Or even if it was. Cats. You never know. Another sip is taken from her glass, legs tucked to the side under the table as she glances between her table mates. "He seemed nice. Not in the know. But very nice. Poor thing. I hope it was just a cat."

"Alright, off main street. Yes. I will be not stranger, yes. It was a pleasure meeting you Ravn. I think perhaps I am a bit too eh, friendly to murder. I point finger and cry quite much until they go away." He nods to each person in turn. "Pleasure meeting you both Una and Ava." He nods again slowly. "Yes, cat. Of angry the cat. I will try and stay safe, yes. You too as well." He pauses an nods once. "Yes." In reply to Ava. "If cat looks weird at me I will call you post haste."

With the goodbyes completed the odd man turns and exits the conversation. Keeping his hands at his sides as he strides out, slipping out the door and into the world beyond. His steps carrying him back towards the gym where he undoubtedly has a lot to think about.

Ravn looks after the Finn as he departs, and then sips his whiskey with a thoughtful expression. "Here's to hoping he doesn't meet more unfriendly cats. I always have to bite back the urge to ask what colour, and how many teeth."

"The teeth were the first thing I thought of too," admits Una, with a wry little laugh. She sets down her drink again: it's really (clearly) not very good. Some experiments are, alas, destined for failure.

"I do wonder exactly how much, or how little, he knows. It doesn't seem like much, but-- sometimes it can be hard to tell, you know? People are reluctant to speak up about things, just in case. I mean, we hedged around it too, so."

"His glow was very small. It could be that he's still very new to all of it." Ava offers Una a sip of her martini. With the bubbles all gone, the drink itself is actually pretty tasty. "He's either very good at hiding his power and what he knows, or he's just an innocent dumpling that got pulled into the fire." Alas. "You don't think Kitty Pryde swiped him, do you? She wouldn't do that just for getting pet, would she?

"She'd never let him get close enough to touch her if she didn't want him to touch her. Also, for all her relations to the Uncat and the tooth kittens, she's just a cat. Not a supernatural one, I mean -- she's just got supernatural friends." Ravn sips his whiskey again (and quietly thanks himself for not letting himself be talked into trying something weird). "I got the feeling he has an idea what he's here for. And that he's not going to just say it because he doesn't want people to think he's nuts. Just like me when I got here, really, and like so many others. You don't walk into a new town and go, so, guys, who else here makes stuff float or catch fire spontaneously?"

Ava's martini is clearly superior to Una's... well, whatever it is. Una accepts the sip gratefully, giving a considering expression before confirming its tastiness with a quick nod and a grin. The glance she aims over her shoulder at the bartender does not request the exact same thing (no duckies required, no foam, seriously), but does ask for something more... palatable.

"No," she allows. "You don't do that. It makes for those awkward initial conversations when everyone is still feeling their way out, of course, but... we all eventually get there. He'll work it out, or someone will end up being blunt, and it'll be fine."

She hesitates. Then: "Can licorice really be made with horse's blood? Is that really a thing? Or did I completely misunderstand?"

"Even if it's just a ghost of an idea, it's better than nothing." Ava looks pleased when Una also enjoys the drink, but more pleased as she takes it back and can go back to sipping it. "Oh. Uh, I never got a chance to say thank you for making sure I got into the house the other night. I appreciate you helping me get to bed. A little mortified, but appreciative. I'd say I owe you one, but I think I owe you five for that." The doc gives the red head a sheepish grin around the martini glass. Loooong sip.

Horse blood. Great segue. "Yeah. That sounds super gross, Ravn. What the hell?"

"To the best of my knowledge, the kind of licorice we call English licorice, is made with horse's blood," Ravn nods and shrugs; he didn't invent it. "It's something about the acidity of it, some chemical process? They've probably substituted some artificial whatever these days, given that we don't actually use horses for human consumption much anymore. If a horse's been given almost any kind of medication, even a dewormer, they're no longer allowed to be butchered back home."

He glances at Ava at the comment about getting to bed safely but leaves it at that.

"Ew," says Una, making a face. "I'm not sure I want to eat anything that involves blood-- though, right, it probably doesn't anymore. Still." Blood is blood. Blood is not made for consumption. Thank you, but no. "Horse... is a meat that people eat in Denmark? Or used to?"

The twitch of her mouth lasts only a moment, answering Ava's other comment. More seriously: "Don't worry about it. You were fine. I'm pretty sure you would have managed anyway... it might just have taken you a little while longer. Don't even think about it, I swear."

"Used to makes sense. I mean, there were a lot of horses, right? If you have a lot of horses and cows and what not, it makes sense to eat what you have. I don't like it, but I get it. Tons of cultures eat animals we'd balk at, to be fair. Like dogs, cats, monkeys. They eat what they have." From a scientific standpoint it seems easy enough for her to understand. Still, blood candy. Gross.

"I'm pretty sure I might have just slept in the grass. I don't know. There's a reason I didn't really do that stuff in college. But I did not Dream that night and I slept so hard. So, there may be something to it," Ava laughs. She spots Ravn's glance and pinkens a little. "Someone offered me a little pot the other night. I have only tried it once before, so I didn't really know how much was too much."

"Horse meat was a part of sacred rites in Norse times. Obviously Christianity came down on it hard. After the Reformation the Catholic ban was lifted and it became a poor man's food, last choice. It was becoming more of a staple -- as opposed to just destroying the meat of dead horses -- but then the laws about medicine use in equestrian sports changed, and now it's only a few farms producing horse for the purpose of slaughter, like cattle." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "Personally, I don't see the issue -- it's like any other animal we keep for consumption. I would obviously not want to eat a horse I've known, but it makes as much sense as farming cattle or pigs."

Ava's comment warrants a small nod. "We still have the highest number of horses per inhabitants in the world, Denmark. And those horses when they die? Destroyed. Except for cynics who sell theirs to be shipped to Southern Europe to be butchered -- which honestly is cruel as hell, forty plus hours in a truck."

He hitches a shoulder again. Animal cruelty -- not exactly a party subject. "I'm still getting used to the whole idea that pot is legal here."

"It's the blood more than the horse that bothers me, I think," Una decides. "I mean... it makes sense, otherwise. It's just meat. Which-- does not mean I'm okay with eating human meat, just for the record, but that's all about consent and the rest."

Beat. "But shipping them off to southern Europe, that's just cruel, ugh."

There's a distraction, there, as her replacement drink arrives-- this one less green, and, given her expression as she sips at it, distinctly tastier. The bartender gets a grin, and then she adds to her companions, "The not-Dreaming is worthwhile, then, though I wouldn't guarantee it works that way always, probably." It's not impossible that one Della Mayfield's lingering high may have influenced one Jabberwock-related Dream, after all, not that Una knows this. "At least the grass is lovely down our part of Oak. There are worse places to sleep. Pot being legal makes sense, I think? I don't know. It's never been my thing."

Is anyone surprised?

"Ah, but would you be okay with eating human meat if they consented before they died?" Una did say it was all about consent after all. What even is this conversation? "I wouldn't be able to stand forty plus hours in a truck, and I would actually understand what was happening." Ava's head shakes in disgust at the very thought of it.

"No. I imagine there's plenty of people who have been high and gotten tugged into Dreams at the time. Otherwise someone would have made that connection before and the Shinies would all be high all the time. This would be the most stoned town ever. I was just lucky. But the sleep really was great. With how much trouble I have sleeping these days, I won't look that gift horse in the mouth."

"Mine either," Ava admits. "Only tried it the once before that night. But I had that Dream that morning, and so much other stuff on my mind, I just kind of threw caution to the wind and said why not?"

"If alcohol being legal makes sense then so does pot." Ravn shrugs. "Both are dangerous to your health if not used with moderation."

Then he nods, because that is a familiar feeling. "Sometimes, you need to go scream back at the void. Whether it's getting so drunk you end up crying on somebody's sofa, or getting into bed with a complete stranger, or knocking your brain out with pot, or getting in a fist fight with a hockey team. I try to just not judge. Place like this town, you need some kind of valve. Life, you need some kind of valve."

That's a question that Una must surely have anticipated, and the shrug of her shoulders suggests she's not really sure. It's a difficult question.

"I'm not sure what it says about me that I don't indulge in any of these valves. Maybe I should be. Maybe that's my problem." Mind you, Una's busy taking another sip from her drinks, so clearly alcohol is not off the table. "Or maybe I just bake for stress relief, and it's enough. Who knows. Anyway; pot's fine. And you were pretty funny I have to say, Ava. Do you have any idea how many cookies you ate?"

Ava laughs. "I don't think pot is going to become my valve. Drinking really isn't either. Nor sleeping around. I'm not sure I've found mine yet. Maybe just science in general." Her hand gestures towards Una. "Like cooking is to Una. Is it helping the veterans for you, Ravn?" she wonders. Una gets a side eyed look when she says 'maybe that's my problem'. "You don't have a problem, woman. You are perfectly normal for living in a place like this, are you kidding?"

There goes her cheeks again. "Oh god. No. How many? Wait, how was I funny? What did I do?"

"Mine's drinking too much and sobbing into a pillow," Ravn says offhandedly; joke or truth? Presumably, only his pillow knows. "Life's rough sometimes, for anyone. I have prescription meds but I decided to stop taking them years ago."

He upends his whiskey and gestures at the bartender for another. A small argument ensues because the whole point here is to try something else. In the end, he grudgingly agrees to giving a shot of bourbon a chance -- but it's on probation already, because the Americans don't know how to do bloody whiskey and this is a hill he will die on.

Una's raised brows argue the normality, but she doesn't verbally expression her doubt; there's just the shake of her head, the shrug that follows. "Life's rough, and sometimes it all gets too much, and we get-- well. We get however we get." Clearly the past few days have eased some of Una's ongoing tensions, one way or another, though with Jules not yet back again, it's not completely smooth sailing. (Watch her get out her phone just to check, just for a moment.)

"I have no idea how many cookies you ate. You seemed to finish them without noticing, and then stressed out because they'd disappeared on you. It was more adorable than anything, don't worry." Beat. "Ravn, you snob."

But at least that makes her laugh.

"What kind of prescription meds?" Ava wonders, suddenly concerned. "If you're supposed to be on medication, you should be taking it reg--" A hand goes up and turns, palm first towards her face, fingers pinching together as she forces herself to shut up. Doctor mode off. "Sorry, sorry. Stern doctors are for patients in the office, not friends when we're hanging out. None of my business at all! Forget I asked at all." The hand drops. "If you ever want sob company, let me know. I can bring a slobber pillow over and join you."

There's a smirk at Una's description of events. "Vanishing cookies might upset anyone. That does sound like a lot of cookies, though. Oh man. You really are sweet for staying with me. Thank you."

Ravn sets his glass down -- in mid-air. "The kind that says I can't do that." The glass sits there. Eventually he picks it back up. "Didn't work, though. I still believe I can do that."

He shrugs. "I take my asthma medication. I stopped taking medication for schizophrenia, for depression, for neuropathy. The last is real enough, but the medicine side effects aren't worth it -- better to have to wear gloves than to lose all sense of touch."

"Amazing the things we believe, when we can see them," murmurs Una, with a wry note to her voice. "It's not like people don't regularly believe things they can't."

She doesn't answer Ava, except to lift her glass in toast, and give her a crooked little smile. She's sweet. Yes-- of course she is.

The last of her martini finished, Ava sets down the glass with a nod. "I gotcha. You certainly made the right choice, then. I feel so bad for all the folks out there stuck on psych meds or even in psych wards because people don't believe what they say."

She makes a gesture for a new drink. "Surprise me," she calls out with a grin. "Nothing gross, though. Please?" Puppy eyes are given to the bartended in the hope that works. "I still hate that I couldn't do more to help with the neuropathy. Stupid Vivisectionist screwing with my powers."

"I'm still not convinced I'm broken," Ravn murmurs. "I'm -- differently wired? I don't know. My nerve system gets it wrong but maybe it's working within specs, just, we don't know what the specs are for. In that case, you wouldn't be healing me as much as trying to re-design me."

He chuckles softly and samples the whis---bourbon. He pauses a moment, and then nods grudgingly. Scottish single malt it's not, but for bourbon he's definitely had worse. He's not a snob. It's the American alcohol industry that's substandard. "It's not something I'm greatly concerned about -- I mean, I've lived with it all my life, I've found ways to make it not take up too much space. It's been a deal breaker a couple of times when I crushed on somebody, but, life's like that -- we don't always get what we want."

"Imagine if we did, god," says Una, with a sudden burst of laughter. She'd been silent until then, musing over the words exchanged between Ava and Ravn as she nurses her drink, taking the occasional sip here and there; she's in no rush to finish it, nor the abandoned one beside it on the (slightly sticky) bar.

"Always get what we want, I mean. Imagine the mess. Imagine if what I want is in direct contradiction-- anyway. That's not the point. The point is, I guess, that we live with what we've got, and make the best of it. I'd still prefer you weren't in pain, though, Ravn. I'm not in favour of people being in pain when trying to do perfectly normal things."

Ava pauses for a long moment and then nods. "You're absolutely right. I didn't mean it to sound like you were broken. I just hate the thought of people I love in pain. Knowing how easily you're in pain from it made me want to help." She chews on her lip and glances to the side, thoughtful, then back towards Ravn. "Sorry if I was overstepping. Sometimes my drive to help overrides common sense."

Her eyes drift to Una as Una's thoughts do a good job of more eloquently saying what she meant. "Exactly." Then there's a sigh. "Man. If I could get what I wanted, the world would be a different place.

"No, I get it. I wouldn't mind not being in pain either. But for the intents and purposes of the healing you can do -- it may not apply, because we don't know that my nerve system isn't doing exactly what it was meant to do. It may be a case of you can't heal blue eyes because blue eyes are a mutation, not a disease." Ravn nods his agreement and rests his elbow on the counter.

He cants his head and thinks. "Getting what we want sounds dangerously like monkey paw territory to me. I'm pretty fortunate in some regards. Could probably find a substantial amount of people who'd swap places, no holds barred -- I don't lack for food or shelter, I get to pursue whatever interests I might, I have friends and meaningful things to do. A lot of people, even in this community, don't get that much. Don't need to go to third world countries to find people who are substantially less privileged."

"I like to think the world would be a better place, if I could get what I want. I like to think it would be all... no more hunger, the end of capitalism, child abusers get thrown into active volcanos and there's no such thing as a billionaire." Things no one would argue with, surely! "But-- yeah. Monkey paw. The reality is, none of us have all the information, and there's bound to be a way to skew anything."

Una finishes the last of her drink, setting the empty glass back down on the top of the bar, though she waves off the immediate offer of another. "Even in this bar alone, right now, I imagine we count as the 1%, all three of us. By a lot. It's... a good reminder, I guess."

Ava makes a cheers gesture towards Una. "Exactly. Same here. But, I think it's like a genie's wish. You can think you're wishing for a utopia, but you never know what kind of balance you're going to throw off by doing it. There's no good without evil, yada yada. I'd love to make a perfect world where nobody goes hungry, and children are all safe and happy. But it's not realistic. Sadly."

Her drink arrives and Ava thanks the bartender before just staring at it for a long time. It's some kind of orange concoction. But dark orange. Her brows knit.

"Well, it's realistic, but not with our current social structure at least. And eliminating human greed might well end up staying in Star Trek." Ravn nods. "We'd have to do some serious global re-evaluation of how we define 'success'. Mind you, I'm not opposed to the idea -- the way that we inherit wealth now is insane. Everyone doesn't start equal. When everyone has access to the same education and resources at square one, then we can talk about equality and a true meritocracy."

He shrugs. "Political hot potato back home. The top layer aren't excited about the idea of taxing inheritance and giving the state a cut."

"Star Trek kind of falls apart if you probe it too closely," says Una, with a little laugh. "I think, anyway. We're not altruistic like that. But inherited wealth-- that is definitely a thing I have feelings about, despite having benefitted from it personally. it's a political hot potato here, too," she adds for Ravn. "And even people who will never, ever, ever have enough to be subject to it-- estate tax, I mean-- still decide they're against it, because what it one day they do end up with that much money, and then it negatively impacts them? It's ridiculous."

She makes a face, and maybe, for a moment, wishes she had another drink in hand. But no. "I couldn't even go on school excursions as a kid, because mom didn't have the money. How could I compete with kids whose parents could give them everything? We don't start equal. I don't think we ever will."

"I had privilege in a town where the divide between those who did and didn't is pretty obvious." As they well know. "I always wished I could make it more fair. I wanted everyone to be able to go on the trips, like Una is talking about. Or have the good lunches. Stuff like that. It always bothered me that they couldn't." Ava slowly lifts her drink, sniffing at it and recoiling just a little as she tries not to sneeze. Odd scent combinations. What the hell is this?

"Equality is great. But greed would have to be removed as a human trait for it to stay equal. That's the problem." Time to drink.

"The Musk effect." Ravn nods at Una. "Don't tax a so-called self-made billionaire because what if you get that kind of money and somebody wants to take it. But you won't. Not unless your parents suddenly reveal that they're South African mine owners, and you've got their money propping you up so you can hire the right people and make the right investments. There are ridiculously few genuine self-made millionaires. I wouldn't cry my heart out if we instituted some kind of rule that once you're worth this much, anything above that line is taxed at 90%. Spend the money on eliminating poverty, disease, hunger. Hell, if people still need to 'win', give them a medal per million dollars they fork over."

The folklorist sips his drink and tosses Ava a speculative look. "I don't know if that's even possible. It's very easy for me to say I'm not greedy, and I manage fine on a relatively small budget. It's easy because I have the safety net. Things go pear-shaped, I won't be on the street with nothing and three kids."

"'"Self made' is such bullshit. Probe even just a little, and there's almost inevitably some kind of privilege there. The under-privileged can't afford to start a business in their garage in the first place; most of the time, they couldn't go to college, let alone have the privilege to casually drop out of it." It's not entirely bitterness, from Una, but her wryness is hard to miss.

"But yeah. Greed. It's human nature. We're just fucked-- talk about depressing. I know we've had this conversation before," she indicates Ravn with a dip of her chin. "And the reality is, think local. Fix what you can in your own sphere. Which is true, but still... hard."

Ava seems to agree with Ravn and his idea about taxation and medals. "Good way to keep it fair. But no, you're both right. There is no way to remove greed. So my ideal world could never actually come to play. Sadly. But, I do have some amazing things going for me. Two of them at this table here. So, I can't really complain, can I?"

She grins wide and starts to sip from the glass. Oh. Oh no. This is not a good combination. Eyes go wide, hand coming up to her mouth. Nope. She's up and running off towards the bathroom. Ava out. Might tell them that one is a no go.

"Myeh," Ravn agrees over the rim of his glass. "Would I have had a PhD before thirty if I had to work one or two jobs on the side to pay rent and food? Not bloody likely."

The folklorist might have been about to say more -- but then, suddenly running Ava with the face of death. He finds himself happy he doesn't frequent the ladies room here. It may be becoming deadly in short time.

After a moment he adds, "But you're right. We've had this discussion. It's just so frustrating. Let's talk about something not frustrating instead."

Ava's exit, stage left, draws a long pause from Una, and an expression that is not difficult to read: ouch (and also: ew).

"That's definitely not one to add to the 'let's try and cater to tourists too' menu," she says, her tone torn between vague amusement and more serious concern. It's funny-- but mostly it's really not.

The fateful glass is nudged carefully away, just to be sure no one forgets and tries it again. "It's enormously frustrating," she agrees. "And you're right. Ugh. Something else, anything else. I made pies, earlier. Lots and lots of pies, to feed people in the backyard. And to keep my hands busy."

"Kitchen cleric," Ravn muses, borrowing Ariadne's honorific for his neighbour. "It's not wrong, you realise? Healing people through baking at them. Every time someone new walks into town and throws those suspicious looks around -- I'm reminded of how much it means that we have this little community. And how sad it is that there are so many who'd rather go it alone, rather stand on their own and not owe anything to anyone. HOPE is a gathering point. So's your kitchen."

That term? It makes Una grin. So does the rest. "Mmm," she agrees. "Absolutely. That's what my kitchen is meant to be; that's what, I think, I do best. So--"

So that's what she'll do.

No one is safe from the output of Una's kitchen, both baked goods and companionship.