2022-04-29 - The Large Hotel Collider, And Other Studies of the -Ist Psyche

Vivisectionist. Supposedly dead. And yet.

Yet there are many pink post it notes. So much laughter. So much exploding of clinics and multiple elbows. Ava has sent a text out to Vyv and Ravn alike to let them know that she was on her way to Patisserie Vydal for the meet up. Thankfully, this meant that there was no need to stop to pick up either coffee or food on the way, because it would delightfully have both available for her. Score. Arriving both early, and in style, Ava strolls in so that she can check out the pastry selection ahead of the meet up. She's dressed in a black pencil skirt, a white off the shoulder blouse, that also wraps around the throat and has an adorable black bow at the neck, and a pair of black heels with stilettos that are so sharp they could probably be used as weapons.

The heels click against the floor slowly as she strides, taking in the selection with hungry eyes.

Some people dress for the occasion regardless what the occasion might be; others dress like always, and the occasion can arrange itself to match or not as it prefers. Ravn Abildgaard is in that latter category; always in black, always keeping it simple -- business casual is the last term he's heard for it -- and always looking a little out of place anywhere that isn't either a low end art gallery trying to snob upwards or a software shop where the dress code requires Steve Jobs impersonation.

His boots don't make much sound; he likes them that way. His entire dress code is built around the paradox of looking a bit snappy while not drawing a lot of attention. Notice him but don't notice that you noticed. Something.

He makes his way to his usual corner, after tossing a smile to the oft-harrowed but good looking lad at the counter; Daniel, isn't it? Something. He orders his usual -- coffee and coffee cake, chef's tears, something.

Both coffee and food are indeed available, and while the patisserie's beverage options are definitely more tea-heavy, one thing they have on Espresso Yourself coffee-wise is that they'll happily dole it out hot and black to anyone who wants it that way. Reliably! Unlike the pastries, drinks here are not fancy. But quality is a priority for both.

It is indeed Daniel at the counter smiling back at Ravn, cheerful and good-looking even by the standards of Patisserie Vydal counterstaff, which are notably high on that front. On most other fronts as well, to be fair, though Daniel's never quite gotten his change-making skills up to correct-the-first-time-everytime. But he's only occasionally wrong now, and somehow people seem to find it hard to hold it against him while he fixes it. This include the young lady before Ava who's helpfully pointed out which coins he meant to grab and headed off happily with her collection of fresh croissants and 79 cents.

Coffee and the coffee-based cake are promptly provided for Ravn on request; chef's tears he'll have to try to obtain himself. The monster.

The chef in question is not awaiting them; any question as to why is answered when, precisely on time, he emerges from the kitchen. He's in his whites, and while the apron and hat have been left behind, it's still impressive that they somehow appear to be spotless. And properly fitted, but that part surely surprises no one who's met him. Spotting Ava, she gets the familiar overall glance of appraisal, then the ghost of a smile as he inclines his head to her in acknowledgement or greeting. He's on his way to the usual Lunch table, however, claiming and settling into one of the velvet-clad chairs. The red one, no cake pun intended. Ravn gets a look-over as well, and is found... extremely Ravn-usual. No surprise there. "Well, we're looking remarkably well-suited to the venue," Vyv remarks idly as he sits, "Despite today's entire lack of actual suits."

Pastry and coffee are purchased just as Vyv is stepping out in his pristine whites. "Keep the change," Ava offers the darling Daniel, not wanting to stand around and wait for proper change. It's a decent tip, and she really doesn't seem to mind. After all, there's answers about to come her way and that's far more exciting for her. Though she's excited, her steps are still measured and calm as she approaches the table, settling into a seat next to the pair.

"Or perhaps the venue is well suited to us, rather?" Ava smirks faintly. She gets settled in place with her coffee and pastry before also reaching into her bag to pull out an evidence bag. Inside the bag is a small pile of what looks to be three, individually bagged and stacked, pink, post it notes.

"I don't do suits." Ravn nods at Vyv; hardly news to anyone who knows him. "If the venue is so posh it requires a tie, it doesn't want riff-raff like me for patrons, anyhow."

He steeples gloved hands under his chin and looks at the evidence bags. This, after all, is for Ava to show and Vyv to tell.

"Yes, yes. Down with the man. Very of the common people. Ties are the weapon of the ruling class; fight the elegant power." Absolutely deadpan; if an eyeroll were a tone, that would probably be it. There isn't an actual one, however. There is a lift of a fist to shoulder height, as if in extremely languid solidarity.

The hand lowers, and Vyv glances toward the counter; the other person working up there today, Martin, is already heading over with a cup and a little teapot to set in front of the chef. "Ta," the Brit says, but doesn't immediately pour himself a cup. He's focused more on that bag Ava's brought out, and reaches to draw it nearer with a fingertip. He regards the one visible, on top on the bag's inner stack, then opens that outer bag to withdraw the contents and set the out neatly aligned one beside the other in front of him. "...yes," he says after a brief pause, "Yes, that's the same writing."

And should one doubt this -- or maybe he just wants to further confirm it himself -- he dips into his pocket and brings out his phone, opening the leather case to pull out another bagged sticky-note. This one's only in a sandwich bag, but we don't all have evidence ones handy. Having it tucked in there's kept it nice and flat despite the pocket, however. Thank you for your participation in our experiment, it says, in, yes, that same writing, <3 The Vivisectionist.

The sticky notes as Vyv studies them say various things. One says simply Denied. One says I told you, no. The third, You have the right to file a complaint at City Hall. No hearts or name, but as Vyv stated, clearly the same handwriting. "The first one was Denied. That was when I first realized something was going on with my abilities and that I couldn't access a certain level of healing that I should be able to. We thought it could be something to do with just myself, or perhaps Ravn, since it was him I was working on. So I did a second test with a different healer. Another doctor with gifts like mine. She made an attempt and was also denied, and there was quite a powerful display before those two appeared on our foreheads." She taps the other two post-its.

"But it's not just limiting us here. It's global. At least as far as New Zealand. A friend reached out to his mother, and she said they've been effected by the changes that happen here the same as us. Going back to Gohl."

"It's probably safe to assume that it has never been quite possible to cure certain conditions -- that there comes a turning point." Ravn taps his gloved fingers against his lip, thoughtfully. "Otherwise, it would happen a lot more?"

Then he hitches a shoulder. "Or maybe it was. Many religions have tales of people who raise the dead back to life. Even in modern times, faith healers are a thing -- from televangelists to tribal shamans who cure stomach tumours by digging them out with their fingers. When examined, it's always fraud -- but there are lot of people who claim to have been healed, and some of it might be Veil revisions. I am perfectly capable of sitting here saying I don't believe in faith healing while simultaneously acknowledging that on several occasions, somebody's healing power is why I'm still alive."

Vyv taps a finger lightly, almost absently, against the one that says You have the right to file a complaint at City Hall.

"Yes," he says as far as Ava's last bit, "I know. When things... changed after Gohl's burial," and oh, there is quiet venom there, "it started here, then spread out across the world. Not all at once. Those in Portland we're in contact with felt it, but a month or so out, things hadn't changed yet for them. When we were there, the distance we could sense or affect was as it had been. But sometime later, that changed. I believe when things shifted again February before last, the spread was swifter. And the changes the Revisionist made seemed to propagate world-wide immediately," a flicker of a glance toward Ravn, who he recalls checked on that one fairly effectively. "Whether the increase in speed is a genuine pattern or coincidental, there's no way to know. But that things here are or become global... that seems fairly established, yes."

A small pause. "The change in healing didn't affect me directly. I'm not sure quite what it was capable of at the highest end before. I do know it was far more powerful, however. Virtually instant, and complete, as though the wound had never happened. But I believe it was...the end of May or beginning of June, after that February, that it changed. Things have been more stable, since." He considers this a beat, add, "Except for time breaking, but that isn't quite the same." Ah, Gray Harbor.

Another tap of the finger against the note. "I saw her killed, you know. Isabella Reede buried a telekinetic cleaver in her chest. Then a building fell on the corpse. Bit by bit. It was... let's say quite convincing."

"I think it's safe to say that we self regulate better. The backlash that could come from trying to cure something like that? Who knows if it could be something permanent to the healer. You have to really want to fix something, or really care about someone to go that far." Ava gives a shrug, watching Vyv at the moment and not Ravn for reasons. Cough. "The ones we hear about wouldn't be Veil related, because the Veil wouldn't allow itself to be heard about," she states simply.

Vyv tapping the City Hall note is ahem noted. "Yes. I used to be able to heal a lot more effectively," she agrees. "I wasn't here when things changed, but I noticed it."

Brows lift at the mention of Vivisectionist dying. "I would think that's be enough to kill even something of her power." She frowns. "Is it possible that her death was, mmm, Revised?" she wonders, her eyes drifting towards the City Hall note again. "Does the Revisionist have that kind of power? If she can alter realities, does that mean life and death are within her scope of changing as well?" Because that's a scary thought.

"I was not in town yet when that fight went down," Ravn notes. "But speaking as a folklorist I want to offer an alternative to the idea that what we do here in Gray Harbor affects the world -- and one that might even explain how the Vivisectionist can still be alive after what you're describing."

He sips his coffee and sorts his thoughts. "Narrative angle. When we read a fairytale -- say, Little Red Riding Hood -- we get the narrative from the angle that we sympathise with, the little human girl trying to traverse the woods. The wolf dies, it's a happy ending to us. If we heard it from the wolf's point of view it'd go something like, went out for dinner, got butchered because people are assholes. I think the same effect applies here, that we see all of this from a Gray Harbor-centric view because that's where we are, and we see ourselves as the narrative's decision-makers because of who we are."

The folklorist fixes his gaze on Vyv. "What if we imagine that all of this is symbolic in a sense, the way Dreams are -- and normal dreams, too. There is no Vivisectionist. There is a power that manifests as the Vivisectionist. If the theory that the -ists were once human holds true, that means that power brought the Vivisectionist back at least once before. Maybe the true terror there is that it can do so whenever it likes, when it wants to communicate in that form. And the reason we perceive this as spreading from Gray Harbor to the world is simply that we're here -- but someone in China might have the opposite experience."

He shakes his head. "Anyhow, speculation, and, I suppose, not all that relevant, all things considered." He looks at Ava. "The Revisionist definitely has that kind of power, because she alters perception. There is a girl in town who's still commonly believed to have twelve kids in spite of being twenty-something, three, I think. The kids don't exist, but it doesn't matter since everyone knows they exist. This could be similar. The Vivisectionist may be back from the dead, or another entity is being substituted but we perceive her the same way. On the bottom line -- it doesn't matter a whole lot, I suspect."

Vyv considers. He gets around to pouring himself some tea, and he considers. "I don't believe the Revisionist was involved," he decides. "The reason being that while her changes are accepted as truth by those without our abilities, they're far less effective on us. And she didn't actually change reality, simply what people believed. Sparrow," a glance toward Ravn, "never did have any husbands or children, they didn't pop into existence. People merely believed they were around... somewhere. I believe one of her revisions declared that Byron Thorne was dead, while he continued walking around being annoyed by people trying to explain the situation by insisting he was somehow his own non-existent twin brother." Is there a hint of a smirk there? Yes, all right, there is. Not truly one of his least favourite people in town, but certainly one he can enjoy a little schadenfreude regarding nonetheless.

"My point being that as far as I can tell, the Revisionist can't actually revise reality, only people's beliefs about it. Ravn now runs lobster fights not because she brought them into existence per se, but because she made people believe they existed and Ravn was the man to see about it, and believing this meant that some of them wished to take part. Or thought they already did. So no, I don't think she has the power of life and death. It's possible she could have changed our beliefs so that we thought the Vivisectionist was dead, that we'd seen her die, when that wasn't in fact the case." And he does NOT like this idea. Not one bit. "...however. As I say, Maestros are... not immune to her changes, but considerably more difficult to convince. I don't believe that of all of us present that day, none of us would have seen through that change."

A sip of his tea, and a sigh. "Ravn has a point, though: if the -Ists are indeed once-human, taken at the point of their death as I've heard the Exorcist was, then it does seem logical that whatever saved them then could reasonably have the potential to revive them again. And just because I've never heard even a hint that healers have ever been able to raise the dead, that certainly doesn't mean that the actual source of that power itself wouldn't be strong enough to do so if it wished."

He glances sidelong to Ravn, over the cup, holding it but not yet taking another sip. "I don't believe narrative angle is the reason for how things have appeared to spread, however. First, for most situations, we felt it happen here. We checked in with people at a distance, and the changes hadn't happened for them. Later, the same changes had. Secondly, while correlation is not causation, there have been... things, which happened about the time of the changes. Some of them fit with other information we have. The first change, the contraction, that happened when we properly buried Gohl." He's not out of venom for that one! "That February, at the time things shifted again, it was discovered that Gohl's grave was now empty. At virtually the same time, Thomas Addington disappeared. When the healing changed -- well, no one was ever very forthcoming with me about that one, but I heard enough to suspect it had to do with a significant interaction with the Asylum. Now, is it possible that this is coincidence, and that it's utterly random or in fact reacting to something someone else did in China? Of course. But were I a betting man, that isn't currently where I'd place my wager."

"I see." Ava has started to daintily pick at her pastry so that she can eat it in bites without getting anything on her clothing. "So Revisionist's abilities aren't Relativity Alteration but Reality Perception Alteration. Of a sorts?" Bright eyes dart between the two men for a moment, checking to see if she has that about right. "Which seems to work along the same lines as the Veil overwrites do, because it only seems to work on those without Shine from what I've gathered from conversations so far."

"I do not ever want to be able to raise the dead, thank you. I think that power needs to never, ever be made available. To anyone. Even them. Especially them. If they can't, it should stay that way. If they already have it, well--" Then it's too late, isn't it? Ava takes another bite of pastry as she considers the both of them and what they've said.

"What does her goal tend to be? When she interferes with things? Is she just having fun? Is she trying to hurt people? What's her focus?"

"I'm going to have to go with 'yes' on that," Ravn agrees and picks at his coffee cake. "The Revisionist does not actually alter reality. She changes stories, and people believe her stories unless they are close enough to know better. I bought the twelve kids story, for example -- until people close to Sparrow informed me that it was no more true than my own suddenly being a Swedish TV celebrity."

He toys with his cake fork. "Her goal, though? I don't think anyone knows for sure. But I don't think she means to be malevolent. Consider this -- the two people in Gray Harbor who have actually corresponded with the Revisionist are Vydal and myself." He nods at Vyv. "We both requested our stories altered because they were quite frankly ruining our lives. His was unwritten -- it all just went away, everything returned to normal. Mine was altered -- so now it's ridiculous, sure, but no one is getting hurt. If she wanted to inflict grief, all she'd have to do was, well, do nothing."

The folklorist is quiet a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I don't think someone in China can make a change and then it just spreads to affect us. I don't think we can make one that suddenly affects China, either. It's very difficult to explain, and it's very certainly theoretical -- but what I think happens is that when things change, narratives change. I find it helps for me to think of it all as a story that's continually being written, and rewritten. Edited, so to speak. Gohl was a major edit, and it spread. The Revisionist -- we have no idea where that started, only that it affected everywhere. Maybe someone in China can affect us similarly, but I suspect that we will perceive it as us affecting them, every time. And they perceive it the same way -- there's a thin spot in Beijing or Shanghai or wherever, and they think they're calling the shots."

Shoulder hitch. "Anyhow, it's a tangent. What really matters now is the Vivisectionist. Who's either dead and recycled for the second time or more, or replaced with a new face and similar habits."

"Reality perception alteration, yes. And sometimes perception can become reality due to the behaviour of those who believe, but for most things... it's merely an intractable, wide-spread incorrect belief." Vyv glances sidelong to Ravn. "I think others might have made some sort of contact also... people don't seem to think Thorne's dead at his girlfriend's hand anymore, after all. They think they married in an extremely tacky Elvis-based ceremony." On the one hand, this is horrific even as a concept, enough to make one faintly ill. On the other, as long as it's someone else and not a particular friend either: heh. Another sip of the tea helps mask the ambivalence.

"But yes, it does seem somewhat similar to the Veil overwrites, as you put it. I'd say virtually the same for those without the power. For us, it's a bit stronger, since at times it does work on us. I remember a good few arguments over the names of various restaurants and bars..." A faint smile. "I don't believe she's malicious, no. Something was said about her needing to change things periodically to keep them running correctly. As far as I'm aware, why this would be the case was not explained. Some of the changes are tiny, virtually inconsequential. Whether the second vowel in 'Pourhouse' is an O or a U, for example. Worst outcome is spoiling the pun. The larger ones appear to be... making things Interesting." The capital letter is audible, somehow. "But if she intended cruelty, my letter to her wouldn't have been effective."

As far as how things spread -- well, he shakes his head. "Then we disagree. I do think someone in China, if a suitable Chinese thin spot exists, could do something which would result in a change that affected us here, at some point, because the evidence of which I am aware strongly suggests that's precisely what's happened from here outward. I don't know how much you've looked into other thin spots, but I visited a number before ending up here. This one is decidedly the most active and most populated I've encountered; it's not surprising to me that it would be an epicenter more often than, say, the one in Wales which is only accessible by somehow getting deep within a collapsed mine."

A sigh. "However. Yes. Either she's been revived or she's been replaced with someone with the same handwriting, I suppose. I'm not sure there's much difference to us, aside from possibly what she might recall and whether she'd be inclined to hold a grudge." Another glance at the note regarding where to complain. "We can, of course, follow up on that advice and complain to City Hall. If we're feeling up for Veil bureaucracy. If we're lucky, it might be illuminating."

It's a lot to take in. Varied opinions, some matching, some otherwise. Ava has to draw her own conclusions from them, but there's still so much information needed before she can make any concrete choices. "I would say that since I wasn't in town when the healing powers were first dulled, but my powers were still effected, that it's rather likely there is a spiderweb effect that starts from here and goes out to other places. I may be wrong, but that was my personal experience."

"So the Revisionist it not malicious, but is, as Ravn has previously stated, not entirely able to fully comprehend humans on the same level that humans function. So while there are ways that she may try to help, she doesn't always get it right. Through no necessary fault of her own." Another glance towards Ravn at that before Ava takes a long sip of her coffee and sighs.

Attention shifts back to Vyv in time to see him glancing at the note. "I'm fairly good at dealing in bureaucratic matters, but that's on a human and Veil level. I've not dealt with an -ist face to face before. Mainly because she won't show her face. She just laughs and leaves post-its. And horrible visions of a wall of floating dead bodies. Oh. Does a conductor conducting an orchestra playing Rites of Spring mean anything to you?"

"Eh, Thorne. For all I know he's been dead in his penthouse since sometime last spring -- man's either holed up and gone full up hermit, or he's out of town. But yes, you're right -- his girlfriend slash fiancee slash wife didn't murder him, unless it was his ghost turning up that day the precinct was attacked." Ravn nods. From his tone, this Thorne is not someone who impressed the Dane a whole lot. "There's no arguing that Gray Harbor is not the strongest place like this I've seen. Compared to this place, my home is a tiny blip."

He nods at the doctor. "Revisionist might not get it right, or she may think her idea is better. Either way, hard to predict what exactly comes out of interacting with her."

A bit of cake actually makes it to his face -- and then he puts the fork back down because classical musician knows his classical music. "Rites of Spring? That's a curious piece to choose at random. I wonder if it's deliberate -- Stravinsky was accused by his peers of making civilised instruments savage, stripping away the paint of civilisation and revealing the savagery beneath. It seems -- well, it's not very subtle, but then, do the -ists- do subtle?" A glance to Vyv at that last one because Ravn has interacted with the Revisionist and the Exorcist, and neither of them would know subtle if it punched them in the face.

"Bayside does have fantastic air purification, but I'm still sure I would have noticed within a month or three." Vyv's flat's ceiling is Thorne's floor, after all, no matter how efficient the various modes of separation the place has installed. And the chef has quite a sensitive sense of smell... without taking into account less standard, more GH-style senses. "Now, I suppose he could have got Lost..." 'Concerned' would be decidedly overselling Vyv's reaction to that possibility, but there might be a mental note being made to check on the man. For his own curiosity, if nothing else.

"Yes, though. I'd say that seems about right for the Revisionist, from what I've seen and heard. I believe she takes what she sees as her responsibilities seriously." As -Ists go, and considering he hasn't met her in person, she seems to have made a reasonably good impression. ...As -Ists go.

Walls of floating dead bodies are not a good impression, not that anything else he knows of the Vivisectionist has been. "Subtle." Another sip of his tea. "The Rite of Spring?" This is considered, with a glance to Ravn, as the violinist gives his thoughts on the choice. And the question. "...Mn. Thus far experience suggests not generally, no. I wouldn't recommend we assume they're all incapable of it, but on the other hand, I presume we're still speaking of the same being that prefers to employ bright pink sticky-notes and visions of buoyant corpse-masonry?" Yes, there's a good brow arch with that. "Hm. Pagan rites, a sacrifice. The conducting itself could be important; directing these things to occur, coordinating the various parts to work together. I'd need more context, I suppose, to venture a real guess. But no, I don't suppose that means anything specific in and of itself, to me."

He lifts the cup again, and pauses, tilting his head. "...mm. Fantasia. It was the evolution section. The galaxy and the Earth coming into being, single-celled life arising in the seas, developing into sea creatures, moving onto the land, evolving into dinosaurs. General dinosaur life, fighting among them, the mass extinction." A slight moue. "Nothing to do with conducting, really. But I suppose a connection to the life Arts could be drawn, with that piece. And one could be drawn between exercise of the Arts and conducting, I suppose..." He gives the faintest of shrugs. "Nothing I'd lay any wagers on, really."

"Taking her responsibilities seriously, giving the level of power that she holds is probably for the best." Ava worries her bottom lip for a moment, her coffee cup just warming her hands at the moment. "It's probably for the best that someone who likes to actively experiment on innocent people like Vivisectionist has a relatively more limited scope of abilities. By comparison, anyway. Still miles above us. Which is terrifying."

The mug is finally brought up to sip from. "The wall of floating bodies is easy enough to see for yourself, just not in person. There's a painting of something similar in Addington house. A painting about Gohl and the bodies." Ava frowns at that. "Since Gohl's 'departure' dampened our abilities the last time, I imagine there's something of a connection there that she was attempting to communicate. Or taunt? I don't know. I hate not knowing." The two's thoughts on the Rites of Spring has her quietly listening, head bobbing quietly as she stashes it away.

"Maybe we should be glad that she didn't pick the final Fantasia segment. I'm not sure I'm ready to face off against Chernobog." Ravn taps his lip. "Let's assume for just a moment that this is the Fantasia context. Most people know Rites of Spring as 'the one with the dinosaurs'. What's that one about? Dying dinosaurs. Granted, dinosaurs who lived further apart than we are from the Tyrannosaurus Rex, but let's not let that fact get in the way. Dying dinosaurs is a powerful image. Out with the old giants. The sequence ends with the emergence of small mammals if I recall correctly. The emergence of something new."

He sips his coffee. "Or maybe it's pure coincidence. Maybe we overthink it, because we try to find logic where there is none."

Vyv shakes his head slightly. "It ends with the eclipse setting over a dead and somewhat broken world," he says, glancing sidelong over his cup to Ravn, "No emergence of the new. If I recall correctly, I once read it was intended to go on to mammals and the rise of humanity, but they decided the idea of human evolution was still too controversial." Oh look, disdain. "But it's not only dying dinosaurs; it's the emergence and rise of the new from life-at-all up to them. And then their fall. And no farther. I'm sure I could argue at least two or three potential interpretations of what a reference could mean just against myself, and assuming Fantasia was relevant." He takes another thoughtful sip. "I'm sure they'd all imply fascinating things regarding where we place ourselves in the imagery."

Brows raise a bit at the mention of that painting. "I've not seen that painting. Or at least not noticed it." He's been in the house, after all. Surely he must have passed it by at some point? "Point it out to me later, would you?" He sets the cup down, glancing at it, then to Ava. "Do you know whether it's intended to represent his victims? Or otherwise? Because from what we believe we've learnt, he doesn't appear to be alone in the ability to have his 'departure' affect abilities."

"Oh, it's meant to represent his victims. Yes. I actually took a picture of it when I went through and did the tour of Addington House not too long ago. Hold on." Ava pulls out her phone and starts going through a bunch of photos. There's a lot of pictures of old books and pages and scrolls to go through, too. "Here." She slides the phone over towards Vyv. "This is what she showed me. But I got it on a far more grand and horrifying scale."

"I hope it's not coincidence," she murmurs in Ravn's direction. "It would be my luck that it is. I do tend to overthink things, I know. It's a scientific curse. But. You have to look at things from every possible angle, because that's how you don't miss anything. Or that's supposed to be how it works in theory. It doesn't always work that way."

"Myes. I'm somewhat of a chronic overthinker myself. But I suspect that when it comes to the Veil and its creatures, the first thought or emotion that their images inspire is often the one they wanted to communicate. It's never coincidental, is it? She connected you to Gohl, which makes sense considering that you wanted to know why your powers are limited -- it had to do with his second funeral. Now I suspect the real issue up next will be, how to change that? Do we want to try, and if we do, how do we go about it?" Ravn nods and sips his coffee.

He glances at Vyv. "And here's the question I'm dying to ask from somebody who's actually got a whole lot more experience with these Veil bureaucrafts than I do: Should we even try? Or is it better to leave well enough alone? You and I challenged the Revisionist and that went quite well -- but this is not the Revisionist, and no one claims the Vivisectionist has a reputation for attempted kindness."

Vyv leans in to take a look at the image on Ava's phone, lips pursing just faintly. "I'm shocked, shocked to hear that any of us might ever be inclined to overthink a thing," he remarks with a hint of distraction, "Given the air of happy-go-lucky haphazardness we all so regularly exude."

He straightens back up, with the briefest of glances toward the counter before his attention refocuses at the table again. "I believe it was his first funeral, actually. I have the impression that was part of the overall issue: he wanted to be properly buried; he wanted a proper funeral." It's almost casual, the tone -- almost, if you ignore the chill of the resentment lurking behind it.

"....at any rate." A small nod to Ravn. "You have a point. Nothing I know of her suggests a cooperative and beneficent nature. On the other hand, is alone well-enough?" He tops up the tea in his cup, and one corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly as he glances to Ava. "And you do appear to have been invited to file a complaint, after all. With, presumably, functionaries who are not specifically her. I've never seen nor heard of her ever being at City Hall herself." And certainly he's not by nature inclined to take that note as a challenge, nor to engage an argument.

"What do you mean do we try to change it? I can't imagine a lot of people would just be like, hey some of my powers are gone, oh well, time to do nothing about it." Ava frowns. "Which doesn't mean to say I know what to do, or even how to start. Just that I don't think that we should do nothing." Her hands spread before she pulls the phone back and slides it away. "I just wish I had a chance to talk to then and actually understand what was going on. I hate not understanding things most of all.

She frowns again, picking apart another piece of the pastry and taking a bite. "Maybe just put in a complaint as see where it leads?"

"I think that filing a careful complaint might be a good move. Vydal's right -- you did kind of get invited in a strange, backwards fashion, to do so." Ravn, still using people's last names by preference; two years in the States and he's still unsure when to use first or last name, never mind honorifics such as sir or son.

He steeples gloved fingers under his chin. "I think the crux of the matter is exactly that. That we don't understand what's going on. And when we ask, we don't understand the answers we get. I'm not convinced it's even intentional -- that they're playing coy or mocking us. I think that we are so far removed from them in cognitive terms that it's just not possible for us to genuinely understand."

A small sigh, the kind that warns of impending tangents. "Have either of you read the Science of Discworld books? They're not fiction -- they're explaining science on Earth, by having it analysed and studied by Discworld characters. Anyhow, there's a chapter that tries to explain the Large Hadron Collider. It's translated into the Large Hotel Collider instead. In every hotel, there's a grand piano. And if you plink a key on that -- it makes a sound. That's what the LHC does -- it plinks a hadron at another hadron and it creates a a noise. You could try hammering all the keys next -- it'd make more noise. Throw the piano out the window -- lots of noise. Everything else is correlation -- all the LHC knows for a fact is that when you plink a hadron against another hadron, this happens. Or if you plink a finger against an ivory tangent, this happens. You don't suddenly understand hotels, traffic, or gravity."

A small smile. "What I mean -- and what Steve Briggs and Terry Pratchett meant -- is that the eyes that behold also define the limits of the understanding that can be achieved. If we have to go by only what we actually know, then it is extremely little, and the truth is extremely large -- and unfathomable to us. I feel like this whole situation is a large hotel collider -- we understand that doing this creates a plink, but we're not even sure whether the piano exists, never mind the hotel it's in. We can't understand what's going on because we lack the perception."

And thus Ravn gets the same general reaction he's gotten from Vyv before, starting with the side-eye, and followed by the faintly-drawled and Sahara-dry, "Abildgaard," a miniscule pause, and the tone entirely Vyv-normal again, "has a point." Sip of tea, another sidelong look at the other man, though this one has a tiny upward quirk at one corner of his mouth behind the cup, and a less-tiny upward shift of one brow. "Two, I suppose. One that I'm right -- which technically could go without saying, but one does appreciate when it is. And the other that we don't truly understand, and might not be capable of doing so. But I'd add that I'm not convinced that may not go both ways, to a certain extent."

Possibly that's a book he hasn't read as yet, because he looks thoughtful about the description given. Or he could just be considering it together with the topic Ravn's analogising. "Mn. Well. In any case, you'd be surprised how many people do say that, though I suspect having no idea what to do or even where to start does have a lot to do with it. I'd say I'm more inclined to register a protest than many, but it is somewhat restrained by needing to figure out precisely how first." He cocks his head slightly. "Though admittedly, Revisionist notwithstanding, very little of what's shifted has seemed to affect me directly." Hm.

Movement catches his eye and he glances up, watching Daniel bring a plate of pear-and-goat-cheese galette and salad his way. About time. "We should work out what we wish the complaint to say, and later I believe I may be able to arrange a visit to City Hall. But first: we have lunch to enjoy." A flicker of that sidelong glance to Ravn and his poor slice of cake, surely doomed to dissection like all the Dane's others, "...or in some cases, torture to death."