2022-04-30 - Backyard Barbecue

1 through 5, Oak Avenue; older craftsmen's houses with that slightly tired but quite determined look that's becoming typical of Gray Harbor in recent decades -- the wild west days are over, and so are the 'largest lumber port in the world' days but we're hanging on here because tourism will save us in this new and frightening millennium. Somehow.

1 through 5, Oak Avenue; a micro-climate that has spawned a fair bit of talk around town -- somehow, the weather is just warmer in those yards, and nature seems to think it's summer there. Not many people know why. Even fewer people care -- because even for those in the know, this ranks very low on the usual scale from Oh God we're all going to die to Existential galactic horror. Barely a peep on the trouble radar, even with that faerie mushroom ring in the lawn right there.

A couple of European goldfinches hop around on the lawn; the resident folklorist will tell you that a) they are European and shouldn't even be here, and b) that Irish legend claims they live where faerie live. He's given up on convincing them to fly back wherever the hell they came from.

Somehow, talking about hanging out and maybe having a potluck dinner hit the jungle drums. Ravn Abildgaard is finding that just about everyone said they'd drop by sometime. He's not quite sure what to do with that besides ally with his neighbour, Una Irving -- she's not known in certain circles as the Kitchen Cleric for nothing. He's hauled a couple of folding tables out from a garage somewhere, and half a dozen mis-matched folding chairs. There's a barbecue, and heaven only knows who he borrowed it from. He's bought a couple of sixpacks, a number of bottles of decent red and white wine, and soda for a small army. He's found paper plates and plastic cups, and a salad that seems to be largely lettuce and cucumber, because there's always somebody who hates whatever other ingredients go in there.

And on the porch sits the true queen of Oak Avenue (or at least this part of it), the black cat, Kitty Pryde, ready to accept donations and suitable sacrifices. The goldfinches know better than to come within range of her claws.

Now that the folding tables are set up, Della hurries to fluff a tablecloth over each: the bright, plastic, flannel-backed kind, either hers or Oak 5's, unclear. She has, in addition to the fruit salad (organic!) and seedy crackers (also organic!) one might have expected, the old standbys: onion dip and ruffled potato chips. Lots of them.

With one of her housemates having been away all week on a VERY DANGEROUS spirit quest, Una's really thrown herself into this whole 'let's host a few people and have a gathering' idea. On the other hand, how likely is it that she would have done similarly even if Jules hadn't been otherwise occupied?

Yeah.

Fine: it's a thing. A thing that has kept Una happily occupied, and occasionally bubbling with enthusiasm. Now, she's got a pie in each hand as she ventures out of her kitchen and across between the houses towards Ravn's little setup, and they're not the first things she's brought over: there are home-made hamburger buns, cheese sticks, not to mention the predictable array of cookies. No one is going hungry, not today.

And... then there's that other plate. The one that contains pastry that...

Are those choux penises? Or possibly just geoducks? ('just'.)

From 1 Oak, the door opens and out scoots Ava backwards. Either arm balances a large board. Did she make the charcuterie boards that she's carrying? No. Which is why everyone will avoid food poisoning today, thank you. There is one with meat, and one vegetarian, just in case. Obviously not vegan, because cheese. But she tried.

"Oh good! It doesn't look like I'm too late to help with getting things all set up, then. I was hoping I wouldn't be. Do we have enough of everything?" she wonders as the boards get placed down in an empty spot.

"If we end up missing something, I'm told there's still take-out companies in this town," Ravn returns with a grin to Ava.

He walks over to help arrange plates and charcuterie boards -- and then looks at what Una's unpacking. He does a double take. "You actually did it."

Excuse the very adult folklorist here, he's going to need a moment to stop trying to choke down a laugh here. It's a losing battle.

Della has seen those pastries. Della has snickered at those pastries. Della is, here and now, trying to not look at them too closely; trying to get other people's reactions (Ravn's is promising!); and trying to hold back a smile, with decreasing levels of success. "Here, Una," she trills. "We have just the place for those." Not front and center, not quite, but where they might sneak up on a hapless visitor. "Ava! Hello! That depends; who has the ice?"

Una? Did something? Something worth laughing over? Not with an expression that innoc-- okay, fine. She's giggling now, positioning the plate of pastry geoducks (no, seriously!) where directed. The pies, less important though definitely tasty, can go just behind them. Such a pretty selection of desserts.

"I never tease things I can't deliver," she tells Ravn, grinning broadly. Behold! Cream-filled penises for everyone. "I can bring some more ice over, if we need it. There's more beer, too, and hamburger patties. Do you think we'll have enough food?"

No one is going to starve, Una. Promise.

Ava gets the boards set down get in time to spot the pastries. Her head tilts, eyes going a little wide and amused. "Well. If I'd known it was that kind of a party I wouldn't have worn white," she offers with a little click of the tongue. "Did Ravn run out of gummy dicks so we have to improvise? Or are you so frustrated with us, but still have the desire to feed us to the point that this is the only way you can truly tell us to go eat a dick, Una?" There's a wink towards Della.

"Ice? Ohhh, no ice here."

Excuse Ravn, he's still laughing into his gloved hand. "Oh Lord. We were at the beach earlier in the week, looking at tide pools. Ariadne caught one of those -- mussels, you know? Those ones."

Yes, Ravn. People from this area have seen geoducks before. In fact, they eat them. Not just cookies shaped like them -- the real thing's supposedly a delicacy. Poor, sheltered son of the Atlantic, he has no idea.

"OoOOoo," laughs Della on cue, right after Una's line, and gets to setting out the little signs in tidy, flourished handwriting: 'dairy' for what apparently is strawberry pie, 'dairy, eggs' for the lemon meringue, and so on. "Sounds like quite an excursion." She may have missed Ava's wink, but then she sidles... no, walks right up to her anyway: "What are the chances, by the way, of growing mangoes? Avocados? Passionfruit? Lemons?"

Una's eyes are dancing as she attempts a dramatic sniff and says, "I don't know what you're all worrying about. They're perfectly appropriate geoducks, and nothing dirty at all, thank you very much."

Which is why they're filled with cream, obviously.

"... but if you feel like eating a geoduck," euphemistically, "then be my guest, Ava." Nope, now she's giggling outright.

"If I had my preference between geoduck and dick. I'd eat a dick," Ava states and flips her hair over her shoulder, having a hard time not laughing hysterically at the moment. "But I would much prefer to eat your delicious cooking, my dear."

"Was it your first time seeing them, Ravn? You've been here for a while, haven't you?"

Della gets a little tilt of her head, curiosity dancing behind bright eyes. "Do you right now, or just, like, in general? Because right now, no. In general, yes, in a proper environment for them.

Ravn manages to not go back to laughing out loud at Ava's comment. "I mean, I'm not a huge fan of mussels or oysters, but all things considered -- I'd have to think about it, at least."

He shakes his head. "I mean, I've seen pictures. It's one of those 'So you're new to the PNW' things that everyone needs to show me at some point. But I've not seen them for real until this week. And then I made the mistake of googling them, and now I'm just suffering from an inferiority complex, along with most of the town's male horses."

"There's ketchup over there," Della murmurs, regarding Ava's preferences. Regarding the fruit, not sotto voce any longer, "No, no, not right now. Just one of these days; it would be a tasty benefit. And pineapple."

And it's a joke, probably, but: "...Are there stables around here? Here I thought it was just a one-horse town." So to speak.

"Hmm," says Una. "Always-in-season fruit trees; now there's an idea." Avocados cost a lot of money, guys!

Mind you, she's still mostly giggling at the sight of her impressive pastries, and the reactions they're earning. Worth every second of the (probably multiple) attempts to make them.

"You're so helpful, Della. That's what I love about you," Ava coos. "Now all I need is a healthy penis." Her eyes slide over to Ravn as she grabs one of the plastic knives and forks from the table and scrapes them against each other, deviously. Nope, can't keep not laughing, the damn breaks and she breaks into a peel of laughter, setting the utensils back down with a shake of her head.

"Let me assure you that I cannot think of a single woman who wants something that large inside of her. The damage that would do to the inside of a person's body. Mm-mm, no."

"We would need a special green house for it, outside of the faerie circle so that the fruits would be safe to eat. The land I'm looking at for the Historical Society building has a lot of woods around it, if you want to do something there? Make it a neat side project."

"There's a couple of boarding stables in Hoquiam and one in Ocean Shores," Ravn supplies -- because who here'd know where to find a barn, or anything else, but the folklorist who does most of the administrative work at the community centre. The HOPE outreach program, trying to get homeless folks something to put on their C.V., has probably involved placing blokes at those boarding stables -- because blokes who don't do well with people might do just fine with horses, and because there's a lot of manual labour involved with running and maintaining a large stable; it's literally shitty work.

Also, it gets him off the hook where geoduck cookies are concerned, for at least a moment.

"I have something for you, Della," he announces to her, and rummages under the table. It's a small Tupperware box -- but what's in it turns out to be not food. In fact, it's half a lock. Much as if somebody used a metal saw on a lock, severing it neatly so that it can still be operated, and its mechanisms in plain view. "I had Gyre the locksmith make this for me. Ariadne practised on it -- you can too. The first step of lock picking is to understand how the mechanism works."

A glance around. "Not that I mean right now, of course. Right now we're making dick jokes." And if he's stepping out of range of Ava's plastic tools it's definitely coincidence and not because he suspects that a medical doctor and coroner would be able to make some quite apt precision work with a knife, enope.

"Sugar also seems like a bad idea," Della inserts, without evidently feeling the need to opine about size; she also reaches to pat Ava on the shoulder, suggesting, "How about we talk more about it later? The fruit, not the rest."

Because it's complicated; and, also, horses. "Hoquiam, Ocean Shores, check." Her gaze momentarily unfocuses; then, even as she's crossing to Ravn's table with quick, interested steps, "So westward, then. Good to know." That's an interested look, too, leaning to see better. "Look at that. Thank you. Though, ah, yes, wouldn't want to derail the topic at hand," is dry as can be, and doesn't stop her at all from reaching for the box in question.

Jules is not home. Most people who frequent this particular house on Oak Avenue probably know this.

This is about to change. Her old Camry pulls up, and when Jules gets out, it's with a surprised look for the noise that's emanating from yard to street. She gets her hiking pack out of the trunk and swings it over one shoulder, with more gear in her other hand, and then tramps around the side of the house to have a look. "Shit, no one told me there's a party."

Let it be known that Jules looks rather the worse for wear. She's got a yellowing black eye, for one. She's also wearing a black t-shirt that's too big for her, with lettering that may or may not be obscured given how she swings her pack to cover her chest. And then she's turning tail and heading back to the front to go inside on the people-free side, yelling behind her, "Be back in a few!"

"We've been eating my carrots perfectly happily," points out Una, glancing over her shoulder at her vegetable patch. Surely they're safe to eat, right? Surely she's not been feeding fae vegetables to her nearest and dearest?

The possible panic of this particular thought path is set aside, though, because Una-- observant, worried Una-- has heard the sound of Jules' Camry, and straightened, at the ready to launch herself at the returning woman.

She stops, though, and holds her ground. Maybe there's hesitance there. Maybe it's all kinds of things.

But: "Jules." Breathed, more than said. Such relief. Such relief.

"Bloody hell," Ravn murmurs, and looks after Jules, dick jokes forgotten. "Please tell me she didn't actually end up with a hungry bear."

After a glance back over her shoulder, Della gives Ravn a wide, genuine grin and pats the box. "This is going to be fun. Excuse me; I'm just going to go put this inside." Where it's safe, presumably, but also where she might catch up with Jules? Why not!

"Yes, we can talk about it later!" Ava assures with a nod. Anything else she might say doesn't seem important as Jules is finally arriving home. She doesn't know the woman well, but she does know how worried everyone was. So her expression is pleased to see her returning safely home. Less pleased to see injuries, but alive is a good thing!

"Welcome home. You're just in time."

"I gotta change!" is all the explanation Jules gives as she makes for the house, and from there up the stairs to her room. She's going to take her time, but she's not going to hide from everyone forever. Right? Right.

"I said," begins Una, her tone plaintive, but mostly in the sense of being worried.

There's relief, sure, that Jules largely seems to be in one piece, but also... Bears? Something else? Injuries? Fret, fret, fret.

Uncharacteristically (for him), Ravn reaches over and places three gloved fingertips on Una's arm. "Breathe. She looked like she'd had a rough run but she also came home under her own power. Let her get a shower and a chance to breathe, and I'm sure she'll tell you everything, all right? She walked and talked, if she needed an ambulance she'd have called one."

Ava watches as Jules walks by and the way the pack swings to cover her. Eyes narrow faintly and the Spirit stirs for a moment. "Mmm." It's a knowing sort of sound from the doctor before Ava offers a smile to the others. "I'm going to go steal the bathroom from her real quick before she goes in to take a shower though. I'll be right back."

Ava unhurriedly moves towards the house as if that's exactly what she's going to do. In reality, she gets to Jules' room and lightly knock.

Della had headed to that same destination, unsurprisingly enough: unhurriedly likewise when in view of everyone else, and quick-quick-quickly once she's past the back door with her sandals kicked off, box still in hand. Listening, for wherever her housemate might have gone to ground.

“What?” Jules yells from behind the closed door. She’s loud enough to alert Della to where she’s gone, even with her housemate downstairs. She opens the door a crack at first, then wider when she sees it’s Ava. She’s standing there in her sports bra and hiking pants, black t-shirt already off and flung into a corner like it’s just so much dirty laundry. In addition to the black eye, she’s got one upper arm well-bandaged.

“I don’t want you to heal me,” is the next thing out of her mouth, before Ava can say anything.

Everyone's going after Jules, and Una has Ravn's fingertips on her arm and-- she hesitates, then nods, squeezing her eyes closed in response. It takes her a few moments. "Right," she agrees. A sharp exhale. "And either Ava will help her, or Jules will throw her out, and... either way, she'll be fine. Yes? She was supposed to be back yesterday, but she took a detour, and--"

But she's here. She's back. And Una is not going to charge after Ava and Della to find out what's what. She's strong.

"I don't claim to know Jules well, but I am pretty damned sure that if you and I storm up there too, demanding to treat her like she can't take of herself, we're going to be eating every dick here at once, and hard enough to choke to death on them." Ravn nods at Una. "It's a pride issue. Jules doesn't need us to white knight her. Pretty sure she'll be more than happy to have you help her get cleaned up and talk things over in a bit, pamper her for a few days, once she's breathed out."

Ava leans against the doorframe with a smile and nods her head. "Fair enough. This was something important to you, healing it like that would probably take away from that, I gather? But I'm not just a healer. I'm also a doctor. Those wounds are well wrapped, and they aren't infected," how does she already know that? "but I'd still like you to see me in the morning so I can change the wraps and make sure everything is healing right and you don't need anything else, non-supernatural. Would that be alright by you?"

Della, caught up; Della, witness. Past Ava, she waves to Jules over the other woman's shoulder and doesn't say one word.

Jules visibly relaxes when Ava agrees. “Yeah, something like that.” She lifts her chin in a nod of recognition as Della joins them. “I’d actually really appreciate that. It’s hard to do this one-handed.” And with a hand ringed with bruises and puncture marks, at that. She got bit by something big.

"... point," agrees Una, with a sigh. "If she even wants to talk. If she hasn't talked it all out with someone already." Not naming names, of course, because she has discretion.

"I just... I'm glad she's back. Maybe I do need to eat a dick, just to keep my mouth busy. My hands. This week sucked." Except when it didn't, of course.

Ravn nods solemnly, and then picks up one of these generously shaped cookies and offers it to her. "You're right. Eat my dick."

"Luckily we live two houses apart from each other, so you just have to name the time that's best for me to stop by, and I can even come here with my kit and get you squared away. I can show Della and Una how to take care of the wounds, too, so you don't even need me popping in all the time if you'd rather have someone else you're more comfortable with," Ava offers.

Pushing off the door frame, she glances at Della. "Right Della?" There's a grin. "I'm going to hop back downstairs. I'll see you two when you come back down, yeah?"

No, Della's not silent any longer, not with the hissed-in breath for that hand, those marks.

Of course, "I don't know, Ava. That's quite a commute. Down the hallway, don't know if I can manage that." She trades grins, though, and waves the other woman goodbye.

Una accepts the pastry, and then begins to giggle. "Your dick? Got a healthy self-image, huh?" she says, wiggling the surprisingly robust treat in a way that is... no, not even remotely sexy. Nor is the way she bites off the end, leaving it to spurt cream.

"Tomorrow morning?" Jules suggests. "After I shower, so I can get it done up right? If that's okay and you're around." She nods when Ava starts heading for the stairs but doesn't yet retreat back into her room. Della's still there, looking at her. "I'm fine," she tells her. "Seriously."

"Not anymore," Ravn murmurs, watching that poor choux cookie's fate. "I'm trying to decide whether to laugh my ass off or wince so hard my face gets stuck."

"Welcome back," Della tells her, quite seriously.

She smiles; or, at least, her eyes do. She takes a step back, lets it be a cue to shut the door.

"Laugh," suggests Una, with cream... look, it's on her nose. She'll wipe it off in a minute, but for now... there are so many jokes that could be made, and these ones? Will not be made by Una. "It's always better to laugh."

At least it means she's not currently stressing about Jules.

Ava is heading out of the house with a smile on her face, spotting Una and Ravn. There's a pause as she spots Una and her phone is already in her hand. "Annnd, there we go." click "We have matching pictures now." Her cackle is just a little evil. "I got a call from the morgue while I was on my way back out, I have to head in for a couple of hours. Hopefully I'll be back before everything wraps up. Save me food! At least save me a dick of my very own."

There's a grin, fingers waggling as she starts to hurry back towards her house to get ready to go.

"Thanks," says Jules, in better humor with this one small word. She smiles at her housemate before, interpreting Della, she goes ahead and shuts the door to fully change.

Not longer after, she comes out the back door. She hasn't showered -- her hair's not wet -- but she is in clean clothes: a long-sleeved top with a 'Chitwins' logo emblazoned across the front, jeans, and flip-flops. Flip-flops are appropriate attire any time it isn't raining. "Hey guys." A pause. She heard what Ava said. "Save me a dick? Are we passing out those sparkly dicks as party favors?"

"Not quite. I'd offer you mine but Una just turned me remarkably Jewish." Ravn manages to keep a straight face, somehow. It helps that he's not the one with cream on the nose tip still.

The prodigal beats Della down, as it happens, though a quick text gets sent Una's way: Back later, putting some things away. <3

Una makes a face after Ava's photo, but it's probably only fair, and-- look. Fine. Though she murmurs, watching the doctor go, "That means someone died. Never a happy thought."

Still. It's worth being proud of her a few moments later, when Jules returns, and she does not throw herself at the brunette, cream-nose and all. Her shoulders tighten, and she looks up, wide-eyed and watchful and more than a little ridiculous, given the cream, but: she does not move. "Choux geoducks," she says, wiping cream away with her hand. "Not penises, whatever Ravn might think. Look at the size of it!" Even with its tip bitten off, the pastry she's holding is... impressively proportioned, if a dick is what it is meant to be.

"Hi Jules."

"I have literally no idea what that means. All I'm coming up with is circumcision," Jules tells Ravn. "But thanks for the offer. I think." And then Una is explaining, and Jules laughs outright. "Oh my God, I love it. Amazing. As soon as it's geoduck season, I plan to make you and Della go clamming with me. I one hundred percent want to chase her around the beach with a giant clam dick." She's grinning at Una, eyes warm, and she steps right up to try to lick the cream off her nose.

Ravn actually dusts a little pink; a shadow on those sharp cheekbones. "That's -- kind of what happened. Ariadne Scullins and Una and I went to look at the tide pools. And Scullins hauled out that -- thing. I mean, I've seen pictures. Seeing it live is something else. They're not letting me live it down, of course."

Una, surprisingly, doesn't flinch. If Jules wants to lick up the cream?

Maybe it's just that she's so incredibly glad that the other woman is home again. Maybe it's because she's already giggling. Maybe-- a hundred different things.

"It was hilarious. You absolutely need to chase Della with it," she confirms. "And then you need to teach me how to cook the things, because I'm hoping you know, and it can be a thing. The pastry ones are fine, but--" Clams. There are so many more sex jokes to make.

So Jules swipes the cream right off Una's nose with her tongue, then plants a peck of a kiss on her cheek. Jules knows how Una's worried, and this is her unspoken way of trying to set her at ease or making up for it.

"Amazing," she repeats as she steps away and prowls towards the table to get one of her own choux geoducks. "They're actually really good. A little sweet. Better than regular clams. Did you know you can eat them raw?" And with that, Jules takes an exaggeratedly large bite from her choux.

Ravn blinks slowly. "I will say this -- this is the least sexy conversation about dicks I've ever had." His blue-greys sparkle with amusement, though. "That said, I have to admit -- I'm not really a fan of clams either. At least not the literal kind that comes from the actual ocean -- oysters, clams, I've never quite managed to see the appeal. They smell and taste like things I scrape off my boat."

Beat. "Things which, incidentally, have the largest dicks proportionally to their size, and unlike these poor things, barnacle dicks are actually dicks."

Is this Una, letting the whole thing go? Probably not. It's Una letting the whole thing go for now, though, and maybe that's enough. Interrogations can wait. (She does grab a napkin, though, to wipe the rest of the cream away.)

"There's another type of clam that you do like?" is much too sweetly innocent for it to be anything but innuendo, though it's followed up, more seriously by, "I didn't know that you can eat them raw. Are they better raw, or cooked? Maybe I need to try both. And-- Ravn, yes, we know about barnacles, or I do anyway. I hope you felt bad, dislodging all those little dicks."

"This is delicious!" Jules pronounces through her mouthful of pastry and cream. Yes, she's deliberately trying to be gross. And then she's choking on it with laughter. Thanks, Una.

"I'm very particular about my clams, thank you." Ravn can certainly manage that straight-faced look right back. "And I will say, I do prefer them warm." At least he leaves it at that. (He also suspects that Una won't, look, by now he's starting to recognise a pattern).

Oh look, it's a slice of cucumber to nibble on. No one can make innuendos about sliced cucumber, surely. "I told each and everyone, no more rubbing yourself against my boat, you little pervert. Off you go, go flash the tide instead."

It's true: it turns out that once Una is comfortable with people, her (lack of) sexual preference does not preclude any number of jokes. Maybe it's the best that no one else has shown up yet.

It's probably something about bearded clams. Or-- well, something else. There are inevitably endless options.

Only: "Should I bring out the meat?"

Jules is not ladylike at all, not when she coughs up some of the pastry when it starts to go up her nose (she does cover her mouth with her hand and turn away, she's not totally gross). Further comments aren't helping her catch her breath and quit giggling, either. Once it's started, it's hard to stop, and now everything is covered in innuendo.

"I think I've had about as much meat as I can handle," she says once she's got herself under control.

"I could probably find room for a bit." Ravn has found an ounce of composure somewhere; maybe it was hiding under the sliced cucumbers. "Breast or rump, your pick. I'm sure you've got a good cut for me."

Jules' comment clearly suggests something to Una, but between that and what Ravn comes up with? She begins to giggle. Madly.

The fact that she's still holding on to half a geod-- dick. Come on. Let's be real. It's a dick. That's not helping either.

"God, I love you guys," Jules declares as she flumps down into a seat. She looks immensely pleased, sitting there while she finishes off what's left of her pastry. "Also, Una, this is fucking delicious. Please make these again. Would you make these for my birthday? I'll take this over the stripper cake. Can we have our own Geoduck Dick Pastry Day? Holiday for Oak Street."

"I second this motion though modelling for it should be optional unless you are in fact a geoduck." Ravn nods solemnly; just forestalling the next obvious here. "We could put someone on a chair next to the plate, keep track of who actually eats them. Because I'm pretty damned sure that I won't be the only bloke telling himself it's just a fucking pastry and still not managing to pick one up."

Una's still giggling, but she manages to look at Ravn as she does so... not that it lingers, given, nope, still laughing.

"Men, so sensitive when it comes to their junk," she says, when she can finally speak again. Deep breaths: one and two and one and two and okay yes this is possible. "Any time," she adds, grinning at Jules. "You missed," and look, she doesn't even flinch as she says that, "all the experimental ones, before these ones came out okay. I suppose I shouldn't put them on Ariadne's birthday cake for her coworkers, right?"

"Uh, excuse me, did I just hear somebody say they were putting geoduck dicks on my birthday cake?"

Ariadne's timing is impeccable, woe betide -- but at least she has a small crockpot of what appears to be goulash held. Sporting a sweetly-fitted plum-purple sundress and cork-wedge heels, her hair done up in a messy-bun, she makes her way over to the food table with an arch smirk on her lips.

"I give you permission to do this, Una," she then adds, appearing...not innocent at all. A wink for Ravn, poor sucker. "And Jules, hello and good to see you." A grin for the woman over the barista's shoulder while she fusses with figuring out the fine details of the crockpot.

"I mean, who doesn't love a good dick cake?" Jules leans over towards the table behind her to grab a napkin so she can wipe her hands. These pastries are messy. "Is she coming over? We should at least save one for her. Who else was invited? And actually, yes, if you're grilling meat, I would have a sausage." Look at her, maintaining her straight face.

And then look! "Speak of the devil," Jules says, smile brightening her face as Ariadne appears. "Hey, good to see you too! What'd you make?"

"I kind of want to see those," Ravn murmurs. It's a sight prone to be equal parts gruesome and hilarious.

Then Ariadne's voice rings out from behind him and he quietly turns an interesting shade of crimson. Stiff upper lip, though. "Oh, I can definitely find room for a good Frankenfurter."

Una, caught out! It just means she begins to laugh again, cheeks pink less with embarrassment and more with an inability to catch her breath for more than a few seconds straight. "Look, if permission has been granted... do you want a choux dick, Ariadne? They came," out, but it's funnier if she doesn't say it, and so she doesn't, "rather well, I think." Look at them: enormous choux dicks, full of cream! What's not to like.

"Sausages it is. And-- is that your goulash? Please tell me it is."

"I have a shirt which says that, actually: speak of the devil." Ariadne grins again, thinking back to the conversation she and Una had in the bookstore.

Ravn is given a moment to deal with the sudden influx of blood to his face. If she titters, it's quietly to herself. "And it's goulash a la Scullin family recipe. My mother's recipe," she confirms for the gathering of barbeque attendees as she gives up on finding a way to plug the thing in. Oh well. People can microwave bowls of it or something if they want. Her attention slides to the plate of choux cookies and she simply nods, turning to Una.

"I am inordinately pleased with this, I need you to know," she informs the local Kitchen Cleric before, frankly, giggling like a lunatic behind the fingertips of her hands. Have a geoduck cookie? Why, twist her arm, she'll grab one in a moment, still tittering, help.

"I kind of want one of those now," Jules decides. She even pulls out her phone and starts plugging in 'speak of the devil t-shirt' into a search engine. While she starts browsing, she wants to know, "What's goulash? Is it like a stew? Sorry -- this is probably a dumb question, isn't it. Growing up, the most exotic thing I think I ever ate was Thai food." And suffice to say, there aren't exactly a lot of immigrants onto a native reservation, so her knowledge of other cuisines, and their words, is extremely limited.

Watch the resident lecturer at least not start explaining goulash in front of the actually Hungarian person present. Ravn reaches for a couple of slices of cucumber more and waits for his cheeks to regain their normal colour. Bloody hell, it's not like Ariadne didn't start this whole dick joke affair.

He also makes a mental note to be at Espresso Yourself when that cake drops. Della the Day Manager will probably never forgive him for laughing out loud and offering her a dick but, worth it. Worth it even if he gets served nothing but stale orange juice from then on.

"Can warmly recommend the goulash," the Dane says instead. "And for what it's worth? I didn't have Thai food until I moved out from home. French and Italian, acceptable. Strange brown people stuff, not acceptable in the maternal household."

"Ariadne, t-shirt queen," murmurs Una. None of those present have likely yet seen her wear her t-shirt (though Della probably has; it probably got plenty of wear this week, as she baked her way through stress), but it exists, courtesy of Ariadne. "Goulash is delicious," she tells Jules, which isn't much help with describing it, but-- she, like Ravn, will leave that to Ariadne.

"And you're most welcome. I aim to please! Something something, my dicks bring pleasure, something something, sorry, I haven't even had a drink yet and I've completely lost it. Dicks for days."

"Nah, not a dumb question at all." Ravn gets a fond smile for his laud; it's still a little bit cheeky, but that simply can't be helped. "It's a stew where you throw in meat, noodles, potatoes, stock, and spices. Paprika is a must. This one is beef and potatoes with some mixed veggies I dug out of the freezer. Again, paprika, the secret," she stage-whispers to Jules with a solemn nod and flash of a grin.

She can't help but blurt more laughter again after Una's commentary. "Okay, well, I kind of want to see what happens when a drink happens then," she teases her fellow redhead. "For science, of course." That being said, the redhead with the celestially-dyed underpanel meanders her way over to Ravn's general vicinity and then makes one-handed, finger-pinching gestures towards his cucumber slices.

Peep peep, share a slice?

"Sounds delicious," Jules says appreciatively in response to Ariadne's explanation. Click, shirt ordered. She's going to join the devil club. "Can't wait to try it." She gets up again, unable to sit still for long, to go peer at the crockpot and sniff. Then, "Una, if you're grilling, let me help you." She snags a glass and pours herself water from the pitcher that's outside. Not the kind of drink Una has in mind, but that's what Jules goes for first.

"Something about all the boys to the yard," Ravn mumbles and tries to not choke on a cucumber slice because it's kind of hard to laugh and chew at the same time. It doesn't help that Ariadne is making eyes at his cucumber slices -- though that at least a problem that can be solved. He's happy enough to hand her one, two, five, eight, as many as she wants. "I have a nice red wine," he offers to Una. "Nothing fancy -- I thought I'd keep it to a simple table red that goes with most things. No way to know what it will end up going with, after all."

And if he's standing a little closer to Ariadne than he absolutely has to, that's surely coincidental.

"The question is... do I actually need alcohol, or am I already high enough on--?" Life? Sugar? Relief? There are so many options, and Una can't seem to decide between them. "Science aside. That may be reason enough, who knows."

She turns, half consider the spread, and then seems to make a decision. "Grilling, yes. Let me go and fetch the meat, and then you can help me. We'll have food enough for an army, but that's the point, right?" She wiggles her fingers, then darts off towards the house.

Maybe it really is relief, all that tension from the past week disappearing. High on life!

One (1) cucumber slice thus snagged, the barista enjoys it as much as the general coincidental closeness of the man next to her. There's a sweet relaxation about her expression as she smiles and then laughs. "Sugar's definitely an option," she notes as she watches their hostess -- one of the hostesses? -- disappear off into the kitchen.

"I'll go help her out, I'm sure we're expecting more than us," Ariadne then tells both Ravn and Jules. "Gimme a few, I'll go help with the meat." Shameless eyebrow waggle. Dear god, and she isn't drinking yet either. A hand lifts into obvious view and brushes knuckles against Ravn's arm. An accompanying, more subtle brush of hip against him and with a (deliberate) swirl of sundress-skirt, she's off to see about assisting with fetching the grilling meats. And powdering her nose. Sure to return at some point or another.

"I mean, if you want to get high, I can provide," Jules says. "Just putting it out there." But off Una goes, at least for now, fleeing said offer. Jules stays put, especially since Ariadne takes off to help carry it all, and waits for their return. Does she see how Ariadne acts around Ravn, those brushes of physical contact? Maybe. But she's not saying anything. There's just a little smile playing at her lips, and that could be for anything.

Ravn glances after the two women as they walk off. Then he smiles lightly and looks at Jules. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're back. If you want to tell me about it sometime, I'm all ears. Also not going to push because I do realise it may have been a very personal experience."

Jules drops into her chair again while she waits for the others to return and for the grilling to commence. "Thanks," she says, tilting her head up to look at Ravn. "It was. It was good. It'll be a lot to process, I think. But I think it's supposed to be that way."

The folklorist smiles, a little lopsidedly. "I can only imagine. And I do want to hear anything you want to share, you know that."

He glances towards the barbecue. "How about you get that started, and I go get the wine and some glasses? And then today we talk about dicks and bad jokes, and save the heavy stuff for later. You get some time to process and we don't ruin Una's chance to troll us all hardcore."

And off with a smile he is, because if Una's fun like this, imagine what she's like after half a bottle of Californian red.

To concatenate two quotes, open the gates of hell and let loose the dogs of war.

The garage door of 6 Oak street, just diagonally across from 3, suddenly begins to retreat up, into the building slowly and after a short second reveals a series of feet and legs. Which is enough for some. Two sets of tiny shodden feet advance and then duck under the rolling back garage door, one in advance of the other. First to appear is Morganna, her dark brunette hair tied into ponytails on either side of her head while her bright blue eyes look around with alertness and excitement. On her heels follows a ginger boy, his hair bright red with his father's green eyes. While Morganna looks out, Quinten looks down, finding a tuff of grass he wants to explore with fingers that were just in how mouth.

As much freedom as they have, they don't wander far from the garage, perhaps waiting or having been just told to wait, for the last pair of feet. Rather than ducking, Everett waits for the doors to retreat. The reason soon evident as his hands are not only laden with cargo but there is a fourth Woods strapped to his chest in a baby sling. When the garage door ceases, Everett moves forward, pulling three different coolers with him, one laying on top of another of industrial dimensions. Once cleared of the garage, Everett stops, pulls the garage opener clipped to his jeans, and points it over his shoulder while looking towards 3 Oak. As soon as the garage starts to lower, Everett returns the clicker to his pocket, a dalmatian dog darts from underneath wagging her tail so hard, her rear wiggles as well. Her approach takes her right to Everett to look up at him and wiggle more and once Everett spies the dog, he points back into the garage.
His verbal commands get louder, the dog, like the other women in his life, completely ignoring his wishes. Defeat causes his shoulders to sag when the garage door closes shut then he throws his arms up in the air. To the children Everett says something, then jerks his head, one watching the dog, the other offering grass to the dog who snorts it, then licks the boy's face twice. The kids hold hands while Everett bends down to pick up the cooler's handles and he resumes the march down to the street, passing his restored Grand Prix. They pause at the street and look both ways before Everett continues pulling his cargo, some manually and some verbally, across the road and up the driveway of the other home while the kids run ahead, Quinten forced to as Morganna runs on ahead, without letting their hands go. Morganna has people to meet! The dog has things to sniff!

Ava is heading back out of her house, looking super annoyed. "Alright, looks like I was getting ready for nothing, because they cancelled the call. I don't actually have to go in. You guys better have saved one of those dick--" Oh god, children!

That word squeaks to a halt out of her throat when she spots Everett and the kids. "Hi guys! Hi Morganna!" She's not sure if their couple of meetings is enough for it yet, but Ava takes a chance and opens her arms in invitations of a hug for her favorite dinosaur creator. "How's one of my favorite little peanuts in the whole world? Have you come to party, there's so much food!"

Oh, phew, Ava is a child person. That means Ravn doesn't have to be. He doesn't dislike children -- it's more that he doesn't speak the language. Children have strange needs and wants, and he's still not entirely convinced they're the same species.

The Dane is returning outside with several bottles of an excellent Californian red and a bouquet of plexiglass wine glasses -- it's not fancy, sure, but no one needs to lose sleep over dropping one, either. Proper glass belongs on tables, inside. "Hello, Woods. Hello, little Woodses. Don't worry, I think Irving has enough dick for the entire town."

Seriously, how many choux geoduck cookies did the woman make?

Pulling over 425 quarts of cooler storage across even the short distance, Everett takes it slow. Not, so much, because the ice is heavy, but because of the precarious nature of going fast and tipping over. Such that it is that the other Woodsies have run ahead, leaving Everett abandoned save the one Woods that isn't mobile yet, still strapped to his chest.

Momo sees adults she doesn't know and all but drags Que to follow since they have to hold hands, but the invitation for comforting hugs is far too much a temptation for the 21-month-old to not want with burning desire. As much of an extrovert that Morganna is, Quinten is not. Shy and timid, if it would make a difference he would dig his heels in. The baby boy starts tugging in the other direction and starts to make upset noises. Something has to give and it's their hands.
Released a few steps to the lawn, Morganna goes rocketing, in so far as she's practiced in running. Like a forwards wobble with stretches of practiced running before she forgets to do with her hands and they rise to either side of her head. All the way to the hug, where she corrects, "I a girl!" not a peanut.

Once he's free, Que returns to Everett, grabbing his jeans leg while partially hiding from all the other weird tall people, his other hand returning to his mouth to see how much of it he can suckle on at once for comfort. Cinderella abandons Everett too, the dalmatian slender dog begins searching people's feet. For scents and dropped food.

With a grunt, Everett pulls his load over the gutter rather than up the driveway, and further in before he points at the large 288-quart cooler, "I brought ice cream and desserts, fried food," he points at the other cooler, and to the last, "drinks." Picking up Quinten Everett shouts to the dog who completely ignores him, "Hey. HEY!" Under his breath, Everett mutters darkly, "Stupid dog." He heads to the smaller cooler and opens it. From inside Everett withdraws a bottle of beer with a blue label and balancing his boy on his forearm twists open the beer while the baby boy puts his father in a choke hold.

"You're house; your rules, but uh. Exnay on the ickday alktay, ok?" Everett asks before flicking the beer bottle cap into the cooler it came from.

Ava laughs and scoops up Morganna, giving her a little spin. "You are a girl. My mistake. I must be getting my peanuts and people mixed up again. I think I might have given a Band-Aid to my jar of peanut butter at home! Oh no!" She giggles and makes a funny face, making small talk with her favorite of the Woodses. So sue her, she's biased.

She'll let her back down when she's ready and let herself be guided around the party as the almost two year old likes, to help her get as comfortable as she needs with the crowd of mostly grown ups around.

"Geoducks it is," Ravn agrees with a chuckle that's a tad sheepish in nature. See? Doesn't speak the language of smol humans. "She baked them to resemble the shellfish."

He puts the glasses and bottles down before reaching for the corkscrew to open one. "I've got orange juice and soda for the little ones, beer and wine for the not so little ones. Anyhow, how's life across the street? Holt said you blokes have a faerie circle as well?"

It's right there on the lawn. A circle, a metre or two wide, of mushrooms, two kinds, perfect and undisturbed. The grass inside is never mowed and yet it never grows tall.

With a nod of his Everett murmurs after a taste from his drink, "Yeah, I see that. I was going to mow ours, but you know Kailey." His children are present, so he doesn't add biblically, but that doesn't stop him from smirking the smirk that thought gives him. Instead, his attention turns to the boy in his arms. They exchange looks, one nervous and the other smug until father leans in and makes nom-nom-nom noises as he suddenly pushes his head into the boy's neck and steals little nibbles.

Quinten's giggles join Morganna's while she's spun, the pushes a palm against Ava's cheek. And letting Morganna down only leads her to ask for more opening her arms, "Up. Me ups!" Now that Morganna's found a new thrill, Ava's either going to be doing it for the next rest of her life or let the child down, in more ways than one.

Untucking his head from Que's neck, Everett's unaware Que starts spying into Everett's ear with his long hair parted on either side of it, still suckling on his fingers. Cinderella gives up looking to pick up food from the grass and comes back to look up at Everett and wag. "She wouldn't let me do anything like that to something nice." He frowns lightly before adding, "I thought it might be something related to my, ... doesn't matter," his neutral, brooding expression returns, "I'm glad it happened to someone else too."

Well, who can resist an invitation like that? Ava scoops Morganna back up with her own laugh and hefts up her weight. "Alright then! Better get all the spins out of the way before you eat! Because after could be pure disaster!" Ava doesn't just purely spin this time though, she's making a dance out of it. A shimmy here and there, then a scoop and a couple of spins. Weeeeee. She's making her way over towards the others so that there can be adult conversation involvement even while she entertains the kiddo.

"I'm still not entirely comfortable with the idea," Ravn admits and glances towards Ava the human pony giving rides. "She and Irving, though -- they've come to some kind of arrangement where Irving supplies piles of baked goods to the faerie, and Brennon directs the show, and well, here we go, it's summer everywhere. Irving is a good baker, so maybe they really just are after treats. Have you considered plopping a few cannisters of ice cream into yours, to see what happens?"

Faerie in Celtic tradition are a little bit obsessed about bovine lactate, after all. Might be they also like it frozen.

"I bet the fae would love ice cream too," puts in Una, winding her way back from her kitchen with a tray of meat-- sausages and hamburgers, nothing fancy-- in hand. Somewhere along the way she's lost Ariadne, but no doubt the other redhead will show up again (Una probably hasn't sacrificed her to the faerie ring; that would be rude, and wholly unnecessary when the fae are perfectly happy with cookies). "Oh, hello small people!" And Everett, too, who gets a bright smile.

Everett casts a glance in the direction of overjoyed girlish screams that emit from his eldest. His eyes widen before he suddenly freezes. "Gah," Everett urks as Quinten prods his Father's ear with a wet finger. "No, nope," Everett follows after both eyes open, then Quinten finds himself settled back down to the ground even though the boy isn't all that upset by it, sitting down to examine his fingers. The boy's attention is quickly taken by the dog, giving his face a thorough sniffing over.

While Everett uses his pinkie to rattle inside his ear with his left eye closed, he murmurs, "Almost dropped mah beer." A glance to Momo when Everett re-scrambles his brains, and he asks her, "Are you having fun?" Morganna continues screaming in delight in reply. "Ugh," Everett adds, rubbing his ear against an upraised shoulder, "I hate it when they do that. Anyways, uh. No. I think we've left ours alone. Kailey's orders. Dunno who Irving or Brennon is, but I was more concerned it was, like, a certain person on the other side that's rather, uh." Everett's eyes look up for a second, "happy to see me when I'm on the other side. And I thought she might be trying to find a way through to this side," He turns and points to the ring with his beer.

Cinderella picks herself up from sitting, and heads towards the smell holder she must have been smelling. And the longer she's near Una, the more certain she is that there's delicious on that tray. Excited, for the first time the dog barks, but there's something odd by the way she does it, "Ooaf! Ooaf!" Once more checking his ear, then looking at his pinkie, Everett rubs it off on his jean's thigh. "But we don't usually keep ice cream in our house. But I brought enough of it. If you want to paint your lawn in sugar and cream, dude. It is your lawn. Dog! Shut it!" Cinder totally ignores Everett, instead resorting to try getting underfoot.

Ava doesn't seem to mind the delighted screaming at all. That means that there is happiness in the air, and that is far far better than the alternative that she has had far too much of. Ava is laughing along with the happy screams, getting closer to the group. She zooooms up and then come to a quick stop and a dip, bracing Morganna and then giving her another spin once they've stopped in place.

Cheeks red, Ava looks happy as a clam. "Hey guys! What are we talking about? I thought I heard someone mention me for a moment over there. What'd I blow up this time?"

"Ava Brennon, Una Irving," Ravn supplies and then gives Everett a searching look. Something in the man's tone and choice of words rings horribly familiar. It's the happy to see me that sends shivers down his spine, and not in the fun way. A little more quietly he murmurs, "I think I know what you mean. I've got something -- similar."

Then he lights up in a smile at Ava. "Your faerie circle bargain. Woods has one like it in their yard."

"Hey now, hey," Una says to the poor dog, sympathetic but not (yet) inclined to give up any of her bounty. "Maybe in a bit, okay? Oh, Ava, you made it back!" Experienced and dodging dugs underfoot she is not, but she manages not to trip on her way to the table, either; we'll call that a win. "You guys have a faerie circle too?"

She hesitates, still holding on to the tray though she could easily, now, set it down; brown eyes study Everett thoughtfully. "I wonder if that makes the whole nightmares thing more or less complicated," she murmurs.

Uplifting his head, Everett's lips form an O for a quick second. Ravn was doing that thing he does, sometimes using people's last names. Morganna slows her laughing from hyperventilating to just uproarious, and this cooling down has the little girl grabbing Ava to yell, "More! More!" then begin to rock in Ava's grip as though this is enough to urge the head dizzies to return. Quinten, finding a clover quietly looks at all four petals before the clover is put in his mouth and chewed to a light pulp and then pushed to the corner of his lips where it is quietly spits out.

"You didn't blow up anything," "MORE" "that I know of." Everett reaches out and touches the cold beer bottle to the back of Momo's neck. That certainly gets her attention, where Dad speaks evenly, "Momo, you have to settle down. I need to calm, ok?" While Morganna settles some, though still rocks in Ava's arms because it wouldn't be Momo's fault if Ava started up again, Everett offers, "She can get excited and when she does. Well, I think you already know what happens."

To the dog dodger, Everett nods once. "So what is that," he points at himself, "6," points at Ravn, "3," then offers a point of his sausage thick finger to Ava and Una.

"Ooohoo. I love how it's suddenly my bargain when I was the last one to come to the neighborhood, after they were already here and helping the yards," Ava reminds, still laughing. "I just made the yards fancier!" Sure. Let's go with that. There's a sparkle in her eyes, and she joins in Morganna's rocking, but it's a slower thing. Far more subdued than anything. "Gotcha. I'll keep things calmer. And be sure to pull out the dampener effect if things start to appear."

As she's gestured to, she grins. "1." Her house number. "Wait, nightmares thing? Is there a new dream thing I don't know about?"

"They're horses. Escaped from the faerie rings. Nightmares, literal pun. And they're right assholes, I should add." Ravn nods with a shudder; he's not forgotten his encounter with them (and repairs to Gray Pond Bridge are almost complete). "As I understand it, this faerie ring at least is here so that we have a place to chase them back to, if we get the chance."

He glances at Morganna, and then nods. Yes. He remembers dinosaurs manifesting in the library. Gifted kids, all the more reason to be wary of smol humans.

"I'm at 5, but as far as I know," and she should, "we don't actually have our own faerie ring-- we're just supporting with Ravn's." Una wrinkles her nose anyway, and especially as Ravn explains about the nightmares; her shudder is just as deep.

"Hopefully more faerie rings means more places to chase them to, yes? And not-- not anything worse."

"I'm sorry, there are Nightmares loose? There's an s on the end of it? As in multiple?" Ava doesn't curse. There's a child in her arms. There are distractions from curses as Morganna gets raspberries to the cheek instead. That is until one of the other not-peanuts has an accident which means that all of the kiddos have to be collected, plus the dog, and Everett has to guide the whole train of them back home. "More spins later," she promises conspiratorially to her favorite of the bunch with a nose scrunch before she goes, waving them all off.

"They can be returned through a normal Door, too, right? Or no? If we go hunting them, we should have a Door opening buddy with us at all times?"

Itzhak arrives, rolling up with his funny half-swaggering stride that's half strut and half saunter. He has his violin case, because the party don't start till he walks in, and a keg. He is wearing a vividly rainbow tank top, rather tight jeans, and black Converse with rainbow laces and rainbow soles.

"Ginger beer," he announces of the keg, and sets it light as a feather on a table, zero effort. It's a little weird to watch, he doesn't have to wrestle with it in the least. Then he's lowering his mirrored aviator shades to get a second look at those cookies. Yes you know which ones.

"There are. Seen them once. Once was enough." Ravn shudders. "But yes, I'm going to assume that they can be shoved through a Door. If you can do anything at all."

He's relieved to see Rosencrantz marching up; maybe because he doesn't really want to remember the nightmares and the existential dread they invoked, and definitely not discuss them in front of Morganna. His lip twitches. "Geoducks. Local variety of mussel. Curious shape, don't you think?"

"Or harnessed with the hair of a virgin," adds Una, who finally sets down her tray of meat, just in time for Itzhak, and-- look, there's a return of that so-bright, so-innocent smile. "Do you want to eat a geoduck, Itzhak? They're cream-filled."

She, too, seems happy for the distraction: nightmares are something best banished on a beautiful day like this one.

"I thought that was just unicorns? The more you know." Everyone is glancing back towards cookies and the table, and Ava glances back. Itzhak has arrived with a massive keg. Did her face just brighten? No, it was just the lighting, obviously. "The kids are gone, I think we can go back to calling them dicks." She reaches for one with a grin to Una. "Thanks for saving me one."

There's a glance to the violin case, then to Itz. "You going to play for us? I don't think I've heard you play yet."

"Hell yeah I do," Itzhak says, beelining right for the 'geoducks'. How can anyone think of nightmares with six feet and change of rainbow-bedecked tough guy heading for a tray of cookie phalli. "And hell yeah I am! The fairies love a good fiddle, this old Irish babushka used to tell me that all the time."

He picks one up, eyebrows attempting low orbit. "So this is uhhhh accurate."

"Cucumber slices for me," Ravn agrees because accurate covers it. "And please, play for us. I keep telling people to go see you at Sitka, don't make me a liar." He's obviously amused -- and also at himself, the straight boy who has yet to manage to convince himself to try one of those damn cookies. Male fragility, it's no less hilarious just because you're the male in question.

Una sticks her tongue out at Ava, insisting-- not quite straight-faced-- "But they're geoducks, I swear. It's not like this is a bachelorette party. My kitchen is clean, I'll have you know!"

Lies. Such lies. Particularly when she adds, for Itzhak, "In the wild, they can get even bigger, just so you know, but they're otherwise mostly accurate. Please do play."

His eyebrows attempt low orbit while one of Ava's arches high. Accurate? "Prove it." she challenges with a coy smile. Ava, no.

Una gets a grin as her tongue sticks out, the cookie getting waggled in her direction. "The kitchen may be clean, but the baker is dirty!" One of the cookies gets nudged towards Ravn. Peer pressure.

"I dunno, it looks like someone's getting married as far as I'm concerned." Itzhak then lifts the cookie aloft, pointy end downward, tilts his head back with a nonchalant demonstration of pure skill and lowers that geoschmuck right in. It's like he's done this before.

A lot.

So this is what a Dane looks like when he's about to die from laughter but somehow manages to contain it rather than curl up howling. "Not it," he murmurs, trying very hard to keep a straight face (both meanings). "I don't know about that, I saw Irving wolf down one of those things earlier and I have to say, I winced in sympathy."

Una... doesn't fare as well as Ravn. The giggles blurt out-- and they just don't stop. She howls, red-faced probably due to lack of oxygen, but it's not impossible this is embarrassment, as well, because: Una. It's one thing to joke about pastry dicks; it's another to watch someone deep-throat one.

Ava tilts her head to watch in fascination, a big grin on her face. Her own laughter is far more subdued as she nibbles on her own cookie. "Breath Una! You started this whole thing! You had to know it was coming!" Still, it's a hell of a show!

Itzhak devours the thing in two bites, speaking of wincing in sympathy. He swallows, wipes cream away from a corner of his mouth, and says as thoughtful as a sommelier, "Reminds me of a firefighter I used to go with."

"Because he was sweet and full of cream, or because he was over in two bites?" Ravn can't help himself. He tries so hard to keep up that polite facade, and sometimes, the alley cat sticks its torn-ear head out anyway.

Surely Una foresaw this. Surely it's not a surprise. That doesn't mean the reality of it hasn't absolutely broken her poor little brain. Thankfully, she eventually does manage to catch her breath, though there's still a wheezing quality to her breath as she grins, beatific. "It's fine, it's fine, I'm fine, holy shit," she says, managing not to break into more laughter for Ravn's reply.

"Oh good lord. Okay. Okay, I'm good. Good."

Ava nearly chokes on her bite of cookie at the firefighter cookie. She manages to choke it down with a sip from a glass nearby. It wasn't her glass. Sorry whoever's drink that was, but she needs it more than you! Of course, then she's almost choking on that because of Ravn. Damnit! "I can't do anything around you people!"

"Honestly Ravn. You haven't sucked enough dicks. Clearly it can be both. But only if you're really good."

"A lady never tells," Itzhak shoots back at Ravn, grinning like an egg-sucking dog. "These are amazing, Una, I been hearing about your cookies and they live up to the hype."

So of course he's going to eat another one. Wait, first he's got to dissolve in knowing snickers at Ava.

"I haven't sucked anything of that general shape that had not spent time on a barbecue first," Ravn admits and tries very hard to look unruffled; there are sparkles of amusement in those grey eyes all the same. "Never too late, I know. Still pretty sure I'm not inclined that way, though. Oh hell."

That last bit is probably not directed at this conversation. The Dane fishes out his pink phone casing (and the phone in it) and attempts to look secure in his cishet identity while reading the text. "I'm going to have to go call a lawyer in Denmark. It may take a few. If Rosencrantz eats all the dicks, tell him to stop hogging them and save some for Leontes."

And off he is.

Ravn's so-quick departure draws a frown from Una, brown eyes watching after him, but her brows unknit themselves as she glances back at assembled company.

"I'm delighted," giggle, giggle, yes, okay, there are more giggles, "to have lived up to the hype. I'm beginning to wonder if I have a future in baking for special events." Her grin is so broad; so pleased. Her hours of experimentation have all been made worthwhile, thank you very much.

Beat. "Geoduck baking. For marine biology events." Mmhmm.

"A lady never tells in public," Ava offers in addendum with a wink in Itzhak's direction. "But over drinks, nothing is sacred." Ravn is watched as he goes, a little salute given. "I'll make sure Itz doesn't hog all the dicks, promise."

"You could always open your own little kitchen bakery, Una. You've been wondering what kind of side projects you might enjoy. Outside of the clinic, which I'm sure is super thrilling for you." Obviously she doesn't actually think it is.

"The clinic is plenty thrilling," insists Una. 'Thrilling' may not be the right word. Orderly and structured and generally not involving the wider public with their whims and wants? Absolutely nothing to complain about. "I expect actually baking for money would diminish some of the joy, but maybe as a side-side project, and more for friends of friends-- I don't know. Life's pretty full as it is, for now."

Gray Harbor's Weird is almost a part-time job in and of itself.

"Is... Jules okay?"

No more time for dick jokes or dick cookies as Itz fades into the background to wander off as Itz's do. Ava's eyes follow him for a moment before she tears them away to glance back to Una. "That's true. Doing what you love for money tends to take some of the joy out of it. I can see what you mean. Forget I said that!"

Her eyes dot to 5 Oak at the mention of Jules, then back to Una, giving her a nod. "She's fine. A little roughed up, but fine. No infection, the wounds were well taken care of. I'll be back in the morning to take another look at them and make sure they stay fine. She didn't want healing, though. So I'm going to respect that."

"If I didn't live here, I bet the geoduck choux would go viral, though," says Una, with a laugh. "I was so surprised no one had attempted it."

Much more serious, naturally, is her expression as she acknowledges Ava's summary of Jules' condition. Her brows have knit for it, but her nod is even enough. "Okay," she says. "She's home, and she's mostly fine, and I need to just let it go and respect that. I... think she delayed coming home so she could avoid me, and I'm trying to be good about just letting it go. She's fine. It's okay."

"I think she'll probably be more relaxed around you and willing to ask for help, if you aren't visibly fretting for her. I don't know Jules that well, but from the way she relaxed when I agreed not to heal her, that's the impression that I got. She's completely healthy outside of external wounds." Ava offers a brief smile. I can show you how to dress the wounds and what not, too. So you can take care of her, if you'd like. Being able to see the healing every day will help put your mind at ease. Besides, there's now way Jules will be able to do all the bandaging herself."

Una's nod is a reluctant one, but resigned, too: she's not unaware that Ava speaks truth, and that it really will make all the difference. "Probably," she agrees. "And-- I'd like that. Mind you, she may prefer Della to do it, if she's worried I'll fret and fuss, but... I'll try. I'm glad she's back."

"Well, you're both going to learn so that you can take turns. It's the best way to handle it. I'm also just two houses down, just in case neither of you are available." Ava reaches out to take Una's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "She's back, she's safe. You can take a long breath of relief and let that part of the stress go."

The squeeze draws Una's gaze back up, and she smiles. It's amazing how quickly she's gone from endless giggles and stupid jokes to this-- adrenaline really is a stupid drug. At least she is smiling, though, and it's genuine enough, along with the sharp nod that acknowledges what Ava has to say. "Right," she agrees. "I can. It's done, and presumably she's not going to do that again, so I can stop worrying about it. No one's going anywhere; everyone's fine. I made pastry dicks, and they made people happy."

"Exactly! No one is going anywhere. She's home, people are having a great time. Everyone loves your dicks. Right now everything is good. We don't get enough days like this, so let's enjoy the hell out of it while we can!"

Una's smile abruptly broadens into a grin. Everyone does love her dicks, and while that's a statement she never, ever imagined she'd be agreeing with-- it's the truth. It works.

"I need a drink," she decides. "Ravn fetched wine, didn't he? I'm not usually a wine drinker, but-- let's go for it. And then I can get the barbecuing going as well, because nothing compliments pastry dicks like sausage, right?"

"He did fetch wine and some glasses. The plastic ones." Ava eyes the plastic glasses like something bit her. Disdain. But, not her lawn! So she will use the plastic. To drink wine from. "Dick cookies and sausage. Now it sounds like a party," she laughs. "You get the sausage, I'll get the drinks. Do you want red or white?"

"Look, no one ever said I didn't know how to co-host an adult party that is equally perfectly innocent for children," jokes Una, with a renewed gleam in her eyes. "The pies are perfectly innocent, I swear, and everything else too. It's just--" It's just.

"Um, red, I think? Red goes with sausage. Sparkling wine probably goes with pastry, but we'll ignore that for now. You get that, I'll get these sausages going-- deal. Don't make too many faces over the plastic. You can cope, just this once. Think about all the washing up that won't need to be done!" At least the barbecue is already ready to go, and just requires a little warming up, and the application of some nice, perfectly normal sausages.

"And no one ever will say it. Certainly not around me, that's for certain." Ava chuckles. A bottle of red and a bottle of white are grabbed. "Yes yes," is scoffed at the mention of dealing with the plastic. "I can cope. It's just-- it will taste plasticy. Like a cup." Snob! The same way Ravn is particular about certain things when it comes to his whiskey, she is particular when it comes to her wine. She didn't used to drink that much. These days, it's been helping to have a glass at night before bed.

One red and one white are poured out, the red offered to Una once she has a hand free. Cheers is offered. "To a great day."

"Like drinking takeaway coffee out of a paper cup," allows Una, with an exaggerated wrinkle of her nose. She sets down the barbecue tongs so that she can accept the wine, lifting it in answer to that cheers. "To a great day," she agrees. "With great friends. I lucked out, my grandmother living in this street, in this house. I couldn't have picked a better place to live if I'd tried, you know?"

Her gaze sweeps the vicinity. They're not the only people about, of course: half the neighbourhood has shown up, to mingle and eat and waggle pastry dicks at each other. For Una, it's undeniably satisfying: such a warm, happy smile she's wearing now. "I think cocktail night at the Pourhouse was deemed a failure, by the way. Or-- rather, maybe if they do it again they'll be a little less experimental."

"Yes! You can taste the paper. It's so gross. Thank you." That's exactly what Ava means. But the cheers is elaborated on, and she can't help but smile and gaze around. "It really is a great place. I honestly would have just gotten some apartment in town if I hadn't met you guys when I did. This was such a better choice. I'm so thankful for it."

The mention of the Pourhouse's drinks has her sipping the wine a little more to try to get the taste memory out of her mouth. "Less experimental is good," she says in a half--gag.

"Boring, sterile, normal apartment," Una says, laughing, and making a face at the same time. "As opposed to this gorgeousness. No contest, absolutely." She sips at her own wine, thoughtful rather than immediately appreciative: this is supposed to be a good bottle, and to be honest, she's probably not wholly sold on it. But-- it's worth an attempt. Try new things, Una. Give it a go.

"Yeaaaah, I hope they didn't try that one on anyone else. The look on your face! Mine wasn't so great, either. The one I didn't drink, that is. The others were fine, I guess. I think I'll still stick to beer, on the whole, though. Most of the time, even a shitty beer is 'meh' rather than 'so gross I can't drink it'." She sets her wine down again so that she can adjust one of the sausages on the grill, and poke a few others around.

"May day, tomorrow. First of May. I hope that doesn't mean anything for the faerie ring."

"An apartment would have been such a failure. This is where I was meant to be, honestly. It feels like a real home." Her eyes sweep back towards 1 Oak Avenue with a smile. "I can't wait for my dad to come and visit. He lives in town, but he's a home body these days, doesn't like to get out much." Ava shrugs.

"The Bubble Bath Martini was really good. I kept the rubber ducky. But no, that second drink was vile." She lets the shudder run through her whole body. "Ugh. Never again. Beer is also a no go. I will never understand why someone would drink something gross in large quantities to get a buzz, when they could have something tasty in small quantities for the same effect." Her head shakes.

Eyes drift towards the back yard and the faerie circle. "Maybe we should make extra offerings today?"

It's Summer in the gardens, and getting on to late Spring in the rest of the Harbor, too, so Aidan is entirely appropriately garbed as he emerges from the back door of #3 barefoot, in a pair of white-piped navy running shorts for which 'short' is definitely the accurate word and a pale yellow palm-tree-laden t-shirt from a Beach Boys' tour. There's a pair of sunglasses currently pushed up into his curls, possibly hopefully, big plastic orange things with a sprinkle of rhinestones. Okay, he kinda looks like he tripped and fell out of 1982, and the clothing actually might have, but: more or less Summer! Ish!

"I fell asleep," is the slightly sheepish greeting, but he's got two tupperwares balanced on one arm and a glass casserole that looks lasagna-ish on the other, and he takes a look around at the current make up of the small crowd as he heads toward the food tables, and thus Ava and Una. "Did I miss lots?"

"A real home," confirms Una, with a smile aimed first at Ava, and then over her shoulder at her own home. "Exactly that."

Ava's opinions on alcoholic drinks draw a twitch to her smile, but she's forestalled from commenting by the arrival of Aidan, for whom she has a lift of a hand (the other is still holding the barbecue tongs, sausages and burgers sizzling away merrily on the grill).

"I was thinking extra offerings, yeah. And-- look if Deacon comes over tonight? Extra protection. Fertility festival and all. Hi, Aidan! Did you see the di-- geoducks? You missed Itzhak deep-throating one of them, and a lot of laughter, but nothing too dramatic otherwise."

"You think the faeries might actually attack to the point that he needs his gun for protection?" Ava looks worried for a moment. Then it hits her. Fertility festival. Protection. "Oh. Oh my god." The non-wine glass hold hand comes up to cover her mouth. "Right. Right, yes. I will make sure that the gun has a proper holster on top of other protections. Good looking out, Una." Ava is red in the cheeks, shoulders shaking as she laughs quietly, embarrassed. Great job, doctor dumbass.

Aidan gets a sheepish greeting in return. "Have some dick cookies. Their filling is great."

Aidan finds a spot for that lasagna, then one for a tupperware that turns out to contain peanut butter/marshmallow fluff/bacon sandwiches, and finally the smallest, which proves to be cookies. They are much less impressive and (to some) intimidating than Una's offering, and also much more pineapple-y, should one try them. This does, however, put him quite near the other dessert in question, and he blinks at the choux, laughing as he's told what he missed, and invited to try them.

"Did... you just tell me to eat a dick?" he asks Ava, arching a brow, then grins a bit, picking one out. "These look awesome. Like. They could prolly sell 'em at that patisserie downtown." This might be arguable; if so Vyv would probably be the one to have the argument. He eyes the one in his hands, and looks to Ava again, "...for real though? 'cause that's kinda impressive." It gets a considering look, and then he goes ahead and tries a bite. Alas, the world will be left to wonder whether he could emulate Itzhak if he tried, because he doesn't. It does get an approving 'mm!' though.

"We're having a fertility festival?" It would explain the di-- geoducks.

"Irving is giving generously of her -- I can't even, sorry." Ravn turns up, wine glass in one hand and a slightly harried expression. "That took a while longer than I hoped for but crisis averted. One of my students went missing -- they found him, walking towards Berlin on foot. Some of those blokes need a hell of a lot more help than society is giving them, and I hate it. Do I get to watch Aidan eat a dick?"

Una's cheeks have already started to flush when Ava gets the initial wrong impression from her comment, and it just gets worse from there, really. Awkward. But important!

"It's not my fault the local clams have a... questionable appearance," she insists, turning her blushing gaze from Ava to Aidan-- and at least this makes her grin. This is arguable, of course, since if they didn't have that particular appearance, she probably wouldn't be attempting to recreate them in choux. "Thank you. They're not bad for a home kitchen attempt, anyway-- oh, hello, you're back." Una, at the grill, lifts her hand in greeting to Ravn, too. "Oh, fuck, that's awful. I hope he's okay."

And, to clarify, as she goes back to turning sausages: "It's May Day tomorrow. Beltane. I'm not celebrating it, but I'd hate for anyone to be caught unawares by the whole fertility festival thing, just saying."

"Yes Aidan. I absolutely just told you to eat a dick. Be sure to really suck out the cream. It's real tasty. Una made sure to pack them nice and tight with the creamy, white stuff for us." Ava offers with a grin. Maybe she can pass her mortification off to someone else. Alas, it seems unlikely Aidan is the type who can be mortified. Still, Ava takes a long sip from her wine glass.

"The cookies really are good. And the cream is delicious. Geoducks is such a dumb name for a dickclam."

"Nonsense. The name is charming. Spelled one way, pronounced the other, and a perfect herald for Beltane if anyone's celebrating that particular aspect."

And suddenly, an Ariadne. Where did she come from? Spoiler alert: inside the house, yet another victim of a short phone call. Ah, family. Comfortable in her plum-purple sundress, this a number sweeping past her knees and sporting a sweetheart neckline, her cork-wedge heels make no sound on the grass. Might as well be sneakers; yes, that was a pun. She drifts up beside Ravn again, nonchalant in distance, and happens too to be holding a glass of red wine.

"The name is also derived from the Nisqually's tribal word for it, but that's only part of the wonderful. You know what a group of geoducks is called around UW scientists?" The redheaded barista pauses for appropriate anticipation. "A bag. So, to extrapolate, a bag of dicks." Sip of wine. "You're welcome. Ava, good to see you, and you too, Aidan. I thought I heard a dog? And children?" She missed Everett's crew entirely, apparently.

"I'm going to venture a guess and say, gooey ducks if students and sponsors are listening, and ocean dicks when they're not. I've been a member of a faculty, I know how this works." Ravn sips his red wine and nods at Ariadne. "Woods came by, buried in small people. I am making a note in my calendar that for once in his life, Everett Woods was the one to tone police. Sure, small children are a great excuse but, Everett Woods played tone police. Also, I am now going to think about Beltane rites, stare at the gooey ducks, and quietly blush crimson."

As said, so mote it be.

"I mean, they do kinda look like they could be gooey," Aidan notes to Ava, and glances to the choux one he's holding, one bite taken, full of cream, "...or, y'know, get gooey. And the second part might just be autocorrect." Everyone's had a ducking problem or had to deal with a real duck, right? ...okay, Ariadne clearly has a much better explanation, though, and he looks interested in the first part, grinning at the second. Bag of dicks. Heh.

He takes another bite. If he can be mortified, apparently it's not with this, though he does try sucking some of the cream out of it when Ava suggests this, then pauses, tilting his head at the treat. "Wait, but then it'll be all empty and that might make it go all floppy and sad," he says, as if this is clearly a terrible thing that would bring woe, and not at all suggestive or requiring any effort not to snicker at. Nope. "It is really good, though. Hi, Ariadne!" Bite.

The mention of Beltane has him brightening slightly, as though maybe he'd lost track of the date (fairly likely) but this is a familiar celebration (also fairly likely). No comment, but he does hum to himself as he continues getting through that geoduck. Jonathan Coulton's 'First of May', if anyone would recognize it.

Una's chortle of laughter is for the bag of dicks, appropriate as it is. "I think the fae will get whiskey tonight," she says. "Along with their geoduck and cookies. I fully expect to wake up to the garden in a little disarray, but as long as they have a good time and no one else has a baby boom in nine months or so... good by me. Hopefully not the rabbits either, for that. One night of revelry... at least until midsummer, and that's a whole other thing, I suppose."

She reclaims her glass, taking a tentative sip from it-- maybe this wine thing is growing on her, or maybe it's just that she's had part of a glass, now, and is mellow and happy and still inclined to crack up on the topic of dicks-- and grins.

"Yes, but they don't look like ducks." Ava doesn't get it! But there's no talking to a Marine Biologist about marine biology and it's silliness. Same could be said about her and cracking ribs. "Ah. If it comes from a tribal word, that makes a little more sense." Bag of dicks makes a lot more sense, but that part isn't said out loud. Ava watches Aidan with full on amusement, sipping from her wine.

Una gets a little cheers gesture. "I love kids. But I'd prefer to have one when I'm, you know, ready for one. Not because I accidentally got knocked up on May Day, thanks."

"To be fair, there's one simple way to avoid getting knocked up on May Day," Ravn points out, pointedly and stubbornly ignoring the fact that his ears are still pink; if he doesn't acknowledge it, it didn't happen. "Keep your legs closed, don't let yourself be charmed by any handsome sidhe princes." Simple, effective.

“Geoduck comes from a native word, thank you very much.” Trust Jules to come back now, with this pronouncement. She snuck off for a nap, claiming she hasn’t gotten much sleep over the past week.

Also: “Wait, why are we keeping our legs closed?”

A nod for confirmation as to children; Ariadne has a moment where she snaps mental fingers. Drat. She's heard so much about the littles and missed the chance to say hi, having only met the very youngest of the clan in passing. Ravn gets an amused, not necessarily furtive side-eyeing for his comment. Brows flick. Indeed, those gooey ducks.

Una earns herself a chuckle. "Bushes in the bushes," murmurs Ariadne into her wine glass, sotto-voce enough for others to potentially hear. More conversationally, "And hey, if the trumpet flowers are wilting tiredly when the morning comes, good times all around. Cookies are good then?" she asks of Aidan, though with a grin on her face; she can see his expressions easily enough. "And that's fair! They don't look like ducks -- and autocorrect would agree," she replies to Ava, laughing with a glance at Aidan.

"I agree though. Keep Beltane...in moderation, like one might a good glass of whiskey. Savor it." Another sip of her wine. She glances over at Jules' arrival and grins as she gestures with her free hand, as if to say, 'lo and behold, the confirmation to my information.' Also, 'lo and behold, my fellow cohort in Beltane banter'.

"Ducks are evil." It's a slightly ominous declaration, quite definite. "I'm pretty sure clams are okay, though." Aidan continues eating his choux that sounds like one, is named after the other, and looks like entirely a third thing, brightening and giving Ariadne a grin at her question. "Delicious," he confirms, opinion not having changed between bite one and, now, the final pop of ball shell into his mouth to finish it off.

"...also their milk," he says Unaward, belatedly. "I'm not gonna risk not giving them milk on Beltane especially." A pause. "Or honey." So, faerie feast ho!

"Okay," says Una. "Sausages. And burgers. Help yourselves. I know most of you," she's paid attention to those who have not, "have filled up on choux, but I'm going to play mom for a moment and remind you to eat something savoury as well, lest the wine go to your heads, okay?" This is a case of do what she says not what she does, though, because although the aforementioned sausages and burgers are loaded onto a conveniently located plate, she simply reclaims her plastic wine glass, still hovering in front of the barbecue.

Also? "Keeping legs crossed, sticking to pastry dicks... sounds like a plan. No frolicking in the summer gardens, just in case. Hopefully the barbecue doesn't count as a bonfire, just in case. Hi, Jules. Yes-- also their milk, and honey. No unhappy fae tonight, of all nights."

Who, Ravn? No, that glare can't have been for him. Look at how healthy he is, cucumber and red wine. He smiles, almost beatifically, and says, "I'm all in favour of people expressing their fondness of one another, and for that matter, shagging like bunnies and having a good time. But in this town, doing it next to a Beltane fire and a faerie ring would be kind of tempting fate. On the other hand, if infertility is an issue, now's the time to get started."

"That's what Ari was just explaining," Ava says to Jules with a little nod. "Which makes more sense. But Aidan is kind of right. Some ducks are evil. They'll fight you."

There's a pause. "Ravn, did you just tell me to try to have self control around a handsome sidhe prince? Who are well known to have pointed ears and elven features? It's like you've never met me. My goodness." She grins around a sip of wine. "But I'll try to avoid all frolicking tonight if I can help it. I promise nothing, however."

Jules flashes a grin over at Ariadne, who meets with full approval for this tidbit of etymological knowledge. No wine for her; she's snagging water and prowling over towards Itzhak's keg to find out if that ginger beer is alcoholic or not.

"If any fairies fuck with my IUD," she announces, "I will fuck them up."

Ravn makes a face at Ava. "I have kind of pointy ears and high cheekbones, get thee behind me. Seriously, though? I'm joking insofar that it would be the kind of trick the Veil might play on someone if they were silly enough. Having sex on Beltane night? Not the issue. Having sex on Beltane night with a beautiful stranger, knowing that it is Beltane night, after having consumed numerous cookie based fertility symbols? Might not be a good idea."

Aidan earns himself an intrigued look over the rim of Ariadne's wine glass. Ducks. There's a story, but she'll pin down Ravn's seasonal roommate another time because it deserves a full, undistracted telling in her opinion. Their hostess at the grill with her own wine glass? Una gets an innocent grin and flutter of lashes -- the barista hasn't touched the cookies yet. Might be she adheres to the mom-rule they'd all just been subjected to. Dessert after dinner.

"I like how you think." Fingergun at Jules. "No Fae muddling in that business. And burger for me," she chimes as to the contents of the grill. Not immediately does she go to collect one of these nourishments, however. She sips at her wine first and by all appearances, mulls over its taste. A slow smile curls her lips. "It'd be hard to avoid frolicking if someone looked like the Goblin King, I'll give you that. Those pants. Hard to resist. But good things come for those who're patient, right?" A shrug for the general collective in conversation, innocence all over the barista's face as she glances at Ravn in turn.

Ducks. Aidan looks dubious at the qualifier of some ducks, but yes, this is perhaps a story for another time, because he doesn't verbally disagree. Not right now. "The choux was really good, but I'm not even close to filled up yet," is what he says instead, heading toward the grill. Hamburgers! Can't have a barbecue without meat, right? Non-pastry-meat.

"I think most people'd frolic with the Goblin King, prolly. If he was inviting frolickers. I think I have pants like that, though..." Thoughtful. "I dunno, I think even if I got all familiar with fairies tonight I'd prolly be pretty safe from getting knocked up." But... fairies. "Prolly."

"... does that mean you can get pregnant from sex with Veil creatures?" Una wants to know, abruptly shading-- well, pale would probably suggest something she doesn't mean, but she doesn't particularly look comforted anyway. "Er-- I mean, not that I would, but, just-- biology. Curious minds. Curious, horrified minds. Or are we talking just normal, human beautiful strangers who happen to show up at the right moment?"

Watch Una hastily take a long sip from her wine, probably longer than should be ever taken of a decent wine, but-- hush.

Ravn sips his wine. "Good things come to those who wait, indeed. Also, if David Bowie turns up he's probably not going to smell great up close."

He raises his eyebrows at Una's inquiry. "We have thousands of years' worth of stories of people getting pregnant by faerie, by swans, by golden showers, by beautiful strangers in the woods, by what have you. I think it's fairly safe to say that it can happen. And I for one have no intention of getting ideas about sirens or beautiful, hollow-backed girls in the woods, or maidens bathing while leaving their swan costumes on the bank."

"Does it count if you're not of European descent and didn't grow up with these stories? It shouldn't." Jules shoots a black look at the mushroom faery ring. "Invasive fuckers. I know where you live." Is Jules threatening to declare war on the Fae? It sure sounds like it. "I guess I'm not having a sausage, just to be on the safe side. Burger for me."

"But, pants," Ariadne idly argues with a shrugged tilt of her wine glass and half-smirk. That Aidan might have these pants apparently beats out any Goblin-esque cologne au natural.

She still quirks brows and follows Jules' look towards the fairy ring in turn. Quirk brows break to a lofted single arch, as if she were daring the thin spot to regurgitate anything, from Fae to opinions. "I believe the general consensus is if it looks too good -- or whomever it is looks too good -- this evening, perhaps some sexting instead. But on that...titillating," the barista uses the term with a liberal dose of dry amusement, " -- point: the Un-Cats, yeah? Proof that the Veil can get up to shenanigans." And create kittens with way too many teeth. Time for a burger. A visible lift and drop of hand to brush knuckles against the Dane's knuckles in turn before the barista meanders over to the grill.

"So, Una, darling friend, Kitchen Cleric, what do I have to do to get a burger around here?" Cue ridiculous eyebrow waggle over her wine glass at Una while sipping.

"Ignorance of the lore is no excuse," Aidan says, "...or at least that's what I got told." He has a hamburger now, whether it was handed over or had to be stolen by his own power. Time to check out the drinks. Wine in a plastic cup seems like a good plan! "So prolly just kinda be careful about who and what you get it on with? Plus I'm pretty sure at least when those stories were things no one had IUDs?" Did they? History of Contraception is not a topic he's had particular reason to visit.

Una's expression might be comical, if she weren't so absolutely horrified: "Oh my god, no, no, that's awful. I mean, yes, of course, there are all those stories, but no, that's just--" Excuse her while she has a quiet not-quite-panic attack, one that is-- thankfully-- forestalled by Ariadne's approach in search of food. Making sure people can eat is always a good distraction.

"Here," she says, reaching for a paper plate and a pre-split burger bun. Using this as a distraction means playing mom, and doing everything but serving up the burger pattie itself, which can be collected from the plate next to her. All of this is offered with a flourish.

"Jules, don't pick a fight with the fae. They're not hurting anyone right now." Until someone gets pregnant, and then all bets are off, and the fae are On Notice.

"I'm fairly certain that most stories and legends do not consider the option of contraception except when it's the point -- Zeus spilled his seed on the ground and spawned a tribe of centaurs, that sort of thing." Ravn nods. "Still, hubris is a big deal in the myths so maybe don't eat ten of these gooey dicks and go have sex in the fairy circle on Beltane night without contraception."

He glances at Jules. Yes. If he was a faerie prince, which he fortunately isn't, he'd consider himself On Notice now too.

Time to change the subject a little. "Whose dick do I need to eat to get one of those burgers too then?"

"They started it," Jules mutters, sounding very much the rebellious teen. "I'm just saying, they better not fuck with my sex life." She leaves it there -- for now -- and heads towards Una at the grill, too. Does she see the bite mark on her wrist when Jules picks up a plate? It's not exactly subtle.

"No excuse at all, yeah." Agreement with Aidan over her shoulder along with a nod. "Caution is a wisdom."

"I need to do very little, apparently. Thank you," laughs Ariadne lightly. She can tell Una's uncomfortable and lingers nearby in making her burger. Sure, the condiments are all right there, but she has half an ear on the conversation and the other half on her friend in turn. Lettuce, mayo, mustard, more lettuce, looks excellent, smells even better.

"Could start with a choux cookie," she notes to Ravn, circling a finger towards the geoduck delectations on display. "I'm enjoying mine after a burger though. Meat before meat and all." It made sense in her head, okay? Okay. "And if they end up fucking up your life in general, let me know, Jules? I'm all for keeping trouble contained. The Veil causes enough issues around here anyways."

A scowl for you, fairy ring.

"I mean. Yeah, so far they're not hurting anything?" Aidan's tone allows he might have missed something, somehow, but... surely someone would have mentioned, right? "...kinda feels like it'd be rude to go get laid in the fairy circle anyway. Like doin' it on someone else's front porch. I mean, with someone who isn't them." If the porch belongs to a participant, presumably this meets with the rules of etiquette. He has a good bite of his well-stacked burger, which also gets a pleased sound. So many tasty things around today.

Oh look. Jules has a freaking bite mark on her wrist, and by the looks of it, those aren't human teeth (actually, that might not make it any better). She hesitates, likely caught between the instinct to freak out, and the warning voice that now is not the time, and Ava said it was fine, and just be COOL Una, you're an adult who knows how to keep her calm perfectly well the rest of the time so what's the problem here for fuck's sake.

And then she swallows. Deep breath.

"Okay, okay people. More burgers here. Grab a bun, grab a plate, grab a burger. See? You're all perfectly capable, and I am not going to mom you all to death, except: add some lettuce, at least. Tomato! Onion! We need more than just meat and bread. Be like Ariadne." For whom she has, indeed, an approving smile.

"I mean, I haven't been kept awake by strange proceedings in the yard while we've lived here," Ravn murmurs and makes a conscious decision to not comment on Jules' injury; he just told her half an hour ago, he wants to hear everything she wants to tell him, when she wants to tell him. "If that changes, I suppose there's always the option of throwing a boot and yelling something about keeping it down after midnight."

He's not going to comment on Ariadne's suggestion of cookie choices. Just flat out not commenting. He's not eating one of those things no matter how tasty they are. He's laughing at himself about it, at least. Instead, he follows Una's instructions: Bun, tomato, onion, lettuce -- and hell, cucumber slices, patty, excellent. Mock pout; "I don't want to dye my hair. Always looked like an idiot when I did. Can I imitate her coffee drinking instead?"

"Will do," Jules answers Ariadne. She's occupied with her burger building (tomato, lettuce, cheese, but no onion), but does glance at Una long enough to catch at least a bit of that internal struggle playing out on her housemate's face. An eyebrow quirks a little, as does one corner of her mouth in a tentative smile. Then on goes the top of the bun, and Jules slides away to take a seat and dig in.

"So!" Subject change. "What's everyone been up to while I've been gone this week?"

Titter. Titter before Ariadne bites into her burger. Front porch antics, oh my -- those would definitely deserve a thrown boot and some GET OFF MY LAWN-ing per recommendation.

When spotlighted by Una for healthy eating habits? A curtsey for the gathering, one of those mockings of one, complete with pinched lift of the side of her skirt. "Eating your greens is a special treat. They make long ears and great big feet," she then intones in a tone nearly childish and then looks anticipatory. Who's going to finish the line from the Disney film? Insta-kudos to whomever it is, in her opinion. "Everyone can imitate my coffee drinking, however, though that feels like the saleswoman who wears the perfume saying everyone should wear perfume." Le shrug. Coffee gonna coffee.

A glance towards Jules. "Tide pooling, actually. It was great fun and inspiration for the cookies." A thumbing towards the plate of choux geoducks. "Enjoying a sailboat. Otherwise, work-work-work and paying the bills and pretending some of the money goes towards me and not Sam the Ever-Spoiled." Does the Sighthound know he's that spoiled? Probably.

And yes, Ariadne has noticed the bite marks, but like the others, she chooses to be circumspect. Not her business unless Jules brings it up.

"I did!" Aidan says, lifting his bitten burger to show it off. Indeed there is lettuce. And everything else that was within reasonable reach, short of the sausages. He has another bite, and chews it while Jules asks her question.

"...where were you this week?" he asks in return, but also answers, "Boardwalk's finally starting to have okay crowds for magic again, so that. Also I learned some more songs, and painted a wall in one of the bedrooms, and reinforced the wards, and found a really cool mannequin at a garage sale. I'm gonna make a mosaic on it I think." Nom.

"But it sure is awful-- no, wait! That's a lie. It's not awful stuff to it, it's good for you, and the rabbits will concur, I promise." Una's finally reaching to start building her own burger, dutifully following her own instructions to add plenty of vegetable matter (and cheese) to to it in turn. "Look, if you don't want to dye your hair I suppose I'll let you off the hook this time, but the rest?"

At least they can all (?) agree on the coffee drinking.

"Oooh, mosaic. I want to see that when you're done." What did Una do this week? It'll have to remain a mystery: she doesn't say.

"Tide pooling. Being introduced to parts of Pacific aquatic life that's bound to make me feel inadequate for the rest of my life." Ravn half-smiles and balances his burger bun atop a veritable mountain of cucumber slices; he got distracted, all right. "Work, of course -- online, and at the community centre. Placating Her Furry Majesty, the Queen of Felines, the Slayer of Tuna, Kitty Pryde."

He glances over at Aidan. "Are we still doing the rainbow facade and the mannequins? Because I need to take pictures for my aunts, and I need to make sure we all look ridiculously happy in them. If I get concerned 'are you smoking the pot' calls at three am in the morning, we've done it right."

"Ooh, tide pooling. Can I come next time?" All things outdoors and nature-related make Jules perk right up, threats on fairyland laid to the wayside. "You sail, Ariadne?" Her follow-up question comes before the big first bite from her burger. It certainly reveals that wrist to further view, but then again, it's not a part of her body that Jules can easily hide.

"Hiking," she answers Aiden after she's chewed, swallowed, and appropriately 'mmed' in satisfaction. "To Enchanted Valley in the Olympics. It's so beautiful. Still early in the season, but you can get there and back, just can't hike the mountain traverses." See, Una? Jules didn't attempt stupid things like hiking over a glacier in mid-spring. "If you guys are ever interested," Jules adds, expanding her remarks to the rest of those gathered, "we could plan a hiking trip for the summer, there or somewhere else. Doesn't have to be an overnight. But if you haven't been into the park yet, you're missing out."

"I also want to see the mosaic. Those texts, I want to see those texts too," Ariadne adds of the three am calls -- or texts, however the family chooses to react to such glorious displays of art and color and cheeriness.

A high-five is offered out for Una regardless. That was most of the spoken line and the rest insinuated: kudos for you, Kitchen Cleric.

"And absolutely, Jules, I'd love it if you tagged along. I bet you know about some critters I don't!" After all, Jules is a local as much as Ariadne is to the state. "And yes, I do sail. My dad kept a boat up at Shilshoe Marina for about ten years when I was younger. I was the one always getting dragged along." Air quotes. "I'm being a bit dramatic with 'dragged along', I loved it and still do. I'm just a little rusty at everything, but I'm finding it's muscle memory, which is nice. You sail?" she asks of Jules in turn before adding to the general group, "And yes, y'all have to get to the park when the weather's nice. Beautiful place."

"'course!" Aidan confirms to Ravn, "I have stuff sketched out and it's stopped raining enough prolly I think I can get started. On the painting, I mean. Working on the mannequins already!" 'cause no one else is using that guest room right now. It looks a lot more occupied than it really is, currently. "And definitely you can see the mosaic when it's done." He can't promise the texts, but he does grin at 'smoking the pot'. Entirely on board with eliciting this response!

"Tide pools are cool. Also hiking. ...and boats." He hasn't done anything with any of the above lately, but the fact remains. "Good choices. Though, mostly it's harder to get access to boats." Burger disappears swiftly, like if it doesn't someone might come and take it away. Or maybe like there's a lot more he also wants to get to eating? Could be interpreted either way.

Ravn takes a miniscule bite of his burger. At the pace he eats, it's probably going to last him a few days. "I'm not exactly the bloke you want to get stuck in the wilderness with. I don't even know how to pitch a tent." Amazingly, that was probably not a geoduck joke.

He glances at Aidan. "Dude, you know my berth."

"The tide pooling was great," puts in Una, who has relaxed enough, now, to be able to contribute. (And, also, to return the high five, even if it means carefully balancing her plate in one hand in order to do so.)

"I'm not sure I'd be much of a hiker, either. Maybe. We'll see. I can't wait to see what your place looks like when you're done with it, though." This, presumably, for Aidan and Ravn. "We may need to up our game in response. Ava's going to freak."

"I wish. All the boats I got out on back home are motorboats. Fishing industry people." Jules smiles, adding, "Maybe I'll learn some this summer. I know more people with sailboats here." Ravn for one, indicated with a tip of her chin. "Lucky for you," she tells him next, "I am literally paid to teach people how to pitch a tent." Beat. She hears herself. "I mean, one of my summer jobs has been to lead hiking trips for city people nervous about going out by themselves."

Because we're all adults here, the tent-pitching commentary only entices one snort-giggle out of Ariadne -- mostly because she's got a mouthful of burger and really, laughing half-chewed burger all over herself and possibly the lawn in front of her cohorts is soooooooooo unattractive. But still: tents.

Carefully swallowing past the ball of laughter clinging in her upper chest, she even needs a mouthful of wine to help further corral the ticklish wish to cackle. "Ravn does indeed have a sailboat, so if you want to learn, he knows his stuff." That's an admission in itself, but she doesn't seem to recognize it, rather continuing on with her thought. "I like the idea of plans for hiking, so count me in if plans get solidified. On the note of upping game, wasn't there some half-baked plan about painting someone's house-front in gleeful colors?" Maybe fully baked, pending on the day, who knows.

Ravn opens his mouth for a bite of burger -- and leaves it open a moment, just staring at Jules. Then he shuts it, and then, "If you want to learn how to sail a sail boat, come down sometime. I'll show you the basics, no tent pitching required." It must be the day and the mood. "And if you folks want to do just -- you know, day trips where some rookie doesn't make an idiot out of himself, I'd be happy to go. I walk around Firefly Forest a fair bit."

Read: A lot. He's still, a year later, following boxing gym owner Joey Kelly's advice for asthma. It's still working.

He glances at Aidan and then smiles. "I believe the idea so far is rainbow, though we're debating stripes or paisley, or both."

Heh. Tent-pitching. Aidan grins behind his burger at that, particularly when Jules says she's paid to teach people how. Ravn's glance gets a blink back. "I don't even know my birth." A flicker of attention down to the burger. "...I still gotta figure out how to do something about that," he mutters at it, and then takes another bite.

"Mn!" he agrees to Ariadne's question about the painting, chews, swallows, "...only not just the front. And my sketches right now are paisley. It looks pretty cool. Just kinda working out if it'd be better with more spacing and a solid background, or I guess that could also go with stripes... or if it'd be better kinda more psychedelic where it fits together and kinda overlaps places." He's kind of excited about this.

The innuendo? Look, it goes straight over Una's head. Apparently there's a limit to her ability to-- maybe she does start to get it, a little belatedly, though, because there's a faintly pink flush forming. Or maybe she's just embarrassed because she clearly missed something.

"Paisley is an excellent plan. I love it, and I can't wait to see. Or help, if you need it. I'm tempted to pain my place like a gingerbread house, except-- I don't know, I'm not sure. Maybe." That particular plan has likely not been mentioned to her housemates (surprise!), and may not have been especially considered, yet.

"We'll figure something out," Jules says peaceably. She wasn't trying for the innuendo and doesn't push it further, though she grins at the reactions. "I'd like to see your work too," she tells Aidan after another bite or two from her burger. It's a little shy; she doesn't know him, not really, though she knows who he is. "If you feel like sharing it."

"I'm down with paisley." About half of Ariadne's burger has disappeared from her plate at this point. "Not that it's my place to really cast a vote, but I do cast a vote for rainbow paisley. Very Lisa Frank. I recently painted the guest room lavender, does that count?" A rhetorical observation on her part. "But what do you mean by 'gingerbread' exactly, Una?"

Of course the barista would be curious, golden-hazel eyes lingering on the hostess. "Like, with white trim, you mean?"

"She did," Ravn verifies with amusement. "A very lovely shade of crushed lavender at that." He nibbles at his burger -- seriously, going to take him a week -- and then tosses Aidan one of those small, lopsided smiles. "You know me -- the only condition I have in exterior design is that when we're done, you lend me your most colourful and flamboyant shirt to wear for the 'after' photo."

"Lavender's good," Aidan agrees, nodding to the asserted loveliness, "The wall I painted last week is like... a city over in this corner," lower left, "and then it goes up this way," upper right, "into space. With aliens and astrodogs." Why? Because. "And sure, you can see my stuff! I mean. It's kinda hard to be in there much and not, anyway." There being #3. It's going to be tricky enough without going in there, soon!

The last bite of his burger, and he eyes the tables, adding to Ravn, "You know you can pretty much borrow whatever..." And what does Una mean by gingerbread? "Are you going to paint candy details on it? 'cause that could be cool."

"Oh, more than that. Paint the roof tiles, the windowsills, everything else-- gumdrops and candy canes and everything else-- yes, exactly that, Aidan. I mean, I'm not sure how practical that is, but--" But why not? Why not.

"I'll probably start by painting more of the interior, though. My grandmother didn't even go in for magnolia," boringest of boring paint colours, "It's just all white, and that needs to change. Lavender sounds lovely. I'm probably going to go for more of a... hmm, maybe eggplant-y purple, for my room, I think. But maybe stripes? The great thing about paint is, if you decide you don't like it, you can just paint over the top of it again."

For her part, Jules looks mildly horrified at the idea of transforming Number 5 into a gingerbread house to go with the summer wonderland. But. Not her house. She wisely keeps her opinion to herself (look at that restraint!) and applies herself to her burger instead. It's a good way to keep her mouth occupied lest she spit out unwelcome opinions.

"One thing I do in fact like about the kind of house I grew up in is, the last two make-overs were in Victorian times and then again in the nineties, and that means lovely woodwork and dark green walls in some rooms, and interesting warm colours in the rest. "Ravn nods, chuckling. "There was a trend about bright scarlet and other intense colours, with white panels, which actually works surprisingly well in rooms with high ceiling and lots of natural light."

He's not going to judge, either. One of these houses technically is at least half his -- but as far as he is concerned, the more fun Aidan has, the more outraged his aunts get, and the happier Ravn is.

"Mmm..." Last of her burger in her mouth, Ariadne reaches for a napkin in order to wipe off her mouth. It was a vague sound of disagreement wherein the full thought comes to fruition after another sip of wine. "I dunno that I would do gumdrops and candy canes in something so permanent, but the premise of that lovely, warm red-brown with white trim? That's delightful." Her plate and napkin are tossed into the BBQ communal garbage can. "However, not my house, not my party, just my opinion, and everyone's got those."

She drifts up next to Ravn again, comfortably close, her fingertips of both hands daintily holding the bulb of the plastic wine glass. "Nothing wrong with scarlet or eggplant though. I'm thinking my own bedroom in something like terra cotta, with the white trimming. Warm and cozy, y'know?"

"Paint's not permanent, though. I mean. It's not like you're tattooing a house." Which is an interesting mental image. Tattoos on a house. Aidan files that away somewhere to think about at some point. "It's kinda a lot of work if you're gonna paint the whole thing but you can always paint it again, right?" He gets up and grabs one of the sandwiches he brought, on the way to making himself a sausage. "...I dunno how roof tiles'd take it exactly but you could always, you know, try a few that aren't on the roof and find out." Una gets a firm nod for her can-just-paint over. And also for the eggplanty purple. Stripes might be wrapped in there too.

Una, observant Una, may have picked up that not everyone is enthusiastic about her harebrained idea, but-- for the moment-- is (mostly) undaunted. "Well," she says. "We'll see. I haven't made my mind up yet, and I want to do inside first." Una does love her bright colours, but hopefully inside won't end up too garish.

"That's a good idea, though-- try out some roof tiles first. Maybe I can find a way to make it work. Or maybe they'll just end up dappling in the rain, and that could be fun too."

With her burger finished, Jules licks her fingers clean and gets up to discard her dirty plate. "I gotta pee," she announces. Jules, oh so delicate. Off she goes to the her not-quite-gingerbread house next door to do just that.

"I'm very partial to shades of wine red and terra cotta," Ravn agrees, with both. "And a dark eggplant purple can work very well in a room that has enough light to not just turn black."

A small smile. "I'm a certified ceiling painter now. Let me know if anyone needs help. I'm no artist but give me a brush, a paint tin, and a ceiling, and things happen."

"True though." Ariadne easily acknowledges Aidan's point in turn. Things can be painted over, one of the joys of paint itself in turn. She rotates the bulb of the glass in her fingers slowly in a fidget, her smile lingering on her face as she glances between the others. Una's own words bring up an interesting interpretation before the barista's inner eye. She nods thoughtfully. "A dappled roof would actually look really freakin' cool, so...kind of hope this happens if you try it, just for the novelty of it."

A sip of wine. "Pee well," she calls out to Jules, lacking that same concern in the moment for propriety. "And can confirm in regards to Ravn's ability to paint ceilings. He's tall and you can pay him with awful beer, might I recommend hiring his services." Sage nod, smirk into her wine glass yet again.

"A dappled roof would look pretty cool," Aidan agrees, glancing up toward #3's currently definitely undappled one thoughtfully. Hmm. Then again, if the rest of the house is going to be busy, it might need the contrast.. He takes a bite of the sausage, absently, then looks down at it. Hmm. "Oh, hold up, I have a kickass hot sauce that'd go awesome with these," he realises, and starts back toward his house, flashing everyone a grin. "Be right back!" Probably. He probably won't get distracted on the way to and from the kitchen. Or Lost. Though it is Gray Harbor. You never know.

Una watches after Jules (look, when the other woman isn't looking, she's allowed to show concern), but as soon as she disappears indoors, she turns her attention back to those assembled (and to her burger, which she has been picking at more than eating). "Oh, well-- I'm going to remember that," she says, with a laugh. Chances are she won't, though: Una is chronically unable to ask anyone for help with anything.

"The real problem is, I can't make up my mind. That's okay. Not like I don't have plenty of things to keep me busy, right? But, yes: dappled roof. I think maybe that's a go, even if the rest isn't."

Now she gets to watch Aidan wander off too. Hot sauce? Sure.

Two gloved fingertips on Una's arm for half a second; Ravn is allowed to show concern, too. "There's always plenty things to keep us busy. You need help painting, turn it into a party. Promise people food for work done, believe me, you'll have half the town turning up with paint brushes." And a way to make it a trade-off, rather than an asking for help. Yep, in this, the two are very alike.

He glances after Aidan, and then grins. "I swear to God, he's the perfect house mate. He cooks, he repairs stuff, and he makes it pretty."

Hot sauce. Aidan's departure is too thoughtfully watched by the barista. Another sip of wine and she now looks back at Una, her smile slowly appearing.

"Even I can be bribed with bad beer, so -- like Ravn said, make it a party. Many hands make quick work and wise sayings like that," the barista demurs with a gesture of her glass. "Plus, that means you even have people who can do research about this paint which might dapple because you want it to dapple, not rainy serendipity. I bet something like that exists? And Aidan would probably know." She thumbs back towards the house and its occupant no doubt scrounging up that hot sauce.

Una pauses, a little uncomfortable under the weight of that concern, those fingertips, for all that she knows exactly what Ravn is getting at. Her gaze drops, but she gives a quick nod all the same. "Food for work. Yes, okay. I can do that. I will. I promise."

Look-- a smile. Mostly. Sort of. At least her head is lifting again.

"Ooh, good point. I'll have to ask Aidan, when he comes back. Or otherwise, to the internet! Someone will know and have ideas."

"If anyone knows, Aidan's definitely a good guess." Ravn nods and sticks his hands back in his blazer pockets; the burger gets to live at least another hour, even if nothing is more dangerous than an injured Whopper. He doesn't press the issue. He knows that if their roles were reversed, pressing the issue would make him vow to never ask for anything, ever.

A glance sideways at Ariadne. "To be fair, ma'am, you like bad beer."

"All hail the Internet and rule whatever-number-it-is," the barista proclaims with a lift of her wine glass. That rule about finding anything on there, whether you intend to find it or not. The joy of it. "I bet Google Images would be a good place to start."

And Ravn's glance is met as well as accompanied by drolly-lifted brows. "Excuse you, both Una and I are of the opinion that what you drink is dishwater, sir. We like body to our beer. Pfft." Sorry, Una, you weren't getting out of this eternal pseudo-argument after all.

"We do, and you're wrong," agrees Una. As pseudo-arguments go, it's a good one, easy to join in on. "The question then becomes whether I'm buying bad beer or bad beer for this little hypothetical shindig. How's a girl to know?"

Her nod is all the answer the dappling gets-- or needs, at least for now. Research will be had. Aidans will be interrogated. Dappling will happen, if only the logistics can be worked out (and to be fair, the logistics are a pretty challenging piece of this whole plan).

Although: "The internet failed me on geoduck pastries, so that rule? Totally broken. Although... I guess I can fix that now, huh."

"Rule 34, like nature, abhors a vacuum." Ravn laughs softly. "At least for geoducks. I suppose now we can question whether it applies to dappled roofs -- and if it does, who the hell is turned on by dappled roofs?" Rule 34, after all, is not that if it exists, it's on the Internet. It's that if it exists, there's porn of it.

He looks around. "You know, last fall -- when I realised that I'd somehow become a house owner, and on Oak Avenue of all the places, I wondered what the hell time-lost me had been thinking. Now I feel like sending time-lost me a fruit basket for picking a neighbourhood of awesome people."

While Aidan wanders off, Della eventually wanders back towards Una-and-company, a refill of clear sparkling something in hand; she's been out and about, conversing with various clusters of neighbors, and she's hardly a salmon to return... but there she is, or will be.

"Bad beer all around," Ariadne confirms of the liquor persuasion. "Though between paint fumes and the drinks, who's really going to care about the taste of the beer after a while? We won't taste it at all. What are brain cells?" A chuckle from her followed by a sip of her wine. Ravn is given a drily amused glance. "Right, rule 34, and there's a kink for everyone." Thus sayeth the barista shamelessly.

Whatever conversation is anyone walking into?

"It's true, this is a rockin' neighborhood. Making me jealous that I'm over on Sycamore." Movement draws her attention to look over. "Ah, Della, hey!" A lift of wine glass. "There are burgers and stuff if you're hungry." Or, y'know, geoduck cookies. Ariadne decides to let the plate speak for itself.

Straight-faced (sort of; more or less), Una suggests, "Who knows, maybe dappled roofs will be the one thing that really gets me all hot and bothered."

HI DELLA.

"I mean, we didn't live here back then, and neither did Ava, but arguably the seeds were always there, right? My grandmother was dead by that point, I think. Your time-lost self did good. And, Ariadne, you're definitely an honorary Oakian, so you still count. Della, come and eat. There is so much food, I think we overdid it."

"I mean, you can always borrow a room," Ravn murmurs to Ariadne, amused. "Let it not be said that you got sent home from Oak Avenue all alone, unfed in the freezing rain, unloved by the world, forever alone." He reaches for his red wine and sips it before raising the glass in greeting to Della. "Unless of course wandering lost in a rainstorm is your kink, in which case, rule 34."

"If the roof gets too dark, it would absorb a lot of heat," Della observes Una's way. "Thanks -- and to you, too, Ariadne. I've been noshing." But clearly no burgers yet, though she has had her share of geoduck... experiments... during the kitchen cleric's practice week. She returns the tip of glass, has a sip herself, which doesn't completely cover the swift blink and smile. "Can't we foist some of the food off on others? Departing neighbors, sort of like zucchini, or if the shelter could use some? Nothing that's been out too long, of course."

Cue barista giggling, specifically at Una. What a statement. HI DELLA!

"I'm pleased to be an honorary Oakian, though I shall inform all present that being cold and wet is not my cup of tea." An easy admission to make from the one who looks an awful lot like a half-drowned cat when stuck in a sudden rainstorm unprepared. "I like that idea though, hand off to the neighbors. Or would HOPE be able to take some of it, Ravn?" Her golden-hazel eyes flick to him and her brows lift in curiosity.

Una's short little nod acknowledges Della's remark about the roof, though she's otherwise a little busy: Ariadne's giggles have drawn a little bit of a blush, and mostly just amusement and joy. Making people laugh is a good feeling, guys.

"I like that idea, too. Hand it all out. It's still good. Though I'm absolutely going to need to keep some goulash, and some of that lasagne. I need more stomachs."

"Beyond a doubt. Anything that doesn't spoil overnight -- we've got families that are happy to get a little extra, we got students volunteering and getting hungry at three am, we got homeless people coming in to borrow a shower. All of whom will very happily help tuck away anything as long as it doesn't come with a sermon or that special overbearing tone that some people use when they give something away. You know the one." Ravn chuckles. "I'm going to sneak a plate for later snacking too, though. Just a bit of everything, like my own little buffet for midnight."

"Our fridge is capacious," Della murmurs. "Happy to make the most of it, we can freeze some -- " no cooking for her own midnight snacks! -- "but, yes, I'm all for sharing around. ... God, that tone. 'I'm being so very kind out of the goodness of my heart, be grateful.'"

"That's why we give so much," says Everett, after trekking back from across the street, this time sans accompaniment if the beer he'd opened doesn't count. "We know it'll go to a good cause before the stuff reaches its expiration date or," he pauses to conceal his smile with the raised bottle, "before the health inspector comes and sees what shade of green it is."

"Right, freeze some of it. The goulash freezes nicely," Ariadne informs the crowd gathered nearby to the grill and food table. "And yiss...that tone. Ugh." Her nose and lips wrinkle both with a noticeable amount more venom than she might normally dedicate. Button? Possibly. "It's still just...really freakin' good that this goodness in turn can be passed on. That people will enjoy it. That's half the fun of cooking anyways, watching people enjoy it, right?"

A glance towards the street and sudden grin. "Aw, naw, come on, sometimes the shades of green are totally appealing. Think avocados," she opines oh-so-blithely with a lift of her wine glass in greeting to Everett. "Great shade of green."

Una pauses so that she can consider the table and all the food-- there really is still a lot left. "Good," she says. "We'll package it all up and bring it over, then, everything beyond what we want ourselves. Maybe we'll... finish the geoducks ourselves, though." She seems mildly squeamish at the idea of donating pastry appendages. This crowd? She can make jokes with them with. The poor, the needy, the hungry? Somehow, not so much.

"Welcome back," she says to Everett, lifting her wine glass in acknowledgement.

"Yep, that one." Ravn nods at Della -- and then has to hide a snort in his wine glass at Everett's comment. "Remember those bloody faerie ladies during the hurricane? Appeasement with grape flavoured ice cream, it's a thing." Beat. "Please don't make avocado ice cream a thing."

He glances at the cookies. Una does make a good point. "I suspect they'll be gone after tonight anyhow. If there are leftover? Include them in the faerie circle gifts. I mean, it is Beltane, they might get a laugh out of them too."

"The new name of my band," Everett replies to Ariadne, indicating his army green tight t-shirt after his swallow. To Una he salutes with his blue labeled beer, "Thanks. It was a mild emergency but nothing a new nappy and cuddles with Mom couldn't fix. I left the dog inside too, sorry she tried to assault you. I wouldn't mind at all if you filed charges against her."

"Not avocado. What about olive ice cream then?"

"As long as they're just-right-ripe avocados," Della supposes. "It's already a thing; I've had it; it's better than one might think. It's not like it tastes like guac." Slight pause. "Though maybe some versions do." She'd discreetly side-eyed Everett upon his approach, angling slightly closer to Ariadne as though to make room, but then... then across-the-street-recognition, plus the others' reaction -- and then the topic -- must all kick in. "Everett, right? There's definitely olive oil ice cream, too. I don't suppose Kailey's about...?"

"I can confirm that avocado ice cream isn't half-bad." Whatever pint Ariadne keeps in the freezer will be all hers, no doubt.

She's quick to add, thoughtfully, "That's a good idea though, Ravn. Una, you might as well put the cookies in the circle if there are leftovers. Save one for me though, I haven't had mine yet." Dessert after dinner turned out to be the rule after all. The barista glances over at Everett again, curious as to his answer about his other half.

"Ooh, excellent idea," says Una, with a grin for Ravn. "Innuendo pastries for the faeries on Beltane. If there are any left. Don't worry, there are plenty, Ariadne-- please take a big one."

Ahem.

"Look, all of that ice cream sounds delicious, I don't know what anyone's problem is. Avocado already has the silky smoothness."

"Speaking as someone who can't stand olives or avocados, I think I vote for pistachio." Ravn slinks over to stand next to Ariadne. "Look at me, not saying it. I deserve praise."

Maybe he deserves praise for not chiming in on Una's joke there. Maybe it's because he's only just making it to the end of her sentence and just kind of staring blankly because on some level, 'Una Irving' and 'dick jokes' still does not quite compute.

With a nod, Everett gestures over his shoulder with his bottle, back from whence he came, "She's in the troll's cave, calming Morganna down after her brief visit least my princess summons dragons." He lifts his head up, as though silently seeking communion with the heavens, though the look isn't long. "But that's what I was going to get at. In New York city there's a few shops that sell olive oil ice cream. But then," he murmurs, "east coast people are weird."

"Speaking of, I'm supposed to take some back with me. Lillian wanted to see one. And bite the head off aggressively while staring me in the eyes, I think."

Della tilts a quick, appreciative smile at Ariadne, conveniently arranges to miss Una's innuendo altogether -- evidently it wasn't big enough -- and no doubt hurricane faeries have made their way onto her list (probably higher up than the flesh sculptor); but, after following Everett's gesture, she nods. To him, "It's been suggested that I might approach her, socially but also about, well, 'shiny stuff,'" complete with air quotes. "How would you recommend I contact her? For whenever she might have time? I don't want to barge in. I'm Della, by the way. And," her smile has a small share of mischief, "I didn't live back East all that long."

"I honestly expected it to slip from your mouth, so yes, very well done." Ravn gets a gleaming Cheshire Cat grin and lift of glass, cheers. "And thank you, Una, I'll take the biggest one." A laugh despite herself which needs to be half-hidden in her wine. Nothing like a pleasant buzz to make keeping the inside voices inside one's head a little difficult.

"Pick your poison though, Everett," and the redhead gestures towards the plate. "Still enough to choose from, but you heard the hostess." A lift of pointer finger. "The biggest one is mine. Now, if you'll excuse me, Jules had the right idea." Time for the bathroom, apparently. She'll be taking her wine glass with her. A visible lift of free hand and brush against Ravn's arm before she adds, "Back in two shakes of a lamb's tail." A swirl of skirt fabric and off the barista goes into the house.

Una gestures towards the platter of pastries: plenty for everyone, even after Ariadne's had hers. "Biting off the head aggressively is, I think, the thing to do with them. I mean, not that one should, since they're only harmless sea creatures, nothing more salacious. I hope she enjoys it, anyway."

She waggles fingers after Ariadne, though mostly, now, her interest seems to be in finding a beer-- her wine is gone, and evidently she didn't enjoy it enough to try and chase down another.

"Can't get better than Rosencrantz taking one whole," Ravn murmurs and glances at the cookies. He has yet to reach for one. And now he's eyeing the lot as if trying to decide which one it is, Ariadne needs somebody to save for her.

He glances after Ariadne and nods; two shakes of a lamb's tail, indeed. Then he turns back to the others. "I think that in order to bite the head off a geoduck you actually need to open the shell and decide on what bit that is. The bivalve is -- uh -- pretty much the equivalent of our digestive system? Or am I ruining the joke here?"

While being spoken to, Everett's usual brooding expression remains until the topic about Glimmer arises. The distaste is immediately visible, "Oh. You're one of those people." In much the same way Della could have introduced herself as a Camperton from Scotsdale, oh my word. The very scandal. "I suppose if you promise to keep the," he raises his empty hand and wiggles the fingers, "finger wiggling to a minimum, you could just go over there now. Other than that, phone? Or drop by the Sweet Retreat? Send a flare or a stripper-gram?" Then he narrows his eyes with suspicion, "Can't you people just, you know, think at people or whatever."

He opens his mouth to say something to Ariadne, then a pause. "I. ... Ah. ..." small squeaks only emerge. And stop when he takes a tug from his beer and looks up and away. Lovely clouds, trees. Somethings. Then back to Una, "Yeah, she's been dropping some pretty unsutle hints about getting married. So, no. I think the joke remains."

Della glances after Ariadne, lingering for a moment; then... then, taken aback for all that she doesn't actually step back, "No. I wish, actually," and her smile up at Everett is sweet as pie. "I'm afraid there's nothing like that here," yet. "Think she'd be all right with your sharing her number? Do let us know when we should extend congratulations."

"Ah," says Una, mostly sweetly. "Women and their insatiable desire to get married. My sympathies, truly. If you do get married, of course, it looks like I can actually make penises as well as geoducks, so-- bachelorette party, just say the word."

She's blushing. It does happen.

"Itzhak-- was pretty funny. A memory I'll save and cherish. This was an excellent idea. Now--" She glances around. There are other people, and some of them she hasn't met yet. Her sip of beer may be for dutch courage because, "I am going to mingle. Wish me luck!"

"Marriage, there's a frightening word," Ravn agrees with a small laugh. "Though honestly? With the right person, but, it'd take me a while to get there. My one, previous engagement did not end well."

"I'm not sure. Let me check if she's cool with me sharing her digits. Chances are she will be but I'd rather err on the side of caution." Everett then rolls his eyes a little, "Yeah. Lillian's been asking for a while -- when she was round with Quinten actually. But she hasn't done any work towards it. Hasn't picked out a dress or a venue or anything. About the only thing I can get that redhead to have decided on is she wants it sooner rather than later." He nods a little after Ravn, "I remember, and I'm still sorry it didn't end well. I wouldn't have expected-- well, this isn't the life I wanted. A house," he turns around to look at it, "check. White picket fence, sorta check. Dog, meh. Two and a half kids, check. But I thought they would be with one woman."

Technically, Della's not smiling any more than before; her mouth maintains much the same gentle curve as before, even with her cheeks lifted and eyes alight with mischief. "Good luck!" she carols after Una, in a way that might imply any number of other well-wishes.

To Everett, "Understandably. I can give you mine for her, and then it's even more all up to her." Della steps a little to the side, evening out the rough triangle, before getting out her phone. She's glanced Ravn's way, no questions needed; regarding marriage, despite the paler line on her own wedding finger all she says is, "It sounds like they get along? The two women. Or twenty?" There goes that near-smile again. "I wouldn't want to assume."

"I can think of a number of men who'd be excited as all hell about having more than one woman and not even have to pretend to one that the other doesn't exist." Ravn can't resist a small, lopsided smile. "I get what you mean, though -- life has a habit of not working out the way we expect. Didn't think I'd end up in some small piece of nowhere on the other side of the planet, either. Reckon if we hate it more than we like it, though, we'll find some excuse to keep moving. So, we're here, must mean the good outweighs the bad, no?"

He nods at Della. "Kailey's the only one I know reasonably well, but I haven't heard anything to suggest otherwise."

"They get along well enough. Though I'm not sure if Bean, that is Lillian's nickname, wants to marry me for me, or so she's got more," there he pauses. Like he's considering his words or the pigmentation of the person he's speaking to. Then there's a fuck it shrug, "ownership over the package if you know what I mean." And in case she doesn't, Everett goes on, "A ring might legitimize her and I over Kailey and I. And I don't want to play favorites. I love 'em both," he says to his beer.

Lifting his head, he widens his green eyes, "And that's the long and the short of that.: With his empty hand, he cups the back of his head, "Man, I've been keeping that one close to the chest for a while," he adds softer. Then there's a point to Ravn with his beer, "See, I knew I was coming here. But I just didn't know what was in store for me." Finally, to Della, "Yeah, if you want to give me your digits, I'll make sure she gets them." He offers his palm if she has something to write with.

"Mm, yes." Della gives Ravn a nod on all counts, without even appending a, So far. Then, another, with an actual smile this time, one that she extends to Everett.

Brown eyes thoughtful, she listens, acknowledging his pause with a wry angle to her brows, then finally nods. And then -- that admission -- tilts her smile lopsided just a little, softer now.

Regarding writing, "I... hm. I don't suppose you've a pen, Ravn? Mine are all back at the house, though there's always drawing with ketchup on a napkin, because that would be fun to take home."

"I'm guessing that under US law, you can't simply marry both? Honest question -- under Danish law it wouldn't be possible. Which is silly because frankly, if people are happy in a polycule it's no one else's business to tell them they have to pick." Ravn sips his wine. "People shouldn't need anyone else's permission or judgement over how they choose to be happy."

He pats his pocket. The academic, without a pen? Not happening. The fountain pen Della is offered is quite nice; a man likes quality tools for his work. "I'd kind of like to see you drawing with ketchup on a napkin, though. Or better yet, see Kailey decipher it five hours later, when it's been in a pocket and whatnot."

"Not unless I lived in Utah," remarks Everett in a subdued manner even with the joke. "Either way," the giant tells Ravn, "I'm still telling her I'm collecting phone numbers so I still have to have my mojo." To Della he adds with a smirk, "Just don't dot the eyes too hard." AKA, don't stab my hand hard.

"Good man." Della pockets her phone and accepts the instrument with the appreciation it deserves, looking it over -- especially its nib -- although she doesn't post its cap before moving to deploy it.

"How about the back of your hand, so it smears less?" she offers Everett, after a snicker for his quip. "Speaking of five hours later." At least, either way, there should be plenty of square footage; she's inclined to do the job quickly, nib tilted away from her, adding a 'D -> K' at the end. No hearts.

"Not sure I'd consider it worth joining a religion over, seems like a lot of effort." Ravn makes a small face; he may officially be a Lutheran but effectively? Utterly indifferent to matters of faith. He looks over and then quickly reaches for a napkin. "Maybe you should write on this though. I mean, ink doesn't wash off. I use that pen for signing paperwork at HOPE."

Looking at Della's handiwork, Everett remarks, "Well I can definitely pass the D for something but the K might be harder to pass off. I'm sure something will come to me while I'm handing her one of Una's phallic treats." He turns his hand a little more, "Only question is how many bathrooms I'm going to pass from here to home so I can scribble these numbers after a 'for a good time call' advertisement."

His joking aside, Everett puts his large paw down, it's not the only ink he has on that hand, such as the faded 1337 written in Old English on his knuckles. Taking another pull from his domestic beer, "It does seem like a lot of effort. Like that whole belief thing. I'm sure there's only so long they'd put up with me."

Too late. Della glances from hand to Ravn, the whites of her eyes showing -- and then laughs, just laughs, capping the pen before offering it back. "Wave your hand in the air so it can dry," she recommends however-unnecessarily to Everett. "What's a little excommunication between friends? Or disbarring or disfellowship or whatever it's called. Maybe you all can go off and form your own, a la Henry the Eighth. Minus the decapitation, please."

"So the real question we need to ask of the Church of Latter Day Saints is, how long until you can get your marriage papers in order and get the hell out?" Ravn can't resist another small laugh. Lawyers. Authorities. Respectability. All words that make life so complicated.

He brightens at Della. "There we go. The Everettican Church of America, problem solved. If it's sauce for the goose, it's sauce for the gander. Just give us a heads up before you start a civil war so we can dig a moat, right?"

"And with decapitation, we're full circle around bitting the geo--what'sits head off while glaring at me. Well done," Everett adds, as he fans his hand with an exaggerated limp wrist. Thinking while fanning his hand, he at least gives Ravn's idea a little thought, "I dunno if I could make my own church. They all seem central on the guy in charge has to wear the highest hat, and I don't confine this mane under a hat."

Everett tilts his head back and gives his head a little shake to agitate his many shiny tresses.

Della looks him over: so he conditions? "One of them could wear the hat," she notes. "Call yourself the Grey Eminence if you need that sort of thing. Let's skip the civil war, though --"

Too soon, or maybe not soon enough. A young visitor's just raised the ketchup bottle (but at least it's not Una's pastry), and another's got the mustard. Fight!