2022-05-08 - Porch Cookies

The one thing the Vagabond does not have -- is a shower. This is why Ravn Abildgaard might as well not profess to living on his boat this summer. Oh, sure, he sleeps there. But he's back on Oak Avenue at least once a day because showers are nice, and also, it's easier to keep all his books there than to drag the whole lot of them onto the boat, and then not have space for them. It's amazing how many books a man can pick up over one winter, once he's got a place to stash them.

He emerges now, usual black turtleneck and ditto cargo pants (blissfully unaware of the Opinions of one Perdita Leontes), hair damp. Certain familiar scents lure him from one sunbathed porch to another; Five Oak is rapidly becoming known as the domain of the Kitchen Cleric, and her creations are worth casually dropping in for anytime.

Yes, he timed it. He'll never admit it.

Time off, Zara said. It would be good in order to focus on the baby. Focus on finding out where the baby belongs is more like it. But there's only so much that Ava can do from this side of the Veil. Bribing faerie circles and trying to coax faeries to come out and talk at night only gets you so far. Especially when they aren't particularly chatty. Failures lead to the need for a few things. One of those things being friends. Another of those things being cookies.

Both can be found two doors down. Not long after Ravn comes Ava, baby carrier in hand with little blue baby inside, covered in a snuggly blanket.

It's not Una's fault (I mean, it is, but really, hush) that her cookies bring all the people to the yard. It's certainly not as if she leaves open doors and windows when she's baking, all the better to entice people in. This possibly makes her whole 'gingerbread house' idea all the more creepy: is this some conspiracy to fatten people up? It's not impossible, right?

Or maybe she's exactly what she seems: kind-hearted Kitchen Cleric Una, carrying a big plate of cookies out onto the porch where her book, a coffee pot, and a collection of mismatched mugs are already waiting. Because while there are no specific invitations hanging out there today, the general one is always in place: Una has cookies, come eat them.

It doesn't mean she doesn't look heartily amused as the screen door swings closed behind her and movement catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. "I'm imagining you hovering just inside your house," she calls out. "Waiting for the exact moment when cookies become a possibility."

Ava, too. It's as if the beacon has been lit.

"Gondor calls for aid," Ravn says solemnly. "Or wait, maybe that white flare was just me towelling off. Either way, think you can spare a cup of coffee and half of your best cookie for a starving stranger who definitely doesn't eat like a bird because that'd mean he'd have to consume his own weight every day?"

Nerds.

He shoots a curious glance at Ava's baby carrier. "How's the little one? Still acting -- well, normal, besides being blue?"

"I thought that there might be a possibility for baked goods if I popped over here and made cute faces. If my cute face didn't work, hers surely might. It's far cuter than mine. Granted, she will not be eating said goods, they are only for me." Ava offers a tired, lopsided smile to the pair. Is that a hint of dark circle under her eyes? Say it isn't so!

"She's doing okay enough as far as I can tell. Mostly normal outside of her absolute love for the water and sunshine. Doesn't get all burnt in the sun or anything, or pruned in the water. But everything else seems very human. It's very odd."

Una sends a significant glance towards the coffee already on the table, the plate of cookies in her hands. Can she spare a morsel for the hungry baby bird? It's possible.

She sets the cookies down, then starts pouring coffee, though that pauses as she considers Ava, and those tired eyes. "Sit down, have some coffee, and a cookie. They're fresh out of the oven. Do you want me to mind her for a little while? You look exhausted, Ava. Sit down. I think I'm developing a sixth sense over when people need my services, I swear. I watched Jules make cookies this morning and positively itched to take over... so as soon as she left I had to make my own."

But different: Jules' were walnut chocolate chip, and these are snickerdoodles.

Ravn settles and, with careful consideration, identifies the best snickerdoodle. Watch privilege in action: He snatches it, too. How much of it he will actually eat is anyone's guess, but he's certainly going to have a good time picking at it.

"There are worse skills than knowing when your friends need support," the Dane points out while securing himself a coffee mug and the coffee to go in it. "A lot of us utterly suck at asking. I'm definitely looking at myself, at Jules, and probably also at half a dozen other people. Jules turned up on my boat the other night and asked to borrow my coat, you realise? Because she needed to look badass enough to get some ex to leave her alone. I had to sit on myself to not offer to go have a talk with that ex but, she's a big girl, and she gets to decide what kind of help she asks for."

Una gets Ava set up with coffee and a cookie, all the better to take a moment to just breathe after all the stresses of caring for a surprise non-human baby for the past week. Then she takes her own seat, reaching forward to select what will have to be-- alas-- the second best snickerdoodle. "Oh, I suck at asking too," she says. "That's why I bug people incessantly about providing it. It's a thing. Jules," and she's not gossiping, here, just giving information, "is back in Taholah today, for the... first salmon festival? Something like that. I imagine that means her ex will be there. But she left the house today looking amazing, so I think she'll be fine."

And with that jacket, yes; that didn't go unnoticed.

"Yeah. She called it a picnic on the Rez, so that sounds about right. And of course she can borrow my jacket. I feel more like maybe she should borrow somebody to tell some bothersome ex to fuck off and keep fucking, but -- it's also a respect thing. It's not my place to tell Jules what she needs, anymore than it's that ex' place, you know?" Ravn sips his coffee -- liquid bliss, and honestly, what is it about coffee here that it just tastes better out of Una's kitchen? His aunts send him gourmet stuff and it just -- doesn't compare. If he was a sap he'd say, it's the care. Coffee is better when someone cares.

He blows on the coffee. Hot. "Not that I'm really Mr Beefcake but at 6'3 I do find people tend to at least listen if I puff myself up. And I am definitely not above using my powers to create an embarrassing scene in public. Hard to appear intimidating and frightening when your pants keep falling down your ankles."

Una's expression is... well, torn. Like there's something she wants to say, but won't, because that would mean betraying a confidence, and Una's no gossip. She half-covers it by lifting her own mug towards her mouth for happy sip. After she's swallowed: "Yeah. She's a big girl. I'm pretty sure she's got it covered." Beat. "Look at me, not getting involved and worrying excessively. I'm learning and growing as a person!"

She picks off a piece of her cookie, giving it a quick visual examination before it gets popped into her mouth. "Okay, I do kind of love that idea, though. Humiliation as a technique, very nice. I'd never even have thought about doing that... but maybe I need to try. I feel like we all need to really give some deep thought into how to use our powers for... well, in creative ways? Not just the obvious and dramatic."

Ravn hitches a shoulder and half-chuckles. "I'm a glass cannon. I'm tall and intimidating, and then you flick my nose and I'm on the ground, screaming. But outside of this town, people don't do the things we can do. Here? We kind of expect a mover to do something like that. In Taholah? Who would? Who, in a sane, normal town, thinks that a guy like me can undo somebody's jeans buttons, or tip over their coffee into something from ten meters away, or pull the brake on their car, have fun chasing it all the way down the hill?"

He shrugs again. Maybe there's a way he managed on the road alone, for years, in spite of not exactly being a scrapper. "But, yeah. A hard part of this is learning to butt out. We're used to being under attack, so it's instinctive to want to reach out and help. Just got to trust that people will ask, in some fashion. And all Jules asked me for, was my coat."

Una's mouth twitches in unsuppressed mirth: Ravn's given a whole serious of excellent ideas, all now nicely stored in her mental repertoire of things that could be done, if the need were there. "I like the way you think," she says, quietly. But mostly: "I spend so little time, these days, with people who aren't like us, that I kind of forget. That in Taholah, or Seattle, or most other places, it just... wouldn't be expected at all, no."

She leans back, curling one foot beneath her, and lifting the other so that it rests at the tip of her chair, knee lifted towards her chin. "Yeah," she adds. "So you helped in the way she wanted you to. I'm glad she prepared herself; worked out a way to feel comfortable."

"No, seriously. I mean, one of the first times I talked to Ariadne, she told me I'd get black coffee when pigs fly. Anyone who's lived in Gray Harbor for three months knows better than to say something like that. Because obviously, obviously, I went and got a pig plushie and made it fly. It's not exactly a big trick." Ravn grins a little. He's still proud of that one. He didn't intend for it to come across like a stunt to attract a pretty barista's attention but he's not complaining about that side effect, either.

He nibbles on a bit of cookie. "We get used to the things we can do. Outside of this town, we're fucking superheroes. Although most people experience that their powers fade or they start to forget, once they leave. Not everyone. I guess for me, I always knew I had this power but I also always assumed I was the weird one out. And significantly underestimated what I can actually do with them."

Cookie and coffee! But has anyone ever seen a grown adult fall asleep for a second with half a cookie in their mouth? Because that's what just happened. There's a sort of half-snort noise and a coughing sound before Ava bites down on the cookie in surprise as she shoots fully upright. Dream? Awake? What's going on? Her eyes dart back and forth for a second before she stares at Ravn and Una in bewilderment. Then they widen again. The baby! Cookie is still being chewed as her head whips around. Okay, right there. Heart attack averted.

This time, Una has an outright laugh for that story. "Obviously," she agrees. "She really set you up for that one, no doubt there."

She wraps her arm around her raised knee, resting her chin on it, though that pose can't last for long, given it severely limits her ability to drink coffee (truly a crime). Her frown for the rest of what Ravn has to say is a thoughtful one, as though she's still working through the logistics of this particular train of thought-- and her answer is postponed, as Ava's half-snort draws her attention.

"She's fine," she assures the doctor. "And you're fine. Rest, if that's what you need."

"Goodness, Doc. You need to hire a sitter, something. You're not doing yourself or the kiddo any favours if you're so exhausted you can barely function." Ravn actually does look a little worried. "She's not really different from other babies, you say -- besides being blue. It's not like she has special needs that only the select initiates can know of, right? Hell, slip Vicky Barrett a twenty and she'll be happy to babysit while doing her homework. Half the teens in town would."

"I let Vicky Barrett see Nimue and every person in this town is going to hear about the blue baby. That includes potential body snatchers and bad guys. I prefer sitters that can keep their mouths shut. My dad is helping when I need to go to work. Deacon is good at getting her to sleep with that whole mental abilities thing, and the whole I don't know, dad vibe? I guess? Maybe it's a dude thing. Between two jobs plus baby, it's burning the candle at both ends." A hand raises, half the cookie dangling.

"Zara has already yelled at me about time off. I'm taking some, I promise. Until we, or I, or whatever can figure out if she has family out there somewhere or if this poor thing is actually stuck with me forever. Which I really hope isn't the case, because this is clearly not the world she belongs to." It's sounds very much like someone has been saying this a lot, trying to convince themselves as much as others of it.

Una lets her gaze slide from Ava, to the baby, and then out across the street. It's a beautiful day within the yards of 1, 3 and 5 Oak, and significantly warmer than it is out there. No doubt that accounts for the redhead's bare toes and arms. She lifts her chin from her knee and reclaims her coffee. "So what can we do to help you get her back to where she belongs?" Una's prompt. "Also, you can drop her with me if you need to, in an emergency. I know how to keep my mouth shut, unlike Vicky Barrett, and I have babysitting experience."

Early morning is a perfect time for a walk, right? Of course, if one hadn't really gotten much in the way of sleep, was it even actually morning? Walking down the street, with her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans, green eyes sweeping back and forth around the neighborhood as if both remembering a memory and experiencing it for the first time. Of course, spotting the unmissable greenery of the trio of houses in particular, Charity pauses and cannot help but stare at the lushness before her. Of course, it's a couple of seconds after that when she realizes the chill of the morning is gone and a slight smile breaks across her face. Pulling her hands free, she makes her way closer to the smell of fresh java and the sounds of conversation.

"Good point. Vicky means well but she's only a teenager. And I suppose there are people in this world who'd try to use her -- as a headline story if nothing else." Ravn nods. "She's not the first, you know? I mean, we know this isn't the case -- but blue people exist. It's a blood disorder that requires both parents to have it, in order to pass it on to the kid, but they do exist."

The tall copper blond's attention is diverted; there are only so many people in Gray Harbor who'd look at sudden summer scenery and react with that particular expression -- the one that says I seen some shit. This is not a familiar face -- but heaven knows this pitcher plant of a town pulls people in all the time, so he raised a hand gloved in black kidskin in a friendly wave hello. It's not his porch but the message is not hard to read: There's more mugs, more coffee.

"I may drop her off with you for a nap later, honestly, if you really don't mind. I could really use one. I always thought I'd you know, date for a while, get engaged, married, then have a kid while taking proper maternity leave. Not accidentally grow one in the garden and then never sleep again while having to make up a hell of an excuse to get time off of work.

"Honestly, I need to talk to the faeries and folks on the Other Side. Look through the Societies research more. Anything to try to pin point where she may have come from, or where there might be more of her kind. Or if she's one of a kind. She was mixed with Cryptid blood. It may be she's the first of her kind. Which might put her in more danger." Ava frowns at that, knowing that it's all her fault. Not that she was expecting this. "Blue, yes. But she's a little more than just blue."

Ava's eyes follow Ravn to the unfamiliar face. Her eyes dart to the baby nearby and then to Charity. This will be interesting.

"Absolutely fine," promises Una. 'Babysitting Ava's blue baby' is probably not the reason she had in mind for turning down Jules' invitation to go to Taholah for the first salmon ceremony, but it works rather well as an excuse. "Nimue and I will have a great time, I promise." Her gaze flicks off in the direction of the faerie ring, one yard over, and she murmurs, "I imagine it's probably possible to petition them? I've never tried, not beyond 'here, have some baked goods'."

That distraction means it's slower for her than the others to note the newcomer, though as she glances back to her immediate companions, she seems to register the direction of their gaze and she, too, turns to look at Charity. "Coffee?" she offers. "And snickerdoodles? There's plenty."

Charity steps up onto the porch, glances at the trio and then to the cerulean-skinned child. Despite her own experiences, this still gives her a bit of a pause. However, since she is also not rude, she maintains her smile as she turns her gaze back to Una. "Oh, thank you. Coffee and cookies sound quite delicious." She gives her small shoulders a tiny shrug. "Sorry to just intrude on your morning." Then she glances at the rest, understanding the tenuous connections running between them. It doesn't take long for it to come back the whisper in the back of her mind teases. Reaching up, she waves her fingers at them. "Guess a name might be a good place to start. I'm Charity. Charity Dixon."

"Ravn Abildgaard," says the tall bloke in black -- the name is foreign, and his accent matches it. It's the kind of accent that tries very hard to pass for BBC speaker British -- and fails. Probably European, though. He curls gloved fingers around his mug and then arches an eyebrow. "New in town? Don't think I've seen you around."

Apparently one of those people who thinks he'll know every single person in a town of eighteen thousand.

"That's alright. We already invaded the porch for cookies and coffee. Una likes it. She's in her zone when she's feeding people. I'm going to warn you right now, though, that you're going to have one cookie and you're going to end up on this porch again tomorrow morning like a fiend. They're that good." Ava gives Una a little wink. "The company is too. I'm Ava Brennon. I live in that one." There's a gesture towards 1 Oak.

"That's the one you run to if you're ever bleeding out or anything and need medical attention. This is the one you go to for cookies. Ravn's is the one in the middle. That's where you go if you want to learn about folklore."

"It's absolutely no intrusion," Una insists. "Ava's right: this is what I do best. I came out with all of this, this morning, with no one invited to join, and look where we are now; that was always the plan. Nice to meet you, Charity. I'm Una Irving." There's a spare chair, conveniently, and plenty of coffee in the pot-- not to mention plenty of snickerdoodles.

The redhead takes another quick sip of her coffee, then another bite of cookie. She's on to her second, somehow.

Charity lets out a little musical laugh. "Well, it's nice to meet you Ravn, Ava, Una. And thank you for the invitation." She moves to pour some coffee into an empty mug, places a cookie over the opening so that the steam can heat it up a bit, and takes the empty seat. "If it's all the same to you, Ava, I'll limit my visits to casual fly-bys as opposed to events with involuntary exsanguination." Her grin widens and she looks back at Ravn. "Yes and no. I'm originally from here, but I left years ago. Now I'm back because ..." She uses her free hand to gesture at the more than obvious strangeness of the immediate area. "I guess you could say I'm getting reacquainted with everything."

Then, without any sort of distress, she gestures at the child. "And does this unique bundle of joy have a name?"

Ravn's nod to the other two is almost imperceptible; here's somebody not needing sat down for the speech that begins with When a daddy loves his coffee very much and he has telekinetic powers, coffee can fly. It's always easier, when you don't need to start from scratch. No surprise, indeed, that a blue baby is no shocker; grow up here, you've probably seen worse, the Dane reasons to himself.

Instead, for some reason, he just murmurs, "You can check out, but you can never leave." Must be some internal joke. "Getting settled in, then? Town's waking up fast now the tourist season is starting. Good time if you're looking for work that you don't intend to turn into a life time career."

"Mmm, you say that now, Charity, my dear. But you'll be glad to know where that house is eventually. I can almost guarantee it. Though, I very much prefer casual fly-bys. They tend to be a lot more fun." Somewhere along the way Ava's coffee vanished. So while Una's on her second cookie, the doc is on her second cup. But she'll still need that nap later.

"Nimue is her name," she offers with a pleased smile at the question. "It seemed fitting."

Tacking onto Ravn's last statement. "What is it that you do, Charity?"

Una's nod, by way of return to Ravn, is slightly more obvious; so's the lingering glance that goes with it, though maybe that's for the murmured comment that follows it. "I think I'm tired of tourists already," she says, in a way that is too cheerful for it to be really serious. "Though I know the town needs them. Still-- ugh."

She pauses a beat, then adds, "Welcome back to town, anyway, Charity. And remember, you don't have to ask every question that gets thrown at you, if you don't want to. We're a friendly bunch, though-- we try and help each other out, because sometimes... sometimes that's the only way to get through things, you know?"

"It's okay," Charity says to Una. "I don't mind the questions. After all, you can't get to know people if they don't get to know you. Right?" Turning to Ravn, she tilts her head slightly to the side as those green eyes regard him. "Currently, I give people what they desire." There is a bit of a conspiratory emphasis on that last word. As if sharing a secret innuendo. Of course, that comment is followed by nodding of her head in a northerly direction as she laughs again. "If what they desire is food, that is. I'm a waitress at this greasy spoon up off one-oh-nine." She pulls the cookie off the mug and takes a bit, closing her eyes for a second as she savors the delicious flavor.

Following that morsel with a swallow of coffee, she looks back at the trio. "Hopefully it's just a temporary arrangement. We'd like to find work that's more local, preferably at the dance studio over in downtown."

Ravn cants his head. "Shouldn't be too difficult. There's several local -- well, more local places, and from what I've seen, there's also plenty business in the tourist season for the dance and fitness studios. No idea whether the Grand Olympic Hotel doesn't have a fitness studio of its own or the trainer there is a creep but there you go -- people come into town a lot during the warm half of the year. Most of the downtown shops find themselves needing more hands over summer, that's for sure."

It's kind of obvious, from looking at the town in passing. Once a prosperous industrial port -- and then the lumber ran out, more or less. Now? National parks, nature preserves, and a bay that only sometimes has large sharks coming near the coast. Cape Cod it ain't, but it wishes it could be.

"Well, there's getting to know you questions, and then there's the kind of stuff that we might throw at you. Una is trying to save you from the inevitable, horrifying, she thinks we're going to embarrass her kind of question." Ava grins at that, slanting a glance towards the red head. "Ravn's right, though. Tons of places in town that can use some extra help that don't mean going so far out of town to get to. Even the Pourhouse could probably use an extra hand. It's mainly locals, but it still gets busier because the locals are trying to hide from the tourists."

The baby carrier is starting to wiggle, little blue hands with tiny webbing between the fingers flailing. Ava glances over and smiles down, rocking it up and down. "What's the matter?" she murmurs as Nimue starts to fuss.

Ravn may be oblivious to Charity's innuendo, but Una? Una is not, and flushes pink in response; Ava's remark probably doesn't help either, though both leaving her smiling ruefully all the same. She's a redhead-- they do tend to flush easily, especially when paired with pale, naturally pink skin as Una indeed does possess. "Plenty of work," she agrees. "You're a dancer?"

Her attention is, admittedly, distracted by now: Nimue's awake, and Una's brown eyes have tracked towards her, checking up on the small blue baby and her tired-looking foster mama.

Charity nods and takes another sip of the coffee as a slight bit of relief rolls through her at the lack of comment over the slip of plurality." Lowering cup she looks over at Ravn. "Tourist season," she muses. "I remember my parents constant reminders to be less ... odd ... if possible when outsiders were visiting. Funny, I hadn't given it a moment's thought until just now. And I don't mind slinging or serving drinks," she says to Ava. "As long as the tips are plenty and the wandering hands are few."

"Yes," she replies as her gaze turns to Una. "Ballet, jazz, modern, ballroom, salsa. The company I used to work with did performances half the year and instructional lessons the other half." She shrugs one shoulder. "Worse case scenario, I guess I could dance in a more private establishment." A playful wink is tossed at the already blushing redhead before another bite of cookie is taken. "I gather that you're a doctor, Ava." Charity nods at the other two. "Are folklore and cookies what keeps the lights on?"

"I'm a history teacher for Copenhagen U," Ravn agrees. "Part of an online tutoring program for Afghanistan vets. Not going to pretend it pays a fortune, but it pays my rent and berth on the marina." He cants his head and adds, "The Platinum Cabaret on the outskirts of town is exactly the kind of place you think it is, if you're looking for that kind of work. And of course there's the Grand Olympic Hotel -- the casino's probably pretty chronically understaffed when it comes to women in short black dresses. It seems to be one of those jobs no one wants for long."

Wonder why. "If you're up for barista work or similar, honestly, half of downtown needs retail workers who can endure entitled tourists with a smile, and then go swear about them with the rest of us at the Pourhouse after work."

"Wandering hands are what tazers are for," Ava states with a firm nod. "Or a hat pin like in the old days." The private establishment comment towards Una causes Ava's head to lift, if just for a moment, to see how many shades of red Una is about to turn.

"Coroner as well. Private clinic for doctor's work, but I work for the town coroner wise." It looks like there's more to say, but the fussing starts to grow louder and the little kicks more adamant. "Oh goodness. That's hungry kicking. Okay okay. I hear you." An apologetic look is offered out towards the group. "I have to take care of this. I'll catch you guys more later. Nice to meet you, Charity."

A breath is gathered in from the carrier before a true cry start to ring out and Ava's eyes go wide. "That's my cue. Sorry!" Now she's running back off towards her own house with the carrier making soothing sounds on the way.

Why yes, Una does turn an even darker pink in reply to Charity's next comment. "Good for you?" she says, attempting to sound casual, though her words are a little faltering. Her coffee, then, deserves more of her attention, not to mention that cookie. Besides, she already knows the answers Ravn and Ava are liable to give to the question at hand.

One hand lifts in farewell to Ava, though she adds, quickly, "I'll drop in later and pick her up for a while! Give you a proper rest." And she will.

Then, and only then, does she turn her attention back to the conversation, and actually answer the question: "Cookies are a hobby, not a job. I look after admin in Ava's clinic." Which is definitely job, not hobby.

Charity waves at Ava as she rushes off with the wailing Nimue then turns back to the remaining pair. "College prof, huh? That sounds like an interesting profession. I mean, you get to meet all kinds of people, right? Never a dull moment?" Her sly smile returns and she takes a nibble from the cookie before addressing Una. "Sorry if my comment bothered you. I was just trying to tease." She laughs softly as she gestures to her slender body. "While I'm sure I could out dance most of the other employees, I'm not exactly built to compete in that environment. But I might look into seeing if I can get work at the Olympic. Short dresses and long legs seem to go together nicely."

She does wave the cookie toward Una as if wagging her finger. "If you decide to open a bakery, let me know. I know my way around an oven and a mixing bowl, but I already know my skills don't hold a candle to the hands that made this. Simply divine." She takes another bite and chases it with the coffee. "Then she leans back and regards them both for a moment before speaking again. "So, I guess the oddness here wasn't just a bit of leftover childish imagination. Makes me feel better about myself and a little concerned for the therapists who had to deal with me."

"Make sure to get some rest," Ravn tells Ava as she goes. "Healer, heal thyself, and all that jazz."

He doesn't offer to babysit. Maybe it's for the better.

Instead, a gloved hand picks a little piece off the snickerdoodle he's still holding -- still on the first too -- and tucks it into his mouth, with a chuckle. "Not a professor, no. Just an assistant lecturer to one. I don't do classrooms, that's why I work online. Done a fair bit of therapy for it, none of which made the strange go away -- because as you say, the oddness isn't just childish imagination. Sorry - it would be easier it if it was. Although there's also some charm to knowing that if you're hallucinating, at least you're part of a community of people with perception disorders."

Una gestures with her coffee cup, dismissing Charity's apology, along with her rueful smile. "I blush easily," she explains. "But it's fine. You're fine." The compliment clearly helps, because her smile is bright and happy for that, though she demurs from the idea: "I worry that doing it professionally would dim my love for it. Besides-- this way, I get to make all my friends happy, and not worry about profits. And it keeps the garden green, and that's also important."

Her nod, after that, confirms what Ravn's said. "You're-- well, there are a lot of us here. Among friends may seem an exaggeration, but it won't take long for it to be true. And this place... it'll amplify everything. Be prepared? But, also, don't be a stranger, because that way we can have your back, too. I like to say my kitchen, 'round the back, is always open, if people need to decompress."

"Thank you." Charity flashes them both an obviously grateful smile. "I was a bit worried coming back here after so long. I never really connected with anyone other than my family. My own oddness showed up early and just made for being more of an outsider than is normal for kids." She glances over to the street and the lush greenery of the closest properties. "Now, being back is both familiar and really, really strange. If that makes any sense." Turning back to them, she nods. "I would like to make some friends this time. Especially among those who know that the world isn't as cut and dry as most people think."

She holds up the remaining bit of the cookie. "Plus, you know, cookies!" The morsel is popped into her mouth and followed by the rest of the coffee. "I'm currently renting a place over off Elm. The best I could find on short notice. However, if either of you have any suggestions for someplace not super expensive that doesn't come with toilets that randomly back up, I'm all ears."

"A lot of these properties here on Oak are room mates," Ravn says and looks down the Avenue. "They were built to be upper middle class homes but there's not a lot of upper middle class left in town, you know? That kind of people live in Seattle nowadays, I guess, or out by Ocean Shores. It's a way to cut down on rent, if you don't mind sharing showers. I couch-surfed for a while after coming into town almost two years ago -- before I ended up renting sail boat just large enough for myself and the cat that declared her ownership."

He smiles a little and reaches for a coffee refill. With a glance at Una, "She's not wrong, though. Oak Five does tend to be where we all end up when we need a cookie and a pat on the head. Not wrong about the whole tending to find our own kind, either. There's a lot of things you can't explain to others unless you do want to end up recommended a therapist. Bit of a sticking together feeling, I suppose."

"I already have two roommates," Una puts in, indicating the house behind her, "and that's hard enough for sharing showers-- this place only has the one bathroom-- so I think I'm full up. But I can guarantee there'll be places around, if you keep an ear out. Give me your number, and I'll get in touch if I hear of anything? And then there's friendzone, too."

She nudges her coffee cup towards the coffee pot Ravn has in hand: she needs some too. "Anyway, yes: what Ravn said. A sticking together feeling. Safer in numbers. And easier, when you know your friends are people you can talk to about things, whatever happens. It's hard to really get close to people, I think, when you can't explain what's going on; when they all just... forget."

Charity laughs, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to ask if I could room with one of you. I mean, you hardly know me. But if you do know of someone looking for a roommate, or someplace renting rooms, I'd be forever grateful." She reaches into the pocket of her red hoodie and pulls out a cellphone. Unlocking the device, she brings up her contacts list (which consists of a whopping two names, one of which starts with 'Dr.') and hands it to Una. "Just put your digits in there and I'll text you mine." She inclines her head at Ravn. "You too, if you want. I promise I won't drunk dial you in the middle of the night looking for a ride."

She winks and then looks back at Una. "If anyone comes to mind, they have to be okay with some of my more prevalent idiosyncrasies. One of which is constantly talking to myself. Sometimes I do it and don't even realize I'm doing it. Which is not as humorous in public as you might think it'd be."

"As far as strange goes in this town, I don't think talking to yourself scores very high on the red flags list," Ravn murmurs with a trace of amusement. "For a while I had, look at him wrong and his dead ex will materialise and beat the snot out of you. That made a few friendships a little complicated."

Well, he did sort of suggest that things might get odd around here, yes. Maybe he just wants to see what kind of reaction such a story will get. Either way, he hitches a shoulder and waits for the phone after Una. "Elm's not so bad either though, not if you can find a place that's properly maintained or you're a bit of a handy person yourself. Stay away from the Murder Motel -- I mean the Seaview -- if you're sensitive to ghosts. There's a number of tenement buildings in town that are decent too -- Broafleaf Apartments, for instance, the janitor and owner there is one of us, that always helps when you need to explain gremlins in the pipes."

"You say that," says Una, with a laugh, as she accepts the phone and adds in her digits, "but my two current roommates? I didn't know them at all when they moved in either: room wanted ad, boom, and suddenly we were all friends. So if it weren't for the fact that they were already in place, you'd absolutely be in with a chance."

She hands the phone on to Ravn, then adds, "Ghosts at the Broadleaf too, though, based on that barbecue Conner had there. But harmless, as far as I've seen."

"Well, sometimes the talking turns into arguments and that's when the looks really fly. But that's all taken place outside of town, so it was a bit of an oddity there." A brow is arched at the mention of the haunted hotel and the undead ex. "Real ghosts? Color me intrigued. I mean, we saw stuff way back in the day, but we never really knew if it was real or just imagination." When Ravn finishes with her phone, if he puts in his info, she takes it back and returns it to the oversized pocket.

Standing, she looks at them. "Thank you for the coffee, the cookie, the advice, and the friendly welcome. However, if I don't get home and get ready, I'm going to be late for work." She takes one last look around the unseasonal area before glancing back to them. "It is weird to feel like you both belong and don't belong somewhere simultaneously? Or maybe that's just me." Shrugging at her own question, she glides down the steps and turns around to wave a final time before heading off down the street with a slight bounce in her step.

"No, not an unfamiliar feeling at all," Ravn murmurs with amusement. "In fact -- I think that's kind of all of us. I'm trying to think of anyone who just came into their power and was all, oh, nice, cool beans, what's on the telly?"

He ponders. "Even the people I know who grew up here, struggled with that feeling. Being considered weird or strange by the other kids. Or having to keep the family secret. Legacies of not talking to strangers about these things, family curses. And they're real -- the Baxter curse is real enough, a lot of people with Baxter blood have ended up going insane. I want to think that a very large part of that is because they had to go it alone, without help, without anyone to talk to."

It's almost like someone sent out a text that it's Porch Time on Oak, because a cherry red Nissan Altima pulls into Ravn's drive way, and a young woman wearing a bubble gum pink slip dress slips out of the driver's seat, pulling the matching lace duster over her shoulders. Her long dark hair has been styled in waves and a deep side part that gives her something of an early 40s film starlet look... and in her hands, a reusable bag that seems weighted down with something.

She approaches Ravn and Una with a grin, glancing after the retreating form of Charity, before she raises the bag. "Boozy ice cream, as promised, for you to enjoy at your leisure."

"'We'," murmurs Una, watching after the departing Charity. This time, she did pick up on it. "Nice to have met you!" The latter is, at least, louder, more intended to carry after the brunette.

"God, I can't even imagine being that... blasé about it. -- Oh, hi Dita!" Una waggles fingers at the approaching woman, and then laughs. "Boozy ice cream? You temptress. Come and have some coffee, or a cookie or two? You look spectacular, as always."

Willow is out for a walk, is it safe, maybe not, does she care, nope. She's bored, restless, and she can't spend all day inside, just because certain people tell her it's dangerous, and the such. Her steps start to slow as she sees the group on the porch, her practiced gaze falling over every face, though she only sees one person in the group that she remotely recognizes. Curiosity gets the better of her and she moves closer to the group, though doesn't enter the porch unless invited.

The tall guy in black gives a low wolf whistle at the lady in the pink slip. He's either a horrible flirt or it's some kind of private joke. "Hello, Dita." Then he notices the other fresh arrival -- and raises a gloved hand in a friendly wave. "And hello, you too."

The man has an accent -- faint and trying hard to sound British, though not quite managing it. He doesn't look surprised in the slightest to see people draw up, whether in outfits that belong on a glitzy ball room floor or, well, just strolling past. Maybe this is what passes for normal around here. "So does this mean we're having boozy ice cream?"

There's a little runway walk worthy twirl from Dita, which is mildly impressive due to the height of those heels and how comfortably she executes it, but then she's on the porch with a grin at Ravn. "Thank you, beautiful." Dita drops to air kiss Una's cheek, before taking a seat for herself. "I would love some coffee, but I think I am boozed out, for a day or two, at least. Heartbreak over, fire department grateful." She crosses her legs, handing over the bag to Una, for the pair to sort for themselves. Indeed, there's an assortment inside of various pint sizes.

"I wasn't sure what flavors you'd enjoy most, so... there's a sampling."

Willow gets a friendly smile, but Perdita definitely doesn't look like a suburbanite, and thus, doesn't give an invitation. Besides... vampires might be real.

Somebody must have texted about coffee and snickerdoodles. The latter surely brings all the Gray Harborites to the yard of Five Oak Avenue.

It brings yet another arrival to arrive in a whir of tires and spokes and a subtle screech of brakes being engaged. "You had me at snickerdoodles!" calls out the redhead releasing the chin-strap of her bicycle helmet. She's in svelte black yoga pants, a pair of leopard-patterned skater-sneakers, and what appears to be a vaguely oversized black turtleneck under a waterproof windbreaker. Bike kickstand engaged, Ariadne then shakes out her hair from beneath the cycling helmet. This gets slung over her forearm as she then traipses across the front yard towards the porch. Somehow, the colors of her underpaneling are bright; they're on display as she pulls her hair up into a messy-bun.

"Dita, that is just excellent." How to miss the dress in particular. "And Una, lovely one -- and Willow, hi! We met at the Cinco de Mayo party in passing. You were...researching ghost stories, right? I told you about the bridge." A friendly grin for Willow. As she finds her way to a chair, she drifts past Ravn. A gestured hand alights upon his shoulder before a press of a kiss to the hair in passing and then she's plopped herself down. "I don't need more coffee, but I will take a snickerdoodle and thus obligate myself to coffee in passing. Seriously, Una, you're a gem."

Snickerdoodle, snatched. Coffee, inevitably poured. That being done, she tucks her knees up in something of a human half-curl on the porch chair and seems quite content as a whole.

There's surely nowhere safer than a suburban front porch, even if it is in (apparently) perpetual summer. Una grins up at Dita in reply both to that air kiss and the words that follow it, accepting the bag with a little gleeful sound. "I'm very glad to hear it," she tells the other woman. "Yes, this means we're having boozy ice cream. Let me get some spoons-- oh, hello, Ari, and hello, Willow, is it?"

She beckons the person she doesn't know forward, gesturing towards the porch, the table, the empty chairs. "Come and join us. There's plenty. Does anyone need anything else, while I'm inside getting spoons?"

She tils her head to one side in thought, though nods, a smile soon spreading over her lips and her steps take her towards the porch and on to it. First to Ariadne, she laughs and nods, "Right, you said not to go alone, something horrible can happen, right?" Her gaze then moves the other people, and they each get a warm smile in greeting, "and yes, I'm Willow, and as Ariadne said." she motions to the other woman, "I'm trying to find stories, with proof, of the supernatural."

For a split second -- half of a split second -- Ravn looks surprised; then his face lights up in a quiet, outright smug smile. Somebody's proprietorial. "Help me eat mine? I love it but you know me." The way he looks at the woman with the galaxy coloured hair certainly suggests that there is some kind of relationship between them.

Then he fixes those blue greys on Willow and smiles. "Proof of the supernatural? Finding something supernatural in this town is a piece of cake. Getting actual evidence to show the world? That's another story altogether. Which are you trying to do?"

Finally, the screen door opens and out pads Della, her hair up in an easy twist -- it's summer out here! -- and her hands wrapped around an extra-large mug; she has another of those airy linen skirts and a short-sleeved blouse, and if she has scars, they're hiding. "More people!" sounds pleased enough. "Hello, hello." Willow, Perdita, they both get a longer look to go with her usual quick smile. "I'm Della."

Damn right, coffee and snickerdoodles bring all the Gray Harborites to the yard of Five Oak Avenue. Una should charge! Dita flashes a smile at Ariadne, her gaze lingering on the other woman with an aesthetic appreciation, almost like she's taking mental notes or something.

"Just coffee for me, thank you, Una." she might have a bite of ice cream... but she's also driving, and the Bauer Building is just far enough off in the distance that walking that far in those heels, in that outfit, in this cool weather, doesn't appeal. At least the yard is nice and cozy.

"Perdita, feel free to call me Dita, never Perdy. Nice to meet you, Willow, Della." There's a sidelong glance at Ravn, at that... and then she notices the cargo pants. She doesn't comment. At least, not with her mouth. Instead, she turns her attention to Ari, tilting her head in a sort of 'see? I told you so.' sort of expression. As for the supernatural, she's remaining silent for the moment.

"I'm good, thank you, Una." A bright, fond smile for her fellow redheaded hostess. "I feel badly having not brought something myself. Next time, I promise."

A long sip at her coffee wherein she glances over at Ravn. "I do know you. Sure, I'll eat one for you, twist my arm so hard." Because Una Irving's snickerdoodles might be something to start a block war over -- at least, in Ariadne's opinion. She nibbles another bite off of one of the cinnamon-swirled cookies and considers Willow. "Like Ravn said, it's more the town might not let you. Things get weird around here sometimes." Massive understatement, and by the dry little sigh to follow, the barista knows it.

And then, a "Della! My fellow science nerd, welcome to the conclave of snickerdoodle appreciation." A fistbump offered out to Della in return.

Does she catch Dita's significant look in her direction? She does, and flicks her brows while not-so-subtly smiling into her coffee. Cargo pants. They're a fashion plague around here.

"... let me go get those spoons," says Una, who pauses just for a moment to grin up at Della. "More people. I didn't even invite any of them," this time, "and yet here they all are!" This is not a complaint; Una seems so pleased. "Don't stress, Ari-- there's plenty of cookies and coffee for everyone. Hi Willow, I'm Una. Welcome to Oak Avenue!"

"Back in a moment!"

She will be, too.

Ravn's comment causes her to raise an eyebrow, though she still grins, "that's the plan and try not to get killed in the process." At least the woman has a plan, maybe a stupid ass plan, but it's a plan. She eyes the snickerdoodles and then claims one, allowing herself a small bite before continuing, "Nice to meet all of you though." She claims a seat and leans back, one leg crossing over the other, "mmm, this is good." is murmured, though mostly to herself.

"Not getting killed in the process does sound like the favourable action," the folklorist observes, smiling, before handing Ariadne half of his snickerdoodle. Look, he's almost eaten the other half! "Is there a specific field you are interested in? Supernatural is a very wide term. Ghosts? Or people having clairvoyant visions? There's a whole lot of grifting in that field too, let me assure you. I've earned more than one meal ticket, repeating Uri Geller's bending spoon trick, and there's certainly nothing supernatural about that."

"And nice to meet you, Dita," Della assures, not without a teasing, "At last! -- Love your look." All this must make the unfamiliar redhead... Willow, which lends the dark-haired woman a not-so-hidden smile. She's careful with her presumably-full mug as she stands back, out of traveling Una's way, and even more navigation of physics is required for returning Ariadne's fistbump. "How's your day?" That could apply to any of them, but, "And Sam?" is just for her. She stands back, then, leaning against the rail instead of sitting, the better to listen in. Visions.

Una's return is prompt, and comes with a collection of spoons and some bowls for those who can't bring themselves to share ice cream tubs with anyone else. The redhead, for her part, doesn't seem to have much of a concern about that: she sets down both bowls and spoons, then reaches for one of the tubs, digging in to it direction as she reclaims her seat.

So good. So, so good.

"Ice cream," she says, happily. "Help yourselves. What are we talking about?"

"I was just planning to snatch a few moments in the sun... but how can I say no to this?" she gestures toward the warm yard and shifts her legs slightly to get just a biiit more sunshine on herself. "It's no Cozumel, but... it's not bad." Dita tells Ari with a smile.

"Oh, supernatural grifts? Those are incredibly easy." Dita agrees with Ravn, smiling, "I had this one where I was playing into stereotypes..." and then she seems to remember she's in probably straightlaced company, and trails off, suddenly fascinated with her cup of coffee.

"We're going to talk about Ravn's need to wear the single most offensive clothing item: cargo pants."

Snickerdoodle completed, her fingers fold together and rest on her stomach. To Ravn's question, she thinks about that, "Ghosts mostly, maybe demons, if they actually exist. Truth be told I have yet to see either, though I've heard many stories and even many more since coming here." Another easy grin rests on her lips, "I just hope that I didn't make the trip from New York for nothing." The mention of ice cream gets her attention and, once she is able to, she puts a few scoops of it into a bowl and then settles back into her spot.

Ravn's half of a snickerdoodle is taken after Della's fistbump is be-bumped. This is the barista's cookie now, fite her.

"Sam is probably upside-down like a smacked cockroach on the couch, snoring quietly," Ariadne replies to Della with a fond smile for the absent Windhound. "He had a nice jog earlier this morning -- hence me here for another cup of coffee." Her own mug is lifted. "Also, do ask Ravn to demonstrate the bending spoon trick one time. It is seriously mind-warping to see." This, a comment for the group as a whole.

Then it occurs to her: Una went to get spoons. "Spoons? Why spoons?" Someone's not yet caught on about much-lauded ice cream. Una returns and the barista makes a soft sound, eyeing sliding from Una to the baggie of no-longer-mysterious topic. "Well, I won't say no to a bite of two."

Bubbles arise in her coffee, however, as Dita calls out the cargo pants in question. Cough. Delicate cough. "Whatever do you mean, Dita?" asks the barista so very innocently, all but fluttering her eyelashes.

Ravn glances at the snickerdoodle he did not manage to eat for all of his intentions. He glances at the ice cream tub. He finally decides that he can yoink one spoon, and dip it into one tub of ice cream and then he's had ice cream but he's not stuck with a bowl that he needs to convince somebody else to empty. Also, this speculation, cunning as it is, keeps him from having to consider the issue of cargo pants.

He chuckles as he carries out his plan. "It's simple sleight of hand. You have a spoon that's fine and an identical spoon that's broken in two. The trick is to switch it, and then manipulate the two broken parts so that it looks like you're bending and finally breaking, a spoon. I won't deny that it looks convincing but there is nothing supernatural about it whatsoever."

A sip of coffee, and Della sets the mug on the rail in preparation for heading ice cream-ward -- not that she's in any hurry, happy to let those who are precede her. "Smacked cockroach. That's adorable," seems to be perfectly, if not unamusedly, genuine. She might have said more, but Ravn's now getting a glance that isn't just for his legs. "I like that, the non-supernatural versions. Do 'excursions' always let people use their supernatural shenanigans?" As she passes her housemate, murmured, "Thanks, Una."

"Cargo pants, my goodness," is Una's contribution to this line of conversation and no, she's not being serious, and comes with a grin for Dita that suggests she's just short of laughter. Della's thanks gets a bright smile in reply.

She gestures back towards the house, then, adding for Willow: "There's a ghost in my library, if you really want one, though he's not corporeal, and mostly just occasionally throws very specific books at people, or sends the clock hands spinning impatiently. There are better ghosts; honestly, there are ghosts all over, around here."

"Yes, cargo pants. Who needs that many pockets, anyway? Only someone who's up to no good." Dita mutters, but there's a hint of good humor sparkling behind those dark eyes of hers as she glances at Ari. Much like Ravn, Dita takes a spoon and claims a single bite of a caramel and whiskey blend. "Oh, yes. This is good with the snickerdoodle." she admits.

To Willow: "It's definitely not for nothing. You'll... see plenty, I'm sure. Just... things don't like being documented, so that part won't work."

And to Una: "Careful with your ghost, I'm sure he works very hard to be the best ghost he can be."

Willow smiles, "well." she allows herself one bite of the ice cream and mmms softly, yes, this is going to be a good day, "I'll be happy if I experience something." At the mention of the ghost, a single eyebrow raises, "do you now? Does he have a name?" She turns her attention to Una. "I might have to come by another day to see if myself if that's alright with you." Soon her ice cream is gone and she sighs happily.

"There are a lot of haunted properties in this town," Ravn murmurs. "Substantial part of people who see ghosts -- or at least see things, too. Don't think I've met anyone who claimed to see demons but I'm not going to rule them out. If this place has taught me anything it's that if somebody believes that something exists -- it probably exists somewhere. It's my distinct impression that most ghosts aren't really there, though -- that they're more imprints, memories, playing out until some day, they fade away."

Looks like Ariadne's of a similar mind as the Dane. Yoink spoon, yoink bite of ice cream on offer, make quiet sound of appreciation. "Damn, that is good," she murmurs of the caramel and whiskey in particular and eyes the ice cream speculatively. One must speak to Dita about the where-abouts of this ice cream. Part of a paycheck must go towards some of it.

"Then clearly, we're never up to any good whatsoever, so insert villainous laughter here," the barista says back to Dita with a coy grin. Her spoon gestures between herself and Ravn in turn. "Also, please text me where you got this from, I must stash some of it." Another long sip of coffee and gourmet's eyeroll of delight. "Mmm." Happy sound.

Now that she has a spoon, Ariadne's going to talk with both it and her hand apparently. Una very recently learned how interesting this habit can be when involved with baking. "I'm going to add that I haven't seen the ghost here, but it doesn't mean he's not here. The bridge I mentioned gave me the heebie-jeebies hardcore. My dog wasn't sure about it either and I trust him. There's a graveyard around here too if you don't mind a few tombstones," she offers to Willow.

Della raises a still-clean spoon, "Spinning hands, can verify. On clocks too old to auto-set," she has to add; when it's her turn, after a taste of the whiskey-caramel, she adds a decently sized scoop to her bowl before returning to her poor abandoned coffee. Down goes the bowl, and up goes the mug, the first sip thoughtful and the next sips quicker until there's enough room to add the ice cream to the mug. To Willow, "Lemons yes, even if demons no. There are ways of getting around the documenting part; Ravn there's the expert, so far as I know."

"We mostly call him 'Asshole Irving'," says Una Irving, around her spoon. Yes, this is exceptionally good ice cream, and yes, there's probably a thought process going on in the back of her mind about how complicated it would be to replicate in her own kitchen. An experiment for another day, perhaps. "We think he's my many times great grandfather. He's--" she glances at Perdita. "Well, sure. I'm sure he's doing the best he can. I suspect he won't linger, once we've solved his issue. It'd just be a lot easier to solve the issue if he spoke to us and told us where to look."

Beat. "But sure, come by any time, Willow."

"I'm not really an expert on Gray Harbor," Ravn murmurs. "But I can tell you this: Those who have managed to preserve information and pass it on in writing, have done so in fiction. Local authors and bloggers. Local LARPers. Tall tales to scare kids in summer camp. Stories, the kind you hear over beer number five at the Pourhouse. All of it tends to be a lot more fact-based than you'd expect at first glance."

He glances at Ariadne. "I mean, some of those ghosts are very nice people who just happen to exist there. You'd like Mr Jankowski. Or little Cecilia."

Willows nods to the invitation, though stands up, "I probably should continue my walk before I, once again, get too drunk or distracted to explore." Standing from her spot, she smooths her hands down her clothing, though to Una, "I'll be sure to take you up on that offer another day." She then steps from the porch, lights up a cigarette and continues on her way.\

"Oh yeeeaaaaah, Asshole Irving." Ariadne's underbreath-murmur seems to denote that she's at least heard this monicker before. She glances between Della and Una nonetheless, cautiously curious.

Willow, upon her departure, earns herself a friendly twiddle-wave of fingers. "Don't be a stranger, stop by the coffee shop!" she bids of the younger woman. Speaking of coffee: long sip followed by another reach of spoon for ice cream. She pauses. Wait, cooties. Looking a little abashed, she grabs a new spoon for a second and final bite of the caramel-whiskey confection.

Ravn earns himself an overtly cautiously curious look. "...I mean, I believe you that they're nice ghosts, but I'm not going to go talk to them by myself. You'd have to come with," she tells the academic plainly. "Do ghost hunting parties happen around here?" A question for the group as a whole by how she looks about at faces.

Della takes it easy with her ice cream float, although it's hard to be as easy with espresso that hasn't cooled first. "Not on Gray Harbor as a whole, granted. But we can always use a librarian -- an archivist? a Giles?" this with a sidelong smile after Willow, who also gets a wave, "to give a sense of where to start. What are those ghosts like?" This after Ariadne's reaction.

In truth, Una seems perfectly happy to stop talking about Asshole Irving, who thankfully has not deigned to make an appearance to protest the way he's been described.

"Cecilia's great," she puts in, watching after Willow thoughtfully. "She likes cookies, and she gets lonely. She's only a kid, the poor thing. I don't think we hunt them, so much as... run into them, when we do. I know there are a lot that I don't see. Some that I do. They vary so much."

"Don't know if I'd call it ghost hunting in case of those residents who are -- well, very much their own," Ravn murmurs and glances after Willow. "Mr Jankowski will turn up if he wants to, at the cemetery. He's some bloke who died here around 1920 -- bit of a gold vein from a historian's point of view, but there's nothing scary about him. Cecilia tends to hang around in winter -- I think the pond has to be frozen for her to turn up, maybe. Irving used to bring her cookies. Just a kid who's kind of lonely."

He nods his agreement with Della, though. "We really could use a Giles. And I say right away -- not it. Because yes, this is my field but that also makes me a target a lot of the time. I am struggling very hard to find the balance where I'm not enough of an arsepain for something to decide to get rid of me for good. The more we spread it out, the less risk of everything disappearing if one person does -- kind of like the Historical Society presently, it's as good as non-existent because the people who are supposed to be running it aren't here."

"I'll be just as happy never seeing any more. The little boy in the basement almost broke me." Dita murmurs, looking out over the lawn.

"Historical Society? Should we just step up and take charge of that until they're able to get back? Too many people would buy a building with rich history and strip it entirely..."

A fingertip lands on Ariadne's nose.

"No-nose-goes on being Giles." The barista shakes her head. "I can't see any of these ghosts, so I'm not really helpful to start with as far as Giles-ing it up about them in turn. I just...have to trust you all about seeing them." Dita gets a sympathetic little quirk of brows in particular. No thank you, the expression says in spades. "Though Dita's got a point. And a point. Get the building up and running, but...is that going to stir up anything in turn? Ravn's right. Jostle the pot too much and those assholes decide to smack us around a bit."

A glance at Della and then at the others. "Not that there's not power in numbers."

Leaning forward slightly, Della asks, "So Cecilia can eat your cookies, Una?" This after a glance Ravn's way. "Those aren't too corporeal? Can she touch you, too? Physically, I mean, not just a meeting of minds or what have you." That boy in the basement, though; with an eye for Perdita, she refrains from actually asking.

Safer is, "Spreading it out makes complete sense. We aren't a TV show; we can have a whole troop of Gileses." And there goes another, more private smile.

"Collective Giles-ing," agrees Una. "But yeah-- we do definitely need the historical society back up and running. Ava's working on that. There's too much it would be helpful to know. I like the idea of spreading the load, though, so that no one's in the middle of it all, the target of everything."

"Cecilia can absolutely eat my cookies. Or close enough to pretend; I'm not entirely sure. She looks like just a normal kid, most of the time when she shows up. Over the winter, I'd visit every few days. She has a morbid sense of humour, and scares the other kids sometimes, but I like her. It's got to be hard, being dead, but still here."

"I think a hostile take-over of the Historical Society is on Brennon's to-do list," Ravn notes in agreement with Una. "And I think it's a take-over I want to support, personally. It makes me a little sad -- because the only person there I used to know is Hyacinth Addington. I worry about her. But, there's also nothing I can do, and I'm pretty sure that whether she's cooped up somewhere or has had sense to leave town, she'd be all about weaponising any information to fight back. It was her who first got Addingtons and Baxters to sit down and talk."

Raising her hand, Dita tilts her head slightly. "What's a 'Giles'?" Okay, so, clearly, she's the group's Cordelia. Or maybe Lydia.

"Oo, hostile take over? Does that mean I can punch Atli?" Perdita's eyebrows quirk upward, but she's smiling. She probably wouldn't actually punch the woman.

Probably.

"A troop of Gilses might work." It sounds this concept will have a hearty vote from the barista in turn. She cuddles more into her chair with her half of a snickerdoodle still resting on her thigh.

Dita's comment makes Ariadne snort-laugh quietly to herself. "I mean." It's certainly not permission granted, but the barista still unfurls fingers off of her coffee mug in something of a shrug. "Maybe after the Historical Society is up and running," she suggests, still grinning in a manner which indicates she's playing along rather than encouraging violence.

Hyacinth, yes; Della's nod is slow. And, turning to Perdita, she decides to address the question at face value, though dark eyes do watch for signs that it shouldn't have been; "A literal librarian in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer 'verse. Watcher-over, knowledgeable but not the protagonist, tells our heroine to watch out and be careful and keep this or that in mind. British accent, though that wouldn't be required."

Just as carefully, "How long is Ava's to-do list, lately?"

Ravn hitches a shoulder. "I'm not really familiar with the cousins -- Erin and Atli. I've met them a handful of times but, with all due respect, society girls in fast cars aren't really my circle. Erin's a nurse. Atli works at Addington House -- I think she's actually in preservation of old buildings but to the best of my knowledge she's not a member of the Historical Society. Hyacinth was. Or well, is. I should say is because until I see a death certificate I'm going to go with that she decided to go run her business somewhere else so that the Veil didn't get to turn her into her grandmother."

He can't help a small laugh at Della's little question, though. "I have a feeling it's pretty damn long."

"Longer again, now that she has that blue baby to look after," says Una. Oh, and by the way, Della? "I said I'd baby sit Nimue for a while this afternoon, just so you know. I suppose that means I shouldn't have too much ice cream." Which doesn't mean she's not going to help herself to some more, all the same.

"Who's Atli-- okay, now I know who she is, but-- why are we punching her?"

"... Oh. I never watched that show." Dita admits, with the slightest tilt of her head, "I was too little when it was on, and my father was pretty strict about anything supernatural... on account of my bibi Mára being a witch and all." There's a slight eyeroll. "She wasn't a witch, she was just... like us. And also probably a lesbian."

"We're not actually punching her, but she's sort of the primal archetype of every pretty blond rich girl with way too much money. I'm sure she's lovely if you meet her... social class... expectations." Perdita shrugs slightly, with just the faintest hint of a smirk, "I apparently don't meet those expectations."

Della loses that pensive little smile -- the Hyacinth stories -- in favor of, "Let me know when you start, Una? I'll keep the music down." As though she plays it loud all that often.

And then she's looking at Dita again, thoughtful, but not saying anything at all.

"...ew."

Sweet, simple, and accompanied by a twist of nose at the explanation of Atli. Ariadne is not a fan based off the descriptor alone. She sips her coffee before it seems to occur to her.

Una gets a stare. "...I'm sorry, but blue baby, what? Nimue, what? That's the Lady of the Lake in the Arthurian cycles." Stare.

"What Dita is trying to say is that Atli invited me over for dinner and snubbed the hell out of her." Ravn's blue-greys sparkle with amusement. "And somehow, this did not leave too great an impression with either of us. She was very upset that Hyacinth made her sit down at a table with Baxters. Threw a bit of a fit about not doing the family's dirty laundry in public -- but as Hyacinth pointed out that day, the family's dirty laundry kind of is the town's history."

"Ah," says Una, with a wrinkle of her nose, apparently joining Ariadne in her distaste for this particular type of woman, not at all aided by Ravn's further explanation. Nope. No thank you.

"Ava," she adds, for Ariadne's benefit, "Grew a baby in her greenhouse last weekend. She's blue. And yes, named after the Lady of the Lake. Trust Ava."

Trust Gray Harbor.

Finally Della speaks up again, dryly: "In other words, the baby was clearly not from Gray Harbor."

"... Wait, blue baby? Like... literally-..." Perdita sighs and sets down her coffee cup. "For fuck's sake, what is wrong with this town?" there's a note of laughter in her tone, but it doesn't sound entirely based in humor. She catches Della looking at her, tilting her head ever so slightly and smiling... until she groans at that.

Further explanation as to Atli breaks the stare at Una. Ariadne then sighs shortly. "Still." The barista then mimics the dismissive sound of a certain radio DJ from The Fifth Element. "Bzzz-bzzz-bzzz." Hand is waved as well. Begone, badly-behaved socialite.

Back to considering Una. "...oh my god. The greenhouse, yes. The seeds. Good lord." It can't be helped, the temple-rubbing. "This place is just...so fucking weird sometimes. Three months back, I wouldn't have believed a word of this." A literal snappoint at Dita. What is wrong with this town. But then, Della, and Ariadne snort-laughs. Indeed.

"Blue like a kid out of the Appalachians family that's famous for blue kids," Ravn confirms. "Apart from that, though, seems healthy enough. I believe she's hoping to find out where it belongs and then return it."

He catches that look off Ariadne; he can't help chuckling. Yes. He remembers the barista's attempts to figure out how the everloving fuck he made a spoon bend and fly. The hunt for the wires. The finding a shell, any random shell, on an entire beach, so that he could not have rigged it in advance. "At least she must have known she was inviting trouble. Veil fig seeds? Growing Veil things in a greenhouse? If that's not asking for trouble I don't know what is."

"Yep," agrees Una, with a wry laugh. "It's a very Ava thing to do. It's a very Gray Harbor thing to happen. I am one hundred per cent, never, ever growing Veil seeds; let's be clear on that. If I ever have kids, it'll be because I chose to do so."

Della jumps in again, and this time it's not with a pun, but with concern of increasingly long standing. "Can a person get pregnant in a Dream?"

"I am never, never having children." Dita shudders... but then Della's asking the real questions. "One would assume so, if both they and the person they're Dreaming with are... compatible and fertile?"

"I don't think I would want to raise a baby conceived on the other side, though."

"Not volunteering to find out," Ravn inserts quickly. "And I say that in my capacity of Perdita's love interest in a sequence of Robin Hood style Dreams. Do not want. I am not having somebody's kid. That said -- if we can wake up with injuries after Dreams, the answer almost logically has to be 'yes'."

"Una, if you or anyone here ever decides to grow Veil seeds, I'm going to let Sam loose in that patch and clutch my pearls and go, oh noooooooo, not that part of the garden, it looks like Sam dug them all up, woe, what a loss!" Not even a hint of compunction in her tone. Ariadne brings her hand down from her brow and adds, "And not tell him he's a bad dog and actually feed him lamb lung for doing it." By her flick of brows, she'll do this too. It's a promise.

Della's question has Ariadne suddenly looking a bit owlish. The answers only encourage that expression. "...oh god."

"Arguably," Una says, after a moment, "the baby isn't part of you, as such. Is it? I mean, it's not even implanted yet. And you can't bring things back, can you? Except when you can. So... I mean, no. Let's not find out."

She's not going to argue with Sam being let loose in a garden like that. Nope. Good cause.

That prospective pearl-clutching of Ariadne's actually breaks into Della's thin-lipped tension; she gives the redhead a wry look, for all that and the lamb lung both. But.

But. "It wouldn't have to be with another human Dreaming with you, necessarily," Della says out loud. "And yes, I bring things back regularly. With no woo-hooing involved, mind."

"It's my understanding that you can bring things back, but they will be revised." Ravn taps his nose, thinking. "You could steal the queen's tiara but you'd find yourself with cheap plastic or a piece of string on this side. It makes sense -- after all, if we could just go mug Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, imagine what Gray Harbor would do to the world economy."

"Ravn, if we ever have a baby, I hope you know I will yeetus the fetus, because that..." there's a little shudder from Perdita. "Not even physiologically possible."

She picks up the coffee and sips from it. "Well... I suppose if you had the right reproductive plumbing and the Veil creature did too..." a slight shrug. "I wouldn't have sex with anyone in a Dream, just to be sure. Of course, if They want you to have a baby..."

"So...why does Nimue exist as a baby here if things don't transpose as the same across the Veil? Because I'm pretty sure I've seen one or two things come back which were precisely as they were in a Dream -- or at least heard of this happening. Like, the tiara wasn't a shoe string." Ariadne lifts a hand off of her coffee mug in something of a semi-helpless shrug. It's uncomfortable territory for her, not knowing the answers.

Dita makes the barista turn into another iteration of an owl. "I think whomever They are can go shove a rusty crowbar up somewhere uncomfortable and keep machinations to themselves, thank-you-very-much."

"Gross," says Una. "Gross, gross, gross."

Not that she was ever going to have sex in a Dream anyway, mind.

"Nimue's not from a Dream. I suppose that's different. Arguably, she grew, so it's more... more like she's one of the mermaids or something like that, maybe? A Veil creature, not a Dream remnant."

Beat. "This topic is disturbing. Thanks, Della." Not that Una didn't ask something not entirely dissimilar, just a week ago.

"If I ever have children it will be a choice." That's all Ravn really has to say on the matter. "I won't rule out that sex in a Dream might happen. But I'd apply the same contraception as anywhere else."

"I was wondering about that," Della says to Ravn about the revision, real disappointment making it through her preoccupation -- disappointment that Ariadne ameliorates, the more so after Perdita's commentary. "Your phrasing, Dita," is clearly appreciative, as much as the nod for Ariadne and the crowbar.

"It is, isn't it," that for Una. "I don't ask gratuitously."

"But I'm also up for changing it. Ravn, your jacket."

"Children are an unneeded complication." Dita mutters... but then she's flashing a grin at Della.

"That does bring up another question... Veil STDs."

"Exactly." A quick, firm agreement from the barista who'd kissed the Dane's hair on the way to her seat upon arrival. "Rules don't change in Dreams in the least."

A glance at Una. "Yeah, that's a point. I suppose she would be like a mermaid rather than something transposing itself across the Veil. A Veil creature." By the way Ariadne says the term, she's feeling it about in her mouth. "But it's a topic we might as well have considered at one point or another," she adds in echo of Della's sentiments. Still, she caught the flicker through Della's face. Giving the briefest squint, she then glances at Ravn.

"Did you get the jacket fixed then?" Since she's assuming this is the leather number sporting the various types of firearms damage.

Dita gets once of those glances almost -- almost -- mom-like. Still, pragmatism wins out and she half-grins. "I think we've now merrily traipsed into a realm where potential TMI and pseudo-science meet and make curiosity dance on the fence-line between UGH and oh my goddddddddddd."

"Oh my goddddddd," says Una, coincidentally (maybe?) following on from Ariadne's exclamation. "No, no, I don't even want to think about what kind of nasties they could inflict on us. And then, on anyone outside, as well. Veil STDs, spreading through Gray Harbor like wildfire, and... nope, nope, let's talk about something else."

Beat. "We already covered Ravn's jacket, Della; you missed it. He was worried about Jules going to maybe run into her ex alone. But she'll be fine, right?"

Ravn quirks an eyebrow. "My jacket? No, I didn't do anything about it -- I did lend it to Jules, though? She wanted to make her ex not want to ask questions and figured she'd look big and turf in my jacket. It's not like I don't have another to wear while she's gone."

He cants his head a little, thoughtfully. "I'm not sure about the sirens -- the mermaids, how it works. There are creatures down there who apparently claim that the ocean is a Veil. Might be they're related. A lot of the time here I feel like I'm just looking at the weird and saying, sure, whatever, because what can you do?"

"It wouldn't have to be S TDs," Della points out. "It could be any kind of disease. I'm hoping for no cholera." Didn't someone say something once about not saying things out loud? Too late.

"As for Jules, she'll be fine." The woman doesn't even say it grimly; instead, a certain dry amusement's at hand. "Ravn just won her a bet, that's all. I owe her dinner."

Ravn makes a face at Della. "That did happen, once. Before I got here. I haven't dared tell Brennon because from what I was told -- same antagonist on the other side. And she's already fired up to bag herself a Vivisectionist if she gets a chance. Apparently some kind of flu, spread like wildfire. You know how it is, getting information out of people here who have been conditioned for a long time that it's best not to talk about these matters. For what it's worth? The one man in this town who probably knows most of all is the Patisserie owner -- Vyv Vydal. Somehow, he's quietly just... figured it all."

"Here's hoping They don't pursue that particular track." Dita murmurs... and then her phone is going off, a woman's voice singing in a foreign language. There's a groan, and Dita looks up toward the sky. "What fresh gay hell..."

"Sorry, little cousin." She rises, giving a wiggle of her fingers to everyone, before she's walking off back toward her car, "Alo, Dhvani? What's he done now? ... Che báro báyo! Okay... Okay! O Beng phirel pe phuv. Yes. I'll... call you back."

She takes a second at the car, taking a deep, steadying breath, before she hops in and starts driving back toward town.

"No more talk about Veil weebly-jeeblies, yes-please!" Because Veil seeds sometimes start as seeded ideas rather than literal pods in the dirt.

The news about the jacket and its use, however, has Ariadne nodding. A glance over at Ravn and then out at the others as other facets of explanation are piped up. "I'm glad it helped then. Nothing like a bluff which isn't all bluff. Those are the most satisfying to follow through on, no lie. Sounds like Dita and I won't have to show up and prove our kickboxing skills. I approve, though I hope Jules knows we've got her back regardless of went down."

Dita earns herself a curious look, but Ariadne will be nosy later if it's required. Wiggled fingers are returned. "Hope it's nothing too bad," she comments of the phone call.

"How do you spell his name?" Della checks, setting what's left of her float aside in favor of getting out her phone. Well, after one last spoonful. She's looking after Perdita too, interested, but -- "I've only dropped by there the once; maybe that's where Jules would want to go, though it's hardly a dinner place." And really, how Jules-y is it? "Feel free to suggest other locations to her," this with a glance denoting the group at large. "And for the record, Jules brought up the jacket to begin with," and butter wouldn't melt in Della's mouth.

"What's the bet? I didn't hear about the bet. You're going to go out and leave me alone, aren't you?" Una's teasing. Mostly teasing. No-- almost certainly one hundred per cent teasing, especially given the way she grins abruptly.

Not that the grin doesn't fade slightly as Dita leaves; not that she doesn't frown for it.

"I've not met Vyv. I'd love to, though. The pastries in that shop..."

Ravn nods his agreement. "Well, like we talked about earlier -- you can only offer the help people actually ask for. Jules asked to borrow my jacket not my fists."

He glances after Perdita with a small frown. "Speaking of help. But she'll ask if we need to rescue her little cousin. Heaven knows that we would. This tribe looks after its own."

"No kidding." There's an undercurrent of soft but deadly seriousness in the agreement with Ravn's words. Her hazel eyes track the departure of Dita's car. "I'll help in a heartbeat. Y'all are my people."

A glance back at Della and Una now accompanied by a wry little smile. "I want to know what the bet was too, fess up now, come on -- can't be like that," she mock-chides. "I'm also due for a visit to this patisserie as well, so if anyone makes plans and I'm free, text me about it. Ravn's said enough about the place that I almost feel badly having not haunted it."

A beat. "...I think I'm funny," she mutters of the pun back-referencing earlier discussion. Coffee sip. Not smiling, shh.

Della shrugs with open hands; "Nothing more to tell. We were admiring Jules in her new dress -- the one she got with you, Ariadne? -- and considering accessories, and she mentioned liking Ravn's leather jacket," more or less; her smile suggests that there might be a tiny, very tiny bit more to tell, "and I said that if she could get it off your hands, I would take her out to dinner. Anywhere in town. I don't know if she's going to go dive bar or fancypants, either," but by her slow grin, she's prepared. "Count me in as interested in the patisserie, too. If I'm free." Things come up.

To Una, "Jules is on my dime; the rest..." that shrug again: she's easy.

"We'll definitely try the patisserie," concludes Una, with a grin. "And yeah. We all have each others' backs, right? That's the important thing."

She makes a face for Ariadne's pun-- but an amused face, beneath the grimace-- and leans back in her chair, swinging her foot idly below the table.

"Well," she adds for Della. "Decide where you're going, and we'll see."

Ravn can't help a laugh. "Are you telling me Jules turned up on my boat and told me a story of an abusive ex she wanted to scare into leaving her alone, because she wanted to borrow my jacket for a fashion accessory?"

He shakes his head and reaches for his coffee. "Silly woman. I'd have lent it to her anyway. It's just a jacket, I'm not married to it."

"Oh, there's definitely an abusive ex," puts in Una, quickly. "I suspect," and she glances at Della, appraising, "that this was just secondary."

"Her ex is awful," Della confirms, and she doesn't say that lightly.

"Yep, dress was all my fault," drawls Ariadne -- and she doesn't one bit sorry for it. Instead, she preens a bit while she decides to finally finish off the second half of the snickerdoodle cookie first nibbled on by the man one chair over. "Sounds it went over well as a whole, her date, and...yes, sounds like a bet was lost and dinner was earned. Good show, good show." A lift of her coffee mug for successes.

The mention of an abusive ex? Sitting up slowly in her chair, Ariadne lets out a quiet sigh, her jaw set and then relaxed again. "Well...I did mention kickboxing and I know a fair deal about the salmon sharks around here, soooooo...hey, disappearing bodies, y'know." Dark humor twinkles like an obsidian shard before she pulls out her phone to check the time. "N'aw, shit. I forgot, I need to get more coffee creamer before work tonight. I can't go a morning without it, I don't care what the quality of the coffee is."

Phone goes away. "If there's anything more which needs to be addressed about this ex? Someone please let me know." Throwing back the the rest of her coffee, she surges to her feet. Someone's caffeinated! "Una, you're a doll as always. Della, good to see you as well, my fellow science companion. You." An obvious lean-in and kiss to those coppery Danish locks again. "Text me later."

And then, like a sylph on the wind, there the barista goes to bike home and no doubt follow through on coffee creamer shopping in turn.

Ravn just quietly turns several shades darker. Somebody is clearly not accustomed to public displays of affection. Judging from the absolutely idiotic smile he sends after Ariadne, though -- he is not sure this is a bad idea.

He focuses. It takes effort. "Abusive exes, check. Wood chipper, I know where to find one, slightly used, tested and tried."

"See you later, Ariadne," says Una, calling after the barista. And for Ravn? "You two really are adorable together, I'm just saying."

She reaches for the tub of ice cream again, digging her spoon straight into it. Why not? It'll melt, otherwise, unless she gets up to put it away, and clearly she doesn't feel like doing so just yet. "An excellent plan," she agrees. "No abusive exes will get by us, that's for sure."

A brow goes up, and Della smiles. Which doesn't forestall a similar, "Bike safely!"

Reminded of ice cream, she takes her mug with her, only she'll use the scoop; to Ravn, "Congrats! How long...?"

"... One date and then another," Ravn murmurs. "We're still working out the details. But apparently I'm the only person in Gray Harbor who didn't see it coming."

"Well, I didn't either, to be fair," says Una, with a laugh. "But as soon as I knew... it's great. I'm pleased for you."

Della's chuckle is merry. "Implying that she did," and in turn that that's just right. Not that Una doesn't earn herself a glance before she gets back to scooping, to refilling and then leaving the rest for her housemate. "What is with all these people dating around here all of a sudden. It must be spring."

Ravn can't help a small laugh. "I suppose. I'll admit, I've been kind of looking at a certain barista for some time. I just didn't realise she might look back."

Does he continue to blush and look sheepish? Why yes, yes, he does. He's still blushing as he too stands up and murmurs, "I should get on too, though. And before any of you get wildly exciting ideas -- my evening plans are grading. I'll definitely also text my girlfriend but, I might bore her to sleep with some student's thoughts on Christina I of Sweden. Specifically, the part where she invented a tiny cannon with which to shoot fleas."

He must be bullshitting. Also, he's gone. Because there are a lot of things Ravn knows how to do deal with, and people inquiring after his romantic situation is absolutely not on that list.

"But... I want to hear--" But no, he's gone. Una's query about Christina I, and whether this is truth or bullshit, is just going to have to wait. Disappointing.

"Adorable," is what she says, glancing back at Della. It's just them now: two of the three denizens of 5 Oak, with cold coffee, snickerdoodles, and melting ice cream.

Della turns to Una.

Della looks at Una.

"'Girlfriend'?" carries some touch of hilarity amongst everything else. "I'll admit, it's nice to see people... unabashed about it."

"Girlfriend," confirms Una, with a grin. "It is, isn't it? I mean, I saw how quickly he escaped when we started talking about it, so he's clearly not especially inclined to talk at length about it, but... girlfriend. That's nice. I guess Jules and her tall foreigner aren't at that point, yet."

"I'd hope not. They just met." Pause. "Didn't they? It seems like it." Another pause, and that much more humor: "How long have you known something's afoot?"

"Not long," agrees Una, with a frown. "At least Ravn and Ariadne have known each other a few months, and were properly friends first. How long have I known about Ravn and Ariadne? It was while Jules was away. He was worried, before they worked things out, that it was Ariadne and me. Or that I was competition, possibly." A wave of a hand. A shake of the head, too: no way.

Della's eyes round. "Interesting."

She hesitates. "It hasn't seemed that you've been... inclined? particularly? from here. For what that's worth. Though of course he'll have seen a lot more of you and her together. And of course, you could have been," could be, "a mistress of disguise." Her tone plays up the humor there but lightly, ever so lightly.

"I think Ariadne's amazing," says Una. "But not... like that. I'm not really made for thinking of people like that."

A mistress of disguise she clearly is not.

"That's clear," Della murmurs, and to Una's credit. "The first part, at least. The rest..." she sits, finally, in a seat near her friend but not up too close. She stirs the cooled, ice-cream-y coffee about its ice cream island. "Good to know, one way or another," and she gives Una a quiet smile.

"This may or may not be linked, but I've wondered if there are ways we've, I've, pushed your comfort zone too much? I hope, if there are, you'll let me know. I wasn't sure if it was a matter of 'modesty'; it didn't seem like religion..."

"Oh-- no." Una lifts her head to look at Della, then shakes it, firmly. "No. There are always going to be moments when I'm-- but no. I'm still feeling out how things work, in close friendships. And sometimes... sometimes things get busy in my head, and then physical touch feels like too much. But other times, other times it's absolutely fine. I don't want you to treat me like crystal, likely to get damaged with a stray remark. And it's easy for me to use innuendo, or... whatever, when I'm comfortable. Because that's in the abstract."

Della listens, patently, clear and unhurried. Sometimes she sips her coffee, careful for how the island might bump into her nose; sometimes she goes for the ice cream instead with her spoon.

"That's good to know," she says for that too. "I'll try to be... not thoughtful like you're crystal, like you said, but not absolutely thoughtless, and I'll count on you to let me know if anything comes up. And I'd do the same, if anything came up for me, though -- well, I suppose there was when we were talking with Jules, about the fairies, so I suppose I have after all, but it..." she waves a hand inconclusively.

"Absolutely," confirms Una, twisting her mouth thoughtfully as she reaches for another cookie to eat with her ice cream. Sometimes, conversations like this do require extra sustenance. "I hadn't thought about the fairies thing either," she admits. "Though of course, my feelings towards them-- the fae, I mean-- are more positive than Jules' are. But yes. It's helpful if we all can be open about our triggers, and when something has gotten to be too much for us."

Reminded, Della finally reaches for a snickerdoodle of her own, or really, just a chunk from one. To start out with. "Any leads on actually meeting the fae, by the way? I haven't brought it up with Ava, who seems busy, like we were talking. Busier."

"Ava may need to, now," says Una, after a moment. "Since she needs to try and figure out what to do with Nimue. I don't know. I admit, I've not been... pushing the concept too much, though if there's a need now, you know?"

"Mm. In which case, I wouldn't want to get in the middle of that. I was wanting to touch base with Monroe; do you think the blue baby is something I shouldn't mention--? He might have heard anyway, I don't know, but if it's a secret..." Della deliberates.

Una shakes her head. "I don't think it's a secret, no. I mean-- from people who aren't like us, probably. But otherwise. I don't think so." She allows the corners of her mouth to twist up, more-or-less a smile. "He knows the fae, so maybe he'd have useful information to share. Not that we know that the baby has anything to do with them; I mean, Veil fruits, that's a different thing. It's just that it was Beltane, and the lawns..."

"That's a good point, maybe he would! I'll see what I can see." Della gets an anticipatory look, as though she's going to tap now... but she doesn't.

"Oh, and what you said about physical touch... that reminded me of what Ariadne and I were talking about regarding Sam. Samwise." As though there could be another. "How people can feel touch-starved, if you're familiar with that. I didn't... well, didn't realize how much I was. Although maybe that's actually because Sam's such a dear by himself? Clearly devoted to her, but friendly and ice-loving and just a good soul. Says the woman who doesn't have to scoop after him, mind."

Una pauses, considering Della for several long seconds before she manages to pull together some kind of sentence. "Do you need a hug?" is what she's wondering. "Or is this all the more reason to get a cat or two? I'm sorry. I didn't realise. That it was... I know it's something people need. I'm not used to it, but I do know."

Della smiles at her, all the more ruefully for how long it takes. "I'm all right," she says. "I'm not going to be the housemate who's all, 'You must touch me! because I am in need!' because, ew. And like I said, I hadn't really realized. It was just that... petting him, feeling his comfort and not getting too much into his space but also feeling his enjoying being petted -- not a psychic feeling," so far as she's aware, "just being a person on the planet. A person like me, anyway. It felt like relaxing muscles I didn't know were tensed. It wasn't like pushing tension into him, either, just... I thought back and realized that out here, it's not like back home, all over again. Does that make sense?"

"Not that back home would be like back home, if I ever went back."

"And yes, I would like to get a cat. Or two. I'd be happy to get one of those electronic litterboxes, too, so there's less scooping. But it's not like... taking a cat like medicine. It's because cats are wonderful. You know?"

"Okay," says Una, though that doesn't mean the offer is off the table, either. Somehow, when it's because someone else needs a hug, maybe it's all so much easier. "I think I can understand that. And I think... I get, too, not really realising, until you do. I'm glad you got to have that, with Samwise. He's a good dog."

One corner of her mouth twists up this time. "You can never go home again. That's what they say, isn't it? And it's true. Yes-- let's get a cat. Two cats. I've never had them, but I think I'd like it, and I think... this house needs it. We'll keep an eye out for kittens, okay? You'll just have to show me how to look after them, because I don't really know other than the basics of food and water and litter boxes."

"He is," Della agrees. "And very much himself." She adds, "Ariadne said, by the way, that she'd gotten him with thoughts of his being a therapy dog. Which was interesting."

Regarding cats, "Then two, two would be good. And in the interest of full disclosure, since you're new to cats, I have to let you know that kittens are not just cute and rambunctious, they're also little terrors who like to climb everything and get into everything. In my experience." There's a bit of a smile. "Adolescent cats might give a better sense of what they would be like at adults, but kittens might be able to be shaped more? Some, anyway. Long-hairs are more maintenance than short-hairs. Vet visits are important. We'd want to figure out indoors versus indoors/outdoors, too... Old cats, let's not because, well, I'm selfish and old cats need homes too but... that's more maintenance than I'd want to take on right now. But that's about it."

Therapy dog. It makes Una's brow furrow, but she doesn't comment, specifically.

"Two," she says. "Okay. Well-- let's see what comes up? We probably want two around the same age, I guess, and already used to each other, so that we don't run into issues with them hating each other? And... no, definitely no old cats; that would make me too sad. The rest--"

She's grinning. Clearly, the idea is exciting her. Cats, completing their home. Cats!

"Good idea. Littermates, even, maybe," and Della grins right back at her. "It's a deal."

Cats! (Just not movie Cats.)