2022-05-09 - Ride The Unicorn (No, Not That One)

Enjoy your unicorn ride. That's what Della the Day Manager of Espresso Yourself told Ravn Abildgaard about ten minutes ago. She slammed a drink down front of him that's really something. It's blue-green in colour, and kind of creamy. It doesn't smell like coffee at all; is that a whiff of ginger?

Ravn is still staring dubiously at it. Does this thing even contain coffee? Quick Google fu on his phone tells him a) it's actually a drink, and b) no -- it contains coconut milk, ginger, honey, lemon, and blue-green algae but absolutely no coffee whatever.

Della, obviously, hates him. Obviously.

He's just going to sit here and stare at it for a bit. There are limits to even his courage.

The sound of heels, for once, does not herald the arrival of Perdita Leontes. Her hair is pulled back in a simple braid, fringe the only thing having escaped it, and she wears a simple black camisole under a floral print kimono style shawl, paired with another rarity, blue jeans, well fitted though they are... and a pair of new looking black sneakers. Dita isn't nearly as tall without the extra height provided by the heels.

She approaches the counter, ordering her usual two black coffees, before approaching the table Ravn is occupying, sitting across from him. One is set down in the middle of the table, and the other is held in her hands for an extra bit of warmth.

"I must have said something." Ravn just stares at the blue frothy thing in a cup. It's a strange way to greet anyone but there you go; they must know each other well enough that the usual hellos and goodbyes don't necessarily apply. At least Della seems to not yet have clocked the coincidence of Perdita ordering two coffees every time she goes to share a table with a certain Danish gentleman; or else this is not the point in her little game of harass that specific guy. Going on two years now, that game.

He looks up and manages a little smile -- and to secure one of those coffees for himself. "How's your cousin?"

The lady's sudden departure the day before did not go unnoticed.

"Yes, I believe it was something like 'that's not what this type of coffee means.'" Perdita tells Ravn with a hint of a smile. She blows on her own coffee, before taking a cautious little sip. Too hot, still.

"He got himself into some shit. He's okay, now, but he's... me. Five years ago. Complete with the amazing taste in men." she leans back into her seat, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. "I bought him a Greyhound ticket back to New York, and he's on the bus now. He's going to stay with my sister for a few weeks. I expect that to go over really well... so I'm setting up one of the offices as a temporary crash pad in case she can't handle him."

"That kind of kid, is he." Ravn doesn't look very surprised. After all, barring the amazing taste in men, that could have been him as a teenager, too.

He curls gloved fingers around his (new) mug and proceeds to ignore his (old) blue drink. "If that doesn't work out and you need some help -- reach out, all right? I'm no therapist, obviously. But I've worked with enough badly shaken veterans that I can handle getting screamed and ranted at for a few hours. And I've lived on the street, so unlike a number of social workers, I might actually know what he's on about when he talks about shit he got into."

"Exactly that kind." Dita says with a soft sigh. "He's smart, good with people, manipulative, angry, hurt because his father rejected him for being queer..." she shakes her head. Another tentative sip of coffee, more for something to do than any hope that it'd cooled down in the minute since she last tried.

"Sound familiar?" she tilts her head slightly, before looking back down to her coffee as if divining some future. "Will do, if we need it. I really hope we don't. I hope just... being with family who loves him will be enough. But if it's not, I'll drag him out here and sort him out... with help from friends."

"I wasn't rejected for being queer. Just for being weak, asthmatic and book smart." Ravn chuckles lightly. "But yes, it does sound somewhat familiar, some of the way at least. Family who loves him and don't try to change him into what they love is probably the best answer. My parents certainly loved me. And hated most things I did."

He sips the stolen coffee; black bliss, nothing less, nothing but. "Is he like us? Because if he is, I'd bring him here. He'll never feel quite -- normal, because he isn't. Might help to learn that in this case, it's kind of normal to not feel normal."

"I meant me... but you and I have surprisingly similar backgrounds despite being from different sides of the planet." she teases.

"It runs in the family. I don't know about my siblings, but I know he has it. Not very strong, but it's there." Perdita shrugs, "Our great aunt is like this, too. I just... don't know if I want him out here, dealing with the shit we deal with."

"Trying to decide which is worse -- letting him not understand what he's doing, or risking that the monsters spot him." Ravn nods. "I can see how that's the choice from Hell. It would probably help him to know there are others like him, he's not crazy, and he's not imagining it. Maybe you could pass it to him as some kind of family curse -- wouldn't be the first family where people say it runs in the blood and so on."

"He understands a little. I don't know if he consciously remembers, but I've told him about there being others like us before." Another little shrug, and she blows on her coffee again. "Anyway, he's on a starbound Greyhound and on his way. Providing he doesn't land in a dance hall, Daya will get him on the right path. If that path leads here, we'll sort him out from there."

Perdita smiles, then takes a sip of her coffee. "Anyway... how goes it with your other favorite Barista?"

"Oh, I think we are in the stupid happy phase where at least I'm still waking up and telling myself, well, that was a nice dream, wish it was true." Ravn laughs softly. "I'm sure the honeymoon won't last forever, but you know how that goes. I'm just going to enjoy every bloody moment. Even if it means the risk of getting lectured about cargo pants."

He sips his coffee again. "You know she admires you very much, right? The way you just glam up a room when you want to -- not because you need to, or have to, but because you want to. It's a desire I will personally never understand -- but if she hasn't asked you herself, she probably will. Shopping trip, fashion advice, girl talk."

"Cargo pants are a sin against the Gods and should be purged from the land no matter how comfortable they are." Dita tells Ravn, but she's smirking. She genuinely doesn't like them, but she's also exaggerating.

"We... talked about it. I made sure that it was for the right reasons, not for anything stupid, like impressing a boy. Because if you wanted a glamour girl... hi. I have made it clear that I am available, after all. Not that I'm offering now, I have put aside my homewrecker ways. We're planning a girl's day in Seattle, do some shopping, help her pick up a few items that actually catch her eye and work with her existing tastes, rather than try to turn her into a Perdita Clone."

"And for what it's worth, I admire her, too. She seems to have a solid handle on who she is. That's... not easy."

"No, it really isn't easy." Ravn's smile turns a bit lopsided. "And honestly? The only thing I don't like about that plan is that I'm not going. Not because I'm a jealous asshole but because it sounds like a bloody good time. Please, have a party. And indeed, don't have that party in order to impress somebody. In my case, believe me, I'm impressed enough as is."

He has to chuckle, though, a little sheepishly. "It's not -- how to even explain it. It just doesn't make sense to me, sleeping with somebody if I'm not involved with them. Unless it's an entirely casual thing, and it won't be if you care about one another. You were in a bad place, about Garrett. I can't make that right. The only thing we'd have accomplished would be making one another awkward on top of everything else. I don't want to risk a friendship for getting laid. I don't imagine you're on close, personal terms with the half of the fire department that you like to drag around by its nose, either. Because that's not what you need from those blokes."

The door of the shop opens and the dark-haired new return to Gray Harbor strolls inside. Black hair tied up off her neck and out of her face by a navy blue bandana, with low-rise faded jeans and a black tee that bears the image of a bouquet of roses, one of which has been drained of blood, on the front. Pausing to enjoy the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, she hopes, Charity glances over at Ravn and gives him a little wave before making her way toward the counter and hopefully something with enough kick to jumpstart her half-awake brain.

"Here's hoping it'll be fun. I'm looking forward to getting to know her better. She's a freaking marine biologist." There's a little gesture that seems to indicate something like 'how cool is that?' "She's pretty impressive... and she just... is good to be around. Whatever else the two of you become, I hope you maintain the friendship... which I'm sure you will."

"As for me and the close, personal terms with the boys of the fire department..." Dita bites her lower lip and tilts her head slightly, glancing toward the ceiling. "I'm just finishing off the calendar I bought. You know, the ones where they're holding kittens or puppies or whatever?"

She glances over to Charity as she enters, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raising ever so slightly, though she's still smiling.

Ravn raises a gloved hand in greeting to the somewhat familiar face about to petition for magic bean juice. At least he's fairly confident that she will not be served something frothy and blue that looks like it escaped from Tatooine. "Charity, was it? Draw a chair up when you get your drink. Also, the muffins are great, or so my favourite barista tells me."

He smiles a bit. "Marine biology is -- well, I know jack all about it. Which is great? Lots to talk about. I'm not the only person breaking off into bizarre lectures on short notice. Probably would drive some people crazy. Works pretty well for us. Also, we should absolutely contemplate a swimsuit edition of the HOPE calendar."

Charity doesn't turn around at Ravn's suggestion. However she does raise one arm and display a thumbs-up response. After placing her order for a large, extremely black coffee, with five espresso shots added, and a blueberry muffin. As her order is prepared, she pulls a folded bill from her pocket and places it on the counter before turning around to look at Ravn' and his companion. "Bet you didn't expect to see me again so soon." A smirk graces her face as mirthful amusement dances in those green eyes. "Are these muffins as good as those cookies? Because I think I actually had a dream about snickerdoodle last night."

When her beverage and snack are handed to her and change is made from the money, she gracefully glides over to their table and sits. A friendly smile is flashed at Perdita. "Hi. I'm Charity."

"Your lectures aren't bizarre. You get all adorable and gushy and light up. It's nice. You look almost human." Perdita teases, gently. She smiles fondly at the man. "Only if you're also appearing in a swimsuit... And not one of those awful knee length numbers I know you own. You want to sell calendars? Show off your Baba Y'ga hut legs." that has a distinctly teasing tone.

"Hi, Charity, I'm Perdita. Just Dita is fine, though." she smiles back, tilting her head slightly. "New in town?"

"Over my dead body," declares Ravn with a smile. "Which is just about the only way you get me to pose for a camera anyhow."

The smile is extended to Charity as she settles. "Irving's baking is out of this world. The pastries here are pretty good though -- even if they're not in her league. How's Elm Street treating you so far?"

Charity brings her cup to her lips to take a sip of the steaming beverage and holds up a single finger in response to Dita's question. When she lowers it, the effect of the caffeine infusion is plainly visible on her face. She nods, cutting her gaze over to Ravn for a second since he's already heard the answer to the question. "Yes and no. I'm originally from here. But I've been gone awhile and just recently returned." She smirks and gives a shake of her head. "Which, according to some folks I ran into yesterday, was not a smart idea." She picks apart a piece of the muffin and pops it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing with another gulp of joe. "Are you from here? Or a transplant from a more normal place?"

Another tilt of her head, and Dita's dark eyes meet Ravn's, with a wicked little smile. "Don't give me ideas, Abildgaard."

"It's definitely not a good idea to be here... but none of us are packing our bags and leaving, right?" Perdita smiles at Charity, now, the wickedness gone. "I am, indeed, a transplant. I wouldn't call my home town normal, but it definitely doesn't have anything on Gray Harbor."

"I don't know that I'd call coming back not a smart idea. I might say argue that it puts you on the firing line -- but there's also something to be said for being with your own kind of people, and knowing where the monsters are. Here, at least there are people who won't think you're psychotic if you try to tell them what's going on and that angels from under the floorboard ate your TV." Ravn sips his coffee; the blue frothy concoction remains untouched.

And if his accent wasn't an obvious hint he adds, "I'm a transplant as well. Came into town in July, almost two years ago. Time flies. Feels like yesterday sometimes. Other days, it feels like a lifetime. This town has a habit of changing you. Sometimes for the better."

Charity lets a little rueful smile play across her lips. "No, there is no place like home. We've found that out over the past fifteen years." Another bite of muffin devoured and she raises the cup to them both. "Well, allow me to welcome you both to town. As late as that welcome may be." A tiny laugh at the absurdity of her offer doesn't escape her. Then she nods at Ravn. "Yes. Very well put. Not all change is bad. I think it's more ... how you deal with said change that usually makes it good or ill. Not always, but more often than not."

"And the TV I don't mind losing. I just hope nothing eats my car keys. Or my car. Or me." A wink is tossed to them both and she takes another sip of coffee. "I'm going to try my luck at the casino today," she says to Ravn before turning her attention to Dita to further explain. "For work. Not gambling."

"We don't know where the monsters are, though, only that they're... here." Dita makes a gesture, palm flat toward the table, raising her hand and circling it to indicate the area. "It doesn't help that three months of our lives were literally eaten." She mutters, before sipping at her coffee again.

"Thank you for the welcome... and I hope that works out for you. Lots of rich tourists should be coming into town now that the weather's warming up... so I might see you there." Perdita quirks a brow playfully. Despite the relatively dressed down (for her) outfit, she definitely looks like someone who could be in the market for a sugar daddy.

Ravn hides a small grin in his coffee cup. There's nothing he can say to that that won't come out wrong, so this is an excellent time to shut up.

Instead he just says, "I may have dropped the idea that the Casino kind of constantly needs women who can rock a small black dress. Because of tourist seasons, and upper middle class people coming in from Seattle and the coast. They want a whiff of playing rich kids but they don't actually want to go to Las Vegas -- or Europe. So trip round Puget Sound, couple of days in Seattle, stopover in Olympia, couple of days here, end at the Casino. Trip to the Quinault Reservation and the national parks optional. Daddy wants to rock a suit and have the hot waitresses give him the eyes, even though he's perfectly aware they're faking their interest for a better tip."

Charity nods in response to Ravn's explanation. "It was either that or stripping it seems." The smirk she flashes shows that she isn't serious. It is said with the fond memory of the way it had made Una blush so. Then to Dita. "I'm currently delivering sub-par food to truckers at this grease pit on the highway just outside of town. Mentioned to Ravn and some others yesterday that I needed a new source of income." She takes a sip of coffee as she arches a brow. "Care to enlighten me about this devoured time? You know, just in case I wake up tomorrow to find that I'm suddenly fifty-seven or something."

"I've yet to meet a woman who can't rock a little black dress." Dita points out with a slight head tilt. "But I know what you mean. Pretty young things with stars still in their eyes and the hope of a rich sugar daddy sweeping them off their feet and away from this constant drudgery... Or world weary bitches who know how to fake the starry eyes." Perdita quirks both brows with a smirk. There's no doubt which she considers herself, despite her youth.

"Stripping's a great buck, if you can handle curly tailed patrons assuming that just because you take your clothes off, other services are also on offer." Dita sips at her coffee.

"I went to bed, alone, and it was spring, I was living in the Murder Motel while I did the whole 'look for work' thing. I woke up... it was Autumn, I had a firefighter in my bed. Thought it was his place, so I tried to sneak out, only for him to ask why I was trying to do the walk of shame out of my own home."

"Twelve weeks just disappeared last year, yeah." Ravn looks thoughtful. "For me -- I woke up in an unfamiliar bed and it turned out I'd gone and bought a house. Which kind of put a damper on my plans to, well, travel on eventually. Moved in with a buddy -- he cooks, I clean, everyone wins. We never did find out why those weeks vanished, or if it meant anything. The going theory is that yes, it did, but it wasn't about us people here in Gray Harbor. We were just collateral, if that makes sense? Sometimes, the mystery just isn't solved. For twelve weeks, the rest of the world was convinced this place never existed, and we just -- went about our business but we don't remember."

Charity, who has seemed so nonplussed in front of other people about anything to do with this town, actually has her eyes widen and her mouth hang open a bit. "Wait, so you have like ... seriously missing time? I mean, you obviously kept living if things moved at a progression. But either you weren't the ones in the driver's seat of your head or else the memories were just, like erased." You would know what it's like to lose time, wouldn't you? Her smile tightens in response to the purring between her ears. Taking another sip of coffee as she pushes the voice away, she looks between them. "I mean, it sounds more like the latter. If you discovered you did things during that time that you normally wouldn't have done."

There's a nod toward Ravn, in agreement, before she turns back to Charity, raising one perfectly manicured finger (today it's a jet black stiletto nail with a hint of black shimmery glitter) for each option. "Either we kept living and our memories were wiped at the end of twelve weeks, which is traumatic but... vaguely comforting because at least we actually made the decisions... Something else piloted us for twelve weeks making decisions close to what we'd do but not exactly the same, and then let us all have control again, which is terrifying and I hate the idea of... or something grabbed us, decided what we 'did' for twelve weeks, and literally threw us down into the future it decided for us, which is its own form of horrifying but at least nobody turned me into a Muppet."

"I bought an old building. And got a cat. And slept with half the fire department, apparently." she tilts her head slightly, looking skyward, "Okay, the last one sounds about right."

"It was different for different people." Ravn sips his coffee. "My experience was like most of them -- woke up, no recollection. Did the things you'd expect -- looked through social media, check book, appointments and so on. Pretty much just lived my life, bought a house, moved in. Some people found that they had apparently not existed -- time had just skipped forward twelve weeks, like their entire lives had been put on pause like a movie, and then restarted. And one person I know was out of town when it began, and for twelve weeks she was desperately trying to get a flight, any flight, to Bowerman Airport in Hoquiam, but, no one believed her that the place even existed."

He smirks at Perdita. "Half the fire department appreciates you, I'm sure. As for cats? No one tells a cat where to live. Cats tell you where they live."

"Okay, so that's a whole lot freakier than it originally sounded." Charity shakes her head, looking between the both of them. "I mean it doesn't sound like it was one thing that happened. Especially with the way you're telling it." She nods at Ravn. "Uh, question. Did everyone wake up at the same time? Like, did everyone's lives go back to normal, well normal for here, on the same morning? If so, which morning was that? Like, the date?'

A coincidence is something that happens out of a random convergence of events. A conspiracy though, that takes planning. One of Charity's short nails, in need of a fresh coat of paint, taps lightly against the side of the cup in her hands.

Another nod to Ravn in agreement with his version of events. If they're messing with Charity, they had this story down pat before she joined them. "Yes... they do." There's a slightly preening expression from Perdita, though it's also very playful.

"I wasn't a fan. I don't like being tied down, and a cat is a responsibility, and owning property is a paper trail I really didn't want. For the two of us it was like Gray Harbor had to give us reasons to be sure and stay. It made me put down roots..."

"As far as I know, everyone has the same date for memories resuming. Not the exact same time, but... same day. Since then I've been trying to figure out how I even came to own the damn building. Near as I can figure, I bought it, but I'm not sure where the money came from."

"I remember it as September 19, last year. But people didn't wake up at the exact same time. Some people didn't believe it for a bit -- didn't think to ask others. Others had vague memories, or memories of a couple of hours more or less, and the rest of us acting weird." Ravn sips his coffee again. "I remember it pretty vividly because I woke up to a text asking me to please confirm I was alive, that I existed, and I'm sitting there wondering what the ever-loving fuck when it dawns on me I don't know where I am, either." Ravn nods at Perdita.

Then he glances at Charity. "You're taking that story pretty straight-faced. Either you think we're full of it and you better just play along, or something similar has happened to you once or twice."

Charity doesn't answer immediately, first she takes another bite of the muffin and another sip of coffee. Then she lowers the cup and cradles it in both hands. "We grew used to the oddness of this town. Growing up here, connected to it, you sort of have to. Or go mad. Away from here, however ..." She sighs. "You never really leave it behind. Not completely. But you eventually stop thinking about it every day. Dreaming about it every night. Hearing the siren call whispering you back." She pauses again and looks down at the mug. "The nightmares returned near the end of September. It may have been on the 19th. But it was definitely before the 22nd. I was in Memphis at the time. But I knew the moment it happened, we were coming back home."

She looks up again. "I didn't lose any time, not like you two are talking. Nor did I do anything I wouldn't normally have done. But I cannot help but think it's all connected."

Jingle-jingle: the front door announces another arrival. It's not a customer (or maybe it will be, one never knows), but it is someone who works here. Who shouldn't be here because it's supposed be her day off.

But sometimes, goldfish brain strikes.

She's clearly not expecting Dita to be sitting at the table because those? -- are cargo pants, certainly not worn as suggested before by the more stylish woman. Nope. They're khaki, long enough to cover the laces of the running sneakers to an extent, and paired with what appears to be a slimly-fitting black turtleneck. This is long enough through the body to cover belt and nearly half of the back pockets of the pants in turn. With her courier purse slung across her body, Ariadne of the deeply-auburn and panel-dyed (underneath, celestial hues of cobalt and iris-violet) hair, twiddles fingers to the table and its occupants as she swishes past.

"Forgot my paystub, one sec!" over her shoulder and indeed, into the back area she goes with a holler of "Hi, Russ, yes, I forgot my stub again, STOP LAUGHING, YOU LITTLE SNOT. And if you say it's because I'm getting old, I'm swapping your drink for decaf the next time." Them's fighting words.

"I seriously thought that dude was bullshitting me until he had to leave for his shift and just left me in the penthouse... and my clothes were there. Even the ones from storage, outside of Gray Harbor." she shakes her head a little, shifting in her seat, just the slightest hint of discomfort on her face... As Charity talks, Perdita tilts her head ever so slightly, as if catching something out of the ordinary.

"It probably is connected." she admits, "If in no other way than because of what we are."

And then Ariadne is walking through the door in those things. Her eyes narrow. She suddenly looks decidedly feline, and irritated at that. The disgust on her face, it's like someone literally just waltzed in covered in raw sewage.

"Your girlfriend is a monster."

"It probably is connected," Ravn agrees -- and looks after the galaxy-coloured hurricane that blows through the room towards the counter and beyond it. He shakes his head. Never get between Ariadne and coffee. He's learned that much.

And then, with a smile borrowed off a cat that ate the canary, drank the cream, and is now contemplating running the dog over with a truck, he simply says, "I'm aware."

Charity glances over as the new arrival rolls in and heads to the rear of the shop. A slightly amused smirk spreads across her face at the conversation that drifts out to the seating area. However, the grin widens at Dita's comment and Ravn's reaction and she arches a single brow as she turns those green eyes to him. "Another surprise from the time skip?" There is a sing-song lilt to her voice, very similar to the amused teasing he would have heard her use the previous morning on Oak Street.

Russ may or may not be pranked with decaf. Time will tell. He can be heard to sass something back and Ariadne bells out laughter. "Jerk," she counters oh-so-politely because Public Workplace Etiquette 101 at a certain volume.

But la voila: her paystub can be seen to be tucked away into her courier purse as she emerges from the staff room into the back space behind the counter. An idle check-in on the demented (possibly haunted) smoothie blender and after the report that all is well, no one has been subjected to sudden Exorcist-level smoothie regurgitation, she appears behind the counter again. "Oy," she says mostly to herself as she threads fingers back through her hair. It's the preface to pulling a hairband off of her wrist and gathering the mane back, apparently. Pausing by Ravn's chair, she waits until he can see to bump at his arm with her hip in a gentle hip-check. There she stands for the moment.

"Dita-face," she greets the other woman first, smiling innocently. It's like she's realized she's wearing cargo pants or something. "You, sir." And hello, Danish other half. "And welcome to The Table," the barista then says to Charity in turn, giving her a professional smile. "I'm Ariadne, I'm normally behind the counter. Most folks who end up seated here are new, lost, confused, or any combination of the following. Am I assuming? Have we done the 'Hotel California' speech yet?" she then asks of the others out of amused curiosity.

"... as long as you're aware." Perdita mutters at Ravn, still doing her best Angry Cat impression as she sips her coffee. Once Ravn's looking away, however, she drops a wink to Charity.

And then Ariadne's at the table, and Perdita looks her up and down with all the airs of a Dowager Queen surveying a subject who's grossly mis-stepped. "In those pants, behind the counter is a good thing... no one can see them." It sounds so catty, but there's a twinkle in her eye as she literally turns her nose up at the other woman... before the act drops, and she laughs. "At least you fill them out nicely."

"Turns out that Charity is a returning local so at least parts of the speech isn't required," Ravn replies with a smile. Then he shakes his head. "And, no. Ariadne didn't come into town until -- December, I think? But there were people who found themselves in situations they didn't see coming. At least one couple found themselves to be, well, a couple. And of course one of the first things we all did was take bets on who would turn up pregnant because that's how stories work. Turned out to be Eleanor Røn, the very nice lady who owns this coffee shop."

A visible shudder runs through Charity's frame and her already pale face loses a bit of color. "Wow. I can not imagine waking up pregnant. That would be ... yeah no." She glances up at Ariadne and smiles. "Charity Dixon. Formerly from Gray Harbor and recently returned under mysterious, and probably spooky, circumstances." She shrugs one shoulder and nods her head toward Dita and winks. "And I agree with her assessment of your assessments in those pants." She takes another swallow of her coffee and pops the last of the blueberry muffin into her mouth. "By the way, does anyone know what it means when you flush the toilet and it burps back at you for twenty minutes like a trucker who just guzzled a six-pack of PBR?"

Clearing her throat stands in for bubbling laughter at the pants commentary. "You may be jealous," Ariadne allows to Dita in return with a similar level of lofty attitude. It's betrayed by her grin. A little shake of hips on the vertical to make her point rather than raspberry of tongue. We're all adults here, right? Charity's accompanying comment does sneak the laugh out the barista anyways; it's a light chime and shrug. Fair enough.

"End of December, early January. I was here and back for New Year's with family in Seattle and then back again," the barista then confirms of the timeline of her initial arrival. Her hazel eyes return to Charity. "Eleanor's a gem, by the way, I hope you can meet her at some point. She and August are the cutest damn couple." It seems an honest sentiment rather than fawning at a boss. "Charity. Nice to meet you." Her grin too is honest. "Insofar as the toilet?" A moment to think. "Maybe the toilet tank float not creating a full suction in the tank. Look. Who do you think puts on the gloves around here," she adds for the others with the accepting shrug of being part of staff.

"Here's to waking up from the Great Time Jump with your parental status the same as it was before you went in." Dita raises her glass, then takes a sip of her coffee. "I mean, happy for her, but... I don't want to wake up with a baby on the way, however that would look."

"Toilet goblins." Perdita responds, almost immediately. "I'm not kidding, toilet goblins. Invest in a toddler-safe lock for the toilet seat. Trust me."

Ravn glances at his gloved hands. Yes, those are gloves -- fine black kidskin. Definitely not the kind of gloves you wear for cleaning a septic tank. He's not the one, nope. "Sewer gremlins are a thing in this town," he notes. "They're vicious little bastards. And they're terrified of black cats after my cat ate one."

He glances towards the counter. "The Røns were smart enough to leave town for the birth. August's family is in Portland. This is not the kind of town I'd have kids in either. Just too much risk of something going wrong. As for the whole -- unexpected kids scenario? Kids should be wanted. Kids should feel loved and wanted every day in their lives. Random Veil induced pregnancy? Not it."

"So, what I'm hearing is that I need to make sure I take my birth control each day and double check before going to the bathroom in that dump I call temporary home. Check and check." She grins and then slides to her feet. "It was nice to meet you Dita, Ariadne and see you again Ravn. However, I need to primp and prepare if we're gonna make the change from getting pawed at by horny truckers to getting pawed at by philandering rich people."

She waves her fingers at them before departing toward the door.

By Ariadne's expression, she either hasn't heard of this particularly malevolent instance of sewer interlopers or hadn't had it confirmed by more than one local. Or maybe it's the factoid of the how of Eleanor's new baby.

"What the ffffffuck," she whispers under her breath before wrinkling up her mouth. Maybe it's because she has a dog that she hasn't seen any of these little miscreants? She still nods confirmation as to Eleanor and her husband; yep, the assistant manager's been the boss for a while now, lead by directions from Eleanor via daily phone calls or something of the like. "I mean, it'd be wise," agrees the redhead with Charity's daily game plan. A hand is waved in a twiddly-fingered wish for a good day and then she stands there thoughtfully. "Hmm."

A glance back at Dita and Ravn. "I feel like such a not-local. She's returning from somewhere else?"

"No, not sewer gremlins, toilet goblins. These are a different thing living in the same ecosystem. They look different. But I suppose it could be sort of like... what is it called when everything keeps evolving into crabs?" Dita turns to Ariadne. She's the Marine Biologist, she knows these things.

"Good luck with getting pawed at in the manner you choose!" to Charity, as she heads out... before turning to Ariadne and Ravn once more.

"You notice the 'we' references?" she asks, softly, one eyebrow raising slightly. It doesn't sound judgmental, just... confused.

Ravn laughs softly. "Yeah, er, no offence, but I don't think the Casino is going to hire me in a small black dress. Probably just a figure of speech. My legs aren't bad but I refuse to shave them, and that's probably the end of that."

He reaches to rest a gloved hand on Ariadne's. "You know how it goes. You can check out -- she's like Brennon, and others who come back. Confused by recent happenings. Lost a lot of memories while they were gone. May not have believed in it all when they left. Been told by others that they're crazy. And here they are, back and finding out that it's all real."

Jules enters the coffee shop like she’s a woman on a mission, beelining straight for Ravn as soon as she spots him. Mission: one black leather jacket, folded over her arm. Said arm is not bare; she’s got on her own gray utility jacket, plus a black ribbed tank-top and jeans. “Hey hey,” she greets one and all while holding out the jacket to Ravn. “For you, sir.”

"Oh." Ariadne looks away from Ravn to the front door again; her hand, captured up, returns the hold with a gentle squeeze. "God, that's got to be hard," she murmurs, brows quirked in sympathy. Still, she's sporting a half-smile when she glances back at Dita.

"...I'm not sure what you mean by everything evolving into crabs," the marine biologist admits. "Unless you mean something like a combination of natural selection and outside forces? Because that's a thing. And so are those 'we' references now that you point them out." No huge surprise at the twinkle of curiosity from the redhead, surely. Somehow, without losing track of Ravn's hand, she snags the chair previously occupied by Charity and settles in after it's been pulled over. Mmm, pre-warmed, nice. "Now, this is Gray Harbor. What are the actual options here for using 'we' other than split personality?" she asks in the same quiet volume as Dita used earlier. There's no judgment either; if anything, more an interest in figuring out an answer than anything else.

And then, a Jules. Ariadne glances over and her expression lights up. "Oh hey, the missing jacket. Mystery solved." A wink for Jules. "I'm kidding, I heard about the why of it. Soooooooo." Look at that smile, just shy of Cheshire Cat. "How'd the dress work out?" she asks of Jules with...no compunction whatsoever.

"Okay, we can always wax them. I refuse for my Maid Ravn to not meet 21st century beauty standards, after all. Why else would you wear 7 inch stilettos?"

"I... don't remember what it's called. Crabification or something. I was tired, depressed, drunk, and on YouTube at 3am." Perdita shrugs, "Regardless, clearly everything in Gray Harbor eventually evolves into sewer gremlins or toilet goblins."

Jules gets a very mildly confused smile at the jacket interaction, but it's a friendly smile all the same.
"Ghosts. Ghosts or she's very co-dependent. Maybe co-dependent with a ghost." a little shrug.

"Yes, do tell us about the dress?" Ravn smirks at Jules. The story he got was a little -- different. "And congrats on winning that bet."

Mission accomplished, errand achieved, but it looks like Jules can't simply drop off the borrowed leather jacket and get off easy. "I love that dress," she tells Ariadne solemnly. "I will never doubt you again." And now Ravn wants to know about the dress, too? Her eyebrows quirk. "It is a dress, it is black, it is yea-high." She indicates something just above knee-length. "And thanks to the lovely Ariadne, I now own it. I own one single dress. There is a dress in my closet. Because you know what they say about everyone needing a little black dress, right?" Her gaze sweeps around the table, landing on Perdita; back her up, here.

Pause. "So you heard about the bet, did you."

Cue one pleased-looking Ariadne. Dress? Success. Week? Made. A gentle squeeze for Ravn's hand as she replies to Jules, "Hey, if you're happy, I'm happy. I bet you looked like a million dollars in it."

Oh yes, a bet was heard about. Grammar, whatever.

"...carcinisation...?" she then randomly says to Dita, looking incredibly amused. The expression falls to something more solemn as she muses on the fashionista's other thought. "Maybe," she then allows of being co-dependent with a ghost. What a mind exercise to consider.

"Everyone who wears dresses needs a little black dress. How else will you scandalize everyone at your lover's wedding to the woman he didn't want to know about you?" Perdita asks mildly, tilting her head ever so slightly.

"Yes. That." Perdita points to Ariadne. "Carcinisation. Which is not to be confused with carcinogen. I swear, I tried to pay attention in high school but Brantley had these arms..."

"I don't suppose that not having a woman to keep secret is an option?" Ravn can't help laugh. "And yes, I heard about the bet. You could have just asked, you know -- I have other jackets, I don't mind lending out that one. But I also figure there's enough truth in the story you told me that my next question is going to be: All okay with the troublesome ex?"

"See? Exactly." Jules has a firm nod for Perdita's explanation. "That is precisely why I had to buy it. I even put on eyeliner," Jules stage-whispers, eyes wide as if she is shocked herself. Ladies and gentleman, Jules does not wear makeup. She has never yet been seen in Gray Harbor with more than a trace of chapstick.

She snags a seat for herself and sits her butt down. "Where's the fun in that?" she shoots back at Ravn, now grinning. It dims when he asks about the ex. Ah, the ex. "Yes and no. I mean, I ran into him, but that was bound to happen." She just shrugs.

"Hey. Biceps." The barista nods approval to Dita, her smile returning. "I getchu."

She's unable to help funning back at Jules, however. "Eyeliner. Oh my god, who are you and what have you done with the Jules I know?!" The stage-whisper is returned along with a miming of pearl-clutching. Aghast, Ariadne can fake well enough. Despite her crooked grin, she still listens attentively to Jules' response to Ravn's very important question. A nod. Good. The shrug seems to insinuate that whatever the conclusion must have been, it was either satisfactory or not worth getting worked up over.

"Now I want to know where's dinner going to be at, per the bet," she then asks, knowing full well she's being nosy by her grin lingering.

"What was this bet, anyway?" Perdita asks, glancing between the others at the table. "Is... does no one in this town wear make up?" Dita asks Ravn, in a stage whisper. "Do they just... go through life looking this gorgeous right out of bed?"

"Is this what Gray Harbor women do, just... wear cargo pants and go make up free?"

"Also if you need help with the ex, I'm surprisingly good at ex-ass-kicking."

Ravn can't help a small laugh. He leans in over the table and stable whispers back, "I've seen Ariadne apply mascara."

Of course, his idea of personal grooming -- probably takes more effort than it looks like, and he will never admit it. That perfect two day scruff beard doesn't give itself those razor sharp edges at the cheekbones, and that casual mop look likely requires a hairdresser who knows what they're doing.

Also, the cargo pants look bloody expensive.

"She's been abducted," Jules' replacement solemnly tells Ariadne. (Oh, but if she only knew what was about to go down on the industrial side of town -- she wouldn't be making this joke, then.) "Replaced with some Veil-creature who likes dresses and make-up. Maybe that's why the women of Gray Harbor don't wear it; they don't want to attract Their attention."

Jules sits back, aiming for light-hearted. "The offer is much appreciated, but I handled it. Just the usual -- too much to drink, too much stupid coming out of his mouth. Anyway. Dinner out is far more interesting. Where is undecided. I'm open to suggestions."

"Look, I like seeing my eyelashes just like everybody else does." Now the tongue comes out, phbbbbt, at Dita and Ravn, before the barista laughs. She's not one for overly-heavy make-up as is; mascara and some cheek tint is...about it normally, both of which she sports today. "Also, give me my other Jules back," she can't help but laugh as well. "Rude. Gotta forewarn the friends first before abductions happen."

She of the cargo pants gives the hand owned by he of the fancier cargo pants another squeeze. "Also, I second the ass-kicking. Just putting it out there," she adds in a manner indicating no push whatsoever to accept; Jules' explanation to Dita makes the barista nod. Sounds...unfortunately familiar.

Her eyes then travel to both Dita and Ravn. "I'm not super savvy about the restaurants around here, but the Thai place isn't bad," she offers.

"Oh, you're at that stage of the relationship? Garrett and I were a month past 'I love you' before I let him see that I even owned make up. As far as he was concerned, this is just... how I look." Perdita's joking, though. She only kept him in the dark for a few weeks.

"Is that why They kept re-curling my hair?" Perdita asks Jules, with a slight tilt of her head. "Because that was annoying."

"I don't like seeing my eyelashes... I like seeing the eyelashes I buy. I don't pay for extensions so I can see my eyelashes." yes, eyelash extensions are apparently a thing.

"Yes. I'm filing for divorce next week," Ravn says very solemnly, and then looks at Ariadne with an expression that pretty much says took the bait, the sinker, the hook, the line, and the fisherman, reel him in already.

Then he wipes that rather stupid grin off his face and looks at Jules. "Sitka is probably the place to go if you want fancy dining. It's a tie and heels kind of place -- the restaurant at the Grand Olympic Hotel and Casino. It's actually quite nice. British owned so, the food has actually seen French recipes, too. Recommend the piano bar there as well, they do nice low key jazz evenings. Rosencrantz plays there."

"Mm. Noted. But like I said, it's been handled." Jules does not seem inclined to go into details, preferring to keep to lighter subjects. "Thai is tasty, but I'm thinking something...yeah, maybe more like that." She nods to Ravn and his suggestion. "Assuming Della's actually okay with shelling it out for a fancy dinner. I don't own heels, though."

"Oh, god, no, my own lashes. I like seeing my own lashes. Falsies are too fussy." And Ariadne waves her hand dismissively even as she moves to cross her legs. To flash her cargo pants. Deliberately. At Dita. Because reasons.

Ariadne returns the look given by the Dane with, at first, an arched brow and a totally-not-smiling set of mouth. After a second or two, she snort-laughs and shakes her head. "Dork," comes the mutter. To Jules, she adds, "Though I am going to second the Sitka, now that Ravn's mentioned it. Fancy but not too fancy. I haven't been there yet myself, but it sounds like a nice atmosphere and all."

No heels? Ariadne automatically glances over at Dita. "I own, like...one pair of heels, so...not helpful there," the barista then admits with an air of guilty amusement.

"Oh, my condolences." Dita tells Ravn with a smirk.

"... you don't... own... heels." Perdita says softly, looking at Jules like she's grown another head.

And then Ariadne's talking bad about falsies... "Hey, some of us wouldn't have cleavage without fals-... you mean fake eyelashes." Perdita leans forward and puts her forehead upon her palm, groaning. "I blame my cousin for ruining my sleep."

"... I am surrounded by benevolent NLOGs."

"Do I even want to ask what that means?" Ravn is not even pretending to not be laughing anymore. He's chuckling quietly into his black coffee, provided by the very woman he's laughing at. "No Lamps On G'way?"

"Am I about to burst into flame?" Jules asks Perdita. Inquiring minds, here. Ravn has asked her other question for her.

Is that a chill May breeze wafting in through the door and sending tingles down the spines of many that make them shiver? Or is it just a diminutive blonde with very large sunglasses drifting in?

Any bone chilling is likely dismissed by looking at her outfit of super baggy, pink, fluffy sweatpants and shirt. Her socked feet are stuffed into pink fur lined slippers. Her hair is messy and matted. She kind of slumps languidly toward the cashier to order a coffee.

"Yes, eyelashes, my bad. I should have been more specific," Ariadne replies to Dita. Her brows quirk in sympathy. "Maybe a nap today?" she also offers as suggestion, though she's just as curious to hear the explanation for the acronym as the others. Settling back further into her chair, she gives Ravn's hand another squeeze.

The front door's bells jingle and she glances over. Hmm. Don't know this face. With quiet curiosity does the barista, off duty, watch the shuffle towards the counter. Maybe a triple shot for that order.

"It's an acronym, yes. 'Not Like Other Girls'. It typically means girls who shun the feminine in order to catch the attention of boys," she holds up a hand, "which I am not applying that definition to either of you. Just that NLOGs typically shun heels, make up, haircare... hygiene... to show boys that they aren't feminine, because they've been taught that being feminine is bad, rather than a choice that some people find empowering."

And then Cassidy is coming in looking... hung over? She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. "Nap sounds like a good idea, but I won't be able to sleep until I know Dhvani actually got on that damn Greyhound and is heading to New York."

"Oh. Right. The Bella Swans? Something." Ravn hitches a shoulder. "I'm not enough into sparkly vampires, sorry. Also, I look silly in heels, I'm already six foot three."

Pause. "Also, please, nobody ever stop washing to impress me. Please."

Only then does he glance after Cassidy; that's not quite the state he's used to seeing the ADA in (nor did he think she was still in town). "Everything okay, Bennet?"

Jules looks thoughtful with Perdita's explanation. It certainly rings a bell. "I've just worked a lot of outdoor jobs," she settles for. "The habits stuck. It does leave me in need of a pair of heels. Ones I can walk in without twisting my ankle. Anyway -- I should actually get something to drink while I'm here. Be right back." Jules rises, eyeballing Cassidy curiously when she ends up behind her in line.

Cassidy yawns and tells the on duty barista that she'd like a coffee. It's a black coffee, except ruined with ice and a ton of half and half.

She slipper skates out of the line and waits near the order pick up. Hidden eyes find Ravn, pointing huge dark lenses in his direction, and the woman shrugs. "Can't seem to stay away. There's always something. And my old house is always available for lease. I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone." ... "Ray, right? You're some community organizer charity something, right?"

"Oh." Thoughtful sound for the explanation. "I'd always wondered," she adds with a nod. "The more I learn. I hope Dhvani did get on the bus though." Her lips thin in concern. Family is always easy to worry over.

Her eyes travel to Jules. A nod of understanding before the woman departs the table for the coffee line. To Ravn and Dita, Ariadne notes, "See, her logic makes sense. I can't go walking on the beach in heels because I'll suffer some terrible ankle-wrenching fate and maybe faceplant on a starfish and then it'll just turn into a Three Stooges affair and you know those seagulls are laughing at that point. Crabs don't care about heels," the barista/marine biologist funs in Dita's direction. Because crabs.

Her phone pings and she pulls it out. "Oops, right. Sorry, familial duty calls," she tells the table. Rising to her feet, she leans in obviously in order to press a kiss to those coppery Danish curls. "Text me later, mister. Dita, remember: it's still a one-on-one battle against cargo pants." A wink at Dita. As she drifts past Jules waiting in line, a fistbump is offered to the woman along with the singsong of, "Little black dress for the win." Cassidy is given a polite smile and nod before the barista breezes out the front door.

It's her sister texting. The texting will be ferociously insistent unless a call is returned. Family, oy.

"I hadn't intended to. I like smelling of vanilla and a hint of sandalwood, thank you." Perdita tells Ravn with a smirk.

Dita turns to look at Jules' feet, head tilting, "I've probably got something that wouldn't kill your feet, if you need to borrow something." They're close in height, after all.

"There's also the fear that the heels would turn into crabs and scuttle off without you." Perdita points out. Of course, for once, she's in sneakers.

"Take care!" Ari gets a playful blown kiss after her.

Ravn has no commentary on the family interference; he just smirks to himself. Maybe he's experienced the sister. Maybe he intends to dodge the sister forever. Who knows?

Instead, he nods at Cassidy. "I'm the organiser at the local community centre, yes. Ravn, not Ray."

And if there is something ever so slightly commiserating in his tone, it's probably entirely coincidental. After all, why would a successful career woman like the ADA require the pity of some sod in a coffee house?

Jules looks down at her own feet (now on display as she stands there ordering her latte), then Perdita. She signals a thumbs-up, drifting back towards the table while she waits for the latte to come her way. "That would be awesome, if you don't mind. I wore my dress with sandals yesterday because I was at the beach, but it sounds like I should up my game for a fancy restaurant. Bye!" The last gets called after Ariadne as the other woman departs.

"Oh I love heels. I go out in at least three inches or I don't go out." Except for today, apparently. Cassidy grabs her coffee.

"Ravn, that's right. Is that Swedish?" She takes a sip and shrugs. "I should go out and get my bearings again. This little place is so forgettable. I had to google maps just to walk here. Thought I'd at least remember where the coffee shop is."

"I don't mind at all." Dita tilts her head a little, the other way, now, looking thoughtful, "I've got a pair of low wedges that should be perfect, unless I lost them in the move."

Ravn gets an amused sidelong glance from Perdita, but Cassidy gets a friendly smile, "Usually I'm the same, but today felt like a jeans and sneakers sort of day."

"Danish," Ravn says and the look he gives Cassidy is one of pity. He quickly tries to conceal it behind his coffee cup but it's there all right.

Time to change the subject. Join the other subject. Something. "Can't say I tend to prefer places that make me wear a tie. Definitely not an expert on women's fashion. But I do believe that every woman should own at least one dress and whatever accessories come with it, that makes her feel like she's the queen of the world."

"Thank you," Jules says to Perdita, smiling her way. "I'll send you a text in the next couple days, maybe I can drop by and try them on? -- Oh, that's me." Her order's up. Jules heads for the counter to pick up her latte, carefully managing to bring back the very full cup without tipping any hot milk out onto the saucer.

Holding up her phone and staring at it to use the front camera as a mirror, Cassidy uses fingers to comb at her hair and nurse some of those matted tresses into a semblance of propriety. She must be waking up.

"As long as there isn't a king of the world I'm okay with that." She tucks her phone away and pickes her coffee up.

"Bye." The short blond gives a finger waggle to Perdita and Ravn as she passes their table on the way out.

"You'd look very distinguished in a tie, Mr. Abildgaard, but I can't say that I blame you. They're only slightly less constricting than a collar and leash."

"You're welcome by whenever, Jules, I'll be glad for the company!"

As Cassidy heads off, Perdita gives a slightly amused smile and a finger waggle of her own, "Be safe out there."

"The Portland Tiara." Perdita murmurs to Ravn, with just the slightest smirk, before Jules heads back to the table. She waggles her eyebrows comically, head tilting.

"Well, let me know if all this shopping and lunching that people have planned requires a driver," Ravn murmurs, amused. "Apparently most of my friends are women and if that means girl talk, don't leave me out. I'm great at carrying bags, too."

He glances after Cassidy as she goes. "That's rough, though. She doesn't shine. I'm guessing she went out of town and the Veil did a number on her. Again."

"Who was that?" Jules wants to know as she sits back down. She immediately leans over to the level of the table to sip her latte. That first sip makes it possible for her to lift the cup without spilling. "Noted: include Ravn in girl talk. Which, actually, I have something to ask you about, and it isn't hair and makeup."

"What do you mean 'apparently'? Most of your friends are women or Queer men. Name one cisgender, heteromantic, heterosexual, allosexual man you're friends with." Perdita's grinning, though.

"I dunno, someone who wears house shoes in the outside the house." Perdita asks, tilting her head slightly. "Wait... Isn't she one of the ADAs? Oof. Can't be good for her image being seen in public like that, should someone go after her?"

Ravn ponders. For a while. In fact, quite some time. In the end he says, "I don't suppose my buddies at the lumber mill count? Fair point. I guess I'm the designated cishet vanilla boy in this outfit."

Then he nods at Jules and Perdita alike. "She is. Cassidy Bennet. Temperamental as all hell, kind of infamous for chewing people out if she doesn't like what they're doing which is pretty much always. You're welcome to go after her if you want to -- I'm going to run with the assumption that if Cassidy Bennet is a-okay with turning up here in slippers, then she meant to. I like breathing."

Jules snorts at Perdita's challenge, just barely managing to do it without getting hot milk up her nose.

"And I like my skin intact," she declares, settling into a more comfortable position. "So, question. For both of you, actually. Two heads better than one, three heads better than two, that sort of thing. My grandma gave me something yesterday when I was visiting, but I don't know what it's for. She doesn't either, just that it was something ceremonial. How would you go about figuring it out?"

"Oh, honey, I know some of your buddies at the lumber mill. Grindr is a powerful tool." Perdita murmurs, with a sidelong glance.

"Eh, if nobody thinks she's wandering around drunk, I'm not going to chase after her." Dita shrugs a little, then looks up to Jules, expression thoughtful.

"I'd... probably ask my On Call Nerd to check it out for me. I have a friend who's amazing at data searches." and data removal, but...

"No, I don't think she was drunk. Looked more like she was wondering why the hell she's back in Gray Harbor, which is a pretty normal look for someone who likes to give speeches about how much she hates it here." Ravn throws one last glance at the door, then hitches a shoulder.

Then he focuses his attention on Jules. "I suppose my first idea would be looking at it, trying to determine what it is, or at least its origin. A web search for similar items, sure. Contacting somebody in the appropriate academic field, send them some pictures, ask them. What did she give you, if you don't mind my being nosy?"

"Hear that, On Call Nerd?" Jules pins a look on Ravn, eyebrows raised expectantly. "It's like a little human sculpture," she describes, looking between the two an holding her hands apart to demonstrate size. "Belonged to to my grandma's grandfather, and she's passing it on to me. So it's old. Something used in indigenous rituals, that sort of thing. She didn't know much about it either, just said it's powerful and handle with care."

"Eh, to be fair, I often wonder what I'm doing back in Gray Harbor, and I don't try to leave on the regular." Perdita shrugs a little, smiling.

"Oh, no, he's not my On Call Nerd. I mean, he's a nerd and he's On Call, but no, I meant my friend Jamie... They're a non-binary twink who definitely prefers to live through their computer screen when they're not out with their girlfriends." Perdita smiles, fondly, a little wistfully. She misses her nerds, apparently.

"If it's not disrespectful, I'd take some pictures. Frankly? Hit up Reddit. The world is full of geeks with strange trivia. You'd be surprised how many times historians are looking at something and then some random housewife from Taipei is all, that's a thingamajig, nothing special about it." Ravn nods lightly. "Also, if you can get me a look of it or a photo of it, I can circle it past Etnographics back home -- get the nerds interested, they'll fight a battle royale to find out what a new thing is. Or some dusty professor is going to say, that's a thingamajig from Tai Pei, why are you so excited about it."

Academics.

"Ravn's my On Call Nerd," Jules tells Perdita with a grin. "Seems like everyone needs to have at least one." She takes another long sip of her latte and then sets it down. "It's back at the house. You can totally have a look and snap a picture. But it's not from Taipei," she says dryly, amused. "It's Quinault. Or Hoh, or one of the other nearby tribes. I can't remember the exact lineage of grandma's parents."

"Well that will be a test right there, won't it? Will it photograph, or will the photos just make your phone go all blurry and malfunction. If it photographs, it's probably not something supernatural, at least in the sense of... here." Dita shrugs slightly.

"I'd definitely ask her what her heritage is, too. Not just for identification, but also for your own knowledge. A lot of information gets lost when we lose a grandparent, especially for groups that traditionally don't write their history down in the way we're used to, now." That is a voice of experience.

"Myes, well, the last thing I tried to identify and failed was from Tai Pei," Ravn murmurs, amused. He doesn't mind the designation one bit; it's quite accurate, and unlike a few other designations he possessed, he earned that one. "I'll bring my camera over one of these days, we can see what the academic circuit and Jamie can dig up? I'm not joking about that housewife -- a lot of the time, the people who actually know this stuff are the people whom science forgot to ask because pft, what does some grandma know."

He nods at Perdita. "Of course if we can't get a decent picture then we know it's directly related to the thin spot. But let's assume for now that not at all items of power of the indigenous people are about this place in particular."

The folklorist looks at his empty cup, and at the long since cold blue frothy mess Della the Day Manager made him. "I'm going to leave you two to discuss heels, though. Going into Seattle with Ariadne and I think I need to go read every map of Seattle ever so I can pretend to know where I'm driving."

A wave, a sheepish grin, and off he is.

"She's Quinault," Jules says, ticking these things off on her fingers, "because her father is. Beyond that, though. You're right, Dita, I should ask and get it all clear in my head." She lifts her hand to wave as Ravn declares his departure. "Have fun," she calls after him, "and don't get lost in the underground tunnels."

"Good point. I tend to think of everything as relating to the thin spot, here." Dita nods to Ravn, then smiles, "Enjoy your trip. A reminder that if you come back with more cargo pants, I will know... and I will hunt you both for blood sport... Actually, come back with cargo pants, I have the perfect blood sport outfit." She winks at the tall man and blows him a kiss, as well, before she's back to paying attention to Jules.

"Do your people trace things patrilineally too?" she asks, and only once Ravn is out of earshot, "You know he's going to get lost in the tunnels, right?"

"I just made that happen, didn't I," Jules replies sotto voce. She's got a grin that can only be described as mischievous. "Yeah," she says then, "I think so? Maybe? It's actually hard to know, once you get back beyond the past couple generations. Mostly they wanted to make sure that people didn't marry their cousins, so guys would marry women from outside their village or local tribe. Which is where the 'well I don't know if my grandma's mom is Quinault or not' comes in."

"I mean... maybe he and Ari can enjoy being lost in the tunnels for a little bit."

"That makes sense, wanting to marry outside the local family structure. My father's people traced things patrilineally, too. You could be considered Romani if your father was, but if your mother was your heritage, you weren't. Which never made sense to me, because... same amount of blood, and only the birthing parent can be sure the baby they give birth to is theirs." There's a little shrug from Perdita at that.

"Definitely find out everything you can remember and, if she lets you, right it down, or record her telling you. If you ever decide to have kids, it will mean a lot to them. That history is priceless... especially when you're part of a people that were almost destroyed. My dadeski deya was our family historian, and when she passed, a lot of the smaller stories went with her. My sister and aunts had started writing things down, though, so it's like she's still with us."

Jules smirks at that, the image of Ravn and Ariadne happily lost in the lamp-lit tunnels.

"Your people were almost wiped out too?" she says next, the smile fading to a more serious expression. "Mine too. Smallpox. Right around the time that this town got built. Thanks, white people." A little shrug. "I don't think my grandparents have stuff written down, but I could be wrong. There's so much oral tradition, you know? Beyond just the stories I grew up with."

There's a little nod from Perdita, "A few times, actually. My own family was enslaved in Romania before slavery was outlawed... a couple generations before me, obviously... and then during the Pharrajimos, the Holocaust..." Dita swallows, wrapping her hands around her coffee, "Definitely a 'thanks, white people' moment."

"Don't assume. Get it in writing if they'll let you, or record it, or get them to tell you, then write down as much as you remember. Everything from the important family histories to silly stories about what your family members were like as babies. Apparently, my sister and I passed back and forth a tiny piece of bacon a dozen times before I finally dropped it and she shouted, in the middle of a restaurant, 'Oh, no, you dropped my steak'." Perdita smiles.

"Ugh. Jesus." That's what Jules has to say for Perdita's own family history, along with a little shake of her head. Perdita's story gets a smile, though, over the rim of the latte. Jules sets it down with a small clink; there's nothing left but the residue of foam. "Thanks for the advice. I'm sure my grandparents would love to talk my ear off. In any case -- I should get back home. See if Una has finished her last round of baking." She grins, then gets to her feet. "And like I said, I'll text you about those shoes. See you soon?"

There's a little nod from Dita at that, "Pretty much exactly my thoughts." she tells the other woman.

"See you soon, enjoy the bakes!"