2022-05-17 - Cheers to Self-Empowerment

Last Ariadne had checked, she'd parted ways with Jules after encouraging the acquisition of a Little Black Dress -- because why not a Little Black Dress?

But then, there was a wrapped forearm and mention of an ex and then the whole fiasco with being possessed in Una's kitchen and frankly? The barista is a little curious. Just a little. As such? A text flies to Jules about perhaps meeting her for drinks and appetizers (a la barista paycheck's merit) at Two If By Sea. Tucked to one of the booths next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the redheaded young woman is nursing what appears to be a dark beer and a plate of some sort of pub appetizer -- might be some seafood melted with cheese on croquette slices? Nachos was also tempting, but they're by the bay, so seafood it is.

Ariadne's easy enough to spot via her hair alone, with its dye still almost supernaturally-bright in its celestial hues of underpaneling. A messy bun? Of course. Her black windbreaker lined in cream pseudo-fur keeps the chill of the window away; otherwise, it's jeans and a pair of white-bottomed sneakers, these navy-blue with white stars. She's idly browsing on her phone while she sips at her beer and waits.

After the events of the past week or so, Jules is absolutely up for Fun Things (TM), and a girls’ night out is right up her alley. Her text flies back fast and enthusiastic: yes!!!

She turns up in boot-cut jeans and a low-cut black tank top of some semi-shiny material, wearing a grey utility jacket against the evening chill off the Pacific. “Hey hey,” Jules greets as she slides into the booth seat opposite Ariadne. The barista really isn’t hard to find. “What are we drinking?” There’s a bar menu just there, so she picks it up to peruse what’s on draft.

It takes Jules speaking to bring the barista up from her phone. She immediately blackens the screen and slips it away into her windbreaker pocket, gifting the arriving woman with a big grin.

"Heyo," comes the returned greeting. "This? Iron Horse's Irish Death, what else? It's delicious if you like the dark stuff, local too." Ariadne sips from the beer in question; it sports a thin cling of cocoa-hued froth around its edges still, darker than the Guinness white froth more commonly recognized. "They're out in Ellensberg. A lot of their stuff isn't half-bad. They do a red ale which goes great with chicken wings." She looks from the bar menu to Jules again. "It's shrimp and cheese melted on the bread toasty slices on the plate if you want one. Still hot, so watch your fingers." Thanks, mom; the barista even hands over a napkin just in case. "Pick your poison otherwise, it's on me."

“Confession time: if it’s better than Coors, it’s probably good to me. And I’m not above a Coors on the beach.” Jules grins with her admission; she knows just how déclassé she’s being. “Think I’ll go with the Mac and Jack’s,” she decides at the end of her scan: a solid local amber ale, not too hoppy, goes with everything. “I’m gonna keep that red ale in mind though.”

She reaches out to snag one of those croquettes. Cheese and seafood, yum. “Let me at least get a round,” Jules says before her first bite. It’s good, to judge by her contented noises and the way she licks her fingers after the bread has disappeared.

“So how have you been?” She asks then. More seriously, “Ravn doing okay?” Since his near-drowning.

After she's done laughing in a friendly manner at the confessions, Ariadne waves a hand in an easy-going manner. "Yeah, alright, you can buy a round too. But I have to drive home and one of these packs a whammy -- " She grabs her pint glass and lifts it in both acknowledgement and salute. "So only one more as is." A long sip of the beer and she licks her lips, looking up again at Jules as the questions come.

First things first. "Same old, same old for me. We've hired on a new barista, Willow, and she's holding her own. It doesn't mean less hours, thank god. Sam's good too, my dog. He seems to be settling into the apartment on Sycamore alright. I'm...good as a whole. I can't think of anything to complain about. No Dreams lately." She raps knuckles on the wall next to her, knock-knock-knock. "Ravn, he's..." Now Ariadne sighs, looking down at the plate with the croquettes. "He's as good as he can be too, I think. It shook him up something good, having that asthma attack in the middle of navigating the river. Jules." When the barista looks up, her expression is harrowingly sober. "I'm damn glad you were there to get him out."

“Same here, so two tops.” Jules places her order when the waitstaff comes round and helps herself to another smothered piece of toasty bread while she waits for her pint to arrive. She nods along as Ariadne speaks: same hours, good; happy dog, also good; no Dreams, possibly better still.

Then there’s the mention of that afternoon in the Chehalis. Jules’ own expression is one of profound guilt. “If only I hadn’t gotten him into that mess in the first place, none of it would have happened.” Now is a good time for her beer to arrive, which she welcomes with a slow sip, looking out the window.

Ariadne's mouth twitches as if she can't decide how to respond. Instead, for a bit, she follows Jules' gaze out and beyond the tall panes of glass. Beyond, the bay in its leaden hues rushes waves up onto the rocky beach stretching beyond the edge of the two-tiered decks outside.

"I can't decide which one of you wants to be more guilty," the barista eventually murmurs. She looks back at Jules with a small, quiet smile now, close-lipped. "From what he told me, he was the one encouraging the thing to respond with his violin. All you wanted was answers." She too takes a slow sip of her dark beer and seems at ease enough, for the moment, to eat another croquette. They still taste good rather than like uncertainty.

That, at least, occasions a rueful quirk of a smile. “We both fucked up,” she says. “I think that’s the conclusion we came to. And we both saved each other’s asses.” Is it a little mocking, self-deprecating, the way she lifts her pint glass to toast? It’s also also perfectly true. Without the other, each would either be Lost or dead.

“To life,” she declares. She’s not Jewish, but she can still quote, “L’chaim.”

Ariadne's smile deepens to dimple to one side, it's true. In equal rue of her own manner, she mimics Jules as she makes eye contact. "Egészségedre," she wishes of the woman in Hungarian before taking a long sip of the beer. Back down the glass does into the condensation ring it nested in before. "To your health and his health both. Well. I can tell you what I told him. It's okay to be shook up because that was scary shit. Fear means you respect whatever threatened you. You both learned and if something like that happens again, you're better equipped for it. I know that doesn't make any dreams go away, or any anxieties, but yeah: you both saved each other's asses."

A hard sigh and she clears her throat before laughing at herself. "And I'm grateful enough that I can't put it to words in both cases, so! Right. Pep talks, yes, I can do these things. I, um...guess I can combat anxieties now too. Or something. Something about how I kissed his forehead and made him feel calm for a little mind. He called it 'mind Xanax'."

But beware. Ariadne looks up from considering her croquette with the missing bite. "So...Mikaere." It's not a question, not leveled without the lilt. But it is a question by the way her brows lift slowly.

To which Jules responds with what must be a similar phrase in her own native language. Then, and only then, does she bring her glass to her lips. “Yeah, well. It was a week. I could’ve used some mind Xanax myself,” she says with a little laugh. That’s as close as she comes right now to admitting just how shaken she’s been. Compartmentalization suits Jules, for better or for worse.

Instead, the question-that-isn’t occasions a lift of her own eyebrows in return. “Yes?” She admits nothing, but there is a ghost of a smile that she’s covering for by sipping her beer again.

Adriane's own smile is more puckers at the corner of each side of her lips, at least at first. She flicks those brows and finishes her croquette by stuffing the rest of it into her mouth -- and then speaking around the chipmunking of it in her cheek since Ravn isn't around.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't strike me as Della's type. And I know better than to assume he's involved with Una, soooooooooooo....?" How leading, the melodic drag of the vowel and the tilt of the barista's head at Jules now. Cue eyelash flutter even while she finishes chewing her bite of food.

It’s quite the look, and this time Jules doesn’t hold back her grin. It’s a welcome change of subject too, away from the topic of trauma. “If this dip wasn’t so good, I’d be throwing my bread at you,” she threatens laughingly. To make her point, she puts another hefty dollop of the seafood spread on her croquette and crunches away.

“Della’s into women,” Jules notes after she swallows. It wasn’t the question, but it is an answer of sorts. “Mikaere came over because he was there when I got that thing to begin with, and he knew it was dangerous. So I was keeping him updated, and right around the point I was like, ok shit, the walls are shaking, he came over.”

"Nyah, no wasting the dip." Back-and-forth, Ariadne wiggles a finger before she laughs too. It pleases her to see the croquette so well-received even if it was a wild guess on her part. She listens while she sips long of her beer and then sets down the glass, now leaning forward onto the table by a forearm's rest upon it. Another flick of brows and nod is confirmation of her own suppositions about Della. Yes, it makes sense now, what with the woman had shared of former roommates and exes.

"Right, I remember Mikaere mentioning something like that when I arrived at the house." Still, the barista's faint smile appears again and she squints at Jules. "Funny how it was him in particular you were updating. And...how did that little black dress go over?" It's entirely a gambit on her part, the question.

Definitely a good guess: Jules can be counted on to devour anything seafood related. “Should we get another?” she asks, eying the diminishing basket of bread.

It’s not quite a deflection, though it does give Jules a moment to decide just how forthright she wants to be. “It’s an excellent dress,” she begins with. Another sip, as Jules considers Ariadne there across the table. “It’s not like you and Ravn,” she eventually says.

"I'm glad to hear it," replies Ariadne of the dress; it's not meant to interrupt further commentary from Jules by its volume. She can tell there's something more and especially after holding the other woman's eyes for long enough. A deflection of gazes on her own part to the menu since the question was a good one. Another plate of croquettes or something else?

She glances back at Jules first while she pulls over the pub's standard trifold menu. It had been left tucked to the napkin holder at their table. "Doesn't necessarily have to be like me and Ravn. It can be something else. I'm not you and he's not Mikaere. Are you happy?" the redhead asks as she unfolds the menu to look at the appetizer selection again.

“Yes.” That’s easy enough to answer, and with a question as straightforward as the one Ariadne poses, there’s really no skirting around it. “He’s a good listener, and major shocker here, he actually asks questions instead of just talking about himself. And I don’t feel judged. I don’t think I want a boyfriend, but I do like hanging out with him — plus he’s hot as hell.” Now that Jules is opening up and speaking candidly, she can’t resist the smirk to accompany that last remark, and this one: “So yes, the dress went over very well.”

Rather than use the menu as shield, Ariadne simply skims it and glances up at the brisk affirmative.

'Yes' is good.

Her smile, small, slowly grows as Jules expounds on the finer details of what she has -- this thing unlike what the barista and Ravn have in turn. A knowing tilt of her red-headed self yet again and now it's plain, the grin on Ariadne's face. "Ooh, not just well, but very well." Thespian, the nod then given to Jules and it's with a marked innocence that she adds, not quite sotto voce, "Mmm, gurl, git it." She then chimes a laugh or three. "Hey, if you're happy, I've got no place whatsoever to judge either. Sounds like we might have to meander past those stores again to see about another dress sometime."

She turns the menu to show Jules the options plus fine details beneath each. "Four crab cakes or little fish taquitos?"

“Oh I did.” There’s nothing innocent about that, especially not given how Jules is now looking supremely self-satisfied.

She’s grinning when she reaches for the menu to glance over the two descriptions. “Crab cakes,” she easily decides. “Those little bastards sound delicious.”

She puts down the menu, tucking it back where it belongs. Her next comment is revealing in its simplicity. “It’s nice to be seen.”

Ariadne's laughter soars up perilously close to cackling at the forthright response. Git it? It got. The menu, taken by Jules, is replaced by a two-handed hold of the pint glass, now half-empty. Or half-full, perhaps. Her grin lingers on.

"I knew you had good taste in seafood too," she lauds. "The little bastards are delicious. I've had them here before, pretty freakin' good for their size." Not overly large as benefits pub food, but the crab is very, very local. The docks aren't far away at all. "Nice to be seen, huh? How so? You mean like...out on his arm? Or his on yours? Or that I'm a nosy little shit who's just sweet enough to get answers and not get flipped the bird instead?" Beer is sipped before another croquette is garnered.

Jules laughs as Ariadne lists the options. For good measure, she does lift her middle finger, grinning as she does it. A quick shake of her head answers the question first, though Jules takes time to try to put it into words while nursing her beer.

“Not like that.” She’s thoughtful now, letting the smirks subside. “Like— you know, when you’re with someone for a long time, it’s easy for you to start taking each other for granted. You grow and you change, but the other person doesn’t necessarily see it, because you’re just the same old person to them, their girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever. And it’s not just with the person you’re dating. Family can be that way; friends too. Maybe they only see one side of you. Like, I know that some of my friends mostly just see me as someone impulsive who doesn’t really think and then gets into trouble. Someone loud and outgoing with a monster temper. And I’m not saying that’s not true, because who am I to deny it, but I’m not just that, you know? At least, I don’t think so. And sometimes it takes new people to see that there’s more to you than that. That’s what I mean. Does that make sense?” She looks across the table questioningly, brow lifted as she waits for Ariadne’s reply. Jules also swipes at the cheesy dip with her finger — no more bread, alas.

And Ariadne now cackles (for a split second) at being actually flipped off. Checking off a list is mimed -- excellent, received the bird, done for the week.

"It does make sense, yes. I personally don't see you as someone with a temper. Now, mind, I haven't seen this temper of yours, not really. I've heard it, what with the lobster fighting ring, but your point was a solid one. Invasive species don't get put in the waters around here. I don't think you're impulsive either or...not super-impulsive. It's very, very human to take advantage of a situation to one's benefit. Sociology 101 in college," the barista explains drily. "But...I'm intrigued to hear that you think someone close doesn't see you change over time. I think we all never change at heart, but we do in little ways."

Uh-oh. Enough beer in her and now we're slipping thoughtful. "I can see it taking someone new, but surely not everyone thinks you're just loud and have a tendency to flail yourself into trouble?"

All of this seems to catch Jules by surprise. "Maybe I'm wrong," she muses. Most of the way through her beer, and she's become philosophical too. "Maybe that's more the way I see myself."

"I don't find it surprising, to hear you put it like that. As I got older, I realized that just like the saying goes, I really am my own worst critic. After all, I live in my own skull. Nobody else does. Nobody else gets to hear the unkind things I think at myself now and then because I'm sure they gently scoff at me and tell me to knock it off, Ari, really now." Another quiet laugh and Ariadne takes a moment to tink-tink her nails against her pint glass.

"It's hard to look at yourself in the mirror and see what others see. But that's why the opinions of those you like or love the most matter. They see what we don't. So if Mikaere makes you happy and he sees you in a different, positive way? Rock on." A fistbump is offered out across the table.

Jules readily lifts her own fist and taps her knuckles against Ariadne's. She's smiling now, though it's a little bemused, like the way it's been put is unexpectedly eye-opening. "Thanks," she says. "I think part of it's this -- I literally have never lived anywhere else in my life except for a tiny town on the res. Summer jobs at the lake excepted, because it's still on-res. So coming here, all of a sudden it's like being thrown in the deep end. And it's good, but also whoa. Then throw in all the weirdness about this place, and it's like everything goes into a tailspin. So here I am, trying to figure myself out and what I want out of life, except it's on fast-forward, triple-speed. So it's nice to have someone around that seems to get me, even when maybe I don't fully get myself."

She polishes off the end of her pint, then, and looks across expectantly. "So, one more round, one more appetizer?" And when the waitstaff circulates back around, Jules will be quite insistent about opening a second tab for these items.

"One more round and one more appetizer, sure," laughs Ariadne. She's set to kill her own pint when the waitstaff reaches their table again. Jules and her second tab doesn't get argued again, nor does the order for crab cakes, and this time, Ariadne orders something lighter, another of Iron Horse's porters rather than the thickly-dark Irish Death. It has less of a kick and her sobriety has more of a fighting chance. In theory.

She comments, after the server has departed, "I can imagine it's been just...a relief to have someone like Mikaere around, yeah. It's also so interesting to hear you call Grey Harbor 'triple-speed' and 'fast-forward.' This is slow to me." Her grin is a little crooked per the last pint, her lean on the table via folded front arms. "Since I'm from Seattle and all. This seems like a small place to me in comparison. Like, the speed of the coffee shop? Some days, it feels like treacle. If I were working in Seattle in a coffee shop? It'd be hopping from open to close. I'd never be caught out wondering about re-organizing the backstock closet for the third time in a month. But you're still going to lead those tours you were talking about then? For your summer job? Or you're thinking about making it more permanent? Or...wait, maybe that kind of thing is truly seasonal?"

And, yes, her eyes drift towards Jules' arm where bandages once wound around it and the marine biologist had wondered at how alike the bite looked to the cat bite her sister took when much younger -- except, in Jules' case, from a far larger cat.

“So far, so good,” is how Jules sums it up, just before the waitstaff turns up at their table. She does indeed opt for the recommended red ale on this round. While they’re waiting for round two of drinks and crab cakes, she tackles Ariadne’s questions.

“It’s just seasonal work. I like having that kind of summer gig that gets me out. I’m still signed up for it this year, but with fewer hours. More day trips, instead of actually camping out for five days on, two days off. More driving for me, but it’ll be okay. Thinking about taking a course over the summer, too, something that’s just for fun. So that also limits my time. But I think I want to spend more time around here this summer. Maybe it’s not Seattle-fast,” she grants, “but there’s still a lot going on, between work and classes and doing stuff with friends and maybe even going on a sailing trip.” She lights up a little at this latter possibility.

Alas, her arm isn’t on show today—the jacket sleeve covers where either bandage or healing scars would be, and Jules hasn’t seen fit to shrug out of it. “What about you, any big summer plans?”

"Oh yeah, there's still a lot going on around here even if it's not Seattle. Between the usual and the...usual? Never really a dull moment and when there's a dull moment, like a down-day? Thank god for it," Ariadne opines. She glances over at more people arrive through the front, but no known faces. "I hope it pans out well for you, the summer gig. Every time you say you're taking another course, I get really tempted to look into it, I'm not going to lie. Life-long learner, that's me." She shrugs and laughs, somewhat at herself.

"But big summer plans? No, not that I've made yet. I'm still kind of settling in. I know it sounds weird, since I've been here since January, but the coffee shop is only just now getting to feel like a regular normalcy. Same with taking Sam on jogs and riding my bike around. I've still got to get to Ocean Shores at one point. My family's in Seattle and..." Her face suddenly drops in what must be chagrin by that chuckling. It's a little helpless and accompanied by a muttered, "Oh god." A bit louder, "Um." Looking up again, the barista can't help the twisted smile. "You mentioning a sailing trip makes me want to think about asking Ravn about one because my family is now aware of him. I'm not afraid to introduce him properly, it's that I'm more afraid my family's a...little much sometimes. Because they are a little much sometimes." This, she insists after with fondness regardless.

Jules can’t help but smile a little, saying, “Well, I’m not planning on taking a hard summer course. I was thinking art. I have some scholarship funding, so it wouldn’t cost me extra to branch about a bit from the core courses I need.” While not a lifelong learner in the same way, Jules is availing herself of new opportunities.

That smile turns into a full-on grin when Ariadne speaks of sailing, and one thing leads to another—family. “Hey, at least you didn’t accidentally invite the guy you like to a big cultural event that is essentially a massive family reunion. And at least, even if you did, Ravn is your boyfriend. Besides, I wouldn’t worry about it. Hey basically thinks you walk on water. Your family isn’t going to faze him or scare him off.”

Accidentally invite the guy to a big cultural event? By the manner of Ariadne's mouth dropping open, she's looking forward to hearing how that panned out. First, she ends up laughing again and with a pastel-pink blush on her cheeks.

"Aw. You think so? I'm glad to hear it, that you think he isn't going to be scared off. He's just..." She stops and appears to think. The chosen description is, "He's used to being alone, I think, so it's probably starkly different to have my family suddenly very interested in everything he does because he's dating the oldest child. I've got a little sister, Anastasia, and we ran into her while we were in Seattle last. Like I thought I was going to get away with a totally anonymous visit there, what was I think. Needless to say: sis tattled." A pink blip of tongue stuck out at a non-present sibling before Ariadne laughs again. "But you've got tell me what happened with Mikaere and the accidental invitation! Oh, and also tell me how the art course goes if you end up taking art. Art history or...?" Something else, she leaves unsaid.

Good timing on the waitstaff's part: here are the two new pint glasses and the four crab cakes, not very large like Ariadne mentioned earlier. Two forks, two dipping cuplets of lemon aioli sauce and a ginger-plum sauce, and the barista claps her hands together once with a soft "Eeeee." of delight.

Ariadne’s enthusiasm is catching; Jules has probably laughed more this evening than she has in days. She has to catch her breath before she can properly share the story. “I was just thinking, oh hey, there’s this fun local tradition that’s happening, maybe you’d like to go. Mikaere’s Māori, right?” She pronounces both his name and ethnicity as accurately as she can, without the American flattening; it’s the same way she tries to pronounce Ravn’s name correctly. Names matter. “So we had been talking about our cultures, that kind of thing, how it seems like there’s some similarities, and it kind of popped out. And then my brain caught up with my mouth, oops.”

Time to try the next beer, which she sets down with satisfaction. She spears one of those mini crab cakes, eyes the dipping sauces, and then takes a bite free from both. Seafood must be properly appreciated, first. “Drawing,” she clarifies after swallowing. “Okay, yum.”

"Right!" Confirmation of what Ariadne knows of Mikaere in turn. She takes a fork to one of the crab cakes as well and rather than enjoy it straight, she goes for the plum-ginger dipping sauce. Thankfully, none of it spatters on the table while her hand is wiggling about; still laughing as is. After a pint, the amusement is contagious as well.

"Okay, well, if you set up shop to draw anybody naked, the line from Titanic about 'draw me like one of your French girls' -- or guys -- is obligatory, I'll have you know," she teases with a heavily-dimpled grin. "And so your brain was like, yo, mouth, why'd you gotta do that and yet he went with you to your event. What was the event, if you don't mind my asking?" Now bite of crab cake disappears into mouth. "Holy shit, that's good," mutters the barista around the bite and chases it with a sip of her porter afterwards.

“Pretty much,” Jules admits ruefully. It’s her turn to try the plum dipping sauce with the second half of the crab cake; she’s making her first one last. “Can I just order a bucket of these? That’s how they should sell them.”

First crab cake is now gone. “It was the First Salmon Ceremony,” she explains. “Celebrating the start of the salmon run, the survival of the tribe depends on goodwill and generosity, et cetera. Anyway, he said it wasn’t a problem for him if it wasn't a problem for me, so I told my family I was bringing a friend, the end.” It’s not exactly the end. Jules takes a long sip of her ale before she can add, “Except for the part where we ran into my ex. That was fun.”

Ariadne's next bite, forked off as to not accidentally double-dip into either of the sauces, goes into the aioli this time. "Mmmmfff." Yes, much approval from the barista, who then nods afterwards. Of the celebration of the salmon run? "That's cool as hell." And then the end. Oh, not, not the end by how Jules continues. "Oh boo, that asshole. I mean, I'm assuming it was not a nice break-up by your tone of voice," the redhead explains. "And not exactly fun. Exes are...rarely fun." By the way the way her nose wrinkles, there's surely an ex or two in Ariadne's past.

She can't help but circle back around to Jules' earlier comment. It's probably the beer. "Oh, and order a bucket of crab cakes, I kind of want to see what they say." An eyebrow waggle all but dares Jules to do it.

Jules looks like she’s considering it, given the speculative look she throws towards the bar. “It’d probably cost me an arm and a leg,” she rules, and she sticks to her remaining crab cake.

“Yeah, well. It’s complicated. Do you want the long version or the short version?” Apparently Jules has had enough beer to make the offer.

"Fair, fair." Jules still gets a commending grin from the redhead across the table for even considering it. Her last third of the first crab cake goes into the ginger-plum sauce for a liberal twirl and coating.

"Let's have the short version of it, I'm not here to torture you." Ariadne's still an attentive listener as she enjoys this bite and then again chases it with a longer sip of porter. Watch her eyebrows dance about appropriately.

Aioli this time for Jules. “Mm, okay.” She considers just how she wants to proceed while enjoying one of these final bites.

“I broke up with Joe end of last summer. We were together off-and-on from when I was in high school. More on than not. Pretty sure he thought that last time he could just apologize and we’d get back together, but I moved here instead. So I showed up with a guy, he’d been drinking with his buddies and got small dick syndrome, said some stuff. I told him where he can shove it. He texted a couple days later and said sorry for being an asshole, so at least there’s that.” She shrugs. “Still embarrassing. Not exactly something you want to trot out in front of a new person, right?” Jules wrinkles her nose with distaste.

Eyebrows end up quirked.

"Yeah, no kidding. I wouldn't want to trot out an ex in front of Ravn either. I mean...I would pity the ex because nobody's ever going to beat the absolutely cutting way the man can dismiss somebody -- I saw it once in a Dream and I was left reeling," the barista explains before continuing. "I'm glad to hear that there was an apology, however, and it doesn't seem to have scared off Mikaere...?" There's a subtle uplilt of question there. She then starts into her own second crab cake.

“Yeah, no. He was more impressed with how I ripped Joe a new one.” Apparently Jules has something in common with Ravn in this regard. She’d smirk, but it’s a little too raw or troubling—this was someone she spent most of her adult life with, from the way she tells it. Better to occupy herself with the end of the crab cake.

Ariadne's not so buzzed as to miss the way there's no gloating, subtle or not, about the claim. Once more, her brows quirk. A twirl of the forkful of delicious crab cake as she sighs.

"While there's a part of me that wishes you didn't have to endure that, and especially in front of Mikaere, maybe...maybe there's a way to look at it like...hmm. Dirty laundry's already out in the open? Mikaere got to see the worst of it right off the bat. Bandaid's ripped off now? It wasn't something where you two were out at a fancy dinner and your ex showed up to make a scene there. Family was around to back you up to, I'd have guessed?"

That last precious bite goes the same way as the first: plain, all the better to taste and savor the crab meat.

“Yeah. I think the way I put it was, ‘well that’s my baggage.’ Family wasn’t there at that particular moment—fairly sure Joe wouldn’t have dared being that rude in front of my grandma. Anyway.” Jules washes the story down with ale. “So that’s how I introduced my family and my ex by accident, all in one go. Even an annoying little sister can’t top that, right? You’ve got nothing to worry about. And you also don’t have to do introductions if you don’t want to. No reason you can’t sail to Puget Sound and back and have a perfectly nice time without making a stop to have dinner with your parents.”

"Yeah, no, Anastasia's not baggage. She's just a little zealous sometimes." Ariadne then glances away and out the window. Down below, the waves continues washing up on the rocks in barely visible lacings of foam. "And yes, I know there's no reason to stop in, but we're close, my family. I've managed to bargain for some time in the meanwhile, something about my work wanting to give me those extra hours I don't really have." She winks obviously at Jules. "So there's the chance for a sailboat trip or something else without needing to stop by the house, as it were. Besides, I think we'd head up farther north anyways if I had my druthers."

She's still working at her own last crab cake and forks off another third to leave the last third behind. "The San Juan Islands. I haven't visited them in too long."

“The San Juans are gorgeous.” There’s something wistful about Jules’ expression now. “I’m with you, skip Seattle and head to Lopez instead. Maybe I’ll make it up there this summer. Not sure how long it would take in a sailboat, though. That trip has got to be at about a week, right? Plus whatever time you spend in the islands?”

A moment of silence for Ariadne to consider -- or at least attempt to, given she's one and a half pints into enjoying her beers. She then gestures with the forked-up third of crab cake.

"Eh, about a week sounds right, maybe more, and then yes, whatever time was spent on the islands themselves. It'd be a haul, honestly. I'm way more familiar with sailing the Puget Sound anyhow. I have no idea if it would be foolish to try and follow up the coast and then take a right to go through the Straits. I'll ask Ravn about it at one point, probably once the weather gets better -- or maybe he'll bring it up, who knows?" A shrug and she eats this bite of crab cake straight. "Where would you be going on your sailing trip then? With Mikaere, I assume?"

"Oh, I don't know." Jules almost looks flustered with how the question's turned around and comes back to her. "I mean, it came up in conversation, but it all depends on-- everything." Her hand gestures expansively, like that clarifies anything. It returns to her beer, then. "We'll see where he wants to go and how long he feels like being stuck on a boat with me."

"That's fair," replies Ariadne with a twisted lift of palm off her pint glass. "It's like that old warning about thinking hard about who you go road-tripping with. Stuck in a small space with someone for a while? You're going to get to know them well, kind of whether you like it or not. Nothing like this to test a relationship, serious or friends or family, whatever. Still -- I hope you get to go on a least a short boating trip with him. He seems like an honestly good guy, from what little I've observed, and you're not telling me he's an asshole and I believe you've got a good sense for him at this point."

The last third of crab cake is dipped in the ginger-plum sauce and appreciated by the hum.

“So far, so good.” It’s as far as Jules is willing to commit, but she says it with a smile. “It’s be nice to get out on the water. My boating experience are limited to boats with outboard motors, so sailing is totally new to me. Up in Taholah, everyone and their mother has a boat, but it’s because of the fishing.”

"Makes sense. That being said, are you going to fish while you're out there, you think? Or you're going to enjoy it as a pleasure cruise and see about sunbathing on the deck of whatever boat Mikaere has and read a book while drinking a beer?" Not wine; Ariadne hazards her comrade might still want a bottled beverage rather than something sloshing in an unbreakable plastic glass. "Though wait: Mikaere does have a boat. Holy crap, how have I missed this? He docks in the same area Ravn does?"

Jules is indeed a beer drinker. Heaven forbid anyone open a nice bottle of wine around her; she wouldn't know what to do with it. She laughs, lifting said beer, and says, "Yeah, same marina. Same kind of set up too, a boat for living on and a room on Oak for times you want more creature comforts. He's renting from Ava. Or was until she got herself a blue Veil baby."

Ariadne blinks.

"Christ on a cracker, how blind am I." She can't help but laugh at herself. "Shit, I've got to keep an eye-out for him the next time I'm down there visiting Ravn. What's his boat's name? And I had no idea he was renting from Ava. The things I learn." There's no mockery in the barista's tone, only thoughtfulness, as if puzzle pieces were fitting into places. "I'm not too surprised if he moved out what with the baby. Babies are lovable little bundles of trouble, plain and simple. They need a lot of love and they make a lot of noise. There's no real taking a nap unless you've got noise-canceling headphones on."

"Oh, I should know this, but I don't. It's Māori," Jules notes, sounding a little sheepish. More thoughtfully, she continues, "I don't think he was too thrilled about suddenly sharing space with a baby. And I don't blame him. I'm pretty sure at this point that Ava is a mad scientist."

"Yeeeeeeeeah." Ariadne's agreement is a quiet one, as if she didn't want the opinion to be put forth too loudly. "I'd actually warned her before about playing around with the Veil seeds, but all I can do is warn. It's not like I have the history to be able to give concrete facts about what not to do. More like, hey, this sounds like a bad idea. And...I guess Nimue isn't a bad idea, she's just...unexpected and there are a lot of unknown variables, including Veil backlash either through the little blue bean herself or through conflicting parties."

Her eyes continue resting on Jules. "And if there's one thing I've learned? Don't attract the Veil's attention. I'm preaching to the choir, I know," she's sure to add with a friendly, rueful smile. "Though on the note of boats? I don't remember Ravn's boat's name either. I do remember his motorcycle, weirdly enough. Lola Bianca." A shrug.

"Yeah, adding monster blood to unknown Veil seeds just sounds like a great idea," Jules says, tone loaded with sarcasm. She shakes her head a little, though, and says before drinking, "Not my problem." She'll actually toast to it, too, as cheeky as it may be.

"I've had enough of unknown, potentially dangerous encounters for awhile. I mean, even if I learned stuff -- and I think I did, as much as I'm still figuring it all out -- I'm ready for a good dose of normal."

"I definitely noted that it wasn't the best idea," Ariadne replies with a half-smirk. "Could be worse." Jules' toast entices another short laugh from the barista. Another group comes in the front doors, noisier than the last, and the redhead shoots them an idly annoyed look if only because conversation now because possibly more difficult.

She nods agreement with Jules' plans nonetheless. "Normal sounds great to me, no lie, and I'm only on the periphery of this latest batch of crazy. But what do you think you learned? I mean, first the bite and now this with the item...?" Her hand gestures off of the pint glass as she tilts her head, eyes on Jules.

“It wasn’t just a bite.” Jules’ gaze falls on her own wrist, outstretched there where her hand rests on the pint glass. The bruising’s faded, but faint marks still dimple the skin where teeth broke through.

“It’s hard to explain.” She’ll try, to some degree, but not until she’s had another swallow of her ale. “The way I was raised to understand it,” Jules says slowly, “these encounters with whatever is beyond our normal, day-to-day lives are something sacred. They’re mysteries that have the power to shape you. You don’t come out of it and just say, ‘oh, that was nice,’ and move on. Even when it’s dangerous, it deserves respect, because you’ve been in contact with a deeper reality that usually remains hidden from sight. So when you go there, you never come back just the same as you were when you left.”

Now it's Ariadne's turn to look introspective and a little sheepish -- as if the idea of these Dreams being more than simple annoyances to surmount or interesting diversions hadn't occurred to her. Or, if it had, that she'd shuffled the viewpoint off to one side in lieu of a more scientific and cold approach.

"Huh," she says firstly, softly. "I...hadn't really considered it like that before." Her gaze remains on her remaining porter as she thinks for another few moments more. "I like that though, how it's something where you come out of it and you've grown. Or learned something." Now her eyes rise to Jules again. "It's not all some big hassle that interrupts your day. I feel like I need to keep this in mind or that it might help me...deal with them better? If that makes sense. What do you think you learned?" A nod towards the arm in question. "And if I'm being too nosy, just tell me to keep my nose out of it," she's sure to add with a small grin before she sips at her beer again.

"That's what they say," Jules says, shoulders lifting in a shrug. The question itself is harder to answer, though there's a flicker of a smile at Ariadne's claim of nosiness. "It's fine," she answers. "It's just hard to put into words. I mean, on the most basic level, I learned how to protect myself and fight back. It's the deeper level that's more complicated. Because it's not just about learning you can do this new thing, I think. It's about a shift in how you understand yourself. At least, that's what I think it is. And that's hard to describe."

"Hrm." Taking up her fork again, the barista hunts at the bits of crab cake coating left on the plate. "I think that's fair. If it's something on a deeper level, it's probably not an answer that reveals itself right away. Maybe it's one of those things where it comes to you at three in the morning when you can't sleep. Or when you're walking around and you read a store sign or see an object and click: your subconscious comes to some conclusion."

Ariadne still gives Jules a quiet little smile sans teeth. "I'm glad to hear about the other stuff though, about protection and fighting back. No more getting kicked around and down. Self-realization is so empowering."

A nod for that. "It is," Jules readily agrees. "I don't want to feel like a punching bag anymore." She sits back now, giving her shoulders a little stretch. "So that's me. Self-empowerment, bring it on."

"Hey, I'm all for it. If I didn't have to drive home, I'd say a round of shots for self-empowerment, but I like celebrating it by exercising it in life too, y'know?" Finding a large-enough tidbit of crab cake batter, Ariadne happily eats it. "Mmm. We should do this again in the future. In the meantime, let's settle tabs and I can tell you about the coffee shop while I sober up a bit more. Should take about half an hour or so," she tells Jules.

Tabs are collected, settled, and then poor Jules: subjected to the weekly mild gossip rag. The blender is haunted, okay? Okay.