2022-05-18 - Sparadise; Wax 'n Relax!

One of the ways Ravn Abildgaard self-medicates his asthma (besides his actual medication) is visiting the not-at-all-authentic onsen pool at Sparadise. He's got a membership card because while he has little interest in electrotherapy for skincare and whatever other services are on offer, he knows that warm, wet air helps when his lungs are acting up. And after his recent dunk in the Chehalis, they certainly are. So here he is, freshly showered, stepping into the pool in all its faux-granite glory, wearing just a pair of black swim trunks. He's got a cup of hot green tea in one hand and he has every intention of just lying there in the warm water until his muscles and chest stop hurting.

Let's be honest: Una would probably not be brave enough to show up to a place like this were pool clothing not a mandated thing. As it is, she's a towel-worn-around-the-torso-up-to-the-pool-edge kind of girl, though that particular transition happened earlier; she's already in the water up to her neck, towel scooted out of the way behind her, fingers pruning up nicely.

There's a weightlessness to being in the water, and Una likes that. It's a hug without the actual touching bit, and she likes that too. In the absence of an enormous tub at home (and the unlimited supply of hot water to go with it, not to mention the lack of housemates with bathroom needs), this will do.

"Oh," she says, surprised to register the presence of the Dane across the pool, but not dramatically so. "Hey."

Not long after Ravn steps Perdita, wearing a surprisingly simple (and modest) black two piece bikini, the straps and bands with a Greek meander pattern, the Medusa head logo centered on them. And listen, she's not even wearing stilettos, those stored in her locker in exchange for sandals.

Her skin looks freshly scrubbed and polished, positively glowing from whatever treatments she just received... and there's a few little red dots mostly hidden by her fringe, along her inner brow, and twin dots at the corners of her jaw. and along her upper trapezius muscles.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Ravn settles into the water first of all. Gifted as he may be, with a physique that's actually not too terrible to look at, he's never been comfortable attracting attention. The scar from the bullet that went through his chest, not to mention those white stripes from burning kelp along his shins, have not eased his discomfort being stared at -- if anything, they attract more unwanted attention.

He's well and good settled in water up to his chin before he acknowledges the other two with a small wave -- look, no gloves -- and a small smile to go with it. "I come here fairly often. It helps with asthma and neuropathy both. I'm trying very hard to not cringe at the faux-Japanese because hot water is hot water, you know?"

"It's great, isn't it? Hi, Dita." Una enthuses, letting her hand sink back down beneath the water. "Particularly in winter, when it's absolutely miserable out, but-- I think it would have to be miserably hot before the prospect didn't appeal." Her own bathing suit is a one piece deal, designed much more for function than fashion, and most of it-- aside from dark. blue straps, visible where her shoulders rise partly out of the water-- is largely hidden, just indistinguishable blue.

"Have you ever been to a real Japanese one? Um... onsen, is that what it's called? I do register that this is all super, super fake, but I kind of like it anyway."

"It's definitely not the real deal... but it's still nice." Dita admits with a little smile. She slips into the water with a little sigh of pleasure at the heat. "I've been to a private onsen on a business trip with a friend, but it's a very different experience from the public ones, I'm told. As for here... it's fake, but it's fun, and they're at least trying to be respectful."

Perdita leans back against the edge of the onsen, keeping her tiny punctures above water.

"I come here because they do Botox. Helps prevent migraines and keeps me looking forever young. Can't get wrinkles if you can't move your face."

Ravn laughs softly and nods at Perdita. "It's definitely not the real thing but it's not horrible. I've visited a real onsen in Tokyo and that was actually less authentic because it was all shined up to please high end tourists who obviously don't share facilities, whatever. I mean, this is not the real thing but it captures the community feel better, I feel."

He sits immersed to the chin, having to hold his cup fairly high. "I don't think they let you take tea in the real ones either but whatever. Their green tea is kind of nice."

His head falls back a bit. "I need to bring Ariadne here sometime. Yes, I want to see her in a bikini."

Una's giggle echoes just a little in that way that sound does, around water and walls. "What you really want," she points out, "is to have another of those Cozumel Dreams, so then it can be bikini, and sun, and cocktails. This is nice and all, but it's not quite the same, and anyway, she might well deliberately wear a wetsuit, just to fuck with you."

It's a fond tease, and Una lets those words hang just for a moment before she glances in Perdita's direction. "Surely you're too young to need to worry about that," she ventures. "Though, if it's the migraines, then I'm all for that."

"It's a great way to be pampered a little, enjoy a drink, soak up some heat when it's too gray and miserable to enjoy the hot tub... which you're both welcome to use any time, by the way, whether I'm home or not." It's not like she could keep Ravn out of the building if he really wanted to steal something of hers, and Una's too honest to steal.

"I'm sure she fills out her bikini nicely... if she owns one." Perdita teases.

At Una's comment about her being too young, Dita shrugs, "I'm 24, but the sooner you start treatments like that, the longer you can delay anything more drastic... and it really does prevent migraines. Which aren't a common issue, but..."

"You say that like I wouldn't watch that backside in a wetsuit and consider it a great day for mankind." Ravn smirks and sips his green tea. Life is good. "To be fair, I'd watch it in an old potato sack."

He lets his head fall back. "You two thought about the masquerade at the Grand Olympic yet? I need to beg that certain backside's owner to help me come up with a costume to match hers. I thought I might get away with just turning up, shaking a few hands and bailing but there you go."

"Don't think I won't take you up on that," says Una, though let's be honest: she probably won't, just in case she's in someone else's way. "I'll accept that is probably true, Ravn, and acknowledge that for the most part, female beauty standards are really more about women wanting to feel pretty than actually about attracting the male gaze. I-- assume, anyway. That that's the case for more than me."

She hesitates over the masquerade, shaking her head so that damp tendrils of hair slide around her shoulders, falling out of the messy bun she'd pulled them into. "Not yet," she admits. "I'm not sure if it's really my kind of thing. I was going to offer to help people with costumes, though-- my sewing machine's out anyway."

"It's a nice backside." Perdita agrees with a smirk. "Very firm." She props her arms against the edge, leaning her head back and rotating her neck slowly.

"Oh, I'll be there with bells on. Maybe literally, depending on what I find in storage." Dita smirks...

"Depends on the woman and the mood she's in. I think the fashion industry caters to the male gaze and tells women 'wearing this will make you feel pretty', or I'd see a lot more forty somethings running around in rainbow tutus. Which would be amazing, frankly."

"You wouldn't be alone if you did decide to come, but if you don't think you'd enjoy it I completely understand. Crowds aren't for everyone... but that said, everyone who wants to should get to feel like royalty for at least one night, and you rocked it as a pop princess."

"Imagine that depends on why you want to be beautiful, regardless of gender." Ravn closes his eyes. "If you're very much trying to sell yourself -- then you need to think about what your customers like and find attractive. if you're doing it for you, fuck what they think. I get the idea of dressing up to own the world, you're untouchable and powerful, you're the king or queen of the night. Everyone should have a moment like that sometimes. And let's be honest -- our society absolutely rewards youth and beauty."

He pauses. "Well, everyone who wants to. I've never really wanted to be in the spotlight but I've certainly felt on top of the world a few times all the same."

Then he nods at Perdita. "You really did rock that princess dress, Una. Also, it's a masquerade for a charity fundraiser before Pride Month. It better not be one of those affairs that expect people to turn up boy and girl only, or the press will rip it apart. You shouldn't need a date, and if you do want one, it could be anyone from your best friend to your cousin Joe. Come rock the house, take the spotlight far, far away from me."

"Maybe," says Una, managing to sound both ever so slightly wistful and more than a little uncertain, neither of which is probably particularly surprising: of course there's some part of Una who wants to be a princess of the day, despite discomfort with the concept as a whole. "I'll think about it. It'll depend, I suppose. It is a good cause, and I do want to support it. At the very least, I'll put together some masks, and maybe offer them up for donations to the cause."

She slinks further down into the water, as if to further escape scrutiny, though she's probably not even aware that she's doing it. "I do think there should be more rainbow tutus. Want to help me bring them back, Dita? Well. 'Back'. Bring them in?"

Charity thought a spa day might be a nice treat for herself, considering that she swung by the diner outside of town and gave her two minute notice. Was the manager upset? Just a bit. But he also admitted that she'd stayed longer than he'd expected.

So, final paycheck deposited, and two days before her new job started, a bit of pampering might just be in order. Of course, a dip in the warm waters of the pool was a prerequisite before her scheduled massage and facial.

It wasn't until she was halfway to the water's edge when the dancer realized she knew the people in the pool. Which caused her to stop for a moment and blink. Coincidence and serendipity were not usual terms in her vocabulary. Or they used to not be. Now, though, she was beginning to feel the gentle hand of something involving itself in her life.

Dressed in a navy one-piece suit with a diamond-shaped keyhole front, her jet black hair sits piled on top of her head, held in place with a pink plastic clip. Continuing her trek, she stops at the side of the pool and waves at the trio. Then she kicks off her slides, and drops her towel onto a chair before sliding into the water.

"We having a meeting I didn't know about?"

"It very much does reward the young and the beautiful." Perdita agrees with Ravn, "Which is why I intend to age like my abuelita and stave off the signs of aging until I'm in my 70s, and then just turn into Master Yoda, but with better hair and a mean throwing arm."

"And if you want someone with you who'll fend off any unwanted attention... I don't have a date." Dita tells Una with a friendly smile. "I would be honored to go with you, or meet you there, as your friend, and I promise not to ditch you for a hot waiter and thirty seconds of awkward action in the bathroom. I learned my lesson last time." She crosses one manicured finger over her heart, grinning. "But also, no pressure."

"Well, we're just waiting for the witch to come stir the cauldron and add the veggies. Care to join us? She usually starts with the carrots."

"More colour and freedom of expression in the world can only be a good thing. I choose to be understated in my expression. Everyone should have that choice, based on what they want -- and indeed, not on what the fashion industry thinks they should want." Ravn nods, lazily, eyes still closed.

Then a voice that isn't Perdita's or Una's rings out and he cracks grey eyes open to see who it is -- oh, right. "Hello, Charity. Pretty sure we're just boiling ourselves alive and trying to relax. Did you bring the goat for the secret cult meeting, or didn't you get the membership manual yet?"

Una's indecision is given a temporary reprieve in the wake of Charity's arrival, the redhead sliding her gaze from Perdita and Ravn to greet the newest arrival as well. "Hi Charity," she says, utterly failing in the communal joke: no comments about witches' cauldrons or sacrificial goats here. "We're talking about the masquerade at the casino." So much less interesting.

At least she seems to have made a decision, because she lifts her shoulders back out of the water and says, "I think I would like that, Dita. And if you do end up wanting one of those hot waiters, I'll hold your purse while you have your thirty seconds of fun."

Beat. "From somewhere else, mind." The pink in her cheeks is no doubt at least partly due to the heat of the water, but the rest is pure Una: a flush to go with her attempt at being utterly blasé.

Charity's smile widens at Dita and she flashes a thumbs up to the other woman. "Carrots and celery and potatoes I can handle. But I hope there's no onions, they make me cry." Pushing off the wall, she closes the distance to the three and then rests her arms on the edge of the pool decking.

She raises one hand to wave at Ravn's greeting. "I brought the goat, but I had to check it at the front desk with my coat. And the manual is written in what appears to be Ancient Sumerian, so I might have made a few errors with the translation."

Her eyes turn from the man to Una and she gets a huge grin. "Guess who got the job she was going for. Bet you can't."

Then her interest perks up a bit and she looks around at all three of them. "Oh, the Masquerade. Yeah, I really need to go hunting for a dress. All the ones I brought with me, all four of them, are less fancy and more, uh, eye-catching. I mean, I doubt showing up in a low-cut, micro-length outfit is going to endear me to the rest of the guests."

"Ravn, if you tell everyone about the secret cult meeting..." there's a shrug, and then Perdita turns a very cheshire cat smile to Una as she blushes. "It's a platonic date, then. But I'll try to keep my dalliances until after the hour where everyone turns back into pumpkins... just... hopefully not vampire pumpkins."

"Oof, Ancient Sumerian is rough. One wrong wedge press and you've gone from writing about poor quality copper to an invocation to the ancient sea-goat and his followers." Perdita pulls a face.

"Depends on the guest in question. The theme is your Secret Self. Maybe your secret self likes low cut, tiny outfits."

"Aw, I told recruitment to stop printing those manuals in cuneiform," Ravn grouses. Then he chuckles at Charity's observation and points out, "More likely it'd endear you a little too much to some of the guests, to the dismay of their respective dates. Never underestimate the ability of a wealthy white man, to eye-grope an attractive young woman in a small dress, and then silently communicate to his wife his disappointment that she's there, watching."

He throws his head back again and closes his eyes to ponder aloud. "I'm not even sure what my secret self is. I mean, I have several. A face for an occasion, another face for another occasion. I think I'll just let my date decide and roll with it."

"Isn't it like Fight Club? The first rule about the secret cult meetings is you don't talk about the cult meetings?"

On bare feet, Ariadne pads out wearing one of the spa's medium-length bathrobes and her hair in a braid down her back. She appears at ease with her mug in her hands (latte, thank you very much, I'm sure you're so surprised) as she makes her way over and pulls up a chair rather than slinks into the water of the pool. "My toes are all freshly pedicured and I thought I heard some familiar voices. La voila: cult meeting." She grins at all involved. A big toe reaches to very gently boop Ravn on the shoulder in greeting before she sighs.

"Now what about the masquerade now? Folks are deciding costumes?" the barista asks in a content, dozy tone of voice.

"It's a date," Una confirms, lifting her chin slightly to remind herself that she is undaunted-- and perhaps eve pleased. "No vampire pumpkins, not until Halloweed. We're going to be sedate, beautiful queer-and-queer-adjacent people, in beautiful things." Word repetition? No matter.

"You did? Congratulations!" Her cheerful enthusiasm for Charity's success is (apparently, and let's face it: likely) unfeigned. "You'll be amazing. I--"

Ah, but there's Ariadne, and Una's attention is distracted again, lifting one prune-y hand in greeting. "Yes, you're going to have to decide for you and Ravn. I was offering to help make masks, though, if you need a hand there. Hi, Ari."

Charity raises one hand out of the water and snaps her fingers as she grins at Dita. "That explains the Djinn that showed up when I accidentally copied the wrong symbol onto that piece of parchment paper. Who knew there was a Sumerian version of i before e, except after c?" She winks playfully at the other girl.

"Besides, wearing low-cut minidresses aren't exactly the domain of my secret self. That would be more like a .. uh ... nun's habit?" She laughs and shakes her head. "I don't mind being eye-groped. Preferable to the more physical version. But we thought maybe it might be more prudent to dress for a gala and not for a rave."

Turning her head at the sound of a new voice, Charity smiles at Ari and waves her hand in greeting. However, at the comment about the pedicure, she gestures for her to turn her foot so the new polish can be admired. "I mentioned the need to find a proper dress. If anyone would like to join the hunting party."

She smiles at Una and nods. "Thanks. I'm sure it was the good mood I was in after talking with you that won them over. I start next week." Then she arches a brow at the redheaded kitchen goddess. "Oh, you can make masks? Yes, I would like to put my name on the list for help then."

"That's part of my problem." Dita admits to Ravn. Ariadne gets a finger wiggle of a wave. Dita is keeping from about mid-bust up above water currently. She shrugs slightly, "I'm pretty much an open book at this point, and any secret self I have is secret for a damn good reason."

"Being eye-groped is definitely preferable to the physical form, unless it's a mutual interest and consent, et cetera."

She starts to sink a little lower into the water, then sighs. "This is a tease."

"That's because you're not even supposed to be in the water yet!" Scolds one of the employees, an older, though very obviously attentive to her appearance, woman wearing a very professional looking lab coat with the name 'Stella' embroidered on it, and a stern expression. "Out. Do you want your eyelids to paralyze?"

Dita... actually looks guilty. Write that down in the calendars, folks. "Sorry." She shoves herself out of the water, chagrinned, before wrapping her towel about herself. "I'll catch you all later, maybe in time for the potatoes to be added." She drops a wink, wrapping a towel about herself, before following the aesthetician back toward the room where she was supposed to be waiting.

Ravn opens his eyes again at Ariadne's voice and sees the toe boop to his shoulder coming; this is probably a good thing as far as his green tea staying in the cup is concerned. "And dates," he tells her, lazily. "Bottom line, people want to go to a party they should go. Friend dates are a thing and all that jazz. I have no idea what expectations are -- it's not going to be one of those VIP only affars when the charity relies on the ticket sale, so we're probably not going to be rubbing elbows with the upper crust. What a pity."

He looks after Perdita. "Don't be a stranger, all right? We need to make evil plans sometime. Secret cult stuff. Take care."

He's still chuckling as she disappears. "Rules. Perdita. No overlap."

"I was going to see about borrowing your sewing machine, Una. And by this, I mean possibly beg or bribe you to use it." Ariadne's dimples make another appearance. "I do not want to wreck your machine thinking I know what I'm doing. Una is an amazing seamstress," she announces to the group as a whole.

Another sip of her latte before she cuddles back more deeply into the collars of her bathrobe. A nod and smile for Charity. "I've got just about everything I need for my costume, but if there's a hunting party, count me in. I'll bring the hounds," she offers in blithe humor. "What are we congratulating about? Congratulations from me regardless, of course. And Dita, please come with once you're all settled!" A kiss blown for the fashionista as she departs per Stella's stern bidding.

"No overlap whatsoever." A soft chuckle into her latte. "I'm fine with avoiding upper crust anyhow."

Dita looks guilty, and Una, who had nothing to do with the other woman's supposed transgression? She looks guilty too, just by proximity. "Rules are important," she insists, but it's not all that fervent. Some rules are important, maybe.

"Charity," she explains, for Ariadne, "has a new job. And yes-- I can help with a mask, Charity, and of course I'll help with anything you need as well, Ariadne." Actually, there's a faintly smug, secretive expression about her face, just for a few moments before she covers it back up and attempts (mostly) for neutrality.

"I'm fine with avoiding upper crust, too. I don't know what I'm going to wear, but I suppose I have a few weeks to work that out, now that..." One hand gestures after Perdita.

As Perdita departs, Della arrives, via one of those more private sections and then a shower... more relaxed than she's been in days. Her maillot is deceptively simple, though not a maillot jaune if only by virtue of its being that deep, warm burgundy that she favors. And though she slips into Perdita's spot, it's only to sit on the pool's edge, long legs trialing their toes into the water. "Hello," she greets. After a moment's pause, "Masks, you say."

Charity waves to Dita as she departs, smirking at the other woman's disdain for the rules. Then she looks over at Ari. "Oh, I just got a job at the Olympic as a cocktail waitress in the casino. Which, believe it or not, is an upgrade from my previous job. I was having a nice brunch with Una when I got the call to come in for an interview. So I blame her for my good luck." She grins over at the woman in question.

"Still need to find someone's arm to hang onto," she muses. There are a couple of people currently in mind, though she's just as likely to show up as a solo act. Of sorts.

The new arrival is given a wave and a smile. "Yeah. My mask making skills are limited to drawing a pair of diamonds on construction paper, cutting out eye holes, and tying the result around my head with yarn. Which is likely to totally clash with any formal gown I might be lucky enough to purchase."

"Really, can't we just -- people want to go, they can go, they don't need to be validated by somebody else." Ravn's eyes remain closed though he cracks a grey look at Della -- long enough to raise a hand in a wave. For once, it's not gloved; apparently, an onsen pool is what it takes to get him to remove his gloves.

"I have no idea about sewing or crafting," he admits. "My whole take on this kind of affair is still walk in, shake whatever hands you have to, smile, get out before anyone gets a picture. But I believe I've been asked for a dance this time so I'll probably have to come up with something. Also, I think you ladies needn't worry about the upper crust -- the millionaires aren't going to want to risk rubbing elbows with normal people and get working class cooties or something."

Una explains and Charity gets another grin from the barista at the details to follow. "Ah, well done! God, one of those necessary and big steps around here. Congratulations indeed." Ariadne does catch the expression on Una's face, there and gone, and her own curiously amused squint is just as brief. Her attempt to hide comes in nursing another long sip from her steaming latte.

And then, a Della, who receives a twiddly-fingered wave off of Ariadne's oat-milk latte mug. "Della," she all but singsongs in greeting before nodding in Charity's direction to further confirm the topic at hand. "Masks indeed. The ball coming up, we're musing about the fine deets." Another sip. To Ravn, she murmurs, "Incoming, emberem." Another stretch of her long legs in an obvious manner and she manages to boop the pad of her foot against Ravn's shoulder; it stays there now as a gentle weight. Greetings and salutations, it's not too unlike a cat decided that your space is now its space and #dealwithit.

"There won't be any cooties." Her amusement is wry and she snorts in Ravn's direction. "Now, dancing, yes, and glitter, maybe, and we all know how glitter goes over. And into places. And never comes out of places. So maybe avoid the glitter if we all can."

Una is revealing nothing further, Ariadne. Of course, she's also very deliberately not looking at the other redhead right now. Instead: "Hi, Della. I may need to convince someone to drive me out to the thrift shop in Hoquiam so I can pick up some supplies. Last time I went, they had a pretty good range of really random bits and bobs that might be useful." Buying things new is, indeed, not on Una's radar. "If I'm lucky, they'll have a dress I can pull apart to. Are you going to join us, Della?"

Despite her earlier hesitations over the whole event, she seems to be getting into it now. "No cooties, no upper crust; that's not the point. It's just-- having an opportunity to get dressed up and go out, I think. And help raise some money, of course."

Beat. "And glitter. Maybe. I can't help it; it's just so pretty."

Della's chuckle is low, amused. "Just make a fascinator to match," is probably teasing. Still. Her gaze roams the pool, pausing briefly on the man's bare hand; she lifts her own in return to him, and to Ariadne-the-booper, who gets a distinctly entertained smile of her very own.

Quieter, "Let me know when you want to go," speaks of being convinced, after so much work on Una's part. "It'll be nice to get out. And, most likely."

"'Secret Selves.' Who's following that dictum?" This is for everyone.

"Nothing like rubbing elbows with the rich and shameless to be reminded of just how low on the social ladder your family name is. The fewer of them that are there, the better." Charity makes a small face and shakes her head. "Glitter is like beach sand. Once it's there, you'll never get rid of it."

She glances at Della and shrugs. "Not sure anyone really wants to know my secret self. Maybe I'll just go as myself and let everyone wonder." She laughs and grins over at Una.

One of the spa staff, an older woman with chestnut colored hair, steps out onto the pool deck with a clipboard in her hand. "Miss Dixon?" She glances around until her grey eyes land on Charity. "Your masseuse is ready for you in Room Two." Then she turns around and departs.

The raven-tressed dancer sighs and pushes herself up onto the pool deck and stands before moving over to grab her towel and wrap it around her. "Well, we must be off. Don't turn into raisins or prunes in the meantime." Her green gaze moves over to Una. "Library later?"

Then she's putting her feet into her slides and making her way out of the pool area to go and have someone put their hands roughly all over her body.

"I'm not sure what my secret self is," Ravn murmurs in response to Della's question. "At heart, I think I'm a cat. I suppose I could dress up as a cat but I'd just end up with questionable attention from anyone whose secret self is a furry."

He watches Charity's little diatribe with a strange little frown. It's not that he disagrees per se. But.

Anyway.

Green tea. He has green tea. Now is a great time to focus on your green tea if you have it.

"Exactly! Sparkly beach sand. Enjoy," Ariadne calls out to Charity as the young woman departs. Another sigh from her as she watches until the other woman can no longer be seen. "I should have booked a massage, duh. I'm seriously not caffeinated enough today." Says the barista. Who's probably on mug three since she woke up.

Her eyes return to Della. "I suppose I'm following the dictum, to an extent. I also just like dressing up and really, why the hell not? It's for a good cause. And who doesn't like knowing they look good? Call me selfish, but after working behind a counter all week and dealing with the general public? I get to look pretty for a bit. And so there. Besides, I want to see if Ravn will do Saturday Night Fever if I tease him enough." A good-natured grin towards the Dane.

"Now. Does anyone have a precise design in mind? I'm being nosy, so tell me to buzz off if you want to keep it a secret. Speak now or forever hold your peace," Ariadne laughs quietly.

"We'll find a good time," Una tells Della, pleased. "It's always nice to get out. Out of town, even if it's not far. Just... out."

"Library later," she promises, waving Charity off with a lift of her hand. On the other hand, she seems ever so faintly discomforted by the idea of massages, and sits just a little lower in the water, just a little more quietly.

Still; "I don't think I have a secret self. But I think I'm interested in having a night of dressing up, and... that's fine. The theme is just a guideline, right? I'll probably go for something abstract and pretty. Everything's easier when you're wearing a mask. I suspect you may not be on to a winner, though, Ariadne."

The younger of the two redheads lets her gaze fall towards Ravn, hovering just for a moment.

Della considers Ravn's comment, and not just his comment; when Charity's done -- once she's out of the water, too, more 'Grace' than anything -- she supposes, "There are plenty of cats, from Macavity to Rum Tum Tugger to Mr. Mistoffelees... though, specialists aside, after the movie, it might still be too soon."

To Ariadne, "I hope no one is suggesting you can't dress up! But while we're at it, do you have a preference for Mungojerrie or Rumpleteazer?"

"Abstract and pretty sounds delightful," the dark-haired woman adds, daring to go ankle-deep this time; "If you want, I can always help retcon a theme. What I'll wear will be borrowed, in the interests of time, so it might well be all in the mask."

"I'm not really much of a dancer," Ravn says quietly. "And I'll defer entirely to Ariadne on what to wear because I am not one for costumes, either. I keep my clothing simple because that way, at least I look like I know what I'm doing."

His green tea has largely grown cold. About half of it is left. He puts the cup on the edge of the pool and sinks down until the water is just below his lower lip.

A bright grin at Della. "No, no one's suggested I can't dress up -- and it'd be Rumpleteazer, if I had to choose." Figures the barista would know about the musical. Her smile then fades into some more neutral and then an expression a little rueful as she glances over at the other two present.

Whoops.

"Well...I, um. Soooooo...pardon my enthusiasm," she says carefully to the room as a whole, looking down into her coffee mug. "I probably mis-spoke earlier and I really like the taste of my foot, apparently. It's delicious, new pedicure and all. So...my bad."

"I think," says Una, after a moment's hesitation before she pushes onwards, "that most of the fun of this, for me, is about the finding and making, and ideas. So yes-- I'd love help retconning a theme, once we're that far, Della. And in the meantime, it's time to turn my conservatory," just next to the kitchen, out the back of Una's house, where her sewing machine tends to sit, "into a prep space. I expect the actual event is going to make me horribly uncomfortable, but at least we'll all feel pretty for a little while."

But maybe it is time for a conversational shift. "Ari, do you want me to bring your birthday cake to Espresso Yourself, or do you want to pick it up? Don't think I've forgotten. Coworkers gotta have cake."

Della gives Ravn a wry look, a half-smile, and obligingly turns to redhead number two -- with a swifter, wider smile, even, because Rumpleteazer -- only to have her dark brows draw together in concern and question alike.

She glances then at Una, though, and follows that lead; after slipping into the water herself, the dark-haired woman murmurs, "Happy to help."

Ravn quirks an eyebrow and opens his eyes. No one needs to be a mind reader to read that expression. It's the expression of shitfuck in a bucket on rollerskates, it's her birthday and I didn't know? I'm dead.

Thank god, a conversational shift. Ariadne grabs onto it with a startling amount of discomposure in turn; she glances up at Una with visible relief in her eyes before a fond chagrin slowly takes its place.

"You're ridiculous and I adore you, Una. Thank you. The big day is two days from now, so no need to drop the cake off until then. You're welcome to drop it off if you want, though I know I'm working a short evening shift, so it's equally easy for me to stop by and pick it up. Thirty-two. So ollllllllllld," she drawls before she laughs quietly again. "Anyways."

And a finger betrayingly circles in Ravn's direction. "Somebody beat me to turning thirty-two today anyhow." Secret's out now!

"Mungojerrie?" she asks of Della regardless because CATS cannot be ignored for long.

See? This is what Una's job is, really: change subjects, and remind boyfriends of important dates before it's too late. The latter is wholly coincidental, mind, but hey, when it works! Della's murmur gets a warm smile, but it's to Ariadne that ,"I'll drop it in," she promises. "Unless you want to drop in and see me earlier so that I can fête you appropriately. I have something else for you anyw-- Ravn."

So betrayed. "It's today? I know, I know, you're not a celebrator, but..." Una, so disappointed.

Reactions: Della's all for them. Or, more specifically, finding them.

"Would I play him, or are you asking something else?" she does aside to Ariadne before her main focus: a grave, "Congratulations. You made it." Another year!

Ravn looks down and tries very hard to hide his wince. "I don't celebrate."

"You asked me if Mungojerrie or Rumpleteazer earlier. I like Rumpleteazer because she's a cheeky charmer. Fun," Ariadne explains to Della with a quiet smile. Her eyes shift to Una and then to Ravn. Her foot against his shoulder hasn't gone anywhere; gently, a little wiggle back and forth.

"I'm going to put forth a little tradition we have in my family: birthdays get celebrated all month, even if they're not celebrated on the day. Sometimes, life happens. Sometimes, there's only time for a cupcake with a candle and a little present -- or maybe a down-day at the spa surrounded by good people. So what if it's today and it doesn't get stereotypically celebrated? A reason to party on another day, right? Or at least get it acknowledged with more than a cupcake and a candle, unless that's all that's wanted."

It's Una's turn to be all awkward (not that this is unexpected; not that this is unusual), and to look like she wants to sink down into the water until there's nothing but bubbles coming back up to the surface. Ariadne's calm, though, and maybe some of that rubs off; Una borrows it, swallowing.

"I like that," she says. "I like the acknowledgement of birthdays. And I appreciate-- I mean, I don't especially like being the centre of attention, but I like being reminded that people care, anyway. It doesn't have to be a big fuss, and it doesn't... we don't have to do or say anything." Anything more.

"She is." Rumpleteazer, with a smile. "It's a good fit."

Beyond that, Della only mentions to the room, "I'll just wish that everyone likes where they are, better than where they were the year before."

"I'm happy to celebrate the birthdays of people who enjoy them," Ravn murmurs quietly. "I can be happy for others. I care about others."

"Nothing wrong with well-wishes too. Words mean more than a card sometimes, depending on the individual." Ariadne then glances over at the clock on the wall, a moisture-proofed number made of wood in trend with the live bamboo. "But I owe Sam a good walk after the paint dries, as it were." Toes wiggle. She then rises with her mug. A stoop to kiss the top of Ravn's coppery curls and a twiddly-fingered wave at the other two women.

"Text me please if any firm plans are made about trips to the hobby stores, etc, etc. I've been doing most of my ordering online and I'm still a brick-and-mortar-store kind of girl at heart. Ravn, I'll text you later." With that promise to the man, the barista then pads off on silent bare feet towards the changing rooms, her braid swinging back and forth like the tail of a cat.

Deep breath from Una who is, after the past week, a little on edge. Ariadne's departure doesn't especially help, though she attempts a quick smile after the other redhead, promising a, "Definitely!" that will inevitably be followed up by plans (and if not, will definitely end up followed with cake and presents, come Thursday).

"Okay," she says, turning her attention back, and aiming for easy. "No birthdays for Ravn; that's fine."

Now she needs a new topic, some way of changing this conversation's course all over again-- and she's falling short. Della, help.

Della waves easily after her; then, after trading glances with her housemate, "Sounds like the marina's getting busy, more people and all. After having been here not even six months," and no summers, barring summer camp way back when, "do I still get to complain about tourists?"

"Complaining about tourists is probably a bit of a local sport," Ravn says quietly. He certainly notices the look from Una -- and accepts the plank Della throws into the well for them to cling to.

And then he lets go of it. "I'm very happy to help celebrate Ariadne's birthday. Or anyone else's birthday. I'm just not ready to deal with my own yet. It's just a day, I haven't done anything besides getting born once. Part of what I enjoyed about leaving home and just travelling with no particular destination in mind was that no one'd know that sort of thing -- and my family wouldn't have any way to get in touch because they had no idea where to direct calls or letters to, and emails and texts can go unanswered. Maybe in time, I'll grow used to the idea. For now, though, all I feel is -- I don't like the attention."

Una opens her mouth, ready to grab tight to Della's plank, but when Ravn drops it? So does she.

Mind you, she does so with a wince. "Okay," she says. "I think I can understand that. A little, anyway. Thank you for telling us," by which she clearly means 'me'. "No one should have to do something they're not comfortable with like that; I'm sorry for pushing. And," this time, she has a plank of her own. "Ariadne's birthday is very definitely on Thursday, so we'll focus on that instead."

"Reasonable," Della adds, eyes half-lidded now, one arm still looped back on the pool's side -- the side away from anyone nearby.

But before she gets to Ariadne: "If there's a day that ever does mean something to you, that you'd care to share -- whether it's 'Ravn Day' or just 'I Drank Twenty Shots of Coffee and Survived Day' or what have you, you're welcome to." Della doesn't even make it a question, for once, doesn't call for an answer.

Ravn's mouth quirks into a small smile. "Every day is Ravn Day. I live surrounded by people I care about."

Then he nods, with genuine warmth in those steel greys of his. "I can't say Ariadne's really mentioned anything about her birthday -- see above, me not even knowing it's in two days. But, I get the feeling she's very much the kind of person who loves a celebration. I'm going to have to find out how to do something for her as well -- something not just rush to buy some flowers like a bad conscience."

"I like that," says Una. "Every day is Ravn Day. Every day is Una Day, too. But I still want my special day, so don't think about bypassing that when it's my turn."

One knee rises up through the water, kraken-like, then extends again: a long, idle movement of her leg. "I mostly know because she asked about cake for her coworkers, months ago. It was good, though-- it meant I had time to plan out what I wanted to do for her. She's been such a good friend. But," and her smile is warm, as warm as the look in Ravn's eyes, "I'm pretty sure anything you do will be appreciated. She knows you care. Every day is Ariadne Day, too."

"I suspect you're right. Although -- what do you know about the so-called language of flowers? There's 'buying some flowers' and then there's sharing a story. Possibly with an explanatory note. Not that -- "

She pauses to slide a look at her housemate. "Una's birthday is in September, just in time for school to start. For the record." From memory.

"Victorian flower language? I could probably come up with something there. I don't know. I need to think about it. I was caught a bit off guard there." Ravn makes a little face. "I don't want to -- it's hard to find that balance between too much and too little. It's never the same. What's too much to one person is too little for another, and so on. I'm going to have to try to think of something with special meaning."

Una's birthday is not particularly relevant right now, though the bearer of it casts a glance in Della's direction and grins.

Back at Ravn: "I bet she'd enjoy flower language. Make her hunt down the meanings; satisfy her scientific brain with doing a complete dissection of it. You're right, though-- it's a difficult balance, particularly early in the relationship, I imagine? It's a pity you can't arrange for a visit from the orcas, just in time. I wonder if she'd appreciate an experience more than a thing. But," she's quick to add, "if I can help with any organisation, or anything, just say the word."

"I can't arrange a visit from orcas but I can arrange for a seat on an orca safari." Ravn looks thoughtful. "Pretty sure I can finagle something if I put a little effort to it -- "

Watch him get right up and out of the pool. Inspiration struck, and he's got just two measly day -- a little more than one -- to make it happen.

It's almost as an afterthought that he pauses and looks back. "I, uh. Sorry. Thanks!"

See Ravn. See Ravn run.

"Yes, absolutely." That balance, in particular. That special meaning. "It can also -- "

He gets out all of a sudden; Della looks back at Una and exhales, audibly.

Now that he's gone: where were they?

"An orca safari sounds like a great idea," she says, anyway. "Especially where they are now."

"But I'm with you on the hunt, orcas aside; I'd been thinking that if she were mine, a scavenger hunt would be just the thing. If we'd been involved longer, and if I had time."

Ravn's abrupt departure results in a short pause from Una-- and then she begins to giggle, and giggle madly.

It means it takes her a moment (or two) to pull herself back together enough to reply to Della, though she does so, valiantly. "A scavenger hunt," she says, with clear delight. "See, I like that, yes. It's that good balance of something special, without being too much. Gifts are hard. I think I tend to err on the 'too much' side of things, and that's without it being anything close to dating."

"They are hard," and Della's beaming right back at her, delighted in turn. "It's nice that Ariadne doesn't seem the sort to require each event to top the next. Especially since I'm also sure he's right that she'd want a celebration."

"What are you thinking of? What do you like to give? --Though the cake should be enough, I'd think. I know what you put into them."

Lower and lower, Una sinks into the water, and the pink in her cheeks? No, that's not just the warmth of the room. "I, uh," she says. "I made her something too. Non-food related. Do you think it'll be too much? Too weird?"

Never mind what Della had just said: "Does it involve diamonds?" she teases now, all practicality.

At least Una can giggle over this. "No diamonds," she promises. "No accidental declarations of love via flowers, either. It's-- based on a conversation she and I had, months ago. Something she talked about wanting."

"That sounds perfect," Della says with all sincerity. "Personal."

"You'll tell me afterwards, I hope," added with more, sideways, humor.

In the meantime, "Not to horn in on your good idea, but would you feel right, letting me donate towards the cake as a small gift to her? I don't know her that well," but Della knows Una, "but it would be... a little something I could do. That and, if you know what he's allowed, a treat for Sam. Unless... hm."

Una looks a little relieved, and her smile? It promises revelations, in the fullness of time.

"Of course, if you'd like to," she says, firmly. "We could make some dog biscuits, too?"

Beat. "'Unless'?"

"I absolutely would. Let's take care of it when we get back."

And then Della admits to Una, "I was thinking of just buying one. Yours would be better, of course, but I don't want to make more work for anyone. I really, really don't. I don't want you to invest more on my behalf, I don't want anyone."

Una's chin lifts in acknowledgement: it's a deal. Though; "I don't mind. But if you'd prefer to buy something, I won't be offended."

And as an aside; "It's Jules' birthday, too. Next week. So many May birthdays."

Della nods back: understood.

"Good point."

Tangentially, "Sometimes the flowers mean -- are said to mean -- different things, by the way. Which could be confusing." Or a challenge.

Una makes a face. "All the more reason to avoid flowers," she says-- and laughs. "You don't want your 'you're a good friend' bouquet to turn into 'I'm hot for you'."

Which is a ridiculous thing to have said; that's what prompts the giggles to start again.

"Not unintentionally," says Della, deadpan.

After a while, purposely after the giggles have faded, "Looks as though you two are getting on again."

That comment certainly prolongs the giggles, but not indefinitely. It leaves some empty air for that question-- which provokes more empty air in turn.

"We're... getting there." It's hesitant, perhaps more so than the friendship has been. "I'm trying to let it all go."

"It seems wise."

... "We do live together."

... ... "I would like to, too." But even looking out over the water, her expression's subtly grim, and sad, and something even more complicated all at once.

"When we try and talk about it, it gets worse. If you and I are... I want to be dry for this." If they're going to at all. "Either way, how much longer are you staying? Happy to give you a lift, toss your bike in the back."

Una holds back any comment that might be rising to the surface of her waterlogged body, waiting. Her nod's both solemn and understanding; her swallow suggests some of the depth of emotion that's still linger in her, despite her forgiveness of their shared roommate.

"And in clothes, maybe," she says with a laugh. "We'll talk-- but later. I wouldn't mind a ride. When you're ready. I'm so noodle-like, I might not be able to cycle at this rate. The hot water, you know?"

Unlimited. Unlike at home.