2022-05-19 - Porch And Wine, Man, Do The Thing

Summer evenings; the sky fades from the dull, overcast lead of the day, darkness creeping up from the horizon -- and above it, the dying light strikes matches in clouds that were grey in the day, painting them in brilliant shades of turquoise, amber, and pink. The last seagulls of the day circle above the marina down towards the bay; the town is winding down on a spring day, and here on Oak Avenue, the seasonal clock is still set to 'summer'.

It becomes harder and harder to tell the weather on Oak One through Five from the rest of the avenue. Most people don't think this is a bad thing. Who does not love daylight and pleasant temperatures?

Ravn Abildgaard has a couple of bottles of excellent German red wine in a tote bag and a determined intent to restore the easy relationship he had with his neighbour before he went and got himself and her lodger abducted by the Veil. These are bottles imported for him, by him, and they're good, robust wine -- the kind that goes well with cookies, not too sweet, not too tart. He's sent a text to his girlfriend suggesting she help kill them -- and now he's ringing Una's doorbell and mentally deciding that if this little party is going to be, it's going to be on the front porch.

Yes, he's probably afraid that more blue babies will fall out of greenhouses.

Una's certainly not complaining about the changing season across the rest of town: it makes it easier to dress when you don't need to prepare for high summer and icy spring at the same time. Besides, it makes it easier to be willing to leave home and go elsewhere, knowing it's going to still be warm and pleasant, wherever one goes (excepting, of course, the inevitable PNW rain).

Not that she's out and about tonight, mind you: her trusty bicycle is chained up below the porch, which is generally a sure enough sign that she's about. An even better sign, of course, is the fact that she's the one to answer the door a few moments later, dressed in cut-off jean shorts and her dark green 'Kitchen Cleric' t-shirt, feet bare upon the polished floorboards of her front hall.

"Oh!" she says. "Hi, Ravn. Need something?" There's still a little embarrassed (?) hesitation in how she treats her neighbour, but it could be worse.

It's tempting to honk the horn of her car as Ariadne pulls up and parks along the front lawn. It sounds like the cartoon Road Runner -- meep meep! -- but the manner of the clouds above and the nearly balmy temperatures she knows to await convince her otherwise. In a pair of simple jeans, skater-sneakers in navy-blue with white stars, and a t-shirt proclaiming 'I'M A MARINE BIOLOGIST - TO SAVE TIME LET'S JUST ASSUME I'M NEVER WRONG' beneath a lightest-weight sweatshirt in merlot-red with white trim, she's present with a wave of greeting. She can see Una's opened the door anyhow, even if Ravn is tall and somewhat in the line of sight.

"I'm here," singsongs the barista to announce herself -- just in case. "Una, hey, hon." A warm greeting and equally warm smile for the younger redhead as Ariadne drifts up next to Ravn. "What a great shirt." A wink. Of course she'd compliment it, she'd gifted it to Una because she simply couldn't resist.

"I was hoping you might assist Ariadne and myself in committing a murder," Ravn says and tries very hard to talk past the awkward. "I've got a couple of German immigrants who really should be bled dry and disposed of."

Tote bag. There's bottles in it.

"And," the Dane admits, "I wanted to be sure we're still good. I think I disappointed you again yesterday. I seem to do that a lot lately." He smiles at Ariadne as she wanders up. "You are both wearing awesome t-shirts. This almost makes me want to go t-shirt shopping."

The fact that it takes Una a couple of seconds-- long, long seconds-- to fully get her head around what Ravn is proposing (German immigrants? What German immigrants? He's obviously not actually suggesting murder, but... wait. Bottles. Okay. Germans make beer, right? And stuff? Ok. Don't be thick here, Una.) may not help with the awkward; nor, too, may the faint flush of her cheeks that follows.

She glances from Ravn to the arriving Ariadne (the latter gets a wry-ish grin) and then back to Ravn again. "We're still good," she promises. "You didn't. That was all on me. So, um," she breaks off again.

Beat. "T-shirts are both courtesy of Ariadne. You'd better take him shopping, Ari."

Slowly, surely, like the rise of dawn, Ariadne's 'Prince(ss) of Foxes' smile appears on her face.

"Oh, don't worry, there's a t-shirt coming for him," she informs both Una and victim. One can almost hear the muahahaha. "Also, Ravn means wine bottles." She thumbs at the tote. "They're good wine, or so I've been told. I'm here to assist in disposing of them. I do have some more nibbles in the car too, of course -- like I'd show up without something -- but I did some research on the wine and it goes great with sweet stuff too. I can go get my lunch box?"

"Look, murdering Germans and disposing of the evidence is a national pastime in my home country. We called a break to it after they soundly trounced us in 1849 and 1864, and then took it back up in 1943. At least these days we only kill their wine and their sausages?" Ravn tries hard to be funny. A little too hard sometimes; also, don't get him started on two thousand years' worth of history of Danish-German warfare, you have been warned.

He glances at the porch chairs. "It's too pleasant an evening to sit around doing nothing on your own. So let's do nothing together?"

Wine bottles. Ariadne's clarification gets Una to the point eventually, and her own slowness is probably fuel for the renewal of that flush; on the other hand, Ravn's joke does result in a low snort of laughter, and a shake of her head. "The things I learn about Europe from actual Europeans," she says, and smiles, corners of her mouth twisting up in a way that is genuine and maybe a little less awkward.

"Okay," she agrees, without hesitating: another good sign. "You need me to go get wine glasses, then?" And cookies, because yes, she did pick up that reference to 'sweet things'.

"Yes, wine glasses. I brought cheese and crackers." Ravn will recognize the selection, at least, a boursin spreadable cheese laced with garlic and herbs along with some 'ancient grain'-style crackers. Always a good pairing with wine, or at least the barista thinks. As she turns, her hip gently brushes against the Dane's in turn like a friendly cat, and then it's back across the lawn to fetch the lunch tote in question. Ariadne muses to herself, as she leans into the back seat, that she might have brought it up with her in the first place. Oy.

She turns back up again not so long after holding the lunch box by its handle. "I always feel like I over-dress for this place and it's definitely my fault," she laughs. "It's so balmy. I just want to find a sunbeam and sprawl during the day. I'd get nothing done living her," she jokes in Una's direction.

Ravn wisely removes himself from the path of either woman; Una doesn't need him to start rummaging around his kitchen, and Ariadne doesn't need his help carrying a tote bag. He settles, instead, on a porch chair, and goes about opening the bottles -- both of them, because letting red wine breathe is always a good thing.

He does like the warmth. He does like the sun. He does like both women. Just going to sit here and make himself useful, yes.

Una acknowledges the confirmed need for wine glasses with a bob of her head and heads back indoors. She doesn't take much longer than Ariadne does, coming back with wine glasses on a tray (four, because this is Oak Avenue and it's not unusual for a trio to end up turning into a quartet or more), as well as a plate of today's cookies (molasses spice cookies, today), all of which get set down on the table.

"There's a reason I'm only part-time employed," she points out with a grin, nudging glasses towards Ravn for filling. "Well-- no, it's not that reason, though it's a perk. It's actually a pain in the ass shifting between this porch," or the kitchen inside, let's be honest, "and the rest of town, though I guess it'll be worse in actual winter, if this place stays as it is."

"I'm going to warn you that you might end up with a porch-barista during the winter," Ariadne laughs as she works at setting up the cheese and crackers. The spreadable cheese is in its own tin and the crackers are simply set out after the cylindrical plastic packaging is split down the seams. Finger food, people, suck it up -- or off your fingers, the barista seems to suppose. Since Ravn's in charge of the filling, the older redhead simply finds her own chair and pulls it up alongside Ravn companionably.

"I can't wait to try this wine though. Ravn talked a big game about it." The Dane in question gets a grin. Busy barista fingers then pluck the hairband out of hair in order to finger-comb it forward along her chest. It's long enough that plaiting a nonchalant braid seems to appeal and so Ariadne begins doing this very thing.

Ravn lines up three out of four glasses and fills them; he lets the wine run slowly from the bottle in a small stream to let it taste the air -- and to admire its beautiful, sanguine, ruby colour. "And a porch cat. Kitty Pryde, given the choice between warm porch close to the kitchen of all things good -- or my kitchen of tinned food? That said, whether the endless summer persists -- I guess you can end the bargain with the faerie? Although it might be wise to speak with Brennon first, just to make sure everyone is on the same page."

"Oh, I have no desire to let the endless summer end, believe me. I just don't like to assume that anything will last forever, and I'm preparing myself for the possibility by speaking its terribleness out loud." Una's smile is crooked, and suggests an acknowledgement of more than just her distaste for this particular possible end. "Porch-baristas and porch-cats both always welcome. Porch-folklorists, too."

She snags one of the glasses, then dunks a cracker into the cheese to go with it, claiming her chair with one foot hooked up beneath her butt; her regular lounging position. "Of course, if we get cats of our own, who knows how Kitty Pryde will feel about it."

"I follow the logic." A lazy tone of voice from Ariadne as she considers the glasses of wine. She's in no real hurry to pluck one up herself or to taste the cheese, but those molasses spice cookies have her name on them. A lean and she snags one. "Might as well not tempt the summer vanishing by speaking about it aloud. Though -- "

Una is gestured at with cookie. "I'm hearing cats? You're getting cats? Cats with a normal amount of teeth...?" A grin around the cookie now held in her mouth for the hostess. After all, the Murder Motel had all but introduced them to one another with the arrival and revelation of Cats With Too Many Teeth. Must finish plaiting quick braid before spicy-sweet goodness is appreciated. One sneakered foot sliiiiiiides obviously across the porch to bump into Ravn's foot in turn.

Obviously is Ravn's friend, and probably why he doesn't start in pain when their feet connect. Instead, he smiles lightly and then suggests, "I think Kitty Pryde will largely not care. She does not seem to be particularly territorial. I think she largely just ignores other cats. The Uncat she likes. The others -- I get the feeling she thinks they're just not important to her."

He sips the wine -- and savours the taste. A small nod; it meets his approval. "Sometimes I feel like such a snob. Like yesterday at the spa. I know you're not talking about me but, bloody hell. Can I declare, for the record, so I don't need to do so again another time -- the upper crust sucks, and I don't much care for it either, we can swear about it and exclude me by default?"

"Cats," confirms Una, sniffing at her wine as if she knows what she's doing (she doesn't). "Presumably with the normal amount of teeth, though I'd accept the other kind, too, if that's what we ended up with... at least you absolutely know what they're thinking, right? In that case," she adds, "You wait, I'll end up feeding Kitty Pryde as well. It'll all depend, anyway, on if things are good enough between everyone that we're ready for the commitment."

That's a tricky subject, and one she seems almost eager to leave behind, despite having been the one to raise it in the first place. She sips, swallows; seems satisfied, though that's probably not difficult. "Ravn, fuck. We know that. I don't think anyone lumps you in with them unthinkingly. Most of the time I don't even remember that you could belong in that category, okay?"

Una gets a grin thankfully without cookie crumbles everywhere. "Well, hey, too many teeth or not, let me know if you end up with cats because I'd love to come over and see the new arrivals. Maybe startle Kitty Pryde because oh my god, the interloper is HERE TOO?!" Ariadne makes gentle fun of the green-eyed cat's propensity to be staunch about territory, even where the two-legged can-openers are involved.

Her foot nudges against Ravn's in turn, speaking of feline behaviors. "Declaration acknowledged and yes, one we knew, but it being said aloud makes it extra clear: we're definitely not lumping you into that category, bud. You go out of your way to avoid putting on airs or flaunting it. Una's right. It's difficult to remember that you're technically a Count to start with. Join in the cursing and know you're absolutely excluded by default." Cookie goes back to being held in mouth while she finishes out plaiting the braid along her front and then bands the hairtie about the base of the braid. What a pretty run of celestial hues through the deeply-auburn natural shade. Now she reaches for a wine glass because wine and cookies, hell yes.

"I'll toast to that." Ravn raises his glass. "And to the fact that absolutely nobody likes the kind of people who prides themselves in being the upper crust. People with expensive tastes? That's one thing. People whose confidence depend on reminding others who's on top and who's not? Ugh. I'll swear just as loudly about those as anyone else around here."

He sips his wine and winks at Ariadne. "Not that there's any 'technically' about it, of course. I really did turn into the Count from Sesame Street once. Ah, ah, ah."

"If we get cats, you'll be the first to know," Una promises Ariadne, grinning at the other redhead and idly watching the progression of that braid.

Her glass is lifted in acknowledgement of Ravn's, as she leans back into her chair and wiggles the toes of her free foot. "The whole concept of the upper crust is bullshit," she agrees, placidly, after taking another sip of her wine. "Money doesn't make you better than other people. Knowing who your ancestors were doesn't either. It's all just-- social constructs."

And then she starts giggling. Something about the Count from Sesame Street, maybe, and a certain video clip.

"Oh my goddddddddd, Ravn!" The drawl is then followed by a laugh almost strong enough to jounce some wine out of the bulb. Ariadne then looks at Una and great minds must think alike: she immediately fumbles aside her glass in order to succumb to giggles rising into a bird-like pitch. "Oh help -- oh shit -- no -- no, I know what you're thinking, Una, nooooooo -- "

Sorry, Ravn, your girlfriend needs a few moments here. She even ends up slumped heavily in the chair almost over an arm, spine curved and the off-chance of tipping the chair a fairly good one.

"Goddamnit," squeaks Ariadne before she finally breathes. "No, Una, you don't understand. My sister, she was texting me and Ravn, we said he was like the Count from Sesame Street, and I swear to god, we have her fooled and -- "

Nope, lost her to hysterical cackling again.

Whatever the video clip is, at least one person present missed it. Ravn looks politely puzzled -- not that he really minds because people laughing is a good thing, and he gets the general gist. He hitches a shoulder at Ariadne's helpless flailing, smiles, and then nods at Una. "No argument from me. We come into the world the same way and everything else is something people have invented. I think we've covered part of this before -- capitalism is in fact not great."

Oh god, there's more to this? Una manages to hold back her laughter (sort of) long enough for Ariadne to explain (well: ish, anyway, because inevitably this is one of those things that would be funnier if you were actually involved and there, except for the fact that this is already hilarious, and--) and then, nope, more laughter. More laughter.

Unfortunately, bringing down capitalism is going to have to wait a little longer.

At least Una doesn't spill her wine in the process.

At least Ariadne manages to squeak, "Capitalism is the worst!" before she dissolves into helpless laughter again. She cannot be saved. Woe betide. Give her a few more moments.

"No, no, holy shit, no, Ravn, you can't -- you can't go on not knowing about this. You can't," wheezes the redhead as she finally cranks herself upright in the chair again. Putting the last bite of molasses spice cookie in her mouth merely stifles the giggling. Fishing out her phone, she pulls up the YouTube app and the video in question and simply hands over the phone towards Ravn. Yes, the volume is on. Yes, she's wiping underneath her lash line. That won't help her overmuch.

The first censor sound just about maims her composure. Slump. Gone to more cackling. Thank god she doesn't choke on the cookie bite she swallows.

Ravn watches the video. Not a comment, not a change of expression, not a word. And only when it is done does he observe, "I may find emulating the faux-Romanian accent difficult. I will start counting if you insist, though."

Look at that stiff upper lip. LOOKIT. Noble blood will not be denied.

And oh so nonchalantly reaching for a biscuit. "Ariadne's sister is quite convinced I'm some kind of Twilight fan imposter."

The video itself is more than enough to keep Una's giggles going, but Ravn's reaction? That's just going to reinforce the mirth. Maybe there is something in this blue blood thing after all.

She manages, finally, to control the mirth, wiping tears away from her eyes (good thing she's not, as per usual, wearing any eye makeup). It'll take a few seconds more than that, though, before she can wonder, "Are there Counts in Twilight? Or is it just-- look, no. I'm not even going to go there. At least it looks like you survived the inquisition, right?"

Brown eyes, so very wide.

By the time the video ends and Ariadne's about laugh-shuddered herself into something of a contortion in the chair, she waiting for Ravn's reaction with avid curiosity. Look at that stiff upper lip indeed. He didn't break once.

Of course, he also manages to land home that particular comment with unerring ease. Look at the color on the barista's face now. She titters helplessly behind her hands; why even use the hands, no one's going to ignore the blush on her face. Maybe she can blame the amount of giggling she's done for about three minutes now. What an ab work-out. A hand with gimme fingers asks for her phone back wordlessly.

"Christ on a cracker." That's all she manages too at first before finding proper English as well as an upright carriage in the porch chair. "Yes, Anastasia does think Ravn's some Twilight fan and I just can't even because I feel like 'let's spend a day in Forks' is tantamount to torture or the Inquisition here and..." Well, she peters off into laughter again (thanks, Una) though this time not hard enough to warn her against collecting her wine glass. Maybe a big sip will stave off the humor for just a bit to give her a moment to breathe.

"I haven't actually read Twilight," Ravn admits and fails entirely to look like he thinks this is a bad thing. "I am guessing that surviving the Inquisition is a plot element in spite of the fact it takes place in modern-day Forks? After all, they turned the Quinault into werewolves and I'm certainly not brave enough to ask Jules how she feels about that."

The more decomposed Ariadne gets, the more composure Ravn seems to find somewhere. He returns the phone to its owner and nibbles on the biscuit with an aloof air. "I have contemplated meeting this girl some day and make sure that the very first thing I say is something along the lines of, 'did you know Forks is real?'"

Is Una going to start laughing again? Evidently not, this time-- for the best, really, given she's really had only a few sips of wine, and this can only go downhill from here. She takes in a deep breath, instead, and just grins. (On the plus side, the awkwardness? Banished.)

"I haven't read Twilight either," she confesses. "But pop culture seems to have made sure I know most of the bits. I don't think you sparkle, Ravn, unless I've missed something dramatic-- don't tell me-- so... well. Younger sisters, right?" Never mind that this particular younger sister is probably not especially dissimilar to Una in age.

"Una, I swear to god, if I can record my sister's reaction, I will," Ariadne promises the younger redhead after another long sip of wine. "Because Ana's going to just be torn between flailing and laughing her ass off because she really does, I swear to god, think Ravn is some Twilight impersonator. I mean, hell, there was something about a Victorian walking cane?" She glances over at Ravn again and can't help giggling again. "And he apparently has one back in this drafty old castle full of spiders. And cobwebs. And things to count."

Drinking wine, drinking wine, not laughing, not laughing; it's all in her eyes and these are positively mirthful.

"But...confession time: I have read the books just to see how bad they were and yes, I stuck them out, and no, I'm not going to recommend them."

"My drafty old castle is full of young girls, thank you very much." Ravn continues to keep a perfectly straight face. "And older girls, and boys of various ages, and teachers, and probably a surprising amount of questionable student art -- it's an art school now, after all. But we can leave those parts out for extra effect."

He sips his wine again. "Ariadne's sister seems to have had a great time exercising her Googling skills, though. She even found some very embarrassing old photographs my fiancee badgering me into modeling for. If she didn't think I was a vampire impersonator pretty boy before."

"Endless things to count, I'm sure," murmurs Una, but no, she's not going to laugh again.

... well, okay, maybe a little, because Ravn's straight-faced addition to the conversation has resulted in a little blurt of amusement anyway, and that's basically a laugh.

"Recordings, yes please. Very embarrassing old photographs-- wait, there was one with a horse, wasn't there? I think you showed us that. Poor little baby sister. I mean, also good for her too, doing the background research."

"Ahem-hem-heh-eh-heh." Ariadne clears her throat this time half into her wine, making short-lived bubbles. "Right, no drafty castle. Only art drafty castle." It was too easy, she couldn't resist it. "There was the one with the horse, yes, and something about a vest. Lots of fur. I'm not terribly surprised Ana managed to find them. I wasn't joking when I told Ravn about my little sister's Google Fu," she says with a glance over at Ravn and smirk.

"And of course it wasn't long-lasting, the peace, because she had to go tell my mother, so...dinner eventually with the parents. I'm too busy to visit for at least two weeks anyhow. You know the café at the start of tourist season." It's not a lie, but it stretches the truth by an amount. "There's no huge hurry anyhow. We really do have to prep for tourist season around here, apparently, and there's the ball coming up."

"I think the leather pants and fur stola one was the one she choked on," Ravn murmurs and still somehow manages to keep a straight face. "There are worse pictures. I hope Benedikte didn't put those on the internet."

He shakes his head. "Lesson learned: Don't do anything to please your girlfriend."

Una's got a little smirk of a smile, now, though she covers it with her wine glass and then, after that, with a cookie. "Don't delay too long," she points out to Ariadne, "or they'll just show up here and then there'll be no escape."

Still smiling, now, though she does turn her gaze away from her two companions and out towards the gathering twilight, focusing on some distant point. "Watch out, Ariadne. Now he's made a promise to do nothing to please you. Never again will you be pleased, just in case it later comes back to bite him. Woe, indeed."

Una's very valid point earns her a fall-back of Ariadne's head, as if the weight of the very idea of SUDDEN PARENTS was too much to bear. "Uggggggh." Sounds like this has a horrid if small chance of becoming true.

She brings her face up as Ravn's comment (which makes her smirk) engenders Una's comment (which makes her blurt out a laugh). "Oh, well, damnit," she curses, playing along with the funning. "Not anything. But something -- something is still an option there. I just have to think of something now." Reaching out in plain view of Ravn, she makes to patpat his arm. "I know you meant 'anything' like literally anything she asked after in order to make her happy and you know I'm not about to demand you dress in a catsuit and do the hula."

Ravn actually pretends to consider it.

Then he grins and shakes his head. "I know what you meant, and I know you know what I meant. I was younger and naively thinking that if I just did enough she'd stop feeling like I was going to ditch her for the next blonde girl I met. I'm older and wiser now, and I know that that level of insecurity needs a therapist. Just like my own anxieties did and do. You can't change who you are, you can't become somebody else for somebody else."

Beat. "Although for Anastasia Scullins, I'll try."

"Yes, yes," says Una, as if to dismiss this particular interpretation of Ravn's words (so much less interesting), but look, she's grinning, glancing back at her companions-- her friends-- as she does so. That doesn't mean she's not more serious as she confirms, "Right. We can't be anyone but who we are. Which doesn't mean we just let our insecurities and issues run wild," not that she knows anything about that, "but-- more we can't change ourselves to suit other people. We have to need to change for us too, if we want that."

"Cheers to staying yourself and other people loving it and those who don't love it can fuck off." A lift of her wine glass and sip. Trust Ariadne to be blunt.

Though she does lift a finger and then lean an elbow on her porch chair's arm, chin on her fist, to flutter eyelashes at Ravn. "But did I just hear you say you'll dress in a catsuit and do the hula for my little sister? Because I want a recording of that too." A merciless, merciless recording -- probably in good-natured revenge for the recording of the marine biologist (mostly) catching a salmon (to the face) at Pike Place Market.

"I'm inclined to think you heard me say I'll steal a frock coat from Aidan and wear it around your sister, along with a monocle and a top hat." Ravn cracks a small grin. "In fact, I want to amp it up one step at a time, and see how long until it dawns on her we're taking the piss."

He sips his wine. "I think I'll leave catsuits to Leontes. She probably owns several."

Una gives Ravn an appraising look. "I want proper period-appropriate trousers as well, if you're doing that," she demands, as if she's going to be in the picture for this, which is clearly not true (or the point). "And spats. Can you absolutely make sure that he has spats too, Ariadne?"

"Cross my terrible little heart, Una, the monocle's not flying without spats. I mean, hell, spats first -- and somehow that walking cane, Ravn, we can take this to fifth gear really easily with a walking cane." Whatever flits across her mind next has Ariadne chortling into her wine glass.

"Una, seriously. I swear, Ana thinks he plays his violin only in the moonlight and something like only sonatas. Fake fangs. Ravn, you realize you're going to need to be fitted for fake fangs if you really want to punk the hell out of my sister?" she asks of the Dane, eyes glittering in impish glee.

"It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make if it means once the penny does in fact drop she'll realise how ridiculous her preconceptions are, and chill out about it all." Ravn laughs softly. "I should feel bad but, the way she texted Ariadne five minutes after we'd randomly met -- like, oh em gee, teenager turned up to eleven."

"This is amazing," says Una, sounding genuinely enthralled by the whole thing. "Do you think you can convince your sister that he has Turned you too, Ariadne? Little by little, piece by piece: the gothening."

That's a bigger swig of her wine, this time, and her cheeks are going pink(er) as a result, but-- no matter.

By Ariadne's eyeroll, she agrees with Ravn's interpretation of those first five minutes. It was enthusiasm to the Nth degree. Still, there's a flicker of a shadow in and out of her eyes, there and gone as quickly as a swallow overhead. It helps that Una then postulates yet another escalation to this attempt at prankery and the barista burbles, her wine glass shaking.

"Oh my god-d-d-d-d." Laughs break up the word. "The gothening. What the fuck," she curses fondly. "Can I convince Ana? Probably not. I helped change her diapers and she caught me kissing my first boyfriend in high school. Five years younger," the barista explains. "And she's smarter than she appears to be. She might actually try to turn this on its head." A glance at Ravn as if to warn him.

Ravn holds up his glass in a quiet salute to Anastasia Scullins' presumed intellect. "All the better. I mean, let's be honest here -- what I want is to not be looked at like I'm some kind of bizarre animal. If you can laugh with someone, you can get along with them. A prank war is not the worst outcome we can hope for there. And hopefully everyone else will get a good laugh out of it."

'Five years younger' makes Ana, indeed, a year or two older than Una-- perhaps that gives the younger redhead a little pause.

"Well," she says, drawing herself back up. "I definitely vote prank war. Keep it going as long as you can. And just-- have fun with it, right?"

Have fun with it. That's basically the right approach to most things in life, isn't it? For now-- there's wine. And cheese. And cookies.

Have fun with it.