2022-05-20 - Meeting Granny

Birthday parties. Birthday presents. Both are things Ravn Abildgaard considers himself useless at -- and more so with just two days' time in which to plan. It's not finding something nice that's the issue -- oh, if it was only that simple. He doesn't know Ariadne well yet -- but he knows a few things she loves, and there are a couple of things he's pretty certain would make her squee like a little girl. And of course he spent hours -- two, on the road to Seattle -- overthinking everything because that's who Ravn is: The man who can never just do something without worrying how it might be perceived by others, what message it might send.

Expensive gifts don't mean a lot when you have more money than you know how to spend. He doesn't want to bedazzle Ariadne, he doesn't want to buy her, and he certainly doesn't want to show off. What he wants to tell her is that he pays attention when she talks, when she gets enthusiastic.

And that, at least, is something he can work with. It took a quick trip to Seattle and back, and a couple of phone calls. Now he's here, sitting astride Lola Bianca outside Ariadne's apartment complex, the side car of the white vintage motorcycle containing a couple of packages and bags. He's made sure Russ covers Ariadne's shift -- definitely not above bribing college kids here -- and bought a few things for an overnight trip.

(TXT to Ariadne) Ravn : So, if I were to suggest you put on a pair of jeans and a good sweater and step outside for a motorcycle ride, might I manage to abduct you?

(TXT to Ravn) Ariadne : Well, gosh, mountain king, you've got my curiosity -- hook, line, and sinker. Gimme about ten minutes or so? Do I need the neighbor to check on Sam?

(TXT to Ariadne) Ravn : I tried to plan in a way so he can come along. After all, I wasn't planning to bring you back until morning.

(TXT to Ravn) Ariadne : Oh holy smokes, you're on it! Thank you, dearheart. <3 Definitely gimme ten minutes, we'll be right out.

Time for a smoke while sitting on his motorcycle. Ravn tries very hard convince himself that he's not nervous. It's not really working but what can you do? It's as good as it gets.

Ten minutes probably either crawl or go by way too fast -- perhaps both pending on the thoughts at hand.

Either way, there's Sam leading the way out of the apartment's front door and there's his owner attached to the leash. Ariadne interpreted 'a good sweater' as a waterproofed hiking hooded pullover (in a plain bronze-and-gold argyle pattern on white) and a lighter equally-rainproofed vest (this in black) left open. Jeans, yes, and what appear to be the offspring of sneakers and hiking boots. With her hair pulled up and back in a plain ponytail, she lets Sam squeak-bark his way over to the motorcycle. Look at that sighthound jitterbug dance of greeting -- tall human, hello!

"I brought the doggles and everything," Ariadne laughs as she arrives alongside the bike. "Hey you." Fond greeting for the Dane along with a sweet smile. She leans in and brushes one of those light kisses along his lips, nothing too much since they're quite obviously in the parking lot of the apartment complex. "What are you up to?" The way she asks doesn't demand an answer; it can also be a simple outlet for curiosity's sake, this twinkling in her golden-hazel eyes.

"Stealing you away like a mountain king should." Ravn returns the kiss lightly and smiles a little sheepishly. "Do you want me to tell you, or would you prefer to be surprised? Not everyone loves surprises. I pulled in a few favours."

He scritches Sam's head before letting Ariadne help the windhound settle into the sidecar with the bags; it's not a lot, and there's plenty room as long as Sam doesn't mind sharing foot space with a duffel bag. This bike is from a time when you might actually need a bit of luggage. "And, well, happy birthday, Venelite."

"Surprise me," the barista decides after a moment or two of looking pensively between his eyes. Samwise isn't difficult to bundle up into the sidecar (though he does spend a long minute sniffing curiously at bags stashed below) and looks dignified in his ear-wrap and doggles. Alright, another ride, he seems to project as a whole, leaning back against the cushioning of the sidecar.

But watch Ariadne melt about her edges at the well-wishing and especially at the nickname. She remembers from their meadow dance. "Aw...shucks. Thank you, bud. Thing is...your stuff arrived earlier this morning, so..." The barista pats what appears to be two thinly-bulky shapes near to the pockets of her vest, one behind each pocket. "You get your birthday stuff too." She's beaming even as she pulls the borrowed and plain black helmet into place on her head. "Tally-ho, Lola! Bianca! Er, Lola Bianca?" laughs the young woman over the Bluetooth headset connection between their helmets once she's settled behind Ravn.

On with the helmet. It's great for hiding a blush, after all. And off they are -- because engine noise is great, for a similar purpose. Damn you, Bluetooth sets, can't pretend to be unable to hear a thing for the next twenty.

Ravn drives towards downtown and then doesn't take the turn towards the highway and Seattle. Instead, he crosses the bridge and heads for Hoquiam. "We're not going too far," he tells Ariadne over the headset. "Just out to Bowerman Airport. I hope you like flying."

Ariadne seems happy to fill portions of the next twenty with little odds and ends of things she's seen and heard around the shop. She's recounting one of Russ's latest interactions with his favorite customer -- because one always ends up with a favorite customer in retail, no matter how one might fight against it -- when the bike's path doesn't take the expected route. Ariadne stops in mid-sentence to make a sound like, "Whoa what?"

Ravn answers. "Oh! Oh, yeah, I love flying. Holy crap. Flying?" Listen to her curiosity kick into fifth gear. "Uh. Oh, wow, uh, I can't..." Now she's laughing. "I can't think of anything that might -- oh my god, you're up to something!" Not like the Dane wasn't before and hadn't admitted to being up to something, but now he's outwardly up to something. "Sam will do fine on the plane, before you ask, he's been on one or two since he was a pup." The sighthound is still busy leaning and lifting his narrow nose to the air, squinting in his doggles. All the smells at fast speed.

"I did tell Jackson there'd be a dog coming along. He said it's no problem as long as it's well behaved." Ravn grins even though Ariadne can't see.

It's not a far ride. Hoquiam is a small town, and the air strip is on the west side. It's not large -- far too small to have commercial flights. He pulls the motorcycle up at the small building that makes it out for whatever services are needed around here -- small hangar, probably a coffee machine and a bathroom.

A man waits outside. A young fellow, raising a hand in a wave as they draw up. "Right on time," he informs Ravn. "And I'm guessing that's your passengers? Ready to go when you are. Pleased to meetcha, ma'am. Name's Jackson, I'll be your pilot today."

Ravn smiles his lopsided little smile and nods. "How's the weather?"

"Couldn't be better," the pilot says and starts to walk towards a small Cessna -- an aircraft with room enough for four -- or three and a dog. "You'll have not a cloud in sight and a clear view of the entire Sound."

More laughter from the barista behind him, with her arms firmly about his torso. Jackson, is it? Must be the pilot.

This musing is confirmed as the bike pulls into the lot of the small air strip. Plucking the helmet off of her head, Ariadne runs a hand across her hair against 'helmet head' (too late, she's a little frizzy), and grins at Jackson. "Nice to meet you too, Jackson. Ariadne," she returns of the pilot's greeting. Samwise wiggles and squeaks his way out onto the tarmac and looks around in untamable canine curiosity at this place -- whoa, it's so full of WEIRD smells. Another few blinks and a curious, half-open grin at Ravn. "View of the entire sound?" she echoes quietly to the Dane. "Oh my god. What." Half of the fun must be watching the barista continue to tamp down her intrigue like a blanket into a too-small box.

Still: "What can I take?" -- of the sidecar's contents. After all, she's got two hands free with Sam's leash clipped at her belt-loop.

"Got two duffels." Ravn tosses Ariadne one and takes the other. He's packed a bit -- maybe he's worried there'll be trouble staying warm in the air. "Ready? We're flying up to the Sound, yes. That's where your orcas live, after all."

Small grin as he walks off. He's really quite proud of himself so far. "C'mon, Sam. Let's get settled in. Ariadne will want the front seat, and you and me can be in the back."

Jackson is happy enough to help all three passengers board the small sports plane and get strapped in. "I assume you've flown before?" He looks at Ariadne. "It'll be a very smooth ride, I promise. There's barely a whiff of wind today."

"Oof." Ariadne catches the duffel and staggers a little, really just to be a tease, before shifting it easily onto her shoulder. She pauses, Sam by default, at Ravn's answer.

Blink. Blink-blink. Look at that beaming grin. Her entire countenance goes electrical with enthusiasm.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" It's not terribly loud, but that is a squee from the marine biologist who jogs the short distance to end up beside Ravn. "Oh my GOD!" Nobody could blame Jackson for trying not to laugh. Sam, still wearing his seatbelt-harness and ear-wrap at least, goes along easily enough with Ravn to the back seats. The Dane does get a blep on the nose after a good sniff-over by the black nose. Ariadne, settled into the front, glances over at Jackson.

"I've flown in commercial planes, yes, and one time in a smaller plane like this, but out over Eastern Washington. This is new," she tells the pilot, her voice just a little breathless still. A glance over her shoulder at Ravn and lip-fretted grin. Yes, we're trying not to silly-smile and only partially succeeding.

As it happens, Jackson's not a half bad pilot -- and the weather is indeed fair. The little plane takes off without a hitch and then he turns its nose north.

To the west, the blue Pacific, stretching out to the horizon and beyond. To the east, the green slopes and mountains of the Quinault Reservation; in the bright sunlight it's not easy to make out the villages and settlements in there; when evening comes, the lights will guide tourists towards the hotels but for now? It really does look like it's very far away from Seattle or even Tacoma.

The Cessna takes its sweet time ambling up along the coast. And why not? "Might as well see if we spot oceanic pods, yeah?" Jackson has time aplenty. "It's too early in the year though. In June, they're all over, or so the whale watchers' association claims."

"Yes, I checked the website too," Ravn says, amused. Or, well, shouts because headpieces and engine noise.

"Just doin' my job," Jackson grins back.

There's some nervousness from Sam, but after the plane levels out and Ariadne reaches back a soothing hand to rub at his chest, Ravn's lap ends up the place to be -- at least, for the sighthound's head. Looks like babysitting duty's on the Dane for the moment.

The marine biologist can't help but laugh at the banter. "Food supply and all," she adds to the din of conversation above the plane's noise. "They rove pretty far otherwise, so it's not too surprising they're not near the coast just yet. Those are the hard pods to study anyways, for obvious reasons. When you have miles and miles of deep-water coast to forage? Humans aren't going to spot you easily." Her attention seems frenetically divided between looking down in appreciation at the coastline itself and the two gentlemen in the other seats.

Ravn doesn't mind at all having Sam on his lap. The windhound seems to have a surprisingly good understanding of his issues with touch -- no random twitching and flailing. "That's why I figured a plane might be better than riding to Seattle and sailing out to the islands," he agrees. "Everyone said it's too early in the year that they can guarantee orcas -- but the odds of spotting them from the air are significantly better."

"If we find them," Jackson grins over his shoulder. "My little girl here's no aquaplane but she can go down far. I'll get you a good look. Up in the Sound, the native pods are pretty used to traffic so they won't be gone like a snap of your fingers the instant they spot the plane, either."

And there it is, the shallow southern mouth of Puget Sound -- narrow enough that it might be a wide river except it very much isn't.

Sam would be all but taking a nap were it not for the loud environment and occasional light bump. He doesn't move much, content to be touching another human he knows and receive any pets he receives in turn. He's quite soft today, as if Ariadne had subjected him to a bath earlier in the week. It's entirely possible.

"Jackson's got it right. Between the NOAA and the Center for Whale Research, the whales are pretty used to boat traffic. Planes fly over the Sound all the time too, so I bet they won't be too spooked. If we're likely to see any of the pods, it's the J pod. They're the first to start wandering down from the San Juans. The L pod tends to show up soon after them, but not too soon and still farther north. They're huge though, that pod's got thirty-three whales last they did a fin count," Ariadne shares.

Of course a soft 'squee' for the appearance of the Sound itself. Jackson won't have fingerprints on his windows...yet.

Ravn just smiles to himself. Yes. He's not surprised that Ariadne's on all but a first name basis with the local killer whales. He expected it -- and he wouldn't have it otherwise. It's nice to see her unabashed about her passion. It makes him feel less awkward about his passions in turn. And the flushed smile on her face makes him tingle.

The Salish Sea spreads out below. From altitude it reminds Ravn of the Belts of his home country -- and like the Little Belt, it is deep and the current is strong. No river, this -- narrow, yes, but shallow it is most definitely not.

And then, suddenly, Jackson swings the plane around so that the light comes in from behind. "See them?"

Ravn cranes his neck and doesn't -- and then there are fins breaking the surface, tall and black and free; not broken like those of orca in captivity. He wonders how the pilot knew, and accepts that he's not used to reading the water from up here.

Ah, the Salish Sea, a wild place amazingly still as such so near to civilization in the broad terms of things. Ariadne leans to look and far enough that her temple bumps off the glass soundlessly a few times. Nobody notices, right?

Well. Try not noticing when a palm goes smack against the glass and she leans harder as Jackson swings the plane about. "Oh! Oh, look!" Only one handprint...for now. "Oh! Eee! Oh my god, um, quick, count. The J pod is about twenty or so. There's a new baby somewhere in there too, I think -- or wait, is that the L pod. Shit, I can't remember," she laughs into the comms before she starts counting.

Sam lifts his head dozily. Mom. What, Mom. What.

Ravn doesn't try to count. To him, it's a shifting mess of beautiful black and white bodies -- and they all look alike. He admires their beauty and their grace -- but beyond that, them's some mighty big (not actually) fish, and he's not sure how many there, nor how anyone's supposed to tell them apart. It's all right. They're beautiful, but this trip is not for the sake of his education. He's just here to watch his girl laugh and squee.

Jackson turns the Cessna's nose down and passes over the pod quite close. Just as he predicted, they're not very interested -- the humming of an airplane means nothing to them; it's not a threat, and it's not prey, no more significant than a flock of seagulls or a flight of geese passing overhead (and debatably, no more noisy than fifty geese honking their flight song, either).

Ravn rummages in his bag, around Sam, and then taps Ariadne on the shoulder. Borrow his Canon camera? It's got the zoom lens on.

Okay, Jackson, now you have two handprints on the interior of your plane's window. Ariadne's just shy of plastering her nose against it as she tries to do a quick fin count.

It's easier when the pilot swings the plane around. "A very messy twenty-two, which means I'm probably off by two or three, and that's the J pod," she announces with twinkling pride to the interior of the Cessna. "Oh my god, eeeeeeeeeeeeee -- " Squee pauses when she feels her shoulder get tapped. Turning around, she blinks at the camera and then grins at Ravn like she's just about won the lottery. "Feel free to laugh at my amateur attempts later," she tells her boyfriend. A kiss to her fingertips is pressed to his cheek and she winks before turning around with the camera. A moment or two peering at the dials -- holy shit, so many buttons and dials -- before she seems to get it into a fairly standard auto-mode and then readies it.

Maybe Ravn will laugh his ass off at the picture of the highly-detailed interior lining of the plane window's ledge. Ariadne doesn't know she's taken it.

The great thing about digital cameras? You can shoot as many pictures as you like and just delete the ones that aren't worth keeping. Not like analog photography where every discarded shot meant dumping so many chemicals into the nearest river.

"I'll come around so you have the Sun at our back," Jackson grins and maneuvers the little plane with ease. "Should be able to get an angle where the plane's shadow won't be in the pictures."

"If you pick 'Motion' -- that's the little running guy -- the auto-focus is pretty sharp and fast," Ravn tells Ariadne. "It's hard to do pictures of moving wildlife with a hand-held camera otherwise. The colour balance may end up slightly off, but we can fix that in Lightroom later."

Jackson gets a quick grin -- "Thank you!" -- and Ariadne glances over her shoulder again. She turns to showcase the display and toggles over to the icon in question. "Motion, got it," she echoes of Ravn once the camera is set as such. "I've heard of that program, yeah, excellent." Another kiss blown to the Dane before she turns back to the window and aims.

It's not perfect, a bit mal-framed as a whole, but the next few shots at least manage to capture a series of the J pod breaching the surface of the ocean water. There's a particular nice one, in essence, of two or three of the adults spouting up mist as they break surface for air. Another "Eee!": Ariadne's spotted the one youngest member of the pod, a few years old and still small for it. Click click click. There, youngest calf documented.

"This is so cool, I've never observed them from the air! Look at how they move! The shape of the pod, how it changes -- oh, they're playing!" Two of the young adult whales appear to be engaging in a lazy game of chase on the fringes.

"It's a beautiful day and they've probably got everything they need. Why wouldn't they be playing?" Ravn grins slightly. It is a formidable sight. He's no whale enthusiast the way Ariadne is, but he does love the sea -- and these great animals that belong in it. "Let's do this again."

"Anytime," says Jackson. After all, he makes his living chartering out for trips like this. "Want me to do another fly-by?"

"Please," Ravn agrees. "Can we go in low against the sun? Might just manage to get a picture of a silhouette against the strong light. Their silhouettes are so characteristic it'd be a great picture even if you can only see the black shape against the sun."

"Pal, I can fly low enough that you can pat them," Jackson grins.

Ariadne can't help but chime laughter again. "I can dream about petting one of them. Please and thank you for the fly-by so I can catch the silhouettes. If we're lucky, I'm steady enough and then I can go through later to check the fins against records and we'll see who was present. I'm sure I can submit something to the Center for Whale Research and they'll appreciate it. I know I've got at least one picture where there's the whole pod. Some poor grad student or volunteer can do a proper fin count."

Back the plane swings around and the lighting is just about perfect for the framing in question. Whether or not Ariadne manages to get the shot is another thing entirely, but time and a look-through of the data card's contents will tell.

The shutter speed on the Motion setting is fast, faster, fasterer. Each press of a button means 5-6 images captured -- and this is the camera's true power; it records faster than the hand can shake. Not every picture will be crystal sharp. A fair amount of them will be.

Jackson does one last pass -- hassling the pod for hours will exhaust the fuel tank and also, the pod's patience -- and then the Cessna climbs back up into higher air streams. He sets the course north-east.

And there they are, the San Juan Islands in the middle of Puget Sound.

"I've packed for a stay at a small cabin ground overnight," Ravn tells Ariadne over the headset. "A very small island on the east side named Saint James -- I figured that's where we get the best odds of a beautiful view of the water and maybe catching sight of your darlings from the coast if we're lucky."

One last pass for a last few pictures and then Ariadne is sighing to herself in wistful contentment. The camera is offered back so very carefully to Ravn now that their sighting is complete. The marine biologist isn't going to argue for another hour of circling; the pods don't need to be harassed at all, especially by someone not taking official scientific data. It's the pragmatist in her.

Ravn's news earns him another turn-around in the front seat and a glittering grin as bright as a dozen diamonds. "Oh my god, yes! I've heard about Saint James! Oh, Ravn, yes, that'll be so wonderful! That means it could be the K or L pods too!" Cue squee.

Sam blinks from his dozy sprawl across Ravn's lap. His lap now, thank you very much. In some ways, the sighthound is very cat-like.

Ravn packs the camera back into the duffel bag. "Not going to pretend I know jack all about Puget Sound. I called the tourist office in Seattle, told them what kind of place I was looking for. This is what they recommended."

"It's gorgeous," Jackson supplies. "I can't land on Saint James so we'll be touching down at Decatur-Jones. You'll have to walk down to the beach and then catch the boat to the other side. I texted them just now to let them know we're coming in."

Ravn nods. "It's not a far walk as far as I can tell. Decatur's not a large island, and Saint James is tiny."

"Even if it was a far walk, no big. It'll be good to stretch the legs and Sam would appreciate it." The barista glances over her shoulder at the Windhound. He's still dozing away now that Ravn's stopped moving about to put the camera back into the duffel bag. He even slooooowly stretches out legs like, this is now my space, deal with it. It makes Ariadne giggle.

Her next question is for Ravn. "What are you thinking about dinner then? Since Saint James is so tiny." Her brows lift. There's a dog to feed as well.

"I abused my credit card enough to convince the campground owner to hook us up with a simple meal -- sandwiches, things to fry over a fire, a bottle of wine. And to be on the safe side, I brought tinned food from home for Sam since I have a feeling you don't want him eating random people food for dinner. I've seen you feed him -- it may not be his finest meal but at least it's not pure garbage." Ravn shoots her a look; this is one of those things that might complicate matters, and if someone needs to make a last minute supply run -- "And there's a tiny shop on Decatur, oddly. I have no idea who they cater to. Tourists, is my guess."

"Oh, Sam will love some canned food. That's a treat for him. You're good, you," compliments the barista of her boyfriend. She doesn't appear concerned in the least now. Does Ravn know how many brownie points he earned with that one?

He'll learn.

"Things to fry over a fire? Like s'mores?" Ariadne then asks, her grin still gleaming.

"Well, I can't stand those personally," Ravn grins back. "But yes, I got the ingredients. I'll just fry my marshmallows and eat my biscuits raw. Should be warm enough to huddle around a campfire in blankets and watch the sky."

The air strip really is small. A long stretch of short grass and sand, with coniferous forest on both sides -- planted, not wild. The Cessna touches ground and it feels a bit reminiscent of landing on somebody's farmland -- which this probably is.

Jackson helps both passengers and their trusty passenger dog unbuckle and exit the plane. "Call me anytime," he tells Ravn. "My girl isn't big but I know the area like the back of my hand. Grew up here. Not the first time I've taken people whale hunting, either."

"Might end up calling you at least once a year," Ravn returns with a grin. The gleam in Ariadne's eyes testifies to the success of this trip. It may not be the last of its kind.

The road leads past what does indeed seem to be a general store in the middle of nowhere -- and then on for a bit, towards the east side of Decatur Island. It's a charming walk through the woods -- traffic seems nearly non-existent -- with the smell of resin from the tall spruces and pines, and the ocean breeze. The call of seagulls mix with the sounds of the forest -- a squirrel there, a deer there, and the breeze rustling in the tall grass on both sides of the road. There are absolutely worse places for a walk.

"Nothing wrong with that. I might just toast the marshmallows and eat the chocolate and ignore the crackers entirely, you never know." A grin for Ravn before she turns back around in her seat, intrigued to see where the plane's flight path is taking them.

Samwise, at least, is pleased to be off the plane once they've landed and disembarked. He does a looonnng stretch before cavorting about on the end of his leash. Jackson is profusely thanked. "At least once a year," echoes Ariadne of Ravn with a pleased laugh. Once they've got enough space between themselves and the plane, the barista also makes a point of doing a few lunges. "Oof. Yes, legs are stretching, yes. I forgot how tiny Cessnas are. But that makes them so maneuverable. Oh, but Ravn!"

Look at how she sparkles. Her words are even breathy. "Oh, the J pod! And the youngin'! That means the oldest orca was somewhere in there! I can't wait to look at the pictures, Granny has to be there." A pause as Samwise finally finds the tree he wants. "...yeah, okay, that's your tree now, well done," the barista drolly tells the dog.

"I read about her," Ravn agrees as they walk. "Granny. Over a hundred years old? It's kind of mind blowing. But then, that fin whale that swam into the fjord to die back home was more than a century old, too. They do seem to be able to put a lot of time down, provided they aren't hunted and don't die from something as calves."

He pauses. "Sam, please leave your tree here. We'll visit next year."

Then a smile flits across his lips. "You realise you can look at the pictures tonight, yes? The display on the camera will show you. It's small, sure, but there are definite perks to DSL cameras. You can also sneak-delete anything blurry and wobbly, and make it look like you only took good, sharp shots."

Samwise returns to Ariadne's side after a moment, his ears perked. What? That's my tree now, yes, I'll come back to it later. I need to find another one now.

"That's a good point, actually. I didn't consider looking at the pictures on the camera display. Maybe I will go through and delete all the less-than-good ones." She sounds like she's half-teasing by her tone. Lifting and then dropping her hand, she seeks out Ravn's gloved hand in turn. "You might find me curled up in a chair, cross-comparing the fins to see how was present. I think I still have access to the UW archive of the fins." Chances are...a little good for this in particular.

A squeeze of the Dane's hand. "Ravn. Even if we don't see any other whales on the rest of this trip, this has been absolutely amazing. Thank you," his girlfriend tells him in plain earnestness. Her eyes nearly glisten for it.

Ravn returns the squeeze, gently. "Today has been great so far. I don't have your passion for the orcas -- but they are an amazing sight. And believe me, I get it -- the ecstasy of finding a new collection of stories, a chance to hear them from the horse's mouth, a new piece of research. Different field of interest, same enthusiasm. I brought a book, actually, because I suspected something like that might happen and frankly? I want you to be all the enthusiastic."

Decatur Head isn't really part of Decatur Island. It's a sand bank with a handful of trees on, connected to Decatur by a short stretch of road, raised slightly above sea level -- it was probably dry at low tide before the road was built. On the Head, a small pier, at which awaits a small speedboat. An older man sits in it, and raises a hand in a wave as the two tourists approach.

"He's just going to take us over to Saint James," Ravn tells Ariadne. "There's no other way to access the island. The camping ground is for boaters. I thought about it but then we'd spend most of the day travelling up the coast and might not get to see the whales at all -- and that was kind of the point. If we like it here, nothing stops us from sailing up on the Vagabond sometime."

"Well! You're going to get all the enthusiastic," Ariadne assures the Dane as they walk. Samwise, having marked his tree (or four at this point) is more content to stick to her side now and watch the wildlife fly overhead. Birds, he can't get -- it's those land mammals all must watch out for. "And I promise not to get too lost in double-checking fins. You won't really need that book." Ravn gets a far more coy glance for a second, accompanied by a curling sliver of grin.

But alas: the pier and the speedboat. No randomly seeing about enticing the Dane to kiss her.

The pier and the speedboat are also explained. "Ah, cool. Let's see how it goes? I don't want to commit to future boating plans if we're not certain about it," she agrees. 'If' being the critical part about liking the place. With a rolling lift-shrug of a shoulder, she adjusts the duffel bag as they approach. "So, this cabin is really...like, really private? Nobody else on the island? Or just secluded?" she asks Ravn after returning the older man's wave and giving a polite grin.

"I was assured we'd have a cabin to ourselves. There may be others in the other cabins, but the idea is that they're not door to door but scattered in the woods." Ravn grins slightly. "Might have to not run around the woods in the buff if we want privacy. But our campfire? Should have that and the cabin to ourselves at least. Which works for me since honestly, there are a lot of things in thick woods that I don't want to meet while naked anyhow."

It's not a far trip across. Just around the Head, and then across a narrow sound to Saint James for a slightly larger pier; there's room at it for some ten to twenty sail boats though presently, only a few are there -- it is very early in the season.

"If you need anything, you'll have to call," the boat owner tells Ravn. "Everything should be in order, though. Have a very pleasant night." Somebody got Ariadne's innuendo; whether Ravn did is -- as at most times -- anyone's guess.

And then they're on their own. Not that the island is large enough to get lost on; a path leads towards an open campground -- small -- and a number of secluded little cabins. Luxurious they aren't -- but there's a communal shower and an electricity source for recharging electrical devices. Most of all there's quiet -- the island is forest covered and the only noises are made by waves and birds.

Ariadne shoots a glance at their boat driver and leans in to reply sotto-voce to Ravn, "I don't want to run around the woods in the buff, but maybe lounge on the cabin porch in just my bathrobe? That's another thing entirely."

But then, they've traveled and here they are and the barista's cheeks sport a pastel-pink blush at the bidding from the boat driver. "Thanks," she still calls back even as she settles the duffle bag on her shoulder and turns away. Yep: conversation done, cabin time. She pauses for Ravn to catch up -- and because she doesn't know which cabin is rented in his name. Samwise prances about a little, intrigued as he's been the entire time about proceedings.

"Alright, Jeeves." A wink at Ravn. He's certainly not British nor is he a butler. "Which little place is home-sweet-home for the night?"

"The one furthest towards the east side. I asked for the one with the best view of the ocean -- just in case your finny buddies decide to pass by." Ravn grins slightly. He's in a great mood -- so far, everything has gone exactly as he hoped for.

It's not a far walk. And it is indeed not a big deal. A cabin consisting of a single room with a flat area in which to curl up in sleeping bags or blankets. A small space heater has been placed in a corner in case the May night turns out to be cold -- but apart from that, it's shelter from the wind and little else. If there are other people around, they're not right around the corner -- and maybe that's the whole point, that this little shelter can be used for quiet bird- and whale watching, more or less undisturbed.

Honey warblers are birds. Ravn intends to watch one.

First, though, he plonks his duffel inside. "I cheated a bit. I paid the campground owner to supply blankets because I figured we didn't want to carry a whole car-load's worth of stuff. All of this -- the plane, the camp ground -- is still less than if we'd gone for a day trip to a luxury hotel somewhere. This early in the season, it's quiet and they're just happy to get patrons at all."

"Ooh." Short and sweet, the approval of the reasoning behind the choice of cabin. Ariadne follows slightly behind Ravn up the path to the cabin in question. Samwise, once inside and with his leash dropped, immediately goes to trot about the place with nose both in the air and on the ground. The barista watches him close for a time, even pausing in setting down the duffel bag.

No alert. She reports this: "Sam says there's no mice or rats, which is good." Now, she sets down her duffel bag alongside the one carried by Ravn. Rising up onto her toes in a stretch dedicated up to her reaching fingers, the barista then sighs.

And grins. "So. Looks like we're here...aaaalllll by ourselves..." Singsonging this, the redhead just happens to simper her way over to the Dane. Looking up into his eyes, she then shimmies her shoulders. "And I've got presents for you."

Truly: the puffs of mystery in the interior pockets of her vest -- though her smile and rather sultry look certainly promise more than these alone eventually.

The quiet, appreciative grin speaks volumes. "I have a feeling tonight might be a very nice evening. What do you say we unpack and make our nest, and then settle down with sandwiches and the sea? Everything at its time. I have something else for you too -- it's not a big deal, but, I think you'll like it." Ravn sets his duffel bag down and starts rummaging through it -- there's the camera, it goes indoors at the foot end in case of rain. There's the box of pre-packaged sandwiches from the deli. And there's the beers -- cans of pale ale and darker beer, three of each. He fishes those out and takes the few steps down to the surf where he sticks them in the wet sand to cool off in nature's fridge.

"I'm not much of a camper," he says as he walks back. "Mostly for health reasons. But also because I didn't like my father's way of camping -- calling in advance, having everything arranged and people standing by to sort everything out. This feels more, well, real. We may not see whales again but even if we don't, it'll still be a beautiful night together."

Approval still flickers through Ariadne's eyes. She takes a step to one side to watch the duffel bag's rummaging and what emerges from it. Camera, check. Sandwiches and beers, ah, very good. The marine biologist appreciates the closeness of the water now; not only is the sound of the surf soothing, but the fact of the beers twisted to sit in the sand and cool makes her smile to herself all the more.

"It'll be delightful, absolutely," the redhead agrees as the Dane returns. "And yes, this is a more real camping, I agree. I don't mind that it's a building and not a tent. I'm not...totally comfortable with tent camping, honestly. Too many things can get in. I like sleeping and knowing there's a lock on a door, if you will." She then turns her attention to the duffel bag she brought in.

"So what's in this one?" comes the question as she kneels down to unzip the duffel bag. Samwise meanders over to see as well, wagging his tail as he arrives.

"Mostly clothes. I figured that it's only May, we might need a solid sweater and some warm socks extra. And in case it rains, a spare pair of sweat pants for each. I bought a couple of one-use tooth brushes that can be tossed away safely, and a small pack of muesli bars and a tin of instant coffee. Breakfast in the morning will be nothing special but the idea is that we get in the boat and get dropped off on Lopez Island where there's a number of restaurants. Or we go back to the airfield and have Jackson pick us up if we're drowned rats who just want to go home."

He plonks the duffel into the cabin; it needs to stay dry too -- not that there's a cloud threatening rain in sight but you never know on an island. Then he walks up and attempts to put hits hands on Ariadne's waist. "I didn't make wild and exciting plans for the evening. I figured that between the ocean and the woods and the campfire, we might have enough to keep us busy. There's a lot to be said for peace and quiet -- and if we want to go clubbing in Seattle sometime, we can. It's not like we have to do everything at once."

"No, we don't need to do everything at once." Ravn's hands settle on the young woman's waist and her own slide around his sides to enable her to hug her body against him. She looks up at him sweetly rather than with any heat. "I'm a worker in a very public field of retail. I need to be 'on' all day long. I only get quiet at home when work is done. A little quiet now? Like this, with the waves and the birds? This...is very welcome," she reassures her boyfriend. "Besides..."

A glance over at Samwise who's gone and pulled a sphynx by his posture; he's apparently the look-out for anything odd, his nose twitching now.

"Can't take Sam clubbing. I'm not a huge fan of clubbing and we'd need to take along Dita, I think, maybe Una -- though that might be a bit much for her. Itzhak, maybe he'd tag along. Maybe Jules or Della -- I dunno, more than just the two of us," Ariadne laughs quietly. "Anyways... I'm good for some quiet. I'm good for instant coffee and breakfast on Lopez Island if there's no soggy rain. Maybe you can read your book to me for a little."

"I'm tempted to suggest that you take Dita and the others, and leave me at home." Ravn laughs softly. "I never know what to do with myself in loud, crowded places."

He leans in to plant a kiss on Ariadne's forehead. Then a hand sneaks into a pocket and something is snuck up around her neck real quiet; the click of a small lock and congratulations, the woman is collared. Well, necklaced.

"I'm just grateful you're here," he tells her, softly. "And that you understand this -- on both levels. That I'm not one for much noise and gusto -- but that doesn't mean you can't be. We're not conjoined twins. There is a time for peace and there is a time for getting your noise on."

Kiss is planted and the barista leans into it with her dark lashes closed. It means she doesn't feel the presence of the necklace until the length of the chain actually settles a smallest tug of weight on the collar of her shirt.

Blink-blink. "Er, yes, absolutely. I would rather you be comfortable at home -- the apartment," Ariadne amends with a faint betraying blush even as she tucks chin to try and see what's now resting about her neck. "I'll go clubbing with Dita and the others. What -- "

Fingers now reach to feel at what hangs from the necklace's length.

It's pink and mother-of-pearl together. The outline of a leaping orca, tall fin up to attach to a narrow gold chain. The black parts of the orca silhouette is pink clam shell; the white is too, but turned around so that its mother-of-pearl shines and reflects the sunlight. It's cut from the shell Ariadne found on the beach, and set into a small band of gold -- a simple job, really, and one that Ravn must have had some goldsmith make on request. The material value isn't much -- but he hopes that the symbolic value will be.

"I thought that day on the beach -- finding that shell and then dancing in the grass." Half sentences for the win. "It was a special day. I wanted to keep it."

"Oh...!"

Such a little sound full of so much emotion. Ariadne finds the diadem and turns it to better face herself. Look at her fret her bottom lip as a fingertip brushes over the surface of the orca design.

"Oh, just...just look at that," she whispers before her eyes rise to Ravn's face. "I love how you recognize things."

Since I love you is too early still.

But oh, the promise in her kiss as she leans in to grant it to the Dane. It's not just the necklace -- it's everything, from how he showed up on Lola Bianca today to how he'd showed up in the café in the first place. He'd made pigs fly. It feels a little like she's flying too.

Cue Samwise: ...woooooo-woo-woo.

"God-DAMNIT, Sam?!"

Ravn holds Ariadne close; he gets it, he gets what's not being said, and he certainly shares the sentiment. He'd accepted that he wasn't made for relationships -- and then, there she was, and willing to accept him as the eccentric, often solitary person that he is. It may be too early to say I love you but it is not too early to say I love this, indeed.

And then here's Sam, getting his opinion in. Ravn laughs and takes a half-step back. "You're a jealous git, you know that? I promise, I'm not eating her."

"No, come back here," grumbles Ariadne good-naturedly as she tries to pull Ravn back up against her again. Samwise just continues wagging his tail and observing them with perked triangle-flop ears. "Sam can stop being a jealous little furry asshole and deal with it." Her eyes slide to the dog. "Look, buddy."

She points at the sighthound. "Deal with it."

More tail wag. Wag-wag-wag.

"And you?" Her hazel eyes twinkle up at Ravn once more. "Kiss me again, that was wonderful -- and then sandwiches?"

Who's Ravn to argue? He holds Ariadne against himself, pulling her close, and leans in for a long, gentle kiss. If Sam wants to make a fuss? Let him. Go explore something, Sam.

Then he pulls back and offers a light smile. "And now, we make camp and settle with sandwiches. We light the fire a bit later, when it starts to get dark, yes? There's plenty firewood but it feels silly to light it already. Might want to take a walk around the island or down the beach or play with the camera -- or all three. And then light the fire and roast marshmallows. I'm afraid dinner is also a batch of pre-packaged food. There's a bit of a restaurant shortage on James Island, I've noticed."

Wooooo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-wooooooooooo...

Pavarotti indeed, though Sam interestingly keeps his voice down, as it were. Or perhaps it's the vastness of the space around them.

Either way, Ariadne emerges when the kiss breaks and gives her man a dozy blink. The sighthound is ignored for the immediate moment given he's not suddenly cavorting off after any four-footed mammal (or seagulls). "Oh dearie me, pre-packaged food. We'll just have to make do because of this restaurant shortage. Alas. Such sorrow. But I like the idea of a fire later, yes, after we get back from a walk along the beach. Maybe around the whole island? If it's not trespassing, I don't want to walk on anyone's property and all. But I bet there's going to be some amazing sand dollar beds around here. Seals too, depending on the beach structure." Ravn gets a lazy grin. "Bring your camera with?"

Making sure that anything that might be required dry is indeed inside the shelter, Ravn fishes out his camera and wears it on its strap around his neck. "I'm pretty sure there is nothing to trespass on. The island is kind of pristine -- there are no houses, no roads. And it's small enough that a walk around should take an hour or two at most."

Not that he has any objections to this. And if the walk means Sam will be tired tonight, all the better. There's a thing or two the be said for snuggles around a campfire -- things that don't need to be vocalised enthusiastically by the dog.

Ravn glances at him. "And that also means he can't really run off -- unless of course you think he might try to swim away."

Samwise is given a drily-fond look. He returns it with doe-brown eyes and lifted ears. Yes? Wut. A wag-wag of a feathery-white tail. "Nah, he's not a swimmer...but he doesn't get free reign here, even if there's nobody but us. I don't need him bringing me back a squirrel or dumb seagull. He's unfortunately fast enough," Ravn is informed with a rueful sigh and glance from the barista. "Thank-you-but-no, y'know? He stays on-leash for now. Imagine trying to sleep tonight and he smells like the dead flounder he found and rolled on."

Just imagine it, Ravn. Imagine it.

"Let's take sandwiches with? The beers can stay? Well, if there's no water bottles anywhere. I admittedly didn't bring one." A little wince and admission that Ariadne was caught up in the whirlwind of pleased surprise.

"I have a two liters bottle of sparkling water and a two liters bottle without sparkles, for instant coffee making. Beyond that, we're stuck with what the ocean gives us." Ravn laughs softly. "Where by stuck I mean that if something is desperately needed enough there's always calling the bloke with the boat and asking for a delivery. Pretty sure he'd fetch us take-out from Vancouver, if I pay him enough, that's not the problem."

He hoists his little shoulder bag up and opens it, and packs sandwiches and water bottles and camera and a bottle of wine into it.

This is where the sane person will object, it's not big enough for that.

This is why you don't ask a sane person's opinion.

As Sam is fetched up by his leash, Ariadne chimes out laughter. It does sound quieter in the vastly open space -- it's not just her own senses being off.

"If you've got room in that your baggage there, let's pack a sparkling water? Or, no, let me see about getting Sam some water first and we'll just make do with the wine...?" More giggling as she goes to find this bottle of flat water, the sighthound in attendance. "Oh man. Are we drinking out of the bottle? Because I kind of want to drink out of the bottle. No cooties or backwash is going to survive in that," notes the barista in shameless fun as she uncaps the flat water. Samwise drinks out of her palm as she pours into it and once the sighthound is done, the bottle is capped once more -- well, after another pour over her hands and consequential wipe-off on jeans. We're camping, not glamping here.

"Alright, let's get a-walkin'. My legs could use the motion for a bit. Cessnas are tiny planes and boats requiring more sitting in to avoid going overboard."

"Oh, plenty room," Ravn says and tucks the bottle in there too. "I've got no glasses, sorry -- only a couple of plastic cups that will have to do for pretty much everything. I brought three plastic bowls -- one for each of us, and I figured Sam will inhale his food fast enough he can drink out of his bowl too."

He slings the little rucksack over one shoulder. "So, by the way, folding space is a thing and it is awesome. And yeah -- my legs can do with a bit more exercise too. Let's find the best picnic spot on the beach. I think it's too cold to go for a swim -- it would be back home still, and you got glacial melt which we don't."

Ariadne can't help another peal of giggling. She replies as she walks over to join him and off they go, Samwise in tow. "Oh good lord -- swimming is a no, nooooo way, it's...how do I put this politely."

Oh god.

"Your balls would squeal and crawl up into you faster than a wolf spider faced with a blowtorch." How's that for an image? Then it seems to occur to her, the particular wording Ravn used. Sudden barista brakes. "Wait. Folding space. You don't mean like putting your tray up on the plane. Folding...space." Eyebrows try to climb up into her hair. "Wait. Wait, no. No fucking way. You -- "

A look at the shoulder bag now. "...is that a motherfucking Bag of Holding? Did you just break reality?"

Ravn grins; a sheepish, proud grin, like a boy who learned a great big trick and has been sitting on it all day, waiting for someone to ask. "Rosencrantz showed me. I'd seen it done before, but I'd never tried it. I haven't packed too much -- just, easier to carry stuff like this than a whole duffel bag, right?"

He shrugs helplessly. "I have no idea how it works. I had to stop thinking about how it works, to make it work. Had to think -- well, yeah, Dungeons & Dragons. Pocket dimension. Portable black hole. Whatever. It works."

"NO WAY."

Dating a scientist comes with the potentially hilarious instinct to immediately check out any new curiosity. As such, there's Ariadne carefully opening the shoulder bag to try and peer into it. "Oh my god, how -- what -- no way. No fucking way. Itzhak knew how to do this and didn't tell me?!" It's only half a complaint anyhow. "Holy shit, there's -- oh my god, it does all fit. Ravn, what else is in here?" The man gets another boggled look.

"Not a whole lot more because I'm still new at this and I kind of want to make sure that if I fuck it up somehow and lose it all, at least I've lost nothing of value." Ravn makes a helpless little shrug. "It gives me a headache to think about -- but it works. He makes it look so very easy -- and it actually frightens me how easy it is. These things should be difficult, you know? Make you practise forever, do a training montage of three months, carry Yoda around on your back while doing handstands. And instead it's just -- voila, no big deal."

He holds the bag over for inspection, though. It's a shoulder bag, the kind of bag you carry a laptop in. There is no laptop in it presently. The top of a water bottle. The sandwhich box. Nothing weird.

Water bottle lid. Box o' sandwiches. Somehow, there should be a wine bottle too...and a camera.

Ariadne still blinks down at the bag as she opens it to peer more. "...well, good goddamn," mutters the young woman before offering the bag back to Ravn. "If you hadn't shown me that I could move rocks, I would be convinced you have a place on a stage in Vegas and ask you what the hell you're doing here in the backwaters of Washington, family and fame aside." A laugh or two before she shakes her head. "Wow. The possibilities."

Watch her face temporarily blue-screen. Too many possibilities.

"Welp, you've blown my mind more than once today. I'm not sure how much more it can take," Ariadne then laughs, motioning for them to get walking. Finally, Sam seems to think.

"I'm still digesting this one too," Ravn admits and falls into stride. "And because I can't explain how it works or where stuff goes, I don't think I want to put anything in there that'd be a great loss. No stashing my library, that sort of thing."

His gloved hand seeks out Ariadne's. "I have this idea -- that all these things we can do, they're part of the whole make us stay thing. Rewards, if you will. Getting used to things that we might not be able to do if we were further away from the thin spot. Or we'd forget that we could. So we stay, and they throw us some nice toys. But they are nice toys."

Fingers interlace as they get to walking. The lay of the land seems to be primarily dedicated to an orange-green carpeting of fallen evergreen needles where the land plateaus above its inevitable wear-line to the pebbly stretches of beach below. The beach itself is broken up by juts of land and boulders left behind by glaciers, these boulder decorated with dried barnacles and seaweed alike where the water isn't high enough during this point of the tide. Samwise seems content to walk fairly sedately as they go, sniffing here and there within the range of his ten-foot leash.

"I'm...okay with rewards, I guess." It still makes Ariadne frown mildly. "I hope I wouldn't forget that I can do things outside of here, but that's me being selfish, I guess. There's something to be said about fetching the Playstation controller without getting up from the couch," she laughs quietly.

"You'd probably still be able to do that. At least I've been able to do things like that all my life." Ravn keeps his hand curled around Ariadne's as they walk; a continuing game of braid and re-braid those fingers. "The big things like healing dramatic injuries or opening gateways to other realities -- maybe not. And then again, who are we to say? We have legends and stories of people who disappeared from places they should not have been able to leave, and they founded a religion based on the guy who raised the dead. This all teaches you to look at history and legends in a new way, you realise?"

The seagulls cry overhead. James Island may not be large and it's certainly not crowded -- but the people who come here are campers and boaters, and the resident sea birds know very well that those tend to have a lot of leftover food because really, no one cares much for camp food. The toast gets burned, the chicken is still raw, and the cheese tastes weird after a night in a bag -- plenty to steal and beg for here.

"Oh, no, I definitely realize. After you showed me how you could make Peppa the Pig fly? Sure, I was dubious. After me moving the rock? I was at home a few nights later and I realized I'd stopped watching the movie I was watching twenty-five minutes back because my brain starting comparing organized religion with the shit it's possible to get away with around here. I woke up Sam laughing at myself and I...definitely had a beer after that. It..."

Ariadne falls quiet for a short time as they walk. The seagulls circle and Samwise squints up at them. No cheese down here, just a dog waiting to play tag. "...it's hard to compartmentalize sometimes, all of the things we can do. You can do. The fact that you've apparently got so much power that you can walk through dimensional walls. That I can say things to people in my head. But like you said about your Bag of Holding, think too much about it and it doesn't happen at all. It's...kind of a mindfuck still though."

"It really is," Ravn agrees quietly. "And one that it's probably going to take me a long time to sort out in my mind. I'm an academic too -- I want sources, references, facts, lists, past records. There aren't any. How does it work? Well, when you want it bad enough."

The island really is not very large. There is not a path as such -- but narrow strips of sand make it reasonably easy to pick one's way along the water line. Shaped a bit like a figure eight, the island narrows in the middle -- where the campground is -- and then fans out to two circles. It's no wonder it's become a campground for boaters -- the sheltered sound on one side in which to moor or lie at berth, and then the great view of the Sound -- and not enough land to use for anything else.

"If it's a thing of willpower, that's a very interesting equalizer in the end. Do you -- proverbial you -- have enough willpower to be staunch and withstand any pain that's going to happen." A faint laugh and guilty look comes over her face. "I gave myself a nosebleed one day trying too hard to move things," she admits to Ravn. "I'd been moving little things for too long, I guess. The headache was awful and I kept seeing things twitch afterwards that weren't moving at all. Thank god for Aleve and Sam cuddling with me, I was so sick for the rest of the day. I know better now."

Another glance at Ravn as they pick their way down a stretch of semi-pebbly beach. "I don't want you to hurt yourself if you can manage it, okay? I know it's stupid of me to ask because I respect your decisions too, but...I don't like seeing you hurt."

"Aleve?" Ravn quirks an eyebrow. Some neighbour's dog he's not familiar with? Some hangover remedy he's not familiar with? Then he nods. "Yeah. I've had a nosebleed once or twice. Once, things stuck to my gloves for a bit, like magnets. I've seen worse -- Kailey Holt overdid it once and everything in the parking lot started melting like a Dali painting. You know the one, with the melting clocks."

He pauses to point at a particularly enterprising starfish. "I'm probably going to get hurt every so often. It seems to be part of the parcel for living in Gray Harbor. But I promise to not get cocky."

"Aleve is a painkiller, more heavy-duty than Advil or Aspirin. It's the only thing that puts a dent in my headaches," Ariadne explains. She winces to hear of Ravn's nosebleeds in turn. Kailey's incident has her mouth dropping open and eyebrows attempting to crawl into her hairline. "Holy shit. Yeah, melting clocks."

Samwise too spots the starfish and pads over to sniff it over before giving it a blep. Ew, salty. It makes his owner snort softly to herself despite the topic at hand. "Blood starfish," she notes of the brightly-colored little thing about the size of a teacup saucer. It's certainly named to match its natural hue. "And I know... I know you're not going to be cocky. I know you're going to think and you're going to act when needed and...it still sucks. Yeah. We're both going to get hurt now and then because the Veil can't let us have fun minus consequences. Thank god you're a folklorist. I have the suspicion we're going to need some good stories and excuses for some of the scars." A wry little smile for Ravn.

A starfish is a starfish is a starfish, and that's all right. Ravn won't remember its designation five minutes from now -- and he doesn't mind. It's a relief to be talking with someone who is like himself in this regard -- full of academic passion and strange trivia. He loves it -- because what Ariadne tells him is interesting and because in some roundabout way it gives him permission to also point out whatever random thing comes into his mind as she speaks. There's a liberated feeling in not having to watch your mouth because no one wants to hear the professor give a lecture.

And she's right. "We are both going to get hurt," Ravn cedes. "But we are also going to be careful, and to not run blindly into danger. We can refrain from planting Veil figs in an artificial biome created and supported by faerie." Shade, thrown. Mad scientist gotta science, but that doesn't mean Ravn will ever understand the mindset behind that logic.

"Definitely can confirm that I'm not about to play with anything from the other side of the Veil. Nope. We don't know enough -- as in, the collective of the entire city of Grey Harbor, we -- about what that stuff does when enabled around here. Planted, played, swished, insert your verb here. Nope. Nopety-nope."

The next boulder contains a few more blood starfish and a single purplish one, which Ariadne is quick to point out: "Ochre sea star, and yes: ochre is a red-orange color, but they come in purple as well. Weird little unexplainable polymorphism." It makes the marine biologist grin to consider. Maybe one day, someone will figure it out. She then doesn't look necessarily coy, but thoughtful with formulation of an idea behind her eyes. These skate away to Sam and then up and along the shoreline itself.

"So...if I told you I had access to something pretty interesting, would you be interested in turn? It'd involve a day in Seattle and stuff, but..."

A gleaming side-look towards the Dane.

"You had me at 'day in Seattle', or really, at 'day with you'." Ravn grins back. "I'm not a marine biologist. I do love the ocean, though, and you won't have to work hard to convince me to look at interesting ocean things. Or nature things in general. Or really, I think the parties and crowds thing is probably the only thing you may have to put some effort into convincing me of joining."

He squeezes her fingers as they walk; the Sound is opening up in front of them, with the mainland in the distance, and a little south, the Salish Sea where the orca pod was playing in the water almost as if a show had been booked with some preternatural wildlife agent. "There are advantages to living far away enough from Seattle to not get the whole big city feel, but being close enough to go and take advantage of all its offers."

Look at the little purse-lipped smile. All Ariadne is missing is the whiskers to her stifled smirk.

"Hell yes, there are advantages. I love the idea of it being far enough away that I get my privacy, for one." And harassment only comes via text or phone call from the familial half of things. "And it means a commitment to enjoy the day, two. Three, the lack of density of the population. I thought for a little bit that Grey Harbor was going to drive me nuts because it'd be quiet, but pffffffft. Joke's on me!" She can't help but laugh with a faint twinge of exasperation. Joke's on anyone who thinks Grey Harbor is quiet.

"But it wouldn't be anything regarding the ocean," the marine biologist then teases with another innocent look at Ravn. "Nothing to do with parties and crowds either, so don't worry about that." A return squeeze of his hand. Sam pauses to give a certain patch of the beach a dedicated sniff; it means Ariadne, paused as well, keeps a very close eye on him because dead flounder? Dead anything would be fine in Sam's book.

Ravn steals a kiss of a cheek. "So it will be something else that interests you. I know you won't knowingly drag me into something I hate. So as far as I am concerned? Bring it on. And if it turns out I hate it? Well, then we don't do it again. I'm not sure what I'd have done today if you'd told me you hated flying. But, then we'd just have done something else -- and none the worse for the wear, right?"

He probably spent quite a while worrying about it. He's that kind of man. He probably had a backup plan involving a fast car to the nearest mainland port.

For the stolen kiss, a giggle and half-coquettish tuck of chin. "I really, really promise that you'll like it, okay? I need some time to pull a few strings, but hey, I can be charming if I want to be." Ravn also gets an outlandish flutter of lashes before Ariadne checks in on the sighthound. Thank god he hasn't chosen to roll in whatever needed this dedicated sniff-over; instead, he simply lifts a leg to mark it.

His rock. The world may now continue.

"I vote sandwiches up at the those boulders there," and the barista nods towards a small collection of rocks tucked to a gently-sloping knoll. It'll afford them a view of the waters spreading out to separate islands from mainland. No doubt a few opportunistic seagulls might attend upon them as well, but that's what Sam is for. "Maybe sit on the hill? That way, Sam can lie down and relax a bit."

"This is a good plan and I approve of it." Ravn nods firmly. He also firmly approves of Sam getting to be tired out -- because if the windhound sleeps like a rock later, he has every intention of using the quiet time to snuggle his mistress -- Sam's mistress that is -- without Sam having the presence of mind to be jealous.

It's not difficult to climb; slightly shorter grass suggests that they are not the first campers on James Island to do so, either. At least there are no discarded plastic bags and water bottles lying around -- the people who camp here either know to clean up after themselves, or the campground owner does.

"You're not wrong, though. It's a bit ironic that you go to a city like Seattle for peace and quiet but there you go." Ravn laughs. "Seattle is hectic, sure, but at least you know what to expect. Back home, we don't have that luxury."

No picnic blanket to set down, but the length of the grass and general upkeep does speak to an aversion to letting the sea grass go wild. Samwise seems content to plop down with a doggy huff and lightly pant, surveilling his domain down below with triangle-flop ears lifted.

Ariadne too sits down with a faint grunt and follows Ravn's movement. "I mean, is it so ironic? There's going to be places in any big city where it's quiet -- nooks and crannies that only the locals know about, or they know when the lulls are. Stuff along the outskirts. What do you mean about not having the luxury back home? Like you can't expect quiet? The big cities are that unpredictable...?" A hue of disbelief colors her questions. No way. Right?

"The big cities have quiet places if you look hard enough for them. In Gray Harbor there are plenty quiet places but you never know when something is going to come slinking out of the shadows. You can never really relax, let down your guard. I need my trips to the city to stay sane. Even when it's just two hours on the highway, hand over a stack of letters to my lawyer, and two hours back. It's still four hours in which I am relatively certain nothing strange is going to happen." Ravn nods.

Then he smiles. "Not that the strange is always bad. Those Cozumel dreams? They're gorgeous. And some of the dreams are plain funny, like the Zorro one. But you still have to be on guard."

Back and forth, Ariadne tilts her head. Yes, it makes sense: four hours of lack of crazy. She'd take it too. Ravn grins and it prompts an echoed expression from her which flowers into a laugh at his full thought.

"Okay, I need you know that I'm actually a better rider than that and it still makes me wince that I landed on you." Rolling her eyes, the barista shakes her head. "It was funny though, it was. Married to Una. Who would have guessed -- and Cozumel, yeah. The way you and Dita describe it, it was beautiful. It makes me wish I could get sucked into a Dream where that place was featured, but...knowing my luck, it'll be somewhere in the Badlands with those goddamned macaques throwing popcorn at me because I can't defeat a rock at poker or something. Think about it. A rock's poker face. Impossible to suss out tells there." Making fun of the Dreams seems safest, after all, and is a silent admission of the very serious amount of caution Ariadne treats them with in turn.

"Whatcha kinda sandwiches do you got in your pick-a-nick basket there, bud?" she then asks of the shoulder bag.

Blurgurglerumpfffglge.

"...I mean, my stomach wants to know," laughs the redhead.

"Your stomach gets to pick between ham and cheese, chicken and bacon, and BLTs because those were what I could get pre-made on short notice. The grandest feast in the history of mankind this certainly isn't -- but I figured that the surroundings would make up for it, and there's no one saying we can't go to a proper restaurant some other time." Ravn smiles a little. He's not picky about food -- or well, he is, because he has issues with the whole concept of eating, which means he's more picky about quantity than quality.

"If I had known just a few days more in advance I'd probably have managed to make slightly more exciting arrangements but then, it might have rained cats and dogs so on the whole? I am not about to complain." The folklorist packs out a box of sandwiches and then glances at a tin of dog food. "Do we want to feed Sam now, or later? I'll readily admit, I have no idea how often he eats. My father firmly believed in feeding dogs morning and evening but only five days a week. Said it was better for them to fast intermittently."

"Huh. That's interesting. I...don't really see the advantage of fasting a dog, especially if it's a working dog, unless there's a health reason for it. Sam decided he eats twice a day though, so he can eat once we're back at the cabin and we're done walking. It's strategic, I promise. A walk around the island, all the excitement, and then a full stomach? He won't make a peep. I'll have to make sure he's still breathing," laughs Ariadne quietly. Reaching over, she gets to squish-scritching Samwise's head until he does a content doggy groan; oh yes please.

She then eyes the sandwich boxes. "How about a BLT for me? And a cup of wine, please and thank you, to go with the glorious scenery and the even more gorgeous company." Her fingers find their way to the orca diadem hanging off the fine necklace chain and she holds it up where she can see it again. It gets a long look full of many things: pleased sheepishness, plain delight, sparkling pride. "It's so pretty," she whispers half to herself before giggling just as softly.

"I'm glad you like it," Ravn says with a small smile and hands over a wrapped sandwich upon which is scrawled 'blt' in ball pen. He picks up a 'c+h' for himself and then rootles around until he's found the plexiglass glasses he uses on the Vagabond and the bottle of wine. Extradimensional holding spaces? Apparently quite useful for stashing bottles and food. This one is a simple Californian red -- no need to overcomplicate things.

He glances at the pendant. "It's not particularly valuable -- simple gold chain and the setting, and, well, sea shell. But I thought it'd make you happier than some store designed piece, because you found this shell. And you found it on a day that we thoroughly enjoyed, together. To me at least, that sort of thing carries greater significance because you can always find a more expensive piece, but you can't always find one that represents a beautiful memory."

"It's a thousand times better than any store-bought piece because yes: it immediately makes me think of the ocean air and wildflowers and dancing with you and it makes me just..." Ariadne thinks. "Giddy," she decides with a silly smile as she then leaves off scritching Sam's head in order to unwrap her sandwich. The sighthound beside her lifts ears -- ooh, some for me? By the way the barista ignores him (for the nonce), this is an old ploy she's very used to fielding. The dog will simply have to wait and see if his owner decides he can have a tidbit or two pending on what's in the sandwich.

She then notices the glasses and can't help but laugh. "And those remind me of when I visited your boat and it wasn't for scraping off barnacles." Another sigh. "Ravn. Dancing on the deck of your boat. God, there's another wonderful memory. I...yeah, I admit it now, I over-dressed a little for that, but I wanted to make an impression." She isn't hellbent on defending her stance there; more chuckling leaves her.

"And you did make an impression." Ravn laughs softly at the memory; it's certainly one he's fond of as well. "You always do -- but yes, I can tell when you dress to impress. And it makes me smile -- because I am the one you want to impress. It's very flattering."

He pours wine and offers one glass over. "I could get real glasses. But I prefer these -- more so with Sam and Kitty around. Leaving broken glass in strange places is not a good idea. We'll use real glasses when we are eating and drinking at places with tables and chairs. There's something to be said for crystal glasses for rosé in particular -- but really, most people aren't snobs enough to care. I am, but it is a sacrifice I am willing to make."

One glass offered is taken. Ariadne sniffs at the wine as if she might divine something from it and ends up with the conclusion that it's a nice California red, just as the label on the bottle appears to read. "Crystal glasses for rosé. Huh. Is it something to do with the light hitting it and aromatic notes or it's just plain pretty? I admit, I don't have a lot of experience with rosé wines. Reds are my go-to. A lot of the white wines are a little too dry, in my experience. It makes me a little dubious of the rosé variant, but hey, if you've got a favorite, I'd love to try it."

No doubt she gets her explanation; a thoughtful nod. Ravn then gets a sweet grin. A lift of the plexiglass. "To you, dearheart, and your amazing ability to make a good day even better. To more dances in the meadows and more orcas and waking to see the sunrise beside you," she toasts, beginning at a normal volume and then fading to a softer, more intimate ending.

"I don't like wines that are so dry or full of tannin that they make your tongue grow fur in self defence." Ravn nods his agreement. "A white wine -- and a rosé -- should be pleasant. Refreshing, like water but better. A white Rhône wine may be hailed to kingdom come and back in Robin Hood but it tastes like a fox' piss smells. If I want to drink something sour that turns my mouth into a chicken's arse, I'll eat a lemon instead."

He ponders. "It's the glass itself. You know how some people say Coke tastes different in a glass bottle or a plastic bottle? It's true. Provided your taste buds are sensitive enough. Which is not to say that Coke tastes bad in plastic, and neither does this excellent red."

He raises the glass to clink it gently against hers. "To meadow dances. To orcas and fry stealing seagulls. To walks in the woods and to laughing when Sam interrupts a tender moment by singing the song of his people. To doing anything at all, as long as we do it together. And yes, also to waking to the sunrise tomorrow morning and doing it again because why not."

Despite the sweetly-private conclusions of both toasts, Ariadne can't help but giggle again. The sighthound is given a Look. "You hear that, mister? You're allowed to sing the song of your people...but not too much." A finger wagging at Sam merely makes him tilt his head and flop his tail twice. What now what? I get some bacon from your sandwich?

Glasses clinked, the barista then sips at the wine. "Mmm," she lauds with a mulling of her tongue across her bottom lip. "This is good. I'm not overly picky, but it's good. One time, if we can, can you show me what you mean about the rosé in the crystal glass? I've never paid too much attention to the fact of the glass's make-up, like plastic verses crystal, and now I'm curious." But of course she's curious. "And since nobody's going to hear you talk about it except for me and Sam, now I'm really curious. What other...aspects of eating are like that? When you're a count? Is it like...the silver of the cutlery doesn't affect the taste of the food or something?"

"It depends." Ravn smiles lightly and attempts to answer the question in the spirit it's asked. "I mean, yes. The family dinners were up there. Fine porcelain, silver cutlery. Except for the eggs -- don't ever eat egg with silver, the silver turns black and the egg turns green."

He ponders. "Really not that different -- if you ignore the fact that there'd be a housekeeper doing the cooking and a maid serving. But the food itself -- I mean, we didn't do twelve course banquets any random Wednesday. The fancy occasions were often pretty ridiculous. But there is a taste difference -- have you ever had tea from eggshell china? It does taste better. Not in the way of let's eat off gold plate to show off -- it's a subtle change in flavour. I'm sure we can find a restaurant somewhere that has crystal glasses and eggshell china. Heaven knows I don't have either at Oak Three, because both needs to be hand washed and I'm far too busy to waste my time like that."

Ariadne's bite of her sandwich slows in its chewing while she listens until it's half a chipmunk cheek's worth of food paused. Her brows quirk, separate, lift and remain lifted until Ravn demurs from handwashing glasses.

It makes her snort-laugh. "See, that's understandable. I'm not a huge fan of handwashing either, but some things just need that careful once-over with hands and a sponge. I don't have anything like that. Nothing fancy. No silver or crystal or whatever -- and never green eggs. Ever. I am intrigued about the tea though. Really? Really really? It actually tastes better in eggshell china?" Okay, Sam, you do get a tidbit of bacon to nibble from your owner's fingers gently. Mmm, bacon. By how the sighthound slaps his tail against the crushed grass, he's hers for life. Oh, bacon.

"I don't think there'll be any difference to a regular cup of Earl Grey. If you're drinking a good green tea, though, or a good white -- yes, there is a difference. An absence of the porcelain's taste, if you will." Ravn picks at his sandwich. Fret not, Sam -- somebody's going to have to eat the half of it he'll inevitably abandon.

Then he smiles. "There are a lot of good things in life that are very expensive -- and sometimes, often, even, that's a reminder as to how ridiculous it can be, spending so much for so little. Like solid gold faucets in a bathroom -- seriously, your hands aren't going to get cleaner. Champagne from the Champagne District only -- when in fact, the Germans, and the rest of France, makes quite excellent bubblies. A lot of it is just about showing off. But a few things are doable without spending ridiculous amounts, and they are good. I don't want to buy crystal glasses and eggshell china for my use at home, but I do want to find a restaurant in Seattle now and show you."

Ariadne muses quietly to herself, "An absence of the porcelain's taste..." Another thoughtful nod. Huh. The things she learns. Samwise watches her attentively now; more bacon? Her eyes return to the Dane again as she continues chewing through another bite.

Gulp, bite swallowed. "I really would like to go experience this in a restaurant, Ravn, not because of the money, but because I do want to see if the taste changes. It's definitely not because of the money because yeah, you're right. Gold faucets. Ugh." Her nose wrinkles and relaxes again. "How fancy would I have to dress up for this restaurant? Should I go find something, like...you might wear to Sunday brunch with your crusty old aunt and uncle or something more than this?"

A glance at the dog. "Also, I know Sam's being cute, but I can smell onion and garlic in everything, and those aren't safe for him. So let me feed him nibbles, okay?"

Ravn nods. "I'm not giving him anything without your permission. We don't want to spend the evening looking after a sick dog."

Then he cants his head and nibbles on a bit of ham. "Well, I'll have to look around. But I am loathe to go somewhere that's so determinedly upper crust that you need to buy a dress to wear for it. I don't enjoy those places and I am quite sure you won't either. In a city the size of Seattle, there'll be some upscale but not idiotically upscale place that offers these things as an experience. After all, that's where the money is -- not with the idle rich who already have their gold faucets, but with the middle class who wants to play for an evening. Much like the Grand Olympic Casino back home."

"Thank you." Ariadne accompanies the reply with a visible motion and gentle pat-squeeze of Ravn's shoulder. Indeed, no need for a puking dog in a remote location. Samwise doesn't seem to recognize he's been denied deliciousness. He can be patient for more tidbits of bacon.

"I like how you think. If it's someplace like the casino back in Gray Harbor, then I bet I can get away with my cream sweater-dress again and a nice pair of shoes and call it good. Bringing up my hair into one of my fancier clips and donning a pair of earrings somehow makes that look far more fancy than it really is," she laughs wryly to herself. "If that's the requirement though, something not too fancy, I bet I can ask my dad. You know how company owners have to treat the investors now and then, so I bet he's got an idea of where might fit these variables -- and he won't be all nosy as hell about it like my mom. He'll just be easy-going and maybe ask me a few questions and then remind me to call my mother." A fond shake of her head.

"Why not? Never underestimate the knowledge of the natives." Ravn grins slightly. Then he looks at his sandwich and says, "It's not that I won't take you somewhere ridiculous if I thought you wanted to go. But I don't think that's what you want -- I am pretty certain you'd hate that whole crowd. Half the crowd hates that crowd -- for every businessman or lord who fancies being treated like that, there's a spouse and one or two kids who quietly wishes they'd gone to Disneyland like normal people. Believe me, I used to be one of those kids."

He chuckles. "It's a bit like Regency romances. Everyone enjoys looking at the costumes of the upper crust and the fancy dances, but if you actually had to be there, you'd realise how badly everyone smelled and how many bugs thrive in those changed-once-a-week undershirts."

More laughter bubbles up from the barista. "Oh my godddddddd," Ariadne drawl-giggles. "Noooooo! Noooooooo! They changed their shirts more often than that, you're kidding! Noooooo! Eeeeeeewwwwwwww!"

A piece of bacon falls out of the sandwich -- snap. It gone. Samwise licks his lips and looks none the wiser for its sudden disappearance. Those seagulls, man, like ninjas, it's nuts.

Giving the fingers of one hand a shake like she's got to remove the idea from her skin in turn, Ariadne shakes her head. "And you're definitely right, I don't want ultra-fancy. Just a chance to taste-test this theory of yours."

"It's not a theory." Ravn allows himself a smug little smile. It's not that he feels superior for knowing these things -- it's that he's feeling sixty shades of smug about having another thing to show Ariadne. Let a lifetime of sharing curious experiences commence!

He holds up a bit of ham from his own sandwich and arches an eyebrow rather than just feed it to Sam outright. "I want to have a list of things I need to show you that never ends. And to know that you have one for me that never ends. Because that's how it's supposed to be, right? That we do not try to change each other, but to share what makes us us. I don't think I've said, because I don't want to be that bloke who talks about nothing but his ex. It really means a lot to me that you are who you are, Ariadne. That you're confident in who you are -- and that you don't need to change yourself or me into some perception of what happiness ought to be."

Danish smug little smile? Returned after another bite of the sandwich by the redhead. The ham offered up is considered before Ariadne nods. "No more ham than that though," she adds after clearing her mouth out with a sip of the red wine.

She takes a moment to use her nails to comb loose hair back over her ear. It's partial shyness in the face of such a lauding statement from the man. "I...guess I just don't see why either of us have to be someone we aren't? Maybe that makes me selfish, but...it keeps things simpler too. No lies. Or, at least, less of the chance of any. I don't expect the world to care about me because I'm just a barista in a smaller sort of back-water city in Washington. But I expect you to care about me and you do -- my friends too, and really, that's all I can ask for in the long run." Ravn gets a quiet smile.

"The world generally doesn't care all that much about most people." Ravn offers a small smile before slipping the ham to his new best friend. "I'm just a history teacher in that same smaller sort of back-water city in Washington. And I care a great deal about you, and so do our friends. It's all we can ask for, and it's all we need. And yet to a lot of people, happiness is believed to be being somebody. Maybe to some of them, it is. To me, being somebody means doing something important enough to earn that influence. And I'm not, and I don't want to be, because I am utter shite at being in charge while I am in fact pretty good at connecting people and do teacher type things."

Ravn does, in fact, have a new best friend. Sam takes the offering of ham delicately in his front teeth and it disappears like he inhaled it. Lip lick and tail wag-wag-wag. I like this taller human.

Ariadne continues wearing her quiet smile. "Remember how I told you that you're basically the watchman at the gates? You haven't escaped being important enough to earn some influence. Maybe you're not a bombastic presence, but Ravn: you have power. You're not going to be able to avoid gaining respect and people looking up to you. I'm not saying it's easy to accept, but I am pointing it out. You don't have to be front and center -- but we just talked about running to stop the trouble and the potential for getting hurt. You've got a good set of morals and that's nothing to be ashamed of, even if you're working from the shadows, metaphorically-speaking."

Ravn nods lightly. "That's the kind of respect I don't have an issue with. To be recognised in the community as that bloke who knows everyone, the man to see about a dog -- this, I know how to do. I can do it, and I do it well. It's what I want to be doing."

He reaches over and steals Ariadne's hand a moment. "And you are going to be right there with me. Reminding me to laugh. Reminding me what the whole point is, why we do what we do. And probably enabling all my worst ideas, which is probably going to be a very healthy learning experience."

Ravn might steal her hand, but it's Ariadne who then steals a kiss to his gloved knuckles. Thankfully, she leaves no residue from the sandwich on the kidskin leather.

"I appreciate how you've realized that I am, in fact, here to enable all sorts of terrible, terrible ideas -- and by that, I mean simply speak as the devil's advocate and let you and the others decide what they want to do about it." She still grins cheekily. "But yes: I'm also here to remind you that life is good and the time needs to be taken to acknowledge how good it is because when there's trouble? Sometimes, it's hard to recognize. I'm here." Another squeeze of his hand.

Samwise wurfs. "And Sam is here too." A droll glance at the sighthound.

"Maybe the Devil needs a good advocate. It's very easy to fall into always doing what's right and proper, and forget to laugh. I am guilty of this, absolutely." Ravn smiles and kisses her hand back. "Chronic over-thinker, me. Analysing every situation, and sometimes forgetting to just live. So tell me, my lady songbird, what is my task in your life, besides snobbery about glasses and china?" He looks quite amused.

"Oh gosh. Your task in life." Ariadne's busy twinkling a little about her own knuckles being kissed, pardon her, it's going to take a moment to shift gears back into properly pensive thought.

It means Samwise tries to sneak a sniff of her sandwich. "Hey." He looks innocent as his owner squints. Wut.

"Anyways. You...are there remind me it's cool to know things and it's okay to geek out about them. To remind me that quiet is also okay and I don't need to be on all of the time. That it's okay to spoil myself because maybe it's not spoiling, it's taking better care of myself because I don't normally do it. To slow down and smell the wildflowers. To remember that I'm always wanted. That I'm not alone." Her voice is very soft now, almost lost to the ambience of the wild around them, but she's looking into his eyes so there won't be any chance to miss lip-reading if needed. "Pretty sure I'm the luckiest lady in the world, Ravn."

And if a seagull has any reason to comment on the lip lock that follows, it's really only to complain that the sighthound managed to sneakily pull another piece of bacon sticking out of the ignored sandwich and where the bacon for it?!

Damn dogs.