2022-05-30 - Too Much Goulash!

> Una! Hey! I mis-judged my recipe and now I've got too much goulash. I was making a batch for leftover and lunches for the work week and it's not all going to fit into my freezer. You're always hosting, come over here and help me polish off a bowl or two? I'm experimenting with a new kind of paprika and lamb and it's probably one of my better versions I've made. Bring something as you'd like, but definitely yourself!

This text being sent, Ari spends some time doing clean-up around the apartment. It looks like someone lives here, yes, and Sam's presence is without fail -- so many dog toys all over the living room plus his bed -- but the window's open to let in the air past the white-blossomed lilac bush growing by the kitchen window. It's airy with the blinds up and cheery without being too spit-shine polished. Blankets hang over the couch's backing. She hasn't painted the living room or kitchen yet, so the base state of the apartment reigns there. The guest bedroom is shades of light purple and themed as such; no bed, but a small desk and a dog bed and a few unpacked boxes yet. The master bedroom's door remains closed.

A nice bottle of wine to go with the goulash -- thank you, Ravn, for leaving it -- and the barista sighs to herself. "I that'll do, right?" she asks of Sam, hands resting on her hips. Sam on his bed by the end of the kitchen counter wags his tail. Sure, human, what?

Oooooh! comes the almost immediate response. Well, if you insist... Be over in a few! That would be a 'yes', then, for goulash and Ariadne time.

Oak Avenue to Sycamore Street is not more than a few blocks, and even on her bike, it doesn't take Una long to arrive; and she almost certainly didn't leave immediately after her text. Helmet strung through the chain, she secures the bike up outside and then heads for 103, her knock-- a quick, relatively light rap-- marking her presence at the door. It's a jeans day, as opposed to a sundress day, and hers are battered and worn but probably all the more comfortable for it, worn with a dark blue tank with a lighter blue shirt over the top, left unbuttoned.

And beneath one arm? No surprises there: a small Tupperware.

Borf -- hark, a visitor! Sam trots to the door and then backs up the appropriate amount when Ariadne gestures for him to be polite. He tilts his head at her gentle chide in Hungarian but otherwise sits like a good boi and waits to see who's arrived.

"Una!" Dimples for the younger redhead and arms held out for a hug if Una's inclined. "Gorgeous as always. Be welcome in my home." The greeting has just a little touch of ceremonial solemnity to it. If Una were a vampire, she'd have carte-blanche to flounce about the place now. Ariadne's own fashion today leans in a similar vein: jeans and indoor slippers and a t-shirt in plain teal-blue beneath a darker navy-blue jogging sweatshirt with white piping and hood-strings. "You'll have to explain what you've brought, of course," the barista adds as she closes the door behind them.

Leading the way down the short hallway, it opens up into the expanse of the living room (plus couches and TV) to the left and the kitchen with its counter stretched to offer a workspace semi-dividing kitchen from living room. One could prepare food and still look into the living room proper under the hang of cabinetry above. It smells of spices and cooked meat, more strongly in the kitchen itself. Ariadne goes over to check the slow-cooker and peers. "About five minutes left," she muses.

Sam, without fail, has been sniffing Una steadily up from her shoe along the outer seam of her jeans and now stands beside her, looking up with triangle-flop ears perked. Hello, human. Slow tail wag-wag-wag.

It can be distinctly variable whether Una is up for a hug, though the trend is, at least over the past few weeks (since after Jules and Ravn's adventure, possibly? though these things are always so hard to track properly, individual events not coalescing into a trend overnight) more towards 'yes' than to 'no'. Today is a yes day, and though Una's hugs are never particularly tight, nor inclined to last more than a moment or two, well: a hug is a hug. "Hi Ari. Thank you for having me-- it's always a pleasure. Back to basics, at the moment, so just some oatmeal chocolate chip, but there's nothing wrong with a classic, right? I also--"

She's walking as she talks, of course, but pauses, now, to lean down at greet Sam directly, giving his hears a good rub, "-- may have brought something for you too, young Samwise. If it's okay with your human, of course." Una's not had a lot of close exposure to dogs, prior to these past few months, but she's adapting well. Sam is, after all, a Very Good Boy.

"It smells amazing, though. There's nothing like the smell of food cooking in a kitchen, I swear. My favourite thing in the world."

Doe-brown sighthound eyes squint happily at ear rubs. Yes, good human, well done. Una's hand gets a light lick for her efforts and he then looks between her and Ariadne. He heard his name. Something for him?

"It's amazing how the scent of cooking is just...homey?" Ariadne ventures with a grin and then a quiet laugh. She dons her apron again, a plain thing in white, and then goes over to the shadowy tuck of counter by the slow-cooker. Ah, a loaf of bread, brown and thick, probably from the patisserie. Someone splurged a bit this week. "Comforting. Full of memories. This recipe makes me think of my mom's cooking, of course." She finds her bread knife in the knife block tucked near to the bread-stashing area. "I certainly won't say no to a cookie or three and you know I've got coffee to go with them as you'd like. I figured wine with the goulash. It's a rosé." A tilt of her head towards the unopened bottle with two glasses beside it. "Turns out I still get wrecked by the reds if I drink too much of them, so that should be safe. It's part Syrah, I think...? So not too dry, which is critical to me, at least."

A glance up briefly from cutting slices of brown bread on an acquired cutting board. "What did you bring for Sam though? He hasn't had his dinner yet. I normally feed him while I eat, that way he's not attempting to be adorable for niblets."

Una lets out a little squeaky giggle as her hand gets licked, but dutifully gives Sam one more pat before she rises back to her feet... and, okay, immediately walks into the kitchen to wash her hands, the Tupperware set down on the bench as she goes. "Exactly that," she agrees. "Food is-- memory and connection. Tasting that thing that reminds you of something else, either someone in particular, or some event or experience in particular. You're going to need to teach me your goulash recipe sometime. I know I can just look something up on the Internet, but personal recipes are so much more fun."

Hands clean again, she moves to linger at the edges of the kitchen and watch: it's kind of a novel experience, spending time in someone else's kitchen! "Rosé is fine by me. Do you want me to do anything? I've been experimenting with dog treats." So it's not just back to basics in Una's kitchen, then. "Pumpkin and peanut butter and eggs and some flour and oil, baked, with a bacon grease glaze. I promise they're wrapped completely separately from the other cookies, and I won't be at all offended if you say that's not something you want him to eat."

"Ooooh. Geez, spoil a dog, Auntie Una," laughs Ariadne lightly of the recipe for the dog cookies. Sam lifts his ears at his owner now. Cookies? "Yes, he can have those. I'll break them into bite-sized pieces and they can be special treats. How about you be the one to give him a piece of one after dinner, when we're settling down with our cookies too? That way he knows it's from you?"

Setting the knife aside on the cutting board by the slices of brown bread, the barista then goes over to a small brown plastic notecard holder tucked against the back wall by a few bottles of olive and vegetable oil. She frowns as she flicks through its contents. "Ah-hah." A notecard with blue pen instructions on it is offered towards Una. "Mom wrote it down for me, that's the basics. You just play around with the types of ingredients like the meats and spices, the veggies, whatever floats your boat. Take a pic of it with your phone?" she suggests before going back to slice one more piece of bread. "And how about you get into the wine? The corkscrew should be in the drawer to your left, with the utensils." A nod towards the pull-out drawer in question.

"I've never been an auntie before, or had one, but my extensive reading assures me that that's absolutely my prerogative, and I have every intention of living up to expectation," says Una, with a beam. "Just be glad I'm not getting into the whole noisy toys game. Of course-- I'd like that. I hope he enjoys them."

She accepts the proffered notecard with eager interest, lifting it up to get a better look for a good skim before she does as suggested, snapping a picture (then checking the picture to make sure it's all still legible), before she carefully sets the card down again for Ariadne to re-file, and puts the phone away. "Amazing, thank you. Something new to experiment with. Wine, yes. I can do wine."

The corkscrew is easily found, and the bottle opened without too much difficulty. "I think I've drunk more wine since I moved to Gray Harbor than in the five years previous." never mind that she wasn't legal to drink five years ago; as if that ever stopped anyone, naturally. "Which is not a bad thing, just a different one, you know? How much I've changed, or how much has changed, in the past six months."

Una gets a good and amused side-eyeing of minor censure at the idea of squeaky toys. Heaven forbid Auntie Una get more squeaky toys -- though as if Sam would say no. He'd love to cart around a rubber squeaky ball and chew on it and stand there and stare at his human. Ariadne intends to never inform anyone of this at great risk of squeaky balls. Hearing the wine cork phboomp from the bottle, she glances over again and smiles to herself. It's a good bottle -- or at least Ravn had said; she trusts the man, he would certainly know.

"Yeah...god, it's insane to think about how half a year can be so wild. I sometimes have to sit with a beer and ponder it after work. Distract my brain with Netflix at one point or another," she agrees. "It's never a dull moment around here, I guess." A droll flick of brows as she puts away the rest of the brown bread loaf and the knife plus cutting board go into the sink. "I'm just lucky to have you and Ravn and everyone else. You guys are rocks of sanity. Sam too, good boy that he is." Wag-wag-wag goes Windhound tail at baby talk. He's standing at the entrance to the kitchen and watching it all go down patiently. "He needs an auntie to spoil him anyways. Be the unofficial auntie?" The question is grinned at the younger redhead busy dealing with the wine as the older redhead goes to check the slow-cooker in turn. A button is flicked and steam starts to be steadily released. Mmm, how more of the spiced stew scent fills the kitchen now.

Just look at Una smile, so utterly innocent! Surely no one with a face this sweet would ever dream of doing something like purchase a squeaky toy (or ten) for good little Sam? She pauses to wind the cork off of the corkscrew: one turn, two turns, three and then it's off and ready to be thrown away, and the corkscrew put back into the drawer, safely away.

"We're all incredibly lucky to have each other," she agrees without hesitation, as she pours wine in to glasses. "So I'm grateful too. And of course I'll be his auntie. What girl could resist an offer like that? Auntie Una loves you, yes she does." This... well, okay, this is clearly directed at Sam, both given the way she turns to actually look at him, and also, you know, the words and the tone of voice she uses to say them. "I bet he's got a whole cabal of unofficial aunties and uncles at this point, though. He's a well loved boy."

And also, as she scoops up one of the glasses for herself: "Oh my god, that really does smell incredible."

"Well...blood-family doesn't count for unofficial aunties, so you're the first one here. Congratulations, Auntie Una." Chiming laughter from over by the slow-cooker, Ariadne lingers to make sure all of the steam leaves its inner workings. Sam wags his tail all the more and gives the younger redhead a soft doe-eyed look -- I love you too, human, feed me?

Wooden stirring spoons rattle in their holder before she glances over again. "Doesn't it smell good though? The wine will be perfect with it. I did half-and-half ratio of lamb to beef and smoked paprika this time instead of the standard stuff." Lifting off the lid of the cooker, she gently shakes it a few times before setting it aside on the stove. The goulash is think and redolent of colors in vegetables and broth alike; chunks of meat float through it. A stir with a grunt proves volume of the stew itself. Ariadne then sniffs the spoon a few times and licks it, mulling the taste across her bottom lip.

"Taste test? Does it need anything?" she asks Una as she fishes out a spoon and scoops up some of the broth for sampling.

"I think that makes me officially unofficial; I'm so pleased!" Una is, too: she's positively beaming, and the smile she aims down at Sam is no less so. "I know, buddy," she says. "You'll get yours, I promise. We're not starving you tonight."

She's still not so much as sipped at her wine, despite having the glass in her hand, and now the glass goes back onto the bench so that she can join Ariadne in front of the slow-cooker and taste as instructed. Food tasting is serious business: she closes her eyes in consideration, lips pressing together as her tongue explores the flavour palette on offer.

"Oh, that's really good," she says, as her eyes flutter back open again. "The tiniest little pinch of salt, maybe? But definitely not more than that. The smoked paprika works so well. Yum."

Wag-wag-wag-wag at Una, white feathery-fur swishing back and forth. Oh good, I thought I was never going to eat ever again, you should feed me some of your food too. One can almost hear the sighthound think this as he gives the younger redhead a wistful, brown-eyed look. He'll still a Very Good Boi: he lingers at the threshold of the kitchen rather than insert himself into goulash-testing business.

"I was wondering about a little more salt too, yep. I don't think it needs more pepper either, not with the smoked paprika." Ariadne nods to herself and rummages around for the narrow salt-shaker tucked to the back of the counter alongside the pepper. Shake-shake-shake, no more than this, and another stirring of the goulash with a new wooden spoon. A sip of her own. "Mmm, yes, good call." Fist bump is offered out to Una. "I'll get bowls and serve up if you want to get yourself some bread? Only if you want. Plates are in here," and she opens on the doors above the counter to reveal a collection of bowls, salad and dinner plates, and some coffee mugs (not all the mug; those spill over into the next cabinet). "Spreadable butter's in the fridge if you want. How's the wine?"

Una eyes Sam, not warily, but with a certain amount of amused trepidation. "Good lord does he know how to lay on the guilt," she says, exhaling with a little wry laugh. "Those eyes! Later, I promise." But not People Food.

"No, you definitely don't want more pepper. The paprika's plenty." Her fist bump by way of return to Ariadne is more pleased, smile pressed broadly into service; she acknowledges the other redhead's suggestion with a dip of the chin and heads for the cupboard. "I haven't even tried the wine-- it smells good, at least? Do you want me to get you some bread as well? It all looks so good; I can't wait." She takes down one plate, then glances back for confirmation, hovering by the cupboard.

"Please, for bread," replies Ariadne as she reaches for a traditional black soup ladle. The goulash steams as it slides into one bowl and then the second. Hazel eyes twinkle as they find Una again. "If the wine smells good, it's probably good. I've got my fingers crossed about it not being too dry. There's something about those dry wines which just makes one think twice about drinking wine in general. Your tongue feels funny. Or maybe it's just me," she shrugs in good-natured humor.

Thus walking over to the kitchen table, she sets both bowls down at respective chairs. "Settle in, I'll get spoons," she tells Una. "I've still got to feed Sam anyhow and his food needs to be microwaved first instead of coming cold out of the fridge. Sit and eat! No need to wait for the cook to take the first bite -- I taste-tested at the pot, remember?"

Una acknowledges Ariadne's reply with a chipper nod, collecting a second plate from the cupboard, and closing the door behind her. Plates-- and bread-- are delivered to the table, and then she heads back to collect the wine glasses as well, so that she can continue laying everything out just so: a proper feast. "No, I absolutely agree," she confirms. "Not that I love the super sweet ones, either, you know? It's got to have that balance. I'm sure this one will be great."

She hesitates over sitting, probably simply so used to being the hostess that it's a challenge to turn it off and be, for once, just the guest. But that goulash? It looks amazing. And surely better eaten properly hot... She sits, though grabs for a piece of bread, first, dunking into into the bowl and then taking a nibbling, taste-testing bite. "Oh, Ari, that's so good," she says, happily. "Sorry, Sam, there's absolutely no way I'm disobeying your human and sharing this with you... this is all mine. What's he getting, that has to be heated?"

Ariadne showcases her own pleasure in her goulash being well-received with deep dimples and a little shimmy of her hips. "I'm glad it's so good...and Sam's getting his usual blend of dinner food. It's one-half kibble, one-half raw meat, with a dollop of pureed squash and some fish oil. I'm sure he could eat it cold out of the fridge, but he has a preference for it warm and who am I deny him a little simple happiness if I have a microwave around, y'know?"

The revelation of the Tupperware and retrieval of his bowl has summoned Sam to his owner's side. His enthusiasm is quiet and full of tail wagging, maybe a little hippity-hop or two of front feet.

"He can eat and then he'll curl up on his bed and stare at us rather than trying to put his chin on a leg and give us the eyes of perpetual starvation. Because you're always starving, aren't you?" Baby talk elicits another dancey-dance out of the Windhound. The microwave beeps and after transferring the glopped mess into the bowl, Ariadne walks to put it into the raised feeder. Bye Sam, try chewing your food, please, at least a little bit. His collar tags jingle against the metal quietly as he eats. Washing her hands thoroughly, Ariadne then joins her guest at the table with a soft sigh.

And a pleased little smile. "So! You looked gorgeous in that dress, it need be said. Did you end up dancing with anybody?"

That's the reaction of a happy cook, and one Una knows well; she beams by way of return, ever so pleased. "We prefer our dinners warm," she concludes, "so why shouldn't he? It's easy enough to do, and none of that sounds especially smelly, as these things go." She's still nibbling on her bread rather than reaching for a spoon, but in part at least that's because she's watching Sam and Ariadne, the former especially: he's adorable, she can't help it.

"Mom never feeds you, does she Sam? Never ever ever." It's such a tease, so light and amused.

As Ariadne joins her, Una lifts her chin in acknowledgement, and then her glass as well-- cheers! That's not to say she doesn't have an immediate, blushing reaction to the compliment, though, for all that it brightens her expression and draws an eager smile. "Thank you," is nonetheless a little self-effacing and shy. "You looked lovely, too. Everyone did, of course, but I loved your feathers. I-- well, your boyfriend offered, but... well, I had a dance with Itzhak, instead."

Ah-hah, score: another blush from the younger redhead. Ariadne spares a glance over at Sam (who never gets fed EVER, apparently, by how he's barely chewing his food) and she then sips from her own wine glass after returning the lift of salute. Cheers indeed.

"Oh, Itzhak! Yes! I remember Ravn offering, but I missed that dancing?! Damnit, bladders are the absolute worst," she jokes bluntly before laughing. "Man, and he was...into the tequila, if I remember correctly. How was it? Can he cut a rug? Boogie on down with his bad self?" Dimples for Una now. "I need the deets since I wasn't present!"

"It was--" Una hesitates, apparently attempting to determine the best words to use. The blush has receded some, but not disappeared, and hiding behind her wine glass for a moment does not especially help. "A good dance. I am... impressed at how he can go from so loud to so... not? So quickly." That's a thought with a moment's pause, followed up hastily with, "Mind you, the dance Itzhak and Ravn had, afterwards, was significantly more impressive."

She sets down her wine glass, now, all the more eager to pick up her spoon and start eating.

In order to see about keeping the blush to its Una-gauged minimum, Ariadne hides most of her smile behind her own wine glass. This particular rosé is delightful if a little dry for her personal tastes -- but this is countered by knowledge of avoiding a sulfate migraine.

"You make sense," she assures her guest. "Itzhak is definitely a big personality, but I've also walked with him along the beach and watched him quietly put stranded sea cucumbers back into the water. He's got a big heart. I am bummed out about missing the dance between him and Ravn though, extra damnit." More chuckling. "I suppose I can hope somebody recorded it and remembers to show me later. Ravn's a good dancer when he gets past his uncertainty about large social groups in general. I mean, you saw." Ariadne's turn for a light pleased blush.

"You, uh...missed me being a tactical bitch. I feel like you would have laughed though," the barista notes, glancing up as she spoons up some goulash.

"He's very sweet," agrees Una, a thing that probably no man wants to have said about him, but-- look. It is what it is. "I am sure someone recorded it; everyone was talking about it for ages, from what I saw and heard. They're both quick on their feet, and-- Ravn did really well, putting aside his anxiety and just getting in to the moment. You two looked great out there too. The way he looks at you!"

She stirs at her bowl rather than immediately going in for another bite, then puts the spoon down to reclaim her bread and dip it in the sauce instead. "Oh yes? Go on. I feel like there's a lot I missed, getting caught up with other people. Tell all; I need to know, so that I can laugh now."

"He's a doll," murmurs Ariadne back about her other half. Still, Una's enthusiasm about the tactical bitchery is enough to make the barista go from simply smiling to herself to smiling with a pleased little edge.

"Alright, so, that reporter? You probably saw her, the one with the camera following her around? I managed to get Ravn away before she spotted him because...the last thing we need is cameras in his face, right?" Right. "And I fortunately had the help of Mikaere, if you know him? Jules' beau. He's a nice guy, I'll have you know. He brings a lot to the table in discussions and he's got some wisdom I really appreciate now and then. I need to pick his brain about the Veil powers about speaking into people's minds though -- the calming stuff in particular. Mind Xanax, as Ravn calls it. Well...at least see if Mikaere knows anything about it," she amends fairly, having not yet spoken to the man as claimed.

"But. So this reporter, she comes after Mikaere and it's just...gross. Invasive, leading questions, simpering, cleavage, like..." Her nose wrinkles. "Have some goddamn respect for yourself and for who you're talking to, right? I'm allergic to cigarette smoke and Joseph, he was smoking earlier, and I just...kind of happened to catch a whiff of it." Her innocent tale-telling is so aggrandized now. "And I kind of sneezed. While holding my ginger ale. And it kind of went all over the reporter's front. And her shoes. And she kind of had to beat a tactical retreat. Kind of sticky situation." Such deadpan. Much smirk.

The way Una's gaze narrows? Yes, she saw that reporter. It probably makes up for some of the mild affront she inevitably feels (and which shows, just for a moment, in her expression), over yet more people who have met this man of Jules', people who aren't her, who lives with Jules and everything! Alas, the stars never do seem to be in alignment there.

Still, the story is distracting as hell, and by the end of it? She's chortling in outright glee. "I can't even imagine. The look that must have been on her face! Oooh that's so good. So, so good. I wonder if you appeared in the news at all, as a bitchy sidebar? Now I'm going to have to go and look. She's the one who's bugged Ravn before, isn't she? Tall stories about absolutely ridiculous things."

Beat. "Such a shame she couldn't stick around."

Una's own pun is rewarded by a bright chime of laughter. Shameless about her delivery of puns, Ariadne is equally pleased to hear them in turn.

"Bummer, right? And if you find any sort of bitchy bullshit in a side column, I soooooooooo want to read it. I don't think she had any idea I was with Ravn, so it's not like she can do more than say something like, blah blah blah somebody plucked a swan for that costume blah blah feather duster blah...or whatever vomit she wants to print. Bitch can get a life," the barista opines tartly before she sips her wine. "I honestly owe Mikaere more thanks I gave him. If she'd gone after Ravn, I might have gotten dramatic."

More dramatic, she means.

It clearly pleases Una to have obtained a laugh for her pun, and she's all smiles as a result, even if she doesn't laugh herself.

"If I find anything, I'll share it," she promises. "Get you a clipping of it, even, because that's something to memorialise forever, you know? 'The day a bitchy reporter wasted column inches on me because I made sure she received her justifiable comeuppance.' I don't know Mikaere at all, but I'll bet he was pleased to help, and equally, probably pleased to escape by means of your little sneezing attack. I just wish there was a photo of this whole scene, because--" Because. This time she's laughing again.

"It's not really funny though, is it? People like that, making other people uncomfortable. Anyone having to step up like that."

"It is funny simply because yeah, she got her comeuppance and maybe I've got a little bit of a love for schadenfreude in me, but it's not an intense love. She also literally made Ravn freeze like a deer in headlights and I'm sorry, but I'm not going to stand by and let the poor guy be accosted like that when he tries hard enough to have his own damn privacy around here. It's half the reason he's here in the first place, in Grey Harbor and not elsewhere on the planet like Antarctica."

Another spoonful of goulash and Ariadne adds, "Anyways, I'd do it again, and for any of you. Having each other's backs is what's the most important around here, even if it's a standard annoying human and not the Veil involved."

"Absolutely not," confirms Una, just short of ferocious in her determination. "No one deserves to be accosted like that when they're just going about their business, just being normal. If people want to seek the spotlight, then that's fine by me, but-- just no. Ravn, more than most, does not deserve that."

She sets down her spoon in order to reach for her wine glass again and adds, as she does so, "I don't know if I would have the guts for it, but I'd like to think I would-- again, for any of you, because exactly so. We have each others' backs, whatever the need for it. It may have been the Veil that brought us all together, helped us to get to know each other, but the whole point is not at all limited to it. I'd do my best for any of you. Any time."

Warmly smiling before she too sips at her wine, Ariadne then fishes out a large chunk of lamb.

"I absolutely believe you would stand up for one of us being accosted. I figure...I figure you're like me, maybe: 'beware the temper of a patient woman' and all. Because I feel like you're possibly even more patient than me and there's a dark little corner of my heart which would make popcorn and watch everyone get their comeuppance if they pushed you far enough. Granted, I'd be at your flank if you needed backup, but I'm not one to step in if someone else has got everything under control."

Chewing through the bite of lamb, she leans to one side to check on Sam. Yep, still eating, not choking, progress is continuing, very good.

Una's smile curves: a little amused, a little... something more than amused. "Jules must not have filled you in on our little set-to, a few weeks back," she says, which is both admission and explanation. "You're right, of course. Meek and mild and all things good tempered until you push me that tiny little bit too far and then... then all bets are off."

It clearly gives her pause, this recollection, and has her swirling her spoon through the sauce of her goulash, gaze dropping downwards to study it, as if all the mysteries of the world are just there, waiting for her. "I'd have any of your backs in a moment though, no questions asked, if there were a way I could see to do it. I suppose that's the difference: the quick thinking? I did send a drink into someone's face," she wiggles her fingers, apparently meaning to imply that she did it without her fingers, "a while back, so maybe I'm underestimating myself. He wasn't even doing more than causing a mildly amusing scene, though he deserved it."

Ariadne's brows nearly disappear into her hairline at the revelation. She finishes chewing her bite of goulash and asks, once her mouth is clear, "Okay, now, I would love to hear this story because duuuuuuuuuude. I haven't used my powers yet like that. Oh my god, did someone mundane see and then think it was some sudden gas leak or something?"

Sam looks up from eating his food and appears nearly done. Just a check-in on the humans. His tongue travels the seam of his mouth and then it's back to his own deliciousness.

"No, I think he thought-- actually, I have no idea what he thought, really. Possibly that someone threw a drink in his face, from a really odd angle, I'm not sure. So."

Una sets down her spoon and reclaims her glass, because like most good stories, this requires the addition of alcohol, even in a small dose. "It was in the Pourhouse, lunchtime. This kid walks in, full... goth costume, I guess. I mean, the whole bit. Suit, top hat, ridiculously fake accent. Introduces himself as... shit, I can't remember. Raven something, I think. Starts throwing his weight around, trying to act as if he's someone and we should all be, I don't know, bowing and scraping."

Something about the story seems to amuse her, because she grins, abruptly. "He really started to make a scene, making life hard for the woman behind the bar, and Ava, who was trying to be helpful, and... eventually I just knocked his glass over. And then his mom walked in and called him something completely different, and he had to slink out at her heels, having completely made a cake of himself."

No tea to sip: instead, the wine, and Ariadne does this while providing appropriate commentary and intrigued attention.

"No!" to the goth costume and a titter. Her mouth scrunches against a bigger smile at the fake accent. A blurt-laugh at 'Raven' because obvious reasons. Her brows meet to hear of the trouble the young man caused and then she can't help chortling loudly at the fact that mom apparently ruined the guy's fun.

"Ohhhhhhh my god," the barista manages between giggles. Her wine glass shakes enough to slosh its contents without spilling. "Oh no! Oh no! Oh, god, I would have made him wear his drink too, oh my god!"

It's the perfect reaction to the story, however imperfect the telling of it, and Una beams-- she laughs, too, after a moment more, letting it out with an easy enthusiasm. "Right? I assume he was a tourist, trying on some new persona while in town, and... well, I hope he learned his lesson, you know? This may be a small town, but that doesn't mean the people here are yours to step on. Experiment, if you like, but..." But. The vague gesture of her hand, the one not holding her wine, evidently intends to emphasise this.

"It feels a bit strange, still, using power for purpose, when not in Dreams. Like, around other people. Practicing is one thing, but-- I don't know. You know what I mean? I know I can get by perfectly fine without it, most of the time."

"I know exactly what you mean. It's also..."

Ariadne pauses to think and take another mouthful of wine. She then gets to tearing her slice of bread into pieces to put into her goulash bit by bit. "I mean, I've been warned enough about using my powers too much. I watch what happens to others and man, it's not a subtle warning. I'm not going to use them if I don't have to. I got by most of my life without them, so they're not habit anyways. Ravn's great to watch though. He just...floats things around and multitasks and it's amusing to watch because there's still a part of me which can't believe what I'm seeing."

A good-natured shrug. "I guess maybe it's a blessing that you can get away with levitating a drink onto someone and they think it just tipped over violently or something. It's convenient. Wait until I really get pissed off in the coffee shop." Ariadne flicks brows. Just use one's imagination.

Una sets down her wine, lest she drink it too quickly and forget about her food. She's nodding, though, as she picks up her spoon and goes back to eating, her attention focused as much on Ariadne as it is on the goulash. Her grin at the end is undaunted by the more serious nature of the rest of what is said, and she's quick to say, "I'm imagining some very dramatic accidental smoothie explosions. Possibly coffee, but only if it wasn't too hot, because even in a moment of anger, I can't imagine you dumping something boiling on someone."

More slowly, she adds, "You're right, though. I think it can become a crutch. And it's amazing to watch people do things so effortlessly, yes. Even as simple as... opening a car door for a person, without needing to touch it. Setting the world to order in some tiny way. It's fascinating, and I love it, and I'm still trying not to fall into that, because I don't want it to be my crutch, and I don't want that backlash. But it wants to be used, I think. I can feel it, and I can feel... is your power growing, do you think?"

Even if Ariadne nods with a thoughtful solemnity at Una's observations about how unbelievable some of the uses of the powers can prove to be, she can't rid herself of her amused little smile.

"It's like you know exactly how it's going to go down," she murmurs in a brief circle-back to the smoothie machine. A glance up from spooning through her own goulash as she soaks the bread to squishy pieces. "And...yeah, I think it is, actually."

A beat and her eyes travel to Sam finishing off his food. Cautiously, she confesses, her gaze returning to Una, "I...think I can talk to Sam now. In my head."

"How long have I known you now?" counters Una, though there's a moue in her expression by way of reply, acknowledging that, in fact, it really hasn't been that long, even if it feels it.

She, too, turns her head towards Sam, frowning in thoughtful consideration as she stares at the dog-- and then turns back to meet Ariadne's gaze. "Seriously?" It's not the sound of disbelief or dubiousness: mostly she sounds impressed. "I mean, those eyes of his communicate a lot, but-- no, I believe that. I don't know enough about the capabilities of that kind of power, but... wow. That's amazing. What's it like?"

"I'm not totally sure," the barista also admits. It's impossible to keep her eyes from straying back to the dog. "I realized yesterday that I had grumped at him lying on my feet on the couch because it was too hot, but I'd done it in my head and not aloud and somehow, he got up and off even though he really likes curling up on my shins."

Ariadne sighs and can't help rubbing her temple. "I'm half-thinking that I'm misidentifying something here, but like...you can also do the mind talking thing, so it didn't seem too nutso to tell you about my suspicions." Her hazel eyes find Una again.

"Huh," says Una, and she, too, glances back at Sam.

"I mean, it doesn't seem that unlikely, if you think about it. If you can talk to me in your head, why not him? Him especially, since you already have a close bond. I could... try, and see if it works for me? Though you really want someone you know is powerful in this, I would think, and I don't know how powerful I am. It's the one thing that is still really a mystery to me, you know? Aside from knowing I can talk to people."

"I don't see why you can't try? I'm not stopping you, though I don't think Sam will do anything you ask him to do. He might give you honest opinions though and those are...look. He might as well be part cat, so I'm dubious about hearing them. I assume a dog is going to be entirely honest."

But Ariadne shrugs again, her mouth pulled to one side. It's all too new to her as a scientist to do more than share conjecture. Evidence must come from trials. "Give it a shot?" she suggests with a gesture towards the sighthound. He's lifted his head from his bowl anyways, licking his lips and done with his own dinner by the gleam of empty silver.

Una makes a thoughtful face, then nods. "Okay," she says. "I'm going to give it a go." Her spoon gets set down, because this is important business. This time, however, instead of glancing in Sam's direction, she focuses her outward attention on the opposite wall, just to be sure.

Want to come sit on my feet, Sam? she wonders, 'thinking' loudly in the sighthound's direction. Good dogs get cookies later...

It might work better if she were, indeed, mentally gifted enough to speak to animals. Alas.

Alas. Sam continues standing by his bowl. One can see his little eyedots, where the short hairs peek up, shift back and forth as he too looks between the two redheads, older and younger. His tongue slips up over his nose and then to the corner of his mouth again. One can at least make a good assumption for his own communication: What? What's going on?

It's an assumption which isn't projected in any manner to either Una or Ariadne; his body language speaks volumes.

"If you told him to stand there, it's working?" Ariadne asks with tentative interest, her hazel eyes flicking back to Una.

Una's answer to that is a merry little giggle. "No," she admits. "So that's an absolute fail. I don't think he chose to ignore me; I think he genuinely heard nothing from me. So you'll need to do some more experiments, I guess? Try with someone else. And keep trying yourself, too, of course, because how else will you properly know for sure?"

Her smile is an amused one. "Poor Sam, being stared at like that. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or not, to know that I can't talk to him. To be honest, the mental-related abilities are the ones that weird me out the most. Moving things, fine. Healing things, or burning them, also mostly fine. But... minds feel so very personal. Intimate."

Ariadne snaps her fingers. Shucks. It seems to be the signal for Sam to come over to his owner and wag his tail in further questioning: what what what? The barista's fingernails take up a gentle scritching of his jaw and he blinks happily for it.

"I'll try again, yeah...maybe not too soon, but yeah." Her eyes rest on the Windhound as she continues more quietly, "But you're not wrong. The mind stuff is intimate. Great word, I don't think there's a better one. Closer than close. Past skin. I seem to startle Ravn every time I try it and I don't like scaring him, so I figure I'm not going to dick around with it unless it's an emergency. Maybe if other people are used to it, I'll make a point of practicing with them. Mikaere, for instance."

"Aww, Sam," says Una with a little laugh, around her next bite of food.

Her nod is slower and more thoughtful, coming as it does with a sharp exhale of acknowledgement. "I think that's wise," she agrees. "I think-- it's a little unfair, too, being able to do something like that, but only one-sided. It'd be a different thing if you both could." That, given the abrupt flush of her cheeks, might be significantly more intimate again. It may not be mind-reading, but... "It sounds like Mikaere's a good bet, then. I'm sure there are lots of others around, too, who could help. Somehow it seems less common, though, or maybe that's just my perception? I can see how useful it would be in some circumstances, though."

"It'd be impossibly useful in some instances. Need back-up without someone knowing? Done. Need to pass on a message quickly and there's no signal? Done. I bet there are more people who can do it than we think though." Ariadne sips at her wine and needs to set the glass aside in order to pick up her spoon again; the other hand is currently occupied with Sam's chin anyhow. Una's blush is noted and draws up a little smile, there and gone. Of course the barista has considered other options than speech alone.

"I think there are because of the same reason you and I just mentioned: how it's a thing closer than close. Invasive by the definition of the word if someone's not ready to hear it or used to it. Like bypassing a cell phone's silent to make it ring or something. I just..." Lips purse as she gathers up a spoonful of stew. "I don't want to over-use it or draw too much attention to it, I guess."

"You're probably right," Una agrees. "Perhaps it's just that people don't talk about it, or that we simply be spend most of our time hanging out with people whose skills aren't in that area in particular, purely by chance. If the right moment comes, I'm sure it'll come out: people will use it, and perhaps we'll have already had clues, and we just didn't notice, because... why would we?" She digs back into her bowl, chewing contentedly.

But: "I agree. It's one to be treated carefully. I suppose it all is, yes? The point is not to draw attention to ourselves."

Shaking her head and laughing to herself, Ariadne swallows her bite of goulash. Fingers comb back a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she smirks at Una. "Try telling Ravn to mind his own advice on that one, about not drawing attention. You should see him multitask with his ability to move things around. It's like...remember the Disney animated Sleeping Beauty? The one from waaaay back when? When the three good faeries are in the kitchen trying to bake Aurora's cake and there's mixing bowls going over there and salt and sugar and flour and eggs all flying about? I feel like I'm going to show up at his boat and he's going to be doing something like that when he thinks no one's paying attention. Though..."

Her hazel eyes linger on Una now. "I can't remember if I've asked you. How did you figure out had something going on with you? With your powers? Was it when you were young?"

This particular mental imagery makes Una's expression dance with mirth, perhaps as much because it equates Ravn with baking as because of the implication itself. Comment on that is held off, though, because Ariadne's lingering gaze draws a pause from her, and a quick inhalation of breath.

"I was seventeen, so not so young," she says, slowly. "Which I am incredibly grateful for, let me tell you. Seven years ago, almost exactly: the summer between high school and when I was supposed to start college. I can't remember if I've told you this or not, either. I was working night shift in a 7-11, and I was held up at gunpoint." Not a happy memory, clearly, though she's relatively even in her tone and voice and expression as she relates it. "And I... defended myself, I guess? I don't even really remember what happened, except that he got hurt, and I was fine. Like a switch in my head suddenly flicked."

They say dogs are perceptive; even Sam ends up looking at Una, triangle-flop ears lifted. It might be because Ariadne's rolled her lips and quirked her brows in heartfelt sympathy.

"Oh my god, Una," she murmurs when the tale completes. "That's...shit, that's much at once. A lot at once. I'm so glad you were able to defend yourself though, god." Setting aside her wine glass, the barista then offers a hand palm-up upon the table in case it's consoling or anchoring to squeeze her fingers. "And at that point, something was off, yeah? Well...I dunno how your brain assigns things, but 'wrong' seems harsh, but at the same time...maybe 'disjointed'? Something to push to one side in the head and deal with later...which becomes 'next time', which becomes 'next time' again, and..." Ariadne shakes her head and sighs at herself more than anything else. "Did you try and figure it out? What happened? Or it took ending up here to kind of...make you need or want to do it?"

Una's smile is small and crooked, and a moment later, her fingers sneak out so that they can indeed squeeze Ariadne's. She sucks in a deep breath, and continues, staring down at her food.

"When I got home, I realised I was seeing my mom differently, too-- she has that thing about her, the same way we all do, and some part of me just knew, so I tried to ask her about it, and she just froze up and refused to talk about it. It kind of... well, things got complicated there," she slides past the details, but then, it's come up more than once that Una's relationship with her mom is strained, "but it also pushed me into realising that no, this was really a thing. I'd done something, and maybe I could do it again. So I sort of had a little experience, before I arrived here: I knew a little of what I could do, I just didn't know anything about why or how or what, because it was all instinctual and nothing more."

Another sigh from Ariadne. "That's rough, hon," she commiserates quietly. "And I wish you'd had more information given to you because that's like...I mean, playing an instrument by ear isn't necessarily so...fraught, you know? But it's like being able to play by ear and not knowing why or how except you can and you have no idea if someone's going to come along and recognize it and take advantage of it." Breathe, girl. "I suppose it's better knowing now? Or is it like one of those many things of adulthood, where you sit there and think to yourself, god, naivety is so under-rated, I want to go back to not knowing things?"

Sam decides he's going to curl up beneath the table by how he disappears. The sound of a dog's nails ticking and then the sigh following a soft whump of impact makes Ariadne smirk slightly despite herself. "Just watch your feet now," she tells Una in a good-natured reminder.

"Got it," says Una, of her feet, and the Sam-under-the-table. She sips at her wine again, letting the liquid linger on her tongue as she thinks through what she wants to say next.

"It sucked pretty hard," she'll allow. "But yeah, I think I'm much happier knowing. I'm not saying it doesn't have its downsides, but... I mean, fuck. The things we can do, just by thinking them, you know? And at least it makes sense, now. I have answers. I don't like questions that don't have answers. I like facts."

She lifts her gaze to consider Ariadne and then wonders, "Did you have a moment like that? Or was it slower, less concrete?"

"Thankfully, mine wasn't so fraught...not even emotionally, even if I want to be a brat on my bad days and claim it was." Ariadne again shakes her head at herself and seems to fortify with another bigger sip of the wine before explaining, "My little sister, Ana, the one you've heard about -- she still believes Ravn is a vampire aficionado to the point of dressing the part and we're intending to yank her chain a leetle bit more before explaining we were joking." A small amount of air is pinched (leetle bit) before the barista takes up her spoon again. "Anyways. My little sister, Ana, she was young, I was young, I was, what...in my teens, which made her maybe just past ten years old, so you can imagine the friction. We were shouting about something in my room and I think it was when my box of colored pencils jumped off the desk."

Her shoulders lift and fall. "I mean jumped. There was inches between it and the edge of the desk and I know our place wasn't and still isn't haunted. Nothing's there. It freaked us both out pretty good and the argument ended there. I haven't ever brought it up since and neither has she. I think that's when the powers first blipped for me. I just...didn't touch the idea of them with a forty-foot pole because who was going to believe me? It's something out of a comic book, for fuck's sake. I wasn't going to be labeled as crazy. So...I end up here and you know the rest."

It's important for Una to ask, here, just briefly: "Did you send her that selfie, from the ball? I hope it got an amazing reaction."

None of that takes away from Ariadne's story, though, and Una listens intently, chewing as she does so. "Jumped," she repeats, and there's the hint of a smile there, perhaps related to the fact that, of course, they could do so much more than merely jump now. "And your sister, she doesn't-- she's not like us at all? I suppose her brain will have had to compensate, if not, and... but man. That may not be dramatic, but I can imagine how it must have freaked you out, at the time. And then you came here, and Ravn made a pig fly for you, and... the rest is history, I guess."

Ariadne can't help but laugh. "Yes, the flying pig and then he goes out and tells me that he knows I can do this do, make that rock move -- and me, standing there, going 'nooooooooooo, physics don't WORK like that, what the fuuuuuuuuck'. He was very patient with me. I made a rock and a pine cone move and now look at me."

And look at how she glances over at the wine bottle to float it over to the table. It's a bold move, considering it's a glass bottle full of liquid. She plucks it from the air and then pours herself a little more. "Ravn's a bad influence," she jokes lightly and grins more strongly. "More? Anyways, I don't think my sister has anything like the powers I have, so she probably thought I did something dramatic like...smacked it off the desk in a fit of temper or something. Like I said, never asked. But she absolutely freaked out at the selfie, yes. I ended up talking to her the next morning, when my headache and nausea were under control, and she's still very convinced like I said. It was the sparkling wine, I ended up with a sulfate migraine," the barista explains. "This wine won't trigger anything."

Una has to laugh, too, because she can well imagine this scene; her eyes glint with amusement. "Take physics and bin it," she murmurs. "And so we do, on a not irregular basis."

She inclines her chin towards the floating wine bottle, indicating a certain amount of impressedness, then slides her glass closer in that universal gesture of: well, why not. "Ravn's the worst influence, I won't argue that. But maybe the best, too. I'm so glad he and Aidan bought the house next to my grandmother's. Not that I think we wouldn't have ended up friends anyway, but... the proximity, it helps."

There's more mirth there, in her expression as she adds, "Amazing. The selfie reaction, that is, not the sulfate migraine. That bit sounds awful, I'm sorry. What a shitty way to end the night." Aside from the obvious, which goes unspecified.

"I was dumb and I should have known better. I let enthusiasm get the better of me, in regards to the sparkling wine. I...guess I wanted to blend in more than I wanted to be the weird person who couldn't enjoy a glass of sparkling wine or something." Ariadne shrugs. "Oh well, hindsight and all that. What I am pleased about is that Ravn and Aidan are right next door to you. It's the whole support system bit. I'm so glad he can show up on your front porch and you're able to be there as you can, with coffee and cookies or whatever. I know he's not a big eater, but you're still getting him to eat, which is critical. He's getting better around me and it's...hard to be so relieved about that. I know it comes from his childhood and there's just..."

The barista's face falls. "I can't fix any of that. I can't undo it. I want to undo it. But I can't. And it sucks. All I can do is be me and be thoughtful and loving."

Una winces, though her expression's otherwise quietly knowing: she does, indeed, know all about that desire to blend in, and the willingness to sacrifice personal comfort in order to do so. "I hate that feeling," she murmurs, though she chooses not to linger over-long on it. Still serious, but with a little more satisfaction, she acknowledges the rest with her quick if thoughtful nod, though her own expression falls distinctly when Ariadne's does.

"I felt like such an awful person, when he admitted it to me," she says. "I'd been teasing him for months, and... then I felt so bad, because it's not his fault, and no one should ever feel like they need to eat anything, or drink anything, to belong. I'm glad he's willing to nibble at my food, and that he knows that... he can come next door, anytime, and there'll be something there. I wish I could do more. I know it's different for me, than it is for you, but I do... I get it. I hope that, with time, you can help him. I mean, just by being you, and reminding him that he really is lovable. That he's worthwhile. You are helping."

"Thank you, Una, it's really glad to hear you say that. It's one thing to know I'm being as supportive as I can be and another to hear someone else validate it." Another palm-up finger squeeze is offered to the younger redhead. "But also, I don't think it's too different at heart. Yes, maybe I'm the one wearing his turtlenecks and getting the nicknames, but you're just as important too, in terms of a friend and support system. He's just...lovable as hell, isn't he?"

Her laugh is half-sheepishness, half-fondness. "Anyways. Sorry, I know it's not the most polite to be going on about one's significant other. What I want to know is when do you want to spend a day in Seattle? I've got an errand to run out that way which doesn't involve Ravn...mostly," she admits with a wry, faintly-blushing smile. "I promise you lunch with a view," the barista then singsongs cajolingly before her wine glass hides her smile.

Una gives Ariadne another finger squeeze, just for a moment, and then uses those fingers to reclaim her wine glass. Her nod is firm agreement, though: he really is lovable as hell, and there's no question in the way the younger redhead smiles that she's not pleased, deeply pleased, at being able to provide part of that support system. Friends. It's a good feeling.

Ariadne's laugh, however, makes her laugh as well. "I don't mind you going on about him," she promises. "I think it's delightful. I'm still so pleased about you two, I'll have you know-- and yes, absolutely, I'd love to spend a day in Seattle with you. Lunch with a view is absolutely on. But," and she raises her eyebrows, a little smug and a little amused, "I want to know what it means by mostly not involving Ravn. If," she adds hastily, with a half apologetic note in her voice, "it's not personal. You don't actually have to answer that."

Ariadne can't help but giggle. "You're the sweetest thing. I was just being honest. I have a package that I special-ordered in the city for him. My sister got me onto this...particular tailor who specializes in corsets and I decided to splurge a bit. You saw the white one as part of my costume for the ball? That was me seeing how I felt about them and it was an online order. It's been some time since I've had one and I guess...why not? But this one, I splurged on, and I have to go pick it up. I sent in measurements and everything, I mean, I really did my research. So just picking that up while we're in the area. Although I can pick it up another time too? You know I'm never out to make things uncomfortable or awkward," the barista insists sincerely.

"I'm glad you're pleased though," she can't help but add with an equally pleased little wiggle in her seat in turn. Just enough wine to make this happen in her. Under the table, Sam stretches and groans, comfortable and full.

Una's cheeks go pink, but only very faintly, and perhaps it's more for being called sweet than anything else (also the wine). "Of course we can pick that up while we're in the area. I know you're not out to make things uncomfortable or awkward; of course I know that. I am usually the one who makes anything awkward or uncomfortable, and that is on me. Seriously, though: that sounds amazing-- I bet you'll look amazing in it, too. The white one looked gorgeous on you." That's unsurprisingly sincere: Una's always happy to give a compliment, but it's rare that any of hers ring false. She sees the world-- or, at least, the parts of her friends within it-- in happy, rosy tones (and not without reason!).

Ariadne's wiggle, though? That's made her laugh, and perhaps all the more so because she, too, has had just that much wine.

"Shucks you. Don't make me blush." And Ariadne's had just enough wine to pink up a little as well; the curse of blushes, to mention and then accidentally trigger in turn. "It was comfortable, the white corset, though that feather shoulder-cape did tickle and itch now and then. I'm just stunned I got out of there without spilling anything on the costume as a whole. White at a party? Asking for chaos. You're also welcome to look around the little store if you want too, I'm not going to be in and out in a huge hurry if you want to -- even if it's just curiosity and you don't want to speak to the tailor about anything at all," she's sure to insist, given comfort's the name of the game.

"Okay, let's figure out lunch. Turf? Surf? Surf and turf? Bistro? Family business or something more well-known?" she asks in a friendly barrage of questions.

It's a curse Una knows well, and it can only make her laugh. "I'm impressed too," she agrees. "I can't wear white, on the whole. I always spill something on it. Not to mention, most of the time it just washes me out." The curse of pale skin, indeed. "I'd like that. To look around. I always find places like that really interesting-- I'm no fancy tailor, but I always pick up inspiration from things, you know? It's one thing I've really picked up over the few years, that things look better when you tweak them even a little to specific measurements."

She considers, for the rest, head tipping slightly to the left as she admits, "I feel like it should be something we don't often get here, you know? I'm always more interested in a family business than anything fancy and big named, though. Much more comfortable."

"We'll linger at the shop so you can check out the way things look with measurements and see the styles," Ariadne nods with a pleased smile. "Insofar as food though..."

Tick-tick-tick, she taps a fingernail on the table thoughtfully. "I mean, Ravn's always grumping about how there's no good sushi around here, so could do sushi if you like that. There's also a very good Mongolian place that's family owned not too far off the water. No views there, but really frickin' good food. Or there's hitting up one of the food trucks invariably parked along the waterfront, those are like the roll of a dice. It's whomever shows up first gets the spot."

"Excellent," approves Una, pleased by this plan. "It's been ages since I left Gray Harbor, Dreams obviously excluded. I'm looking forward to this."

She tilts her head to the side again, considering the options with her wine glass hovering near her mouth. It's difficult to sip from this angle, and she doesn't try: it means she needs to straighten her head again, sip, swallow, and then admit, "I don't think I've ever eaten Mongolian before. Let's do that, something really different, and then we can take a wander past the water while we digest? I'm always up for trying new things."

"Mongolian it is. They don't need a reservation, we can show up and order and sit either inside or on the porch. It's not a perfect view of the Sound, there are a few buildings in the way, but there's enough of one to make it enjoyable if you want to see a twinkle of water. The nice part is you just walk a street or two down and you're by the waterfront. It's not the main strip that's Alaskan Way, more towards Elliot Bay, but there are some cute window shops down there. Plus, the docks, so if you're someone who wants to admire the moored sailboats and commentate, it's great."

Ariadne laughs to herself. "I don't really have a horse in the race of commentating on sailboats, but my dad always does. I'm sure Ravn would. I'll just be full of Mongolian food and ready to sidle around in the sun...if it's out."

"I hope it's out." But Una grew up in this state: she knows perfectly well that the likelihood of that is certainly less than one hundred per cent. "And if it's not... it'll still be the city I grew up in, you know? Home is home, even in the most miserable damp, foggy weather."

She's abandoned her food, now, content to linger on that second glass of wine. "Except that it's not really home anymore, I guess. It just-- it's like the memory of home, I guess? I miss it. I don't want to live there, now, and it doesn't feel quite right, but there's still something about it. It'd be nice to be there for something fun, some kind of cross between being home and being a tourist."

"Ah, yeah! Fellow Seattle-ite, fistbump," and Ariadne offers this very thing to the younger redhead. "I grew up in the Redmond area after moving up from Colorado. I know what you mean, about it not being the same as you remember -- but, of course it's not the same because time changes all things. It's gotten so much bigger and busy now, I'm kind of boggled sometimes when I visit."

Underneath the table, Sam stretches again and whaps his tail against the floor once. Leaning to look at the dog, the barista laughs quietly. "Sam might be thinking it's time to get into those cookies. You all good to go?" A hand is outstretched for Una's bowl if she is done with eating.

Una returns the fistbump with a grin. "Ah," she says. "Home of Microsoft, of course." She does not specify which part of the city she is from... and that may well be deliberate. "I hate the gentrification so much," is what she says, instead. "People like my mom are being priced out, you know? If she loses her place... I don't know where she'll end up. Commuting in for hours every day, probably. But that's the same in any city, I'm sure. Anywhere where there's significant money coming in, anyway."

She's not unwilling to be drawn away from that subject, though, or to be distracted by Sam, whose antics make her grin. "Good to go," she agrees. "It's definitely cookie time, I agree, Sam." Her bowl is basically empty, bread and goulash almost entirely gone. "But that was so good, thank you."

Taking up Una's bowl and spoon along with her own, Ariadne has a sympathetic moue for her friend. "I really hope your mom gets to keep her place," she comments honestly, and then seems content to also leave this subject behind. Walking over to the sink, she sets the bowls in its depth and glances over at the table. "If you want to give Sam about a third of one of those amazing cookies, he can work for it?" she suggests to Una.

Sam is, of course, quick to sit up with ears lifted. His name and 'cookies' in the same sentence?

"He can do a lot of things, let's see... Sit, down, shake left and right, just pick your paw. High five, high ten, play dead, roll over, play possum, spin in place, peek from between your legs -- we call that 'center'. Speak, though I don't encourage that one often. I like 'whisper' more," Ariadne shares with a grin. "Inside voices and all. I'll get coffee going?" she asks as well.

"Right!" says Una, pleased and-- dare we say it?-- a little excited by this prospect. "Coffee, yes please." She pauses to take another quick sip from her glass, then hops out of her chair, careful to make sure she avoids Sam in the process. The dog cookies have been kept distinctly separate from the others in her Tupperware: a separate Tupperware in the Tupperware, because as delicious as bacon is... bacon grease-as-frosting is probably not a good addition to normal, human cookies.

She plucks one of the dog cookies out, breaking off a piece of it, then holds it up: can you see that Sam? Doesn't it smell good?

But no, mom said he has to earn it, and so working is a requirement. She drops her gaze down towards him, and extends her right hand (the one that is not holding that piece of cookie). "Can I get a handshake, Sam? Shake."

Bowls are left to be washed later, more than likely after her guest has left. Ariadne then fishes out a Tupperware container or two of her own for the rest of the goulash; leftovers, ahoy. She glances over her shoulder and smiles fondly at the Windhound now seated so prim and proper and attentive before Una.

Shake, Una asks.

She gets a very enthusiastic iteration of a shake in which Sam slams his left paw down into her hand and then throws back his head for a bizarre whisper-burble of sound and then -- then -- because he really just wants the cookie and knows he needs to do ALL THE THINGS FOR IT...the sighthound flumps over like he was suddenly sniped at a thousand yards, plop. A hugely dramatic sigh before he plops his head down as well. Una is eyed out of the corner of one doe-brown eye.

Did I do it right?

Ariadne is laughing silently and helplessly at the coffee maker now.

What can Una do, after that, but laugh? "You are a manipulative little--" She doesn't finish that thought, but it's clear enough what she's getting at, though her tone is by far amused over accusatory.

"Your dog, Ari. I don't even..."

But. He shook, didn't he? There's probably a temptation to demand more from him, but he's been so good and so patient, and Una is inarguably a soft touch, so she leans down, now, to offer the treat in her hand, palm up. "Tell me what you think, Sam," she prompts. "I need to know if these are worth trying again."

Una don't even?

"I know, I can't even," laughs Ariadne as she leans hard against the counter now, one hand across her eyes. Sam heaves himself up into a sphinx position with ears lifted and eyes bright -- I did it right, feed me?

Una offers the portion of homemade biscuit and at first, it gets the cursory twitchy-nose sniff-over. Then, so very delicately, the Windhound picks the treat off of the younger redhead's palm. All that's felt is soft lips and the barest brush of front teeth. Rising to his paws, Sam then trots off into the living room to circle three times in place before flumping down. He lays the treat between his front paws and begins licking at it.

He's licked it. It's his now. His.

"Oh-ho-ho-ho my god. Yes, I'd say that's been well-received." Ariadne runs a knuckle under each eye. "Shit, he's such an overachiever. Dog after my own heart." The scent of coffee begins to rise as the brewer gets up and going, hot liquid burbling into the carafe.

Una holds her palm as steady as she can as Sam picks up the cookie off of it, watching it with the half-excitement of one who really isn't used to dogs, but is rapidly learning-- and enjoying the process too. "He's adorable," she tells Ariadne, keeping half an eye on the dog as he takes his prize off to enjoy. She goes to wash her hands again, and adds, "And he deserves the cookie. Such a good boy. Did you have dogs when you were growing up, too, or is it just... I'm an adult now, so I get to have whatever I want?"

"I'm an adult, I can do what I want," Ariadne replies. The coffee maker continues burbling as she works at packing away the leftover goulash. "We had a cat and he was great. I got along with him just fine. My sister had a harder time, but she's always been full of energy and quick motion. Cats don't jam with that. Dogs do, but my mom's mildly allergic, so no-go. I always have to visit the family without Sam in clean clothes because I don't want her feeling uncomfortable."

Another lift to her toes to see beyond the counter and what Sam's up to: still licking the frosting off of the homemade treat with a canine look of utter contentment. "My roommate Kallie, back in college, she had a dog, a little lab-mix kind of thing. Cookie. Yes, the dog's name was Cookie, it made for some hilarious moments. I took care of Cookie while she was away sometimes with her family since her family was a plane flight away and it was too far to drive. Sam was a dog I did a lot of research for and I went to hang out with the graduates of behavioral sciences at UW who work with the beagles there. They had so many great tips and trick, so I got to watch them at work. I almost adopted one of the beagles, but someone else beat me to it -- so, Sam, good therapy dog as he is."

"Oh-- poor Sam, never getting to meet the extended family!" Una says that, but her nod acknowledges the reality of the situation, too: don't want to make mom uncomfortable.

She steps back to her Tupperware, now, separately the dog treats from the human ones; the human ones are going on the table, ready for eating. "Cookie. An excellent name; I wholeheartedly approve. It surprises me, for the record, not even the tiniest bit, that you did so much research first. I mean-- it makes sense, and it's the right thing to do. But," she glances back at Ariadne, grinning. "It's also very you. I'm glad you got Sam. He's a very good boy, and we all need... that kind of warmth in our lives, I suppose." Therapy dog, yes.

"Oh yeah, we all need that warmth. That's what a therapy dog does, shares the companionship between dogs and humans. A service dog is something different: they provide a service for their handlers, like leading them around obstacles or retrieving objects or acting as a bracing point if their knees go out. Sam is a therapy dog in that he's registered to be able to go and hang out with people in intensive care wards. He doesn't get the same rights as a service dog because I don't need him to aid me in daily life procedures. He did a little stint as an after-school reading dog, where the kids would read to him and not to me. I'm scary, he's not, y'know?"

Coffee is poured into mugs and Ariadne moves to the fridge. "I'm a creamer kind of gal, want some in yours? Or just milk and sugar?" she asks Una before adding, "Sam knows my sister very well, since Anastasia has her own apartment in Seattle and all. I don't think he knows he's not met people, which is fine. I'm not offended. One can't control allergies and all."

"Neither for me: just the coffee, black as it comes. I figure I get all my dairy and sugar via cookies anyway. No, of course: your mom's comfort has to come first, and Sam gets plenty of love, I'm sure, from your sister, and, well, everyone else he meets too." From Una, too, honorary auntie that she is now.

"I'd never heard of therapy dogs specifically," she admits, then, though by her expression? She's positively delighted by the concept. "But it just... it makes so much sense. Unless you're actively scared of dogs, of course they're less intimidating for kids, especially kids with-- things going on. There's just something... there's no judgement there, is there? Just a warm, furry body that is eager to please. Eager for love. I like that."

A nod for Una's coffee preference and Ariadne only doses her own mug with creamer, enough to lighten the brew by a shade or two. She glances over again as she puts the creamer away and closes the fridge door. "Yeah, and Sam can be a total cuddlebug. I always had to take him for a run beforehand, but man, if the kid had a blanket across their lap, he'd set his head down there and doze. He's also not too big and all. He's enough dog to be a dog and not the size of a Newfoundland or something."

Traveling over to the kitchen table now, she places Una's plain black coffee at her spot before sitting down with her own mug. "That was back in Seattle. I don't think there's anything here like that, so he gets a break and a chance to have no job except be himself for a bit. Right, good boy?"

Schmoozy-talk in Sam's direction makes him look up from his dedicated cleaning of crumbs from the carpet. Wag-wag-tail-wag. Back to crumb-snuffling.

"Do you think he misses it? I wonder if it is the kind of thing they might want to do here... not to volunteer you into anything, of course. I can completely appreciate not wanting to take on extra, to just get to be without that as well." Una picks up the mug that gets delivered to her, acknowledging (and thanking) Ariadne with its careful lift and the nod that goes with it.

She, too, casts a glance back at Sam, and grins. Such a good boy, making sure there are no crumbs left to be cleaned up later! Very important.

"Cookie?" she says, nudging the Tupperware over. She's going to have one, anyway.

"Hell yes, cookie." Ariadne chimes a laugh and plucks one of the oatmeal-chocolate chip out of open Tupperware. It's given a deep, appreciative sniff and then used as gesture-accompaniment while the barista adds, "I don't know if Sam misses it. He was always very tired when we were done, but it seemed like a happy tired? Service dogs have much more intensive jobs, right? But they're also generally bred for a working disposition or the breed itself has some behavioral traits which makes the jobs easier."

She then takes a bite of the cookie and makes a soft, pleased sound. "Speaking of cookies like this: did you know Ravn like raisins in his cookies more than chocolate chips? Pineapple and now raisin cookies? I don't even know what I see in the man sometimes," she teases of her beau.

"He's a--" Una pauses, grasping through the threads of her memory. "A Windhound, right? And that's not a breed that's particularly known for being service dogs, I think. And I imagine Sam gets plenty of kicks out of all the people I'm sure approach wanting a pat and whatever. So." She breaks off a piece of her cookie, dunking it in her coffee and then eating it, fast, before it falls apart.

Ariadne's pleased sound makes her beam, but that comment? She laughs, outright and merry. "Raisins. I mean, ok, I've been known to put raisins in my oatmeal cookies sometimes, though generally I go for chocolate chips because more people like them, but... well, see, now you've given me a clue to the kind of cookies I should be baking on occasion. You're just giving me ideas, I hope you know that. The pineapple, though? That can go straight in the trash."

"Una! No! No raisins in cookies! That's how you break little hearts like mine! Reaching for a cookie and expecting chocolate chip and then, behold!" A dramatic gesture at some imaginary plate of devil-cookies, to the point of stretching out arms and pulling her head back with lips scrunched. "Betraying raisin cookies instead! Blugh. Seriously, awful."

Ariadne relents to laugh as well. "And pineapples can go away, yes, but hey, that's what makes him delightful. He likes things I don't and hell, maybe one day, I'll see about making an effort to like pineapple. You never know. But yes, Sam is a Windhound. They could be excellent emotional service animals, but yeah, you'd have to breed very specifically for it and I don't believe I know anyone who does. Not that there's not someone out there trying to do this!"

Una, taking another big bite of her cookie, has to stop, covering her mouth with one hand so as not to spray crumbs everywhere. Her brows raise, the laughter as visible in that as it is audible and obvious in her gestures. "I'll grant you," she says, "there is something deeply disappointing with a chocolate chip that turns out to be a raisin. Maybe I'll set aside some batter to put raisins in, and then we can have both? Ravn's happy, we're happy, no disappointment and sadness, unless you happen to eat the wrong one."

Coffee, this time: a quick, careful sip to wash away the cookie crumbs, before she adds, "Pineapple itself isn't so bad. Well-- pineapple juice, maybe. Tinned pineapple, absolutely not. Maybe really fresh pineapple? I'm not sure. I suppose breeders do breed for very specific traits? I mean... that's how you end up with different breeds in the first place, right? Over a long time? It makes sense."

"Eh, pineapple in general, blech. More for all y'all. You're right about the dog breeds though, yep. When I was researching, I learned about how the breeds came to be and the basic concept of why. It's actually very, very rapid and controlled evolution via human parameters. Domestication. It's nuts to consider in contrast to standard evolution, which takes several hundred-thousand years if not millions instead."

She enjoys another mouthful of coffee and then cookie. "It'd be very diplomatic of you," agrees Ariadne around her bite of cookie. "No war of the ingredients or anything. Ask Ravn one time about guacamole. I won't say anything more than this, just...ask him. And then get back to me." Her puckish smile promises an amusing reaction.

Una's gaze slides away from Ariadne and back towards Sam, watching him with a thoughtful, curious expression that suggests she's imagining some of this evolution in process-- and what it would take to get from a wolf to, well, this. "Absolutely nuts," she confirms. "And all because those original wolves and whatever wanted to get a seat close to the fire, I guess? Or some kind of approximation of that."

Ariadne's puckish smile draws an amused one by way of return. "I've heard this one already, I think. Something about the word for avocado in... some language I've forgotten. And it means testicles or something?" She shakes her head, and there's just the faintest hint of a smirk there: Ravns gotta Ravn. "I pay attention, when he talks about food, good or bad."

Ariadne can't help the giggling. "Damnit! I could have sworn he hadn't mentioned that, but yes. I like nonchalantly bringing avocados up because he gets so demonstrative about it. Just a little bit of his Count-ly bearing shows through. Such disdain. I thought the language was...Nahuatl? I could be wrong. I'll bring it up again at our next gathering," she promises with another foxy little grin.

Sam gets up from crumb-scrounging and pads over to stand by the table, tail wagging slowly back and forth.

"You had your cookie, mister, go lay down," the barista gently chides. The Windhound continues standing there and decides Una is a sucker.

Observe, Una, those big doe-brown eyes. He's clearly STARVING.

"I'm sorry to tell you, Ari," says Una, so very serious, so very sorry. "But your boyfriend has conversations with people when you aren't around. In fact, I will go so far as to tell you that he had conversations with me before he'd even met you." Tragic. Utterly tragic. "But now I will need to remind myself of this, and join in on the fun. I can't help it-- he's fun to tease."

Sam's approach draws a glance from Una, who offers a hand to give Sam an ear rub. Those big doe-brown eyes? She melts.

"I just gave him a piece of it. He could have another little piece?" She sounds... deeply hopeful.

Oh, Sam. You and your eyes.

Ariadne eyes Sam.

Sam keeps eyeing Una. He can tell he's made some headway; the younger redhead did the soft body posture and the wishful tone of voice. Such big, brown, woeful eyes from him!

"...alright, one more third of a piece, but make him work for it!" the barista asks of her friend with a faint laugh.

Una is not, as it turns out, the only soft touch. Hurray!

She grins at Ariadne, a little lopsidedly, and climbs to her feet again. Another piece of the dog-treat cookie is broken off, and then held up: can he see it? No fake news treats here.

“This time,” she tells him, firmly, “I want you to play possum for me. And I want a really good possum, okay? Or I’m saving this little piece of deliciousness for myself.”

For a moment, it may look like she’s considering it, too: the cookie piece is held suspiciously close to her mouth. But...

No. Actually. No. She’ll stick to real cookies.

Ariadne laughs to herself again as Sam follows Una over to the counter and its Tupperware of dog cookies as if he had never been fed before in his life.

But -- but -- the human is going to eat his treat?! WOE! ALACK! NAY! Sam makes a soft burble-whurf and flicks his ears back before he starts into...a single spin before he then flumps to his side and wriggles around on his back on the kitchen floor for a second. Then? He enacts the perfect possum -- or smacked cockroach, depending on someone's view of those spindly, bent legs.

Remaining in this position, belly-up, he looks up at Una. Dramatic enough for you?

"Oh my god, Ari," says Una, as she crouches down to offer the treat: yes, Sam was a very good boy and deserves this. "How do you ever get anything done? How do you resist him? I'm dying here, absolutely dying."

Enough so that she needs to use her other hand, too, to give his ears another good rub, because yes, of course that's exactly what she should do; she knows.

"But no more," she adds, firmly, which is not to say that left to her own devices she might not fail at this utterly (it's a good thing she's not a dog owner, let's just go with that). But no. No more. No more.

Flipping over in a flutter of feathery fur and long legs, Sam once more delicately takes the piece of cookie from Una and disappears into the living room to enact a repeat of earlier's enjoyment.

"He's a drama queen and I love him," Ariadne agrees as she shakes her head fondly. "But I also live with him, so I get to see him be a furry asshole sometimes, which tempers out my affections, I assure you." A sip of her coffee. "Like the time he tried to bury Ravn's turtleneck in the couch after I'd worn it because, for whatever reason, he felt the garment had to disappear into the couch itself. I'm not talking, like, in the cushions, I'm talking in the couch. Fuzzy jerk!"

Sam continues licking his cookie blithely. He's in canine heaven.

Una giggles at that story, though she has the grace to look apologetic, too-- at least eventually. Her hands get washed-- again; Sam may be delicate, but she's a baker, and that means a pretty obsessive regimen of hand-washing-- and then she returns to her coffee, or what's left of it, taking a quick, contented sip.

"But even then, you'd forgive him most things, I bet," she says, still with a laugh in her voice even if she's tempered it, now. "Even that. Well. Eventually, anyway. Because he's Sam, and who can resist him?"

"Yeah, he's irresistible. The turtleneck was fine after a wash." Leaning out from her chair, Ariadne eyes the dog enjoying his piece of cookie. "You butthead."

Sam just wags his tail and continues licking frosting off of the treat. I love you too, human.

"Anyhow, trip to Seattle eventually with a lunch of Mongolian food sounds like a good time to me. It's a plan. I'll check my schedule for the week and get back to you ASAP. We'll make a day of it," the barista grins.

But for now? Coffee and cookies and camaraderie. Delight.