2022-07-01 - It's Not the Red Violin, But...

So...maybe Nero did play the fiddle while Rome burned. Thanks, Veil.

It leaves a certain Dane sans instrument and this simply cannot be left unmediated. As such, it's a slow and lazy late morning in the Scullin household. The summer heat is becoming regular and it means the interior of her apartment is kept as cool as possible by cracked windows overnight (ah, the scent of lilac blossoms in the kitchen, glorious) and near-totally drawn shades during the daylight hours. Samwise is asleep on his side in a narrow beam of sunlight. He's been fed and walked and sniffed to his heart's content.

Ariadne is in a pair of light-weight cotton sweatpants (periwinkle-blue with black pawprints patterned upon them) and a mint-green camisole. Her hair is drawn up into a twist within a clip, still dampened from a quick shower, and she's frowning at the laptop rested upon her thighs. Seated upright rather than slung along the couch, she shifts slipper-covered feet and makes a soft sound. "You said four-quarter size, right? Full size violin? You had to have said that, you're an adult, it says adults need four-quarter size generally speaking."

She must be speaking to Ravn, given Samwise is out like a light.

No matter what time of year it is, Ravn favours the same type blazer (he seems to have two or three) and black jeans to go with them; the only thing that seems to change is replacing the black turtlenecks from winter with black t-shirts in summer. Ariadne has been an influence on him there at least; nowadays, there's prints on them. Today's specimen announces, I don't want to bring up the past but I'm a history teacher.

"My birth certificate says I'm adult at least." Ravn offers a small, lopsided smile. There are probably people who'd argue he's not -- and even more who'd argue that he was born a senior citizen. "I have almost decided on a custom build. The real issue here is what paint job to ask for. I've always owned plain mahogany look violins -- but seeing how much joy Rosencrantz gets from his Rimon, I feel like I've missed out on something. And some of those paint jobs out there are absolutely beautiful."

He leaves it unsaid: And classical violinists have natural finish look or black look violins, and it's absolutely frivolous of him to even think about it.

Ariadne glances up from sipping at her cup of coffee. It's her second mug, yes, and she's not yet beginning to vibrate into the next dimension.

Yet.

"So why not get one with a paint job? Get really specific with it -- or crazy. You only live once," she notes of the wisdom. "It's probably like a tattoo, in a way. It has to speak to you enough to commit to it." She continues scrolling and clicking, her lips pulling from side to side as images pass by. "I mean, have you got any parameters? Any inclinations? Like...floral, chiaroscuro, elements, specific patterns like plaid or cheetah-print, things like that?"

She then turns the screen. "I mean, check this thing out. Removable decals. It's snazzy," she says with a waggle of brows and then chiming giggle to follow.

Ravn peeks -- and grins slightly. "Removable is useful if you need to change your style every time you play. But it also feels kind of wishy-washy. Like saying I'm actually transgender but I won't grow my hair out lest my parents find out. Which is fine if that's where you are in your life, but I want to be free of all the old restrictions and judging."

He fishes out his phone in its battered, sparkly pink Hello Kitty casing and taps up some pictures on it. "I have a few designs I like -- and I can't for the life of me pick which ones I like best. Here's to me soliciting opinions. I like the simplicity of this rose design for instance, but I think that at a distance, it just becomes a blurry mess. This one might work better for that -- and I think the mahogany shade goes well with my hair."

He laughs softly. "I mean, I'm vain. In my own way. And this will be made for me so why not take it all the way. But I also love this design because it reminds me of the sheer joy you've had out of your hair dye experiments. And this one speaks to the classicist in me."

Putting aside her coffee mug, Ariadne then leans to see the pictures on the phone. She considers each and tilts her head back and forth and doesn't appear to be settled on any which one herself -- and for good reason: it isn't her violin.

"I think you're right about the rose, unfortunately, beautiful as that is. The mahogany shade would go well with your hair. The water one, with the lily, would go great with mine." Dimpling, she takes a moment to wind a length of the celestially-dyed section around her finger slowly. All that's missing is a pop of bubblegum. "The sheet music painted on the last one is very nice. I don't think I'd go for that one myself, but I play the piano. Mine's a whole other animal. I can't find any real theme in those either other than contrast, I guess? And my big question is whether or not a heavy paint job, like all over the instrument verses the sectioned designs, influences the quality of play."

"Yes. The sheet music and the water lily are both -- amazingly beautiful, but I suspect they're made to hang on a wall, not to play." There's a note of regret in Ravn's voice -- he really does like the look of them. "The rose and the mahogany are more stencil-like in their paint job. Most of the wood is left as is under its finish."

He smiles. "Of course the ultimate determining factor will be sound. And I'm being a pain in the arse there because I'm essentially asking for something that isn't valuable enough that I'd cry my heart out if another Roman emperor steals it, but it needs to sound like I would."

He glances at Ariadne's hands. "And honestly, now I'm thinking about piano designs. Pimp your grand piano. First, buy living room large enough to fit said grand piano into..."

Ravn's consideration of those long and limber fingers is greeted with a smooth run of them up an invisible set of piano keys, from pinkie to pinkie, along with a cheeky little grin.

"Bummer this place isn't large enough, though I'd hate to annoy my neighbors with playing around on it at two in the morning if I have insomnia. My parents have a baby grand and it's very nice, but again...their place, not mine. Maybe one day, you never know." Hope springs eternal for the barista, apparently. "I don't think you're being too difficult though. Make it a two-step process. First, you get the quality of sound, then you get the paint job you want on the violin, boom: issue resolved. Maybe it takes a little longer than ordering it one fell swoop, but hey, you get what you want?"

She glances back at her laptop screen. "Ooooooh, dude. Mesa, like down in the southwest where I was born." She turns the screen to show Ravn again.

Ravn grins. "That's a lovely shade of blue. I don't have any personal connection to that kind of landscape -- so if I was to go that route, I might ask for a night sky or an underwater scene, to get those shades of blue. But it's gorgeous."

He reaches over to capture one of those barista hands, slender and long fingered as they are. "Living in a house with room for a grand piano isn't everything. But there's nothing wrong with declaring that when you do settle for good somewhere, it'll be somewhere with room for a grand piano. After all, you don't have to build a manor around it. You just need a good-sized room with decent acoustics."

The folklorist pauses for a moment. And then murmurs, "I do want to get this violin. And then find someplace that has a piano. And maybe we could try about playing together a little."

"That's fair. A night sky would be beautiful," Ariadne agrees as she turns the laptop back towards herself again. Then, her hand is taken up, and she glances over at the Dane again. Wearing a soft smile for him now, his own fingers get a gentle squeeze of greeting for the touch -- hello. Her smile deepens as she notes, "There will be room for a baby grand, absolutely."

But then, Ravn goes and muses over something she too has been keeping in her back pocket, as it were, the better to not startle the usually reticent violinist with enthusiasm. "I'd be absolutely pleased as pie to do this, dearheart. Yes! Please, yes, do let's," she agrees, those dimples showing and her hazel eyes absolutely lighting up. "You get that violin and while you're getting it all ordered and stuff, I'll see about finding a place around town that isn't the Sitka. Maybe one of my regulars has a piano I could borrow or something. I keep forgetting to ask Una if she does have one, that house has so many rooms. I wonder if one's just hiding away in there somewhere."

Ravn cants his head, thinking. "I wouldn't even be surprised if there's at least a regular piano sitting somewhere in Oak Five. We should ask, at least. And if there isn't -- I know that a keyboard is not a piano, but a decent quality one is still better than nothing, and substantially easier to store. Could set one up in our garage on Oak Three, next to Kinney's drum kit."

He smiles and then looks down at their entwined fingers. "I want to share music with you. It's such a big part of my life, and yet I almost never play with anyone else. Sometimes, Rosencrantz. Otherwise, not."

Ariadne's thumb lightly skim up and over the Dane's knuckles while he's looking. It takes up a back and forth motion while she still sports a calmer smile; the dimples are still present.

"I'd love to share your music with you. I've always suspected you were a good player. I know it's not your thing, showing off, but this isn't showing off. Like you said, it's sharing, and I'm honored," she gently insists. "A keyboard is more accessible, I agree, and I can flick to different synthesized instruments in the middle of things. Imagine: you're bowing along, beautifully, and suddenly: recorder accompaniment. Or trombone. Or hell, something mystical and echoing like...ice organ pipes or something," the redhead laughs. "I love the possibilities on those things."

Her eyes then narrow as if she can't quite believe what's been said. "You think a keyboard can be stashed in the garage on Oak Three? Really? I can't afford one right now, not one I'd like to play. I'll have to save up," the barista decides.

"We could find one for the HOPE Centre. I mean, you're not the only person in town who'd like to practise and can't put a grand piano in the living room." Ravn smiles lightly. "You could help me find one? It'd need to be something durable enough to survive teenagers. Changing instruments, having options on it? Sounds like the sort of thing that may get some of those kids into music in the first place."

He squeezes Ariadne's hand lightly. "We could do both. Look for a regular piano -- maybe an old upright one, maybe an electrical one, for Oak Three. And something electronic and accessible for HOPE. Want to join me in a quest to bring music to kids?"

And maybe he could have left it off there but the man is trying to open up about things he's very accustomed to keeping private. "I'm not a complete amateur. I'm also not a performer."

Two fingers of her free hand tip off her temple in a saucy salute. "Aye-aye, cap'n, let's see about something not too fancy for Oak Three and a nice keyboard for HOPE. I'd see about anchoring the keyboard and stand down somehow, especially if it detaches from the stand, it'd be too tempting for someone to lift it up and try to move it and then gravity does its fine work. My sister did this once when she was younger," Ariadne explains.

She sets the laptop aside as Ravn continues and scoots down the couch to end up shoulder to shoulder with him. Her gaze searches his face and she nods. "That's talent enough if you take a step back and consider it. The violin's a fickle little creature from what I've heard from friends over the years. You didn't take lessons, right? Play by ear?"

"That makes sense. HOPE has a policy that nothing that stays at the centre can't be replaced. Because, well, desperate people sometimes make bad choices." Ravn nods slightly.

Then he laughs softly. "Oh lord, no. I'm not some musical prodigy who picked up an instrument one day and played along with the radio. Believe me, I took lessons. Years and years of lessons and private tutors. It's one of the things that Rosencrantz tries to hide that he resents about me. He grew up practising by himself on the back stairs of his tenement building."

Both knees are drawn up now that the bottom one rests against Ravn's thigh. Ariadne steers their intertwined hands to rest somewhat in her lap, keeping up the metronomic brush of thumb as she listens.

"I mean, makes sense. There's formal training and there's figuring stuff out by ear. Both have their benefits. I took lessons on the piano too, but it was easy enough for me to sit there and pick out music by ear. I'm just really slow at it. It's not something I can do where I hear a song and then can sit down and play. I mean, I can play sheet music on the fly, mostly? Not perfect there either. I can't do that super cool...what would you call it. Improv back-up some piano players can do, where they have an ear for the chord scheme of a guitar piece and make up the music on the fly. Now that is mad skills in my book. I had a friend in college who could do that, Tyler, and oh my god, it was bomb listening to him just...make up shit on the fly to some piece of music already known."

Ravn nods slightly. "That's what Rosencrantz can do as well. Why I say, he is an artist while I'm just a bloke who's learned how to play. Because I can play off memory or a note sheet just fine, but I don't add to what's there. I don't leave my own touch on it, I don't expand on it. A true artist pours their own soul into the music, makes it their own."

He hitches a shoulder lightly and then brings up his thumb to rest against Ariadne's. "That's one of the reasons I don't much want to play for others. If you want to hear a performance of a classical piece, put on a recording. It will be the same every time, and perfect. But real art has the performer's soul in it, it has mistakes, it has sweat and tears and blisters."

"Sure, but why can't you add your own little touches to a classical piece? It's easy to extend a note or know there's a pause in the music and let it linger like a held breath before continuing on. There're some classical pieces which beg for a little bit more." Ariadne now leans the side of her head on her palm, elbow anchored into the top of the couch's back-cushioning.

"Take 'Moonlight Sonata'. Everybody and their mom knows it, knows how it goes, so...you have fun with it. A little bit more of a glissando here, a hanging note there, maybe more...legato through this part here, and the essence of the music hasn't been betrayed," the barista shrugs.

"Because I don't know how." Ravn manages a small, wry smile. "When I play for myself, I disappear into the music. It is my space where no one can reach me. Where my parents and society could make no demands, have no expectations. There is nothing there but me. But to do that -- I had to make music into my wall. I never learned how to use it for expression -- only to keep myself apart."

He looks a bit sheepish; this is obviously a somewhat uncomfortable subject. "Sometimes -- when I play something else, like folk music or bluegrass, I can be more expressive. Or I could, when I was travelling, because when I was busking at some bus station or subway platform, I would never meet any of those people again. They'd drop me a few cents maybe, stand around for a few, and then we'd go our separate ways. They weren't really real."

A slow little smile appears on the redhead's lips.

"No, they wouldn't be," Ariadne agrees quietly. "They're on their way to something, not to linger and stare like a recital. It makes sense." Ravn's captured hand is subject to gentle pressure, there and gone. "I don't think the sense of separation you're talking about, when you play, that's not weird to me. I get it in my own way. The focus is on the music, not on the surroundings, and nobody else is making it happen. It's entirely one's energy being channeled into the expression. The nice part? If you want to learn how to add a bit of expression, you kind of know someone who's really good at it."

Rosencrantz, of course.

"Itzhak would coach you a bit on that if you asked, I imagine?"

Ravn offers another small smile. "He's certainly always telling me to stop hiding and show myself some more when we do play. It's been a while."

He squeezes Ariadne's hand back. "Things have been hectic the last months. It's been some time since I saw him in more than passing. I don't think he even knows you and I are a couple, or at least I'm pretty sure I didn't tell him. Admittedly, we've not exactly been hiding it, either. Just everything has been Haggleford and Veil fruit and arguments for some time now, and I've been falling behind in keeping up with my friends."

"We played in Seattle, once or twice. Just for shit and giggles, busking on the harbour, near that modern art museum. It's a little easier because again, no one knows me and everyone's ogling him. You know how he is, half the crowd wants to drag him home to bed with them."

"Everybody's got their magnetism," the redhead agrees easily. "He's not my type, personally, but Itzhak's got his charms and I'm not about to deny it. Charm is one of those understated super powers." Ravn gets an eyebrow waggle and a short chuckle. Not inclined to be anything less than honest, Ariadne, about her ability to somehow coexist with nearly all humanity when she puts her mind to it.

She then glances over at Sam with a sigh and musing of, "Doors aren't helping the crazy. Half the time, people are missing and we don't know it -- or hell, we're missing and nobody knows how we're missing. I bet he knows though, how we're a thing. It doesn't need to be told. He can ask and get it confirmed." Her hazel eyes return to Ravn. "So I'm hearing you want a violin with some blue on it...? Or it really is the design itself and not necessarily the color scheme?"

Ravn chuckles. It's true, the jungle drums of Gray Harbor are such that Rosencrantz probably does know -- and was told in some smokey harbour bar in Cairo, 1931, by a strange gentleman with a German accent, asking for Doktor Jones.

He nods lightly. Ariadne's charm and Itzhak's? They are entirely different and yet the same. Some people have infectious charm, an ability to disarm and enthrall. Others don't. Just like some people stay unnoticed until they themselves start waving their arms and making noise. Like him.

Then he looks down at his phone again. "I think the one I am most partial towards is the terracotta or mahogany red, with the black and blue floral designs. The paint does not cover the entire instrument -- I like that you can see the wood. And it's a little..."

Cue a blush which does copper hair no favours. "Well, it's black for me and a bit of blue for you."

Blushing might not do the copper hair any favors, but it sure as hell summons up that Princess of Foxes grin -- the one where Ariadne looks inordinately pleased and up to something all in the same flicker of expression.

Just like that, she's toned it down to simple and far more humble gratification. "Aw, shucks, you." A finger curls to invite the Dane over for a lingering kiss. "If I'd have known you'd be such a sucker for the hair dye, I might have done it sooner," she murmurs, smiling again. "But if the violin needs to be black and blue..." A quick search on her laptop again and she makes a soft sound. "Something like this one?" is asked as she rotates the screen to showcase.

Ravn is busy for a moment or two, before he can detach his face and look down at the screen. "That's gorgeous too. See my problem? Too many great designs out there, how am I supposed to choose? Now you know why my old violin was just plain wood."

Well, that, and he did not want it stolen while travelling.

Then he reaches for his own phone. "I've contemplated this one too. Good colour range for my hair and clothing still, and there's something -- I don't know, I like the way it reminds me of a medieval manuscript in that the peacock doesn't actually look very much like a peacock at all. Kind of like, a dream of a peacock."

Ariadne leans to see the picture on the phone. If it happens to deposit her better into her beau's personal space, all the better and oopsie-not-at-all-really.

"Oh, I like that. It's got that kind of...minimalism to it which isn't superfluous or tacky. If blue and black is your thing though, you showed me one earlier that was on a deeply-red base, right? Flowers. Was it flowers? Something like that. Could do a spin-off of this. Or what if you did the peacock-ish design here," her fingertip pokes at the phone screen, "And shifted it into the cooler hues? Blue, purple, the like?"

Ravn nods slightly and flips back to it on his phone. "The terracotta design. I think I might settle on that one. Though I need to talk to the violin builder about it first, because if it does affect the sound too much -- well, a lot of these instruments look like they're made to be hung on a wall, not actually played. I love the idea of taking an old, battered, and essentially dead violin and turning it into a piece of art, but I don't want to effectively kill a new one."

Ariadne nods. "Right. I have no idea if the paint would deaden the sound of the violin or not. A piano has a very rigid structure around the strings, so you can go absolutely nuts with a piano and not have any issues until you start playing with the shape of the body itself. I mean, hell, do a Google search and there are some amazing painted pianos out there."

Snuggling up and into Ravn, the barista's head ends up rested on his shoulder. "If you like the terracotta design, remember you can change the colors if you want. You're not stuck with the exact design. How old would the violin have to be to have the sound you want then? Don't they kind of...mellow out as they age?"

"I imagine that a good builder can get quite close to what I want -- it's all in the materials and what you actually want." Ravn nods a little, and then leans his head against Ariadne's in that way he likes so much. "You can take a carefully crafted 18th century piece and the sound cannot be matched after all this time. Or an off the shelf modern violin that sounds like a bad recording in a decade. I think I will want a dark sound -- I'm the kind of guy who says 'oboe' when you ask what wind instrument I am. I like playing bluegrass and blues. I don't want to say I want a haunted sound, but if I am having an instrument built for me personally, I want something that speaks in my voice."

He nuzzles his nose against Ariadne's temple. "I've seen some quite gorgeous old pianofortes and similar that were pieces of art in their own right. But it's usually the lid and woodwork that's painted -- not the actual instrument itself, so to speak. The strings vibrate freely in their casing."

Closing her eyes, Ravn's nuzzling nose is leaned into by Ariadne in turn. He's warm, taller, safe, and smells good to boot, from clothing to skin and cologne.

"I'm surprised you didn't go for a viola if you wanted to play a lower-sounding instrument...unless you mean the quality of the sound alone. I almost played the cello," she shares offhandedly. "But it's hard to carry a cello around." Her body stiffens with a single, short laugh. "I know the pianos you're talking about though, where they paint the inside of the lid so when it's lifted, the artwork is displayed. Those are beautiful."

Ravn nods slightly. And then laughs. "And that's exactly why I don't play a cello. I was what, seven, eight? And I wanted to play something that I could carry around. Because I was old enough to know that if I played the piano or similar, I'd end up made to give recitals for my mother's friends, and that's the last thing I wanted. But something small, I could run away and play for myself somewhere. I did have to torture some cats to convince my mother to not try to show me off, but, fortunately, that's very easy to do with a violin. It is an instrument that can create pure torture if handled wrong."

The rill of laughter from the redhead is almost enough to wake up Samwise, almost. The Windhound's ear twitches and he semi-stretches in his sleep, but easily slips back into his sunlit dozing.

"God, yes, you can torture the hell out of someone with a violin. I mean, you can with a piano as well. Play Scott Joplin's 'The Entertainer' in an unpredictable half-minor key and watch your audience start squirming." From the manner of Ariadne's smile, she's done this before. For science, of course. A stretch of one leg and then a tuck of foot up beneath herself again as she leans in the more to her beau. "So when are you ordering your violin? Sounds like you've about got your mind made up...?"

Ravn smiles a little. "I think I do. If the builder agrees with me. Now I just need to find the time. This town, it does keep a man busy."

He leans into Ariadne and slips an arm around her. "What about you? Why did you get into playing the piano? What's the escape, for you?"

"Eh, what's a phone call...or an email? Easy-peasy to get in contact with the builder." Ravn's enwrapping arm can't be resisted; now he's got a bundling of barista cuddled up into his armpit and half across his chest. Her own arm wraps loosely and diagonally across him to tuck in to the opposite side of body by hip.

Her sigh is long and content. It means her reply is pitched low, intimate. "My escape with the piano is hearing the music come together, melody and harmony. I get playing the violin, but it can hold a melody or harmony. It can't do both, not really, not even when a virtuoso plays two strings at once. A piano can...and it has the range to get into nearly every piece of music known to mankind without too much transposing. And you can plunk down at any piano anywhere and play as long as there's a piano. I like the availability and range of the instrument."

Ravn can feel his lover smile against his jaw, and he treasures the sensation. "It is true. The piano is very versatile. I think I knew already as a boy that I would run away -- and manage to stay away, some day. And that that meant not playing an instrument that you cannot pack into a bag."

He chuckles. "It's so strange. I've spent so many years not wanting anyone to think about me as a musician. And now I actually want to play for you. With you. I never played for Benedikte. I have no idea whether she even knew that I play an instrument at all. There were many things I never told her."

And maybe, maybe somebody has not forgotten all of a conversation on a boat one of these summer nights hence. "Did you play with Samantha?"

"I'm honored you would play for me, Ravn," Ariadne tells him softly. "Whenever you wish, I'll listen, dearheart."

And it turns out the man was listening to said conversation.

The question entices a little chuckle and sigh out of the redhead. "Samantha could sing...alto, mezzo-soprano, somewhere in there. I don't know the terms super well where singing is involved...so, yes. I would play the piano, she would sing, and damned if she didn't make me all the more fond of her. She never made a career out of her singing, it was more a hobby, like my playing. But hey, maybe one day, I'll see about checking on her YouTube or Tik Tok channel and see if she's made it big. She had one of those voices where it was...plainly beautiful, I guess. She wasn't huge on vibrato or flourishes, which made her renditions of folk songs just to die for. She did do a mean imitation of Bon Jovi though."

"Living on a prayer," Ravn grins slightly. "I like that. Playing and singing because you want to. Not because you need to, or because somebody tells you it'll make you rich and famous. That's very important to me. I came from a place where I could have trained to become famous and have had all the head start -- lessons, private tutors, whatever. My mother would have loved it if her son had become a famous classical violinist. So I understand exactly what that is like -- that you want to keep your music, it's yours. Not the world's, and not the audience of whoever flips past on Tik Tok."

He cants his head. "If she does perform, though, we could go see her sometime. That is, from the sound of it, you parted on amicable terms."

Ariadne's quiet for a time. The apartment settles with its own sounds; the neighbors must be vacuuming one over. Samwise inhale-snores and starts twitching as he dreams of chasing something. Narrow sighthound feet flip about as his whiskers wrinkle now and then.

"Yeah, it was amicable terms. It really was," she insists. "I was too busy with my degree, Samantha needed more from me that I couldn't give. We were both adults about it. I think we only lost track of one another because life got busy for her too, with her own degree. I think if she was performing somewhere and we went to see her, I wouldn't get slapped or bitched out or given the cold shoulder. I think. Who knows...time changes everything. Her favorite one to imitate Bon Jovi with was 'You Give Love a Bad Name'. That grrrr-drawl," she laughs.

Ravn nods slightly. "Transient. Even when we do not mean to be, we often are. I think maybe you have to reach a certain age before you are ready to focus on what you want to do in life. Garner enough experience to know what you want. But not everyone left behind is an enemy, indeed. You are probably a fond memory to her, of something that was good, but it did not stand the test of time."

"Yeah." A little sigh. "Not the end of the world. It's nice to be a positive footnote in someone's story rather than a prickly pain in the ass or a reason to scowl. I've had worse exes, that's for sure." Nuzzling more into Ravn, the redhead keeps her eyes closed and body generally relaxed and slung along his side. "Not that I can really talk about exes."

Because the last encounter they'd had was fairly heart-straining.

"But let's not, it's depressing. Let's talk about...Malta and the fact of the sisters basically inviting us upstairs. Oh my." Yes, Ravn, now you get the redhead's face pulled back into view and a totally unrepentant eyebrow waggle. "We must be a pretty pair."

Ravn actually blushes as he offers a soft little laugh. "I am, uh. I mean, I would have waited if you wanted to. But, even if I had been seeing them as actual people and not skeletons, I don't think I could. I'm really not attracted to people I don't know. I'm a bit awkward that way."

He tries hard to ignore his burning cheeks. "I don't hope that happens to us a lot. I don't really think of myself as a jealous type but I am a little, perhaps."

"A little jealousy isn't a bad thing." Ariadne's still grinning as if she's quite pleased with the compliment implied to them as a couple. "A lot, yes, it means a lack of trust in one's partner. I wouldn't have gone up there, no, even if it was a very flattering offer. I'm not attracted to people I don't know either and thank god you told me about what was really going on. I would have fallen for everything without a second thought because I haven't experienced anything like that before. Pine needles." She shakes her head.

Reaching up, she cups his face with one hand. "The way you blush is so cute though," she simpers with a foxy grin -- because blushes tend to deepen when pointed out and she's really rather impish now and then.

Well, if you like strawberry coloured Dane you got one.

"I've always felt -- that there's a lot that I don't understand. A lot of people seem extremely motivated by these things. Crazy, sometimes, like Benedikte -- in the end she thought I was going to sleep with any woman who winked at me if I got the chance. But also perfectly normal people."

He ponders. "I think I mentioned -- that I kind of fell for someone here in town, though she either lost interest in me right away or the Veil distracted her? I know at least one other person was on her radar, so to speak. And I accepted it -- that if we got together, she was probably also going to be sleeping with this other person. I thought, well. It's selfish to want somebody to just yourself. And I still think it is. But at the same time, I can't see myself wanting more than one lover. I guess it's all very individual."

"It's definitely individual and 'normal' is overrated anyways." Ariadne, quite pleased with her strawberry-colored Dane, relents on holding his cheek. Back to rested across his body, her arm and hand goes, and she lets herself look dozily at nothing across the room.

"Call me old-fashioned, but I guess I'm a monogamous sort and I don't think it's selfish. I think it's a thing of knowing someone's reliably there for you, without any conflicting plans because someone else has emotional influence in a manner more than friendly. I...think you mentioned that, yeah, and it's okay if some things don't make sense. Not everything does. The only thing which makes sense is that not everything makes sense, to quote a film. Plus, you can't read peoples' minds. Neither can I and I'm glad for it."

"Oh yes. I think reading minds would be terrible. Imagine going around thinking that people probably don't care much for you -- and then finding out that you're entirely right, might as well go look for a short pier to take a long walk off now. Better to be in doubt,and still look for people who might actually want you around." Ravn winces.

Then he hitches a shoulder lightly and nods. "You know what someone said to me once? You aren't really somebody in this town until you've slept with de la Vega or Rosencrantz, or both. I mean, it's a joke but it's also not -- women obsess over those blokes. Fair number of blokes too. Some people like Rosencrantz have this something -- they look at people, and people realise they want this person to like them. You have it too. It's like magic to someone like me who largely tends to not get noticed until I want to be."

Ariadne leans back and looks into her beau's face, excruciatingly dubious about the statement as a whole.

"...look, no insult to either of the gents mentioned, but no. I'm not for them and they're probably not for me and I guess I'm never going to be part of the town because that's a rude assumption to make." Her nose wrinkles. "It also pigeon-holes people, god, who said that to you? Unnecessary pressure on everyone involved, geez. I'm sure as hell not attempting to cultivate any sort of thing like that. I'm just charming and that's how it is."

Ravn laughs softly. "I know you're not. It's a bit of a local joke, I guess? And it's true insofar that a lot of people really do seem to fall over their own legs to impress both or either. Obviously, the eighteen thousand people of Gray Harbor don't all line up and take numbers."

He leans in and kisses Ariadne's forehead. "But it fascinates me in the same way that you fascinate me. How some people walk into a room, and everyone in there is just favourably inclined towards them, right away. I can be charming in the impersonal, polished way that I was taught as a child -- but I can't smile that smile you have, or have that crooked wink Rosencrantz does, and people can tell that for me, it's all an act."

The small amount of lift in Ariadne's shoulders settles after the kiss to her forehead; she remains looking into Ravn's face nonetheless, listening now. He gets another shrug.

"I guess...I dunno, I can't really explain it. Working public retail helped a lot. You learn how to field all sorts of people and disarm them before they can really get ground on complaints because I ain't got time for complaints about temperature of a drink," she opines drily. "A good smile always helps though, it's true. Dimples. Dimples help. But it can be used as a weapon, the ability to be charming, so...I guess maybe I take a little more personal than I should when somebody points it out as something which can be used to manipulate....which it can be, so..."

She ends up rolling her eyes at herself. "I guess it's a prideful thing or something."

Ravn kisses her forehead again. "But you're not manipulative. I mean, yes, you'll dimple me out of the last chocolate in the box, but you're not wrapping people around your finger or playing them against each other. You don't get to blame yourself for something nature gave to you. Some people are born beautiful; it does not mean they are good or evil, it only means they're pretty. What you do with your gift is all on you."

He nods slightly then. "I can walk that walk. I can be detached, polite, old world charm, certainly. I can small talk and do the circuit, and no one will be able to hold me to a thing I said, after. But I hate it, and people can tell. I escape as soon as I am able, and I've spent several family affairs stoned out of my mind in the men's room, I'll ready admit."

Ariadne's expression falls as she says, "God, Ravn, that bad? Stoned in the men's room? I'm so sorry." And she really is by tone and sympathetic poise. The next kiss for him lands on the outside of one eye, lingering and left there to cool in the air of the living room.

"I'm glad you don't have to be fake often around here. We all do, at some point or another, every week or so, but not all of the time. Masks are masks to be worn and taken off and they keep society moving, I guess. I sure as hell don't mean to be manipulative... I'm not perfect, but I know I've got a black belt in charm and knowing it is important. It's like knowing you have a knife on you. You're not wrong though." A dimple shows up. "I will convince you to give me the last chocolate in the box."

"The last chocolate will always be yours." Ravn grins slightly, forehead to forehead. "I accept this fate. It is a sacrifice I am willing to make."

He giggles -- yes, giggles. "I did tell you that I had to go to a wedding here? In New York, that is. Since I was the other relative of the bride on this continent, it'd be terribly rude of me to stay away. So I made Rosencrantz go with me. Turns out one of my cousins was also there, and he thought Rosencrantz was my dealer -- because that's just how his head works, I guess, a brown-ish bloke? Must be some Mexican dealer or whatever. Rosencrantz bloody well nearly punched him. And then we did in fact hide in the men's room until we could safely escape and go play violins in Central Park instead."

"Oh good, an issue easily resolved," the barista purrs, pleased as pie on the premise of the last chocolate. She nose-boops her beau because why not.

But Ravn's giggling now. It makes her draw back a little again with brows lifted, her half-smile a thing of anticipation. The outcome of avoiding family obligations has her laughing too. "Why am I not surprised. I bet you climbed out the bathroom window too because you could and super stealthy and all. Stoned here too then?"

"No, I didn't want to do that to the bride. She's a nice kid and it's not her fault she got born into this family." Ravn laughs softly. "She thought Rosencrantz and I were a couple -- and complimented us. Good kid. No idea about the American she married. His family looked kind of -- well."

Ravn makes a face. "If you'll forgive me for sounding exactly like the Old World old family I come from: They looked like nouveau riche. Like they had to remind people that they could afford an upscale New York hotel. The kind of people who want solid gold faucets because the bathroom is the obvious place to show off your wealth."

"Well...maybe they did want the gold faucets? I dunno, my family's never had that kind of money. I have no idea what sort of lens one gets from being born into old money and all. America's also newer to boot, so...in terms of 'old money', it's not that old."

Ariadne then laughs. "You and Itzhak a couple, huh? I admit, it's a cute image. I hope she's happy still, the bride. Marrying into a family is a big, big choice. I feel like sometimes, people think only about being married to the spouse and not to the whole family. I mean, you don't have to deal with the whole family, but the whole family kiiiind of comes along as a package deal."

"Myes, it does, but one might argue that after the wedding, the whole array of uncles and cousins don't have to move in with you. So I'm hoping Marie Louise found the good one in the bunch, and they're very happy in New Mexico or wherever it is his family's from, I have no idea." Ravn nods slightly.

Then he smiles. "I mean, you're not wrong. But sometimes, people marry in spite of the family, too. I feel very much that if somebody does marry me some day, then it will definitely be in spite. Also because frankly, I can't see myself wanting to marry someone who wants that history, that legacy, for its own sake."

He's not going to comment on whether Benedikte did. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she had her own similar legacy to carry.

Instead, he chuckles. "Not the first time people have assumed I'm trying to get into Rosencrantz' bed, probably not the last time either. For a man who actually doesn't hit on every other person he meets, he's got a reputation. I think it has more to do with the way he looks and carries himself, though. People like a bad boy because a bad boy represents a dream of saying fuck you to the things that hold them back and just riding on to the sunset and a better life."

"Mmm..." Noncommittal, the sound Ariadne makes in regards to marrying into the baggage of history. Ravn's chuckling has her distracted from that line of thought anyhow. She ends up snort-laughing once.

"I get that, the whole bad boy appeal. One of my exes was like that: motorcycle, leathers, bad attitude -- which you don't have, mister, I'm perfectly aware of your leather and Lola Bianca." Her cheeks pink despite herself; maybe it hadn't been a thing actively (personally) acknowledged until now. "Turns out the bad attitude couldn't be fixed and I should have known better than to date a fixer-upper. People don't change, not at heart. If it works? Then damn straight it does and there's some luck involved that you found the person who works, as far as I'm concerned. Makes me wonder about fate," she laughs quietly.

Ravn shakes his head. "I don't believe in fate. But then -- I don't believe in anything much, you know that. People occupy the same space for some time. If they are lucky, their time lasts a long time. But nothing lasts forever, and on some level, we are all travellers until some day we wake up and realise that we have become what our parents predicted. Or we have become our parents."

Then he offers a small, wry smile. "Besides, you're still in the habit of dating fixer-uppers. You just picked another brand this time."

Small, wry smile returned. "And you're dating a brand of one too...because nobody's perfect and I get that now. We're all fixer-uppers. We've all got our baggage and troubles and shadows because we're human. We're not gods or superheroes. We're human...and I like that, actually. Being human. It's never, ever boring -- never just occupying a space. There's so much to do and see even when it's quiet." Ariadne's eyes find her dog. He's whuffling softly now in his sleep as if he wants to bark but can't surmount the leaden weight of rest.

"I don't think I believe in fate either, not in the end. I think we make our own destiny. Our thoughts influence our actions and choices. With that much power over what we do and say, we can shape our own world. It's amazing to have this power. Predetermined? Pfft. Boring," she laughs faintly.

"No? To me, that's what most of life feels like -- occupying a space." Ravn hitches a shoulder lightly. "You have a place in the world that you were born into. Expectations, obligations. Puberty and the early years are a negotiation, where you try to get a say in too. Some people manage, some don't. But most of the time, taking up space and going through the motions is what people do, because we don't know how to do anything else."

He shakes his head. "I don't believe in fate or predestination. Just in following the path beaten by those who went before, because we don't know what else to do. To quote a famous franchise, the night is dark and full of terrors. And if you intend to walk off that path, you're going to be walking mostly alone."