2022-07-03 - Doors Needed

Once upon a time, it was common lore that it always rains on the Fourth of July. But climate change has done a number on that logic, and it’s a beautifully sunny weekend with no rain in the forecast. It’s good for tourism, of course, and the boardwalk is hopping.

For once, Jules is not in athletic wear. She’s already worked the morning shift, gone home, showered, and changed. When she shows up harborside for the second time today, she’s wearing her black off-the-shoulder dress, sandals, sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed straw hat likely stolen from one of her roommates. The rare afternoon off deserves to be celebrated. It warrants ice cream.

There's a lot of shops on the boardwalk -- and one of them is the yachting shop. That is, it doesn't sell yachts -- it sells everything you may need on a yacht. Given that Ravn belongs to the yachting nation, he is a fairly frequent customer, for whatever reasons. Today's reason is needing a replacement mooring rope -- he lent one to a boater from down the coast who then sailed off with it and forgot, and well, you should always have a spare blue nylon rope on your boat.

Blazer, even in the summer heat. The black t-shirt underneath reads, If you see me running, you should start running too. He probably finds it ironically amusing given that if the Dane is in fact spotted running? Something absolutely terrible is about to happen.

He spots a familiar sun hat -- and raises a gloved hand in a friendly wave, only then to realise that it's not the expected neighbour. "Impersonating Irving today, are you?"

It's a busy weekend at the marina for those working, but Mikaere, like Jules, worked a morning shift, and has now handed off his duties to one of the other workers for a while-- there's always a quiet time in the afternoon when everyone who's going out has already gone out, and no one's yet ready to come back in. Split shifts aren't the most fun, but it's better than not working at all, right? Right.

So it is that the tall Kiwi, who has changed his clothes and combed his hair, comes up behind Jules right after Ravn greets her, wrapping one arm about her waist and pressing a kiss into her-- well, hat. It's not quite as good as hair, thank you very much, and he makes a face over her head, clearly by-and-large for Ravn's benefits. Straw, ptui.

"I hope not," he says.

Jules doesn’t squeak in alarm, so it’s probably safe to bet that she was expecting to meet up with Mikaere while on her ice cream run. She just grins, tipping head (and hat) back.

“I can guarantee that she’d have a different response,” she replies. Her response involves comfortably leaning back against Mikaere and covering his hand with her own. “Hey. What are you up to?” This is for Ravn. “Join us for ice cream?”

"If you don't mind me just joining and not actually eating, sure thing." Ravn offers a small, lopsided smile. He does feel a bit silly with a roll of blue nylon rope hanging off one shoulder but then, the marina is just over there, and no one uses that kind of rope outside a marina, ergo.

Beat. "Not that I want to eat Irving's hat, either."

"If I put my arm around her? Rather," chortles Mikaere. "I don't know her well, but--" But, indeed.

"Let's no one eat the hat, but ice cream for those who want it, definitely. We'll let you watch, that's no problem. Besides-- think there's something we talked about talking over with you anyway, and now's as good a time as any, right? Even if it is too nice of a day to bother with too much. C'mon, Jules. Lead the way."

“There would be shrieking,” Jules declares. “And a lot of blushing. And possibly a very firm talking-to.”

She slips to one side and starts off without further encouragement. “‘We’ll let you watch’—I’m sure there’s a better way to phrase that,” Jules remarks with an amused look up at Mikaere from beneath the straw hat brim. “But yes. We met Haggleford. And it got interesting.”

Talk about dropping a bucket of cold water on a conversation. Ravn's smile bleeds away. "I'd hoped that him getting blown to pieces in the old lumber mill was enough of a hint that we wouldn't see more of him. I guess there's no such luck."

He may be a little out of the loop.

The folklorist sighs lightly. "Right. Lead on. Let's get you some ice cream, and let's find a place out of the sun where we can talk somewhat privately." Out of the sun because guess what? Blazer and shirt and gloves are hot on a day like this.

Mikaere's grin twitches: Jules is right, of course, there's definitely a much better way to phrase that.

It fades, too, that grin: seriousness is the order of this other conversation, and even if it isn't time to start it immediately, it can't help but darken his mood slightly. "No, but-- hang on, ice cream, and then we'll explain."

There's a surprising break in the queue in front of the ice cream shop, meaning it doesn't take long at all to collect sweet treats and then regroup in the shade. Mikaere's got a small cup rather than a cone, and digs his bamboo spoon in, hesitating over where to start. "So, uh. Well. It was 1917. Jules, you want to explain?"

Waffle cone for Jules filled with chocolate chip cookie dough, because if she’s having ice cream, she’s going to do it properly, drippy cone-end and all.

“Yeah. So,” she begins, “we met his past self. Not whoever he is now with the body snatching. It sounded like the plague was just starting? He was buying up a bunch of weapons. Said he had about thirty-forty years until all his people were going to be wiped out from the plague, because there’d be no new generation that would survive.” She pauses at length to lick her ice cream cone and munch on a dot of cookie dough. “Anyway, he ended up agreeing to leave us something in case we might be able to help—on the Other Side.” Jules glances up at Mikaere. “Am I missing anything?”

"Huh. I guess that answers the question of whether the man's even human. He'd have to be a century old and then some." Ravn nods slowly. "Dream, I'm guessing? Early 20th century and all. Or one of those door things? Anyhow, the Other Side? That's a very big place -- the same size as this side, after all. I don't think anyone knows how big exactly -- whether it's just the town of Gray Harbor that's mirrored over there, or, well, the entire planet."

He cants his head. "I don't suppose you got specifics? Crossing over is easier in some places but also more dangerous. If he said the old lumber mill I'm going to assume he's trying to get you to kill yourselves and save him the headache."

"Dream," Mikaere confirms. "We were on board a boat that was smuggling weapons. I mean-- not that it matters, probably. That wasn't the point. It was just that... he actually talked to us. He didn't want to kill us; he seemed to want to avoid violence, as much as possible. But," he pauses, licking his spoon carefully, working through his thoughts to pull them together properly.

"The Receptionist," is what he says. "He said he'd leave samples with The Receptionist. I don't think he really believed we could help at all, and clearly it didn't stop him from doing awful things later, as he got more desperate. But-- I mean, the man's allies nearly killed me, and they've kidnapped probably a lot more people than we know, but-- I felt bad for him."

Jules leaves answering Ravn’s concerns to Mikaere. He’s far better equipped to judge another person’s sincerity, after all. She’s quiet while he explains further, only adding at the end, “I think he’s trying to help his people any way he can. It may not be right, but I get that. He’s trying to prevent genocide by plague.”

Of course Jules has feelings about this given the historical parallels. She’s frowning now, not distressed but also not happy. “The Receptionist is in City Hall, right? Which means—well. You know what it means.”

"Never heard of a Receptionist," Ravn muses. "But that definitely does not rule out that one exists. I have a feeling there are a lot of these creatures and entities. Do we know where to find him or her? If we don't, I can think of a few people that we might want to ask -- Vydal collects this information, for one. Or there's asking on the Other Side directly -- there are people living there, they can talk. Even if they don't always feel quite, well, human anymore."

Then Jules adds her piece and Ravn nods. "I've never been. To City Hall, I mean. I've stepped over a few times but I'm wary of it -- because the risk is very real, whether it's going somewhere you didn't intend to, or something coming through that door with you. I suspect that a lot of the strange creatures here in our Gray Harbor came here like that -- hitching a ride with careless or indifferent people."

"I was hoping," Mikaere admits, with a sigh, "that he or she would be easy to find: at the reception of the Other City Hall, maybe? I don't know-- I'd not heard of him or her or them before either, though granted, I don't have much experience with the -ists at all, anyway." It's a little gloomy, acknowledging this lack of solid information, though the day's too nice for him to get too wrapped up in it.

"None of that is particularly comforting," he adds. "But I think... we have to go. I think we're able to be sensible about it. Careful. This is serious business, but you know what, if there's something we can do to end this? I'm up for it. Not entirely sure what we'll do with the samples when we get them, but... that's the next problem, right? First is to get them."

“Definitely best to talk to people and get information first, if it’s there to be got.” Jules makes a face at all of it—the not entirely human, the things riding you back.

“I always figured it was a matter of time,” she says quietly. “Remember how you talked about word getting out and then someone approaching you to take them over and back? And the risks, and the responsibility, and just all of it. It’s just happening a little quicker than I expected.”

Jules concentrates on her ice cream, catching some of the melt that drips onto her waffle cone before it can go any further. “I was thinking. Maybe I should try to practice, with you or someone you trust—I think you mentioned Itzhak showed you stuff? I don’t want to get caught off-guard again.” She glances up at Mikaere as she says it, shadowed as it is behind sunglasses and the shade of her borrowed hat.

"If you want my help, you have it." Ravn nods slightly, at Jules in particular. "If you feel more comfortable with Rosencrantz, though, I don't blame you. I'm very cautious and wary of what's over there; some people are more, we're going on an adventure."

He looks up at the seagulls that circle like feathered opportunists in the sky. Sorry, seagulls, none of us are eating fries today. "It comes down a lot to personality type. I think there are marvels out there, and I want to see them. But there's also a number of entities who literally feed on making us miserable. Pop culture likes to paraphrase Baudelaire on it: The Devil's greatest trick was to convince man that he doesn't exist. It's easy to get carried away and it's very tempting, but it's also very dangerous. I will help you practise if you want me to, and I will go along on trips to the Other Side if people can convince me it's worth the risk. But if you want to hear that it's all epic adventure and high fantasy, then I'm not the person to ask."

Mikaere's gaze turns to Jules to watch her, and there's the suggestion in his expression that this part of their conversation is not one that is pre-planned, though his nod is even enough.

"I don't think any of us see this as an adventure," he says, then, turning back to Ravn. "I mean, of those of us standing here, at least. But I won't be the one who has to take anyone anywhere, so I'm largely neutral in this. What I want is to get there, get those samples, and then get back home again. No distractions, no drama... if that's even possible."

He makes a face. "I feel bad. I half wonder if it's our fault as much as anything. A hundred years, and we haven't picked up those samples, haven't helped. From Haggleford's side... it's no wonder he's gone off the deep end a bit."

Jules must catch the underlying drift of Mikaere’s gaze, because she reaches out to give his arm a quick squeeze.

“No drama,” she repeats. “Or side excursions. Or picking fights. Get in and get out.” Her mouth twists into a wry smile. “It almost sounds like a military operation, doesn’t it?”

For the remarks on Haggleford, Jules can only sigh, smile fading, before she applies herself to her ice cream.

"I'd rather be part of a military-style get in, get out operation," Ravn murmurs. "If we want to go exploring over there, we should prepare for that. But we should not try to do both at once."

He hitches a shoulder slightly and rests an elbow on the boardwalk railing, still watching the seagulls. "I'll help if you want. I don't know a lot, but what I know, you're welcome to. This town has a strange culture of keeping secrets that I never understood until the last month or two. Now I've seen what can happen if somebody decides to throw caution to the wind, and I understand it a little better, perhaps. But we're not talking about finishing here and going off. We're talking picking up my Tetris bag back home as a bare minimum, right?"

Mikaere acknowledges Jules' arm squeeze with a tiny little smile and a nod that matches.

"I'm comfortable with that, too," agrees Mikaere, on an exhale, and apparently about military-style operations, though that's before Ravn has got to the end of his words: that's when he stops, blinks, and murmurs, "I definitely wasn't thinking that, no. Not... here, now, let's go. For one, if you haven't heard of the Receptionist... we're just guessing, right? It'd really help to have more information. Know exactly what we're getting ourselves into."

Now he looks a little uncertain.

"Definitely not going today," Jules says firmly. "I'm enjoying my afternoon off, dammit, and it does not include plans to go check out the Other Side. And I have plans to go up to Taholah tomorrow for a family dinner, and my grandma will be pissed if I don't make it because I'm on some Veil excursion that's taking longer than it's supposed to." Don't piss off Grandma Black, guys.

"We definitely want more information before we try anything. And I'm not up for practicing today."

Ravn rests the other elbow on the railing as well. "I know that feeling. Got to be properly ready -- mentally, I mean. Have to feel like the time is right, you're up for dealing with the inevitable twist."

His gaze follows a seagull diving for a fry thrown by a kid over by the concession stand. Once one gull starts its drive, four others join. It's impossible to tell whether it's the first gull that actually gets the fry.

"City Hall is a good bet, though. I remember the Exorcist mentioning that that's where things are run from. And while she's not somebody I'd care to argue with either, she does seem to be more or less on our side. Or at least on the side of let's not make this place even messier than it already is." Ravn glances back to the others. Then he chuckles. "I need to go Seattle myself, tomorrow. Need to see a man about a violin."

"And," says Mikaere, easily. "Once Jules is back from Taholah, we're taking off sailing down the coast for a couple of days. But. Once we're back. Once we've all taken care of our business-- good luck with the violin, by the way-- we can start getting ourselves ready." He gives his attention to his ice cream for a moment, though his expression is too thoughtful for it to be taking all of his available thought.

"There'll definitely be a twist. Can't imagine anything will be quick and easy and simple, going There. Ok-- City Hall. That's sensible. I'm not going to give this Exorcist of yours much consideration, thanks very much, horrifying, but-- right, it can't be too difficult to find. Haggleford wanted us to get to this Receptionist, and get what he's left for us, assuming he did leave it in the first place."

Pertly, Jules declares, "I would like to never meet the Exorcist, thank you very much."

She's gotten to the point of crunching into her cone. "Mini vacations for everyone. I hope your trip counts as a vacation. Don't choke on fumes in the Seattle traffic." Jules makes a face that has nothing to do with brain freeze; Seattle is clearly not her favorite place.

Ravn shakes his head. "The Exorcist quit. Sometime last fall. But for what it was worth, she was kind of on our side -- or at least on the side of not creating more chaos. I'm still not convinced her quitting was a good thing. If it's possible to miss a very dead woman in a 1980s power suit, I kind of do."

He hitches a shoulder and then shakes his head. "I'm just going to go torture myself fantasizing about a custom built violin. And then find an affordable one somewhere. But, you know. Thinking about it is fun."

"Not creating more chaos is something I can get behind," admits Mikaere, hesitating over his ice cream. "I've never met any of them, and I think I was happiest that way, except that-- now we're going to change that, all going well."

His mouth twitches as he glances back at Ravn. "I can't personally imagine spending a huge amount on a violin, but... I don't play. I guess as long as you find one you feel comfortable playing. That's the important thing, right?"

“Huh.” Jules looks moderately surprised. “Well, hopefully this Receptionist is on the non-chaos side too.”

With a hitch of her shoulders, she admits, “I never learned to play anything, except those recorders in elementary school music class. I’m sure your violin will be way better than that atrocity. Whichever one you end up with.”

Ravn shrugs. "I just need something simple, to help me stay in practice. You lose the touch if you don't rehearse. I don't need anything fancy. It's just fun to think about -- look at designs, fantasize a bit. Like somebody buying a car -- they look at brochures for fancy rides and vintage cars but they still end up buying a small, reliable, and gasoline efficient family car."

He glances back at the other two. "Going away for a few days on the boat? I've thought of doing something similar. Sometimes, you need a little time just on your own. To help remember who you are, and where you're going."

"And some of 'em buy the sports car, not because they need one, but because they just really want it, and they can afford it," murmurs Mikaere, but it's an idle remark, neither pointed nor encouraging.

He's happy enough to follow the subject change, though, and pleased-- it seems-- to talk about it. "Mm," he agrees. "We're headed south, we've decided. Easy sailing, for the most part. Guess we'll see if we kill each other after a couple of days stuck together, but-- it'll be good to get away. Away from this town, too, and everything that comes with it. There's... a lot to think about, sometimes."

“I can’t dump you overboard because then I won’t be able to get back,” Jules tells Mikaere. She’s straight-faced until the very end, at which point a grin creeps in. “And somehow I suspect that when it comes to possibly killing each other, I’m probably the guilty party.” Her comments are followed with a nudge of her hip; she’s teasing, clearly. “And maybe if we emerge intact, we can plan something later after peak tourist season, like up to the San Juans or puttering around Vancouver Island.”

Jules purposely broadens her remarks to include Ravn, then. “Are you and Ari gonna go anywhere? Get away from it all on a planned vacation, instead of wherever a Door dumps you?”

"I was thinking of taking a few days of my own," Ravn murmurs and manages to not wince (too much). Was he supposed to take Ariadne? Crap. There should be a manual for these things. Who says she'd even want to?

Quick, latch on to something else. "We did go to the San Juans for her birthday. It's very nice. Found a tiny campsite on an island that you can only get to by boat."

Mikaere sticks out his tongue at Jules by way of reply. "I can take you," he promises her, at least partly seriously. Maybe.

For Ravn, though, he shakes his head. "Never a bad thing to take time on your own if you need it. You're still two people, living your lives," he says, firmly.

"Every time I hear someone mention the 'San Juans', I feel like they should be talking about somewhere significantly further south. You know: Mexico, maybe California. They sound amazing, though-- if we can get enough time off between us," this is clearly for Jules, "we should go. I need to play tourist, too."

Jules eyes Mikaere speculatively for a few seconds, like she's weighing up her odds. That's the extent of her follow-up -- at least for now.

"What he said," she agrees when it comes to summer plans, separate or otherwise. "So where are you thinking of going?" The remarks on the San Juans have her mouth quirking towards a smile. "Hell, I need to play tourist. I've hardly ever gotten to go up that way. More when I was little, but it got fancy." Ah, gentrification. "We always did more road trips and camping than anything else."

"Oh, just out to sea. Where there are no doors and no people. Just me, my cat, and my books. Away from dreams and ghosts and strange and eccentric locals." Ravn quirks a small smile. "I find that sometimes, I need to go sit somewhere and stare at the sea until I remember who I am -- and who I'm not. That whole time warp thing last year knocked me a bit off-kilter -- waking up, finding I lived in a house on Oak Avenue, suddenly I'm almost a respectable member of the community. I think I feel a little too -- domesticated? It's dangerous to get too complacent, and it's kind of against the rules I made for myself, too."

Mikaere's raised brows answer Jules, but only for a moment.

Besides, Ravn's explanation has him listening intently, and by the end, he's got that slow nod of understanding. "You need to be the other cat for a while," he concludes. "Or at least to find the better balance between them. Can't imagine what it'd be like, to lose that much time. Three months-- it was about that long, yeah?-- is a long time. It's only three and a half since I arrived in town, and to look back... fuck."

“That little?” Jules looks surprised when Mikaere names his time in Gray Harbor. “Huh. Feels like longer,” she remarks as her gaze tracks back to Ravn. “Which is totally in line with your point. Though I don’t know about setting rules for yourself—that sounds like exactly the kind of thing that is just begging to be broken. You never know what life is going to throw your way.”

She’s not looking at Mikaere as she says that, nope.

"Yeah, I guess." Ravn rootles around in a pocket for a cigarette -- the plastic one, there are kids around. "When I set out some years back, I made myself a promise that I wouldn't spend money I hadn't earned, not on myself. That house breaks that promise -- obviously. So I figured, what the hell. I'll get the motorcycle I've been fantasizing about too. And at some point you look around and realise, you're turning into something you don't want to be. So I think I need a little time to just think about who I actually want to be."

The folklorist nods at Jules and then offers a small smile, a bit lopsided. "That's why I need to think. About who I am, and who I was, and who I want to be. Can't be two people in one body. Have to kind of either get them to talk or get one of them to move out."

Nor is Mikaere looking at Jules, though he confirms what he's said by agreeing, "End of March, I arrived." And now it's July.

He sets down his mostly-empty paper ice cream cup, now, abandoning the melt at the bottom of it, and gives Ravn another thoughtful look. "Tricky," is what he says, then, with a quiet hesitance that suggests he understands this all too well: he may not have two selves, but he's certainly got two paths ahead of him. Two homes. "In that case, I wish you luck. Guess I set out from Auckland hopeful of finding myself, in some sense. Guess it's rarely that clean-cut, though."

Jules hums in acknowledgement -- both for Ravn and for Mikaere. She does glance at him now, head tilted to catch the drip from the bottom of her cone. She sucks the last remains of ice cream out with a slurp, then crunches that final bit with satisfaction.

"Good luck," she echoes, sincere when the words could so easily be sardonic. "You'll get it figured out."

"Some day, I'm sure." Ravn spins the plastic cigarette in one hand. "Until then, though? I'll do what I can to help. I don't know as much about this whole Haggleford thing as I should, from the sounds of it. I kind of thought the incident at the saw mill had been the end of him. But if it wasn't, then, yeah. Got to follow any lead we have. And if that leads to the Other Side, then that's where we're going."

Mikaere misses Jules' glance; he's giving Ravn a more thoughtful look.

"That's the last I think we saw of him," he says. "That I know of, anyway, since the Dream we had was the first time I saw him in person, so I'm just putting together what I've heard. But there was the attempted kidnapping," the one where the Kiwi got himself shot at, and don't think for a moment that he's not now rubbing idly at the scar on his chest, "which I think we agreed was related. He's clearly still out there. I mean, I think so. Maybe he's not, and we just met him the past, and everything else is conjecture and coincidence."

He shrugs. "Either we, you're right. It leads to the Other Side, so that's where we're going. Easy."

"I don't know any of the older stuff," Jules admits. "Like this saw mill thing. I just heard that the plague is ongoing, and hence the kidnapping." Again, she looks to Mikaere, this time with a frown for the whole getting shot (and not to mention stabbed) incident. The tic, presumably unconscious, doesn't escape her attention.

"Where we're going after vacation," she tacks on at the end. No one is more fierce than Jules, even (or, perhaps, especially) when she's outfitted in a sundress and straw hat. She's getting her vacation, dammit.