2019-06-07 - In Two Shakes

It doesn't take that long to pick up some food, and Aidan takes the advantage eating in the van provides and parks it up where they have a nice ocean view. A dark one, granted, but still. A slight cracking of the window lets the sea air in, but not the seagulls, so best of both worlds there. He settles back in the chair, dashboard serving as a table for the to go boxes, and takes a sip from the milkshake he's obtained. "So, what's up with the seven years?" he asks again, having apparently noticed it wasn't answered, and equally apparently decided to ignore whether any intentionality might have been involved in that.

If said neglect was intentional, Lex manages to keep it from her expression. She looks toward him as if the 'seven years' question were brand new, and holds up a finger that's marked with a peppering of little black stars, as she finishes her effort of breaking her own milkshake's will to survive. The grand majority of the ice-cream-slash-milk remains in the cup, but she seems to have gotten at least enough to warrant a swallow. And justify that held-up finger.

"I was born here, but I was young when my mom split, leavin' me with my grandma. It wasn't too bad when I was younger, but stuff... got weird." Stayed weird. "Anyway, she died when I was sixteen, and I got shipped off to mi madre and her new Barbie Doll family in Seattle. I don't think the bitch thought she'd ever see me again." She sounds more annoyed about the admission than forlorn, and solidifies that notion with another soft huff of breath.

"What about you? Where'd you go after the fire?"

They're good shakes. The Grizzly Den may have weird music, slightly creepy bears, and mostly-indifferent staff, but the food's really pretty good. Except the omelettes. Never get the omelettes. Aidan's nose wrinkles a bit at the splitting and stuff getting weird, though the latter gets a nod, as well; there's a near-silent exhalation that might be in the general area of a laugh. A wry one, if so. He reaches into the box to snag a couple fries, eating them before he answers.

"Right away? I dunno, really. I don't remember anything before I was, I dunno, four and a half maybe? Five? But, I went to foster families. Ended up on the other coast entirely, after a while." He shrugs a bit. "It changed a bunch, I was kind of a pain." It's a little bit apologetic, though probably not to her, exactly. "What brought you back?" He takes another sip of the shake, and considers the cup . "I still think there could probably be good wine milkshakes."

"Wine? You got classy tastes, sweetheart," she drawls, once more straddling that line between friendly and taunting. For what it's worth, it seems more a default for the young woman than anything directed at Aidan himself. "Just toss back a few shots. Tastes like hell, but you got the same buzz, and a milkshake that don't taste like rotten grapes." He asked her opinion of wine, didn't he? Sure he did.

"Eh..." is her less-than-enthusiastic response to the inevitable 'why hath thou returned to hell?' query, and she takes her time studying the unremarkable styrofoam of her milkshake before deciding on a reply. "I'm sure it'll come as a shocker, but I didn't run with a... real great crowd back in Seattle. Shit happens... and sometimes it's better to just cut and run, you know? I don't got my own 'Wanted' poster yet, but I was... a little too close to some people who did. F'you catch my drift." Or her questionable grasp of the English language.

"Well, Gina was drinking wine at the time," Aidan says, giving her another grin. "I was thinking a whiskey milkshake might be good too. And, I mean, yeah, you could just drink the whiskey, but also you could have whiskey AND a milkshake." He sips his, lacking in alcohol as it may be. It's chocolate/vanilla/orange. V. classy. "And I like milkshakes." Could you have whiskey and a milkshake and not combine them? Yes. But let's not be silly about things.

Her reason for returning gets a smaller, more crooked smile, and a nod. "Yeah, got it. Funny how stuff can kinda... spill over, sometimes." Certain kinds of funny. "And pretty much any day not locked up somewhere's better than a day that is. Though some of the days here so far've been... I dunno, maybe pushing it a little. Did you hear about the Macbeth thing yet?"

"MacBeth?" Lex echoes him, and the glance she tips toward him is wary, at best. "Didn't people get beheaded or somethin' in that show?" She shifts around on the front seat of the van, managing to kick off her boots and end up cross-legged all in one mess of motion. Now more than a shadowy figure in the night, he'd have little trouble making out the gray text across the front of the black tank top -- 'NSFW'. The jacket has been shrugged off, at least for the time being, and the socks that are revealed when those boots are discarded are... well, pink. With carebears. Better yet? They're faded enough to imply that they've been well-loved for at least a year.

"Though, wait..." she pauses before he has a chance to answer her own question, 'brows knitting a bit as she watches him. "How long you been back? And how much time you spent around Alexander?" Because those two things seem to clearly correlate in Lex's mind.

"Well, in this version, people mostly got burned and sliced and shot with arrows," Aidan says, "but it kinda wasn't exactly following the script." He glances at her tank top, and the socks as well; one or both get a grin. Better? Than what? But apparently good. "We could sit back there if you need more room," he offers, inclining his head sideways at the back of the van, which does indeed qualify as roomier, if perhaps not currently more comfortable, but he seems just as happy to stay where he is and sip more of that milkshake. For one thing, the view's better from here.

He has to think a moment on her questions, glancing out over the water. "I've been back like... a month, I guess? Almost. Almost a month," he decides. "And not that much yet, though he seems pretty interesting. Maybe... a handful hours in normal world? Broken up different times. And then another some over in... X-files shit. Why?"

"... that's why," she sighs once he's finished speaking, sounding more wry than forlorn. "The X-Files shit? Welcome to the series." She pauses to take another swallow of her milk-shake, only the pause and scowl down at the straw when the clearly-full cup refuses to release it's contents to the straw. Clearly it's personal. After all, if milk-shakes can become alcoholic, surely they can become preferential? Using the hand that isn't still holding the cup to smack the other side of it -- always a good idea... -- Lex is blinking back up to her interrupted response to Aidan. "Whatever happened in 'MacBeth' wasn't the first episode. And it ain't gonna be the last."

"Honestly, I'd tell you to run like hell, but you're kinda hot." It's spoken matter-of-factly, and she's attempting now to use the straw to 'stir' the stubborn contents of the cup. Her own milk-shake, for the record, is strawberry with cookie-dough. Yup, a pair of bonafide adults, right here. "Alexander's a little batshit, but he makes more sense than most of this place does. At least you know what you're getting with him, right?" There's a one-sided smirk as she glances away from her milk-shake woes to look at Aidan.

"So... I got the fire bit, but I dunno if I caught the rest. Trying to find your parents?" At least she has the decency not to share her opinion on that. Yet.

Aidan has probably made a note to try strawberry/cookie dough next time. Certainly he's given the cup a few considering looks since she ordered it, and only a couple have coincided with her attempts to make it loosen up. The remark about Macbeth gets a laugh, though that's on the wry side too. Unlike the grin her matter-of-fact compliment gets, which is entirely sincere, as is the, "Thanks. So're you, while we're saying so. And also, I like your shirt. And socks."

He reaches to claim some more of the fries from the box on the dash, and eats one thoughtfully. "Is he really though? I mean, he's kinda weird, but I've known a lotta kinda weird people and only some of them were actually nuts. Plus thinking you have special psychic powers is literally textbook delusional. Except we actually do. So, I dunno, maybe the chick he was tailing when I first ran into him really was some thought-stealing Illuminati agent." A beat. "Or maybe not. But can you really rule it out? Specially here. Which..." The last of those fries pops into his mouth, followed by a drink of his shake, which is definitely being more cooperative. He angles it toward her, brows lifting in silent offer.

"So, nah, Macbeth wasn't the first episode. It wasn't even the first since I got here, did you hear about the Gilligan's Island thing? But it's, uh. I'm not exactly new to this kinda thing. It happens a whole lot less, most places? But it still happens. And some places I've been it's not that rare even, though not like it seems here. Like some places I've been I knew I'd always run into at least one person with the spark around... but not like it seems here. And... yeah. I figured I might as well see if I could figure out who my original parents were. I mean, I was kinda in the general area and I didn't have anything better to do."

"Hey, thanks... though I think my pants feel left out." If there's anything more than her already-displayed dry humor to the statement, she's giving no sign of it. She is, however, taking his milkshake when the cup is offered, and proffering her own in return. Because it's only polite, defunct straw or otherwise. "You're right, though, about Alexander. Half of the crazy probably is true. I guess that why I never argued with him? That, or I liked him better than I liked anyone else in this town. Can't remember."

She winces slightly at his mention of 'shiny' things happening elsewhere, then lifts a half-bare shoulder in what's probably meant as an apologetic shrug. "I've seen shit ouside've Gray Harbor, but l gotta be honest with you, I figured it was the drugs." It *sounds believable enough. Looks it, too, by 'most peoples' standards. "Haven't heard anything about Gilligan's Island, yet, but I've only been around a few weeks, and my roommate's about as talkative as a brick wall." Something makes her smirk, be it the flavor of the milkshake she sips, or her belated glance toward the back seat. But then the mention of his parents has her sobering again, and she's offering a slight shake of her head. "Hey. Stick around, if you want the company without the padded walls, but you want my advice? Ditch the parent search. I only know one of mine, and it's disappointing enough for the both of them."

"I'm willing to like your pants, too. And the jacket, for that matter." Says the guy also wearing a black leather one. Aidan accepts her shake in return, and give drinking some of it a go. Nope. A wiggle of the straw, and he says, "I think it might have cookie dough stuck in it," which clearly requires it get pulled out and checked. "Anyway you might've been right, it's not like the smaller stuff doesn't overlap pretty far sometimes. But some of it... I mean, some, you know. Especially if you're pretty sure you were sober in any case, right?"

He eyes the straw, sets it in his food box, and takes out the as-yet-unused plastic fork to try eating a spoo— forkful of shake with. It works a lot better than the straw. Her remark on why to stick around makes him pause briefly, and give an almost silent breath of a laugh. "I always want the company without the padded walls. Anyway, I'm not imagining it's gonna be magic or anything, I just... kinda wanna know where I come from. Aside from 'here'." He shrugs. "Maybe it'd be interesting having relatives. And I dunno, maybe your other one wouldn't suck." Hope springs eternal. "This is pretty good, I should use strawberry more. And cookie dough. Do you wanna know about the Gilligan thing?"

"Sounds fair. You like my pants, I'll like yours." Tit for tat, right? Considering they may as well have the same jacket, she doesn't bother venturing further. The road is certainly paved, but it seems she's giving him the honor of taking the first... step. Or veering off completely. Always nice to have an escape route, isn't it? Particularly when one knows little more than the other's propensity toward glittering, weird milkshakes, and terrify avians. She's smirking again as the word 'sober' passes his lips, and she's responding almost before he's finished the question, "I did my best to avoid that."

And then she's having the civility to let him... fork out some of the milkshake in peace. She's even taking another sip of the one she stole from him, seeming in no particular hurry to 'trade back'. After all, /his/ straw works. "Mm, no. Other one split when that little sign turned plus, as far as my grandma told me. Mom split as soon as I wasn't attached. Grams was great and all, but honestly...? You make your own family. Blood's just blood... we all got it, and it's up to you, not genetics, who you're gonna spill it for." Quite literally, in some cases.

Up goes a 'brow at his offer of a storytelling session, for the look she tips him a bit dubious before she's shrugging another tattooed shoulder. "You're sittin' here able to tell it, so I'm guessing the fallout wasn't... too bad?" Perhaps she needs a more talkative roommate. "I'm not sure how I've avoided any of the creature features so far, but it's been.... well, ain't gonna jinx it. I'm starting to get the feelin' you ain't been as lucky? I think you may be... shinier than I am." Piercings and all, the look she gives him manages to pass for sincerely apologetic. Sympathetic, if nothing else.

Aidan is, to be fair, pretty damn shiny. Even with decidedly fewer extra holes in his head. Though, not none. Aside from the two fairly obvious ones, if she looks at the right time she might spot hints of other, smaller piercings in his ears, empty and possibly closed or closing. But when it comes to the other sort? Yeah. That's fair bit of sparkle. "I mean, chances are that's prolly what my father did too," he says, "Though I dunno how old he'd've been or anything. Someone doin' that at sixteen's kinda different than twenty-six. Or sixty-six. That'd be weird, huh?" The idea of someone Really Old being involved is presumably a new one, from the way he turns it over a moment. Taking another bite of her shake, he shrugs. "I've kinda always made my own family. I mean, not a lot of choice, really. And they're scattered all the fuck over the place, now." Tch, now he's the NSFW one! "But I still kinda wanna know." At, apparently, a casually conversational level, not an intense and driven one, even if he doesn't seem inclined to be talked out of it.

When it comes to the weird, though, maybe her roommate's out of the loop, too. Maybe she needs to be the one to get talkative with him! "I'm glad you've avoided it so far, anyway. Alexander and I were saying before you got there how it's been... quiet, this last week. Since Macbeth." You'd think he'd seem happier about that than he does; it's a quiet kind of uneasiness with it, but that's what it is. "Which is kinda nice." Mostly. He grins, suddenly, just for a moment. "And yeah, I think— I don't think anyone got hurt too bad, like, lasting, in that. First time I ever saw so many people get pulled into one thing. If you ever saw that movie where the Globetrotters were on the island? They were there for this, attacking us with basketballs. Mr. Howell was directing them. Then this monster made up of Gilligan and the Skipper and Mary Anne and the Professor started throwing exploding Gingers at us." A pause. "It was kinda surreal." Also Gray Harbor weather is kinda rainy.

He watches her a moment, taking another bite of still-technically-her shake, and then twists a little, folding his leg up with the heel just on the seat, so that his bent leg can ease over into her space, knee nudging hers. "Maybe our pants would like each other, too. They could go on play dates or something. Like, see a show at the Pantages." So now she knows at least one more thing about him, which is that he sometimes makes indefensibly bad jokes without a shred of appropriate shame.

No longer preoccupied with the defunct straw, Lex has been given ample time to study her new... friend? Trained eyes note those piercings, closed or otherwise, and study beyond that as he recounts the absurdity of vicious basketballs and volatile... Gingers. There's a joke in there. Somewhere. Fortunate for everyone involved, she's not trying to make it. Instead, she's giving him the open stage when it comes to shameless humor.

The piercings at either side of her lips have a way of turning the youth's grin into something impish... though the glint in light-jade eyes certainly amplifies the effect. The prospect of Pantages still hanging awkwardly on the air, she's tipping a glance toward the knee that's brushing hers. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure our pants would get along. And no offense, but I'm pretty sure your shirt would rather be in the back seat. It's just... giving off that vibe, you know?" Another drink of what now appears to be /her/ shake, though her eyes haven't left his features. His gaze, if he gives it.

When the characters of Gilligan's Island can manage to merge into people-throwing monster, who says there can't be sentient shirts?

New friends are good! Who couldn't use more friends? Possibly even friends who sometimes make really terrible jokes and seem 100% immune to any awkwardness that might happen to float in with them. Aidan seems fairly okay with being studied, as well, and that's the kind of thing where turnabout's fair play, right? Hopefully so, because he's definitely studying her in return. It's a good grin, with or without the piercings. "Yeah, none taken. It's kinda like that," he agrees, tilting his head so he can say it a little bit sidelong, conspiratorial. "Sometimes it takes me with it. Just yanks me right along places. Sometimes, it just runs off by itself. Kind of a pain sometimes, but what can you do?" He shifts position a little, this time leaning a bit toward the space between the front seats and back, as if maybe the shirt were exerting that pull. A glance over his shoulder, like he's checking what it's got in mind, before he meets her gaze again. Which is a little bit closer than it was, given the direction of the lean. "Difficult. And sometimes if there's people around, they get bothered if I let it run off without me. Maybe I kinda indulge it too much?" He's trying really hard to handle all this silliness deadpan, but the amusement sneaks through anyway, particularly in his eyes.

"Oh, I don't think it'd mind you coming along... but I'm pretty sure you should take it off once you get there. If you don't, my shirt's probably gonna be too shy to join it. Safer in pairs, you know?" The milkshake remains at hand, but her focus seems to have shifted from drinking the stuff to toying with the straw. Not chewing, exactly, but drawing what just might be intentional attention to her mouth. Already seated cross-legged, it doesn't take much movement on the youth's part to ease herself closer to that space between the seats. Leaving him ample room to move past her, but abandoning any coyness as one of her thighs slides along his knee.

"You should probably go first. It's starting to look a little impatient..." Lex seems to have little trouble keeping up the deadpan teasing. That half-grin remains, and for the first time since they began discussing his shirt's intentions, her gaze strays long enough for her to slip the suddenly uninteresting shake into one of the van's cupholders. A quick motion, a quick glance, before her eyes are back on him. His face already memorized, she's allowing her attention to flicker across his shoulders and chest -- and that impatient shirt, of course -- before drifting a bit lower. And then her gaze is flickering quickly upward, seeking his own, should he give it. "Real impatient."

Intentional or not, Aidan's attention is definitely drawn to her mouth while she toys with the straw. And talks, for that matter. The setting aside of milkshakes seems like a very logical idea, even if it maybe doesn't go quite so far down the consequences path as to reach 'will melt'. Or he just doesn't care, which is really at least as likely. His knee makes a little of that brushing-against come from his side, as well, as she shifts.

"Oh, totally impatient," he says, nodding, "If I'm not careful it might decide to go on without me. Or off." A slight shift of weight makes clear the temptation to give in to what h— uh, the shirt wants and slide right on back, but he hesitates a breath. "I gotta risk inciting its wrath though and tell you there's this blouse it usually gets paired up with. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's still a pretty mix-and-match kinda wardrobe, but I figure it's kinda a dick move not to mention before your tank top decides how shy it's feeling today." Not very, please, says the glance that sweeps over her again before it returns to her eyes, but he hovers just on the point of the movement until and unless it's clear that doesn't change her plans. Or her shirt's plans.

It's all going the right direction. Or at least their clothes seem to be. Then again, can clothes truly be held accountable for... direction? Lex is pausing as he speaks, one of her knees already propped on the van's middle divider, as she listens to him extend their less-than-stellar analogy to something outside of the here-and-now. She's still for a moment, perhaps re-ciphering his meaning, before a deep breath is drawn, only to be released against with an edge of disappointment that she doesn't bother trying to hide.

A likely follow-up to that breath, the rest of the woman's small frame is easing back into the seat proper. Leaning against the door now -- more distant than before, if anything -- before reaching for the milkshake she'd set aside. "Yeah, 'fraid the tank top's a bit... finicky about those things. Don't get me wrong, doll... I'd be on you already, but I've... been there a couple times. Mix and match wardrobes, an' all that. Fine, when you're still trying things on... but long-term? Somebody loses." Even though her gaze has directed itself to the milkshake she's pretending to sip, there's a tell-tale note to her tone that suggests that she's been that 'somebody' at least once.

Sigh. See, this is what happens when you try to do the right thing and don't take Depeche Mode's advice! Although granted, they probably weren't quite talking about this. Aidan does, in fact, sigh, settling back into the seat and picking his-formerly-her shake back up as well. "I mean, I guess that kind of depends what you consider 'losing' and what's long-term," he says, taking a small bite, "...and whether everything's supposed to be all serious and long-term in the first place. Like, I'm pretty sure it's not gonna stop bein' mix and match, 'cause neither of us are all that great at that. And sometimes you just run into some really alluring shirts." A quick, small smile with that, still kind of flirtatious, because c'mon the compliment demands it. Or because he can't quite help it there. One or the other. "But a tank top's gotta do what a tank top's gotta do." Unfortunately. "My shirt'll just hafta cope. Keep an eye on it though and warn me if it tries to get away or something." He takes another bite of the shake, and shifts position a little, the toe of one boot shifting to lightly nudge her sock; it's a friendly, playful little gesture.

Lex isn't reaching for his shake, even if failing to do so may spell its melt-y demise. She instead remains where she's settled, sideways, on the van's eat. Green eyes flicker toward the toe of his book, watching the contrast against her carebear socks. Something about it earns a halfway smirk, and then her gaze flickers back toward his features -- whether or not he's gone back to the battle between Straw and Cookie Dough. "That blouse," she offers after a moment, voice lower more in its lack of volume than any conscious effort on the woman's part. "You said it doesn't care, and neither does your shirt." Just how far are they going to take this odd little analogy? She finally drops her gaze from his features, glancing instead at the quickly-fading view.

"If you're sure about that, then your shirt's probably gonna to need to make the first move. Tank's gone all shy and shit."

Woe and alas for the shakes! Aidan's gone back to the battle, all right -- although he learned his lesson and isn't bothering with the straw anymore when cookie dough is in the mix, so it's Fork v. Shake and Fork is still mainly winning -- but as she speaks it gets less focus, and when she gets toward the end of what she has to say, the shake gets slid right back into the cupholder whence it most recently came. And where it will most likely melt.

"That's what they told me," he says, because why give up a silly conceit before you absolutely have to? Particularly if it's still useful. He slides a little further toward her side of things, and leans forward, studying her face as he lifts a hand to brush a lock of that dyed hair behind her ear. it's a fairly transparent excuse to let his fingertips run down along the edge of her jaw until they settle lightly just beneath her chin. "My shirt would still like to invite yours back to that other seat," he says, watching her, "but I... would kinda like to kiss you." And unless she balks, that's what he does.

There's no balking. Her chin lifts slightly at his touch, and as his lips find hers, one of Lex's hands is raised in turn. His hair may lack the length to tuck away, but it's certainly full enough for her to slip her fingers into, and then close slightly. Not a fist, not even possessive, but certainly appreciative. Her movement on the seat is easy to ignore, at this point, until it has her knees pressing against his once more. It's not exactly a convenient relocation, but it's hardly undoable. Or it wouldn't be... if she were willing to break that kiss. Considering he started it, it seems only fair he stops it. Right?

The shakes are doomed.