2019-07-24 - The Cookery Is Okay

It's a terrible day for moving, mid-July with the sun high and unkind overhead. The open windows and doors help, though that's probably not winning the new tenants any friends with the neighbors given the volume at which Sparrow--first to arrive, having collected the keys and signed the renter's agreement--has Doja Cat playing, easily heard from the street and almost certainly beyond. Today, she wears a loose grey tanktop that offers glimpses of her vibrantly orange bra below with a pair of cut off shorts that blessedly don't show anything they shouldn't. Cuz she's shaking that ass as she unpacks, as she sings along, "Wait till you see it from the back back back back back."

A beat-up car pulls up outside, and Corey honks the horn like four times. Because the neighbours clearly don't have enough noise to put up with already. Sliding out and slamming the car door closed, he meanders on in to 7 Oak Avenue, eyeballing the hardwood floors, the nice decor, the sibling. "'sup Captain," he greets loudly over the music, towards his ever-so-slightly-marginally-barely-noticeably-older sibling, stuffing his hands into his pockets and.. meandering.

What few clouds slide across the open expanse of sky overhead, like soap across the bottom of a midcentry blue bath tub, provide only temporary reprieve from the high and unkind sun. Black was clearly a poor choice in t-shirt color. But it's a moving day shirt - no prized Seattle band or rapper decals. Alfie jeans are black, but worn to white at the knees and cuffs while still giving the sense that they were recently new and only altered to look like they've been through the ringer. A far cry from the attire he wore in grade school, gifted by relatives. But, maybe that's the smallest of changes when his tattoos and attitude are factored in.
He gets dropped off in a tame residential hatchback - his father's car, with a mattress bungied to the roof. As the car already in the drive blares its horn, only Alfie emerges. He un-bungies the mattress and flips it out onto the lawn. And he brings a few boxes from the trunk to the curb - one at a time. His father gives a hesitant and unanswered wave before he's off, and Alfie picks up a box to bring in, the last to step into the house in a pair of red converse so beat that the shade could better be described as a kind of salmon. Head tilted to the side as he peeks around corners, following the tunes, and then settling on Sparrow and Corey.

Was that carhorn for her? The music's not quite so loud that Sparrow couldn't hear it, but it doesn't seem to register until Corey addresses her, a surprised, "Oh! Hey!" interjected over the music. The volume dips a little before Alfie makes it up to the house, a necessary change to make conversation more manageable. "Nice, huh? Wait till you see the backyard. Did I mention it has a backyard? Perfect for parties." Hadn't she told Alfie it would be Corey's garden yesterday? "I'mma take the master bedroom." And hadn't she told him, too, that she didn't care about which room she took? "But you've got your choice--Hey!" Her attention flits from her little brother to the boy with the box. "You made it!" As if there'd been doubt. She starts his way, asking, "You need help with that?" maybe concerned that those skinny arms can't handle heavy lifting. Not that hers are specimens of athletic prowess either.

"Backyard is mine, bitch," Corey tells Sparrow with a lazy grin. "Kitchen, too. Don't care which bedroom, as long as there's room for a double." Brows waggle, and then he's turning to see who else has arrived. The dude in front of him is definitely not the golden boy he vaguely remembers his sister hanging with at school, and so he squints at the other guy. "'sup." There is zero recognition there. None at all. "You moving in too? Jeez, how many bedrooms does this shack have, Phil?" he asks back over his shoulder, assuming that this is renter #4, as-yet unmentioned. Because this defo isn't Alfie.

Alfie doesn't interrupt what he witnesses of Sparrow and Corey's back and forth, upon arrival. He just leans back, packing tape wrapped to excess around the box in his arms. "I did," he confirms. "Easy enough to remember an address with just one digit. I was more worried about forgetting which tree." His expression less outwardly lively than it used to be, by default. Now, there's a certain distance to it, like he's distracted by something. He dips his chin in reply to Corey's 'sup' before answering as to the offer of help. "Maybe not this so much as the mattress I parked on the lawn," he answers. He's aware enough of his limitations to have at least divided the work down to one box per trip. But there's no such division of a mattress that can be easily reversed. "You found more renters?" he asks, not quite catching on that he's a suspected 4th party.

"Like you got game," Sparrow scoffs to Corey's brow-waggle. Whatever she may have said, there's not one little peep of disagreement for his claim on both the kitchen and the backyard, her smile perhaps implying some pleasure at how well she's done. She stops short to peek out a window when Alfie declines help with the box, redirecting to the mattress, still eyeing the stuff outside when she holds up a hand with four fingers lifted to confirm the number of available rooms. "I already told you AJ's pitching in." Alfie. Yep. That's him. She drops her hand and looks back to them both, smiling wide, to assure, "But I do have a lead on a possible fourth. Anything I should tell her before agreeing to let her in?"

There's a low snort from Corey. "I -so- do. Just wait. They'll be queueing out the door," he informs his twin, then pauses, turning back to Alfie. Stares a bit. "..huh. Nice ink." He extends one fist out towards Alfie, for a friendly fist-bump, all that is really needed after 5-6 years of no contact, right? "Oo, a /her/? What's she like, Mena? Where would she be on the hotness scale?" he prompts, before adding, "You should tell her that if she touches my knives or cookware, she's dead. Also, no trampling the greens."

Commitment to conversing and reintroduction, Alfie lowers the box most of the way to the hardwood floor - only to drop in those last couple of inches. There's a muffled thump. Heavier objects wrapped in layers of clothes within those cardboard confines. He straightens back up and wipes the sweat from his palms on the lap of his distressed jeans. If the tattooed former golden boy has any kind of punk cred, it's shrugged off without a care when he nods to the catchy pop bouncing through the yet to be occupied home in the background. His mattress sits out on the yard, waiting, like a bedbug reject in a less gated neighbourhood.
A fistbump is met in kind. A sidestep of more potentially awkward subjects, like the years of absence and the rumors that took his place in Gray Harbor. "Thanks," he says, for the compliment to his ink. Having waited until after Corey's input on what to tell the potential 4th tenant, he shakes his head. Nothing to warn.

Sparrow's nose scrunches when she's called Mena, that throwback to childhood that finds its way into familial conversations with fair frequency. Though she's listening to Corey, she keeps her eyes on Alfie, on how he moves, how he handles that second potentially awkward introduction in a matter of days. That casual scrutiny is interrupted briefly for an eyeroll at her brother's questions. "Instagram hot," she declares. Which is to say who knows what kinda filters this chick might use to maintain the illusion of cuteness. "Got money, though. Like, she is capable of paying her portion of the rent." That's all that matters, right? With a flash of a smile to an Alfie who might not be looking, she turns her attention back to her twin and tells him, "But I'll be sure to threaten her life during negotiations," as she starts toward the door. "Let's get that off the grass."

"Hmm. Well, yeah. She should know where she stands, and all," Corey confirms to the death threat, before looking back to Alfie. "Goes for you too, buddy. I'll cook whatever you want, just stay away from the pans and knives, 'kay?" That said, he ambles back on outside, to unload some of his own stuff. The sum total of which is three boxes and a trash bag full of clothing. It's highly likely that two of the three boxes contain the aforementioned cookware.

"I've already lived by those rules. Should be easy enough," Alfie replies, as to keeping his hands off of aforementioned knives and pans. And he may not notice the casual scrutiny, but he does catch the smile and his own lips form a ghost reflection of it - slight, brief. A residual habit of empathic Glimmer. He straightens out his expression while Sparrow turns her attention to her twin to confirm future death threats. When she starts for the door, he gives a nod in agreement as to saving the lawn from further accusations of white trash occupation, and follows, letting both Corey and Sparrow exit before he does.

With a glance over her shoulder to Alfie, a wider smile turned his way, she assures sotto voce, "Don't worry. The microwave is aaaaaall ours," with impish cheer. Her steps almost falter as a thought dawns, as she declares a little more loudly, surely in Corey's direction, "And at least a third of the freezer," without any mention of what it'll be used for. Circling around the mattress, she asks Alfie, "You wanna go forward or back?"

"A quarter!" Corey calls back, bartering on freezer space, mostly because he has to argue with Sparrow about /something/. The day isn't complete, otherwise. He hefts two boxes inside, one stacked atop the other, showing off his mediocre muscles. Ha. Not that he's helping with the mattress, or at least not yet. Nor does he seem to have brought one of his own.

"Catering by Swanson and friends," Alfie quips dryly after the declaration of free microwave access. The poker face that is his distant expression does allow a lift of one brow at the request of one third the freezer space while siblings bicker. Curiosity piqued, but not put into the format of a question. Instead, taking up station at the end opposite his mattress from Sparrow. He crouches down, hands beneath the difficult piece of furniture to help in getting in somewhat vertical. "I'll go backward. Just, warn me if I'm going to knock into anything?" And he lifts, with quiet effort, until the mattress is standing on its side (at least at his end). "Just into the house, right?" He hasn't settled on a room.

Sparrow levels Alfie with a wide, lazy smile as it seems they're on the same page. She issues no protest about that tiny allotment of freezer space; one might guess that she overshot, assuring that he'd end up where she wanted (or expected) in the first place. Taking her spot at the far side of the mattress, she watches her twin, snorting a brief laugh. "Slow it down, Corey! You're gonna give the old lady across the street a heart attack." Is there an old lady across the street? Who knows! Sparrow's not looking that direction. She bends to scoop up her side of the mattress, one arm staying lower than the other to get it sorta mostly sideways, taking Alfie's lead there, so it'll fit through the door. "I gotchoo," she promises him. "We'll get it upstairs. Lean it against a wall until you figure out where it goes."

"You know it," Corey responds to Sparrow, wiggling his hips side to side, then hefting the boxes a bit higher - so that when the bottom of the lower box abruptly splits open, the expensive pots and pans inside it make a truly glorious CLANGing noise as they hit the ground. There's a shocked whimper from the boytwin, and he sets his load aside hastily, sinking onto hands and knees to collect his beloved items, checking them for dents. "No, no, no no nononononono!"

Alfie nods at 'I gotchoo'. Once Sparrow has her side up, Alfie starts backward at a testing pace - sure that she's following before he commits to getting grass streaks across the off-white of the sheetless bed. The sun overhead glaring bright off the glossy sports car that slows in passing, assessing what genre of person has invaded their safe space before moving on. In a distant yard, somewhere on the street, White Snake competes with the pop music from behind him - a clashing of the eras.
He readjusts his grip at the door, already starting to falter as his steps become minute in trying to guide them through the frame with his gaze cast as much over his shoulder as he can manage. Except, the clatter or pots and pans lifts his attention from the doorjam to a shocked Corey, and he trips backward into the house. Too surprised by the impact to make much more than an 'oomph' as his wind exits his mouth. Tenants falling like psychically attached dominos.

Sparrow's head turns sharply at the clatter, forward progress slowed ever so slightly before it's halted entirely by Alfie's backwards tumble. With the mattress solely in her hands now, his corner dropped, she flails to catch it, both arms stretched forward to embrace the bed uselessly. It flops to the side, right onto one of the neatly trimmed bushes beside the front stoop, several branches surely broken. Hopefully without damaging the mattress, though who can tell from here. A muttered, "Shit," accompanies a rueful look toward the problem she can't fix right now before she moves on to those of higher priority, triaging as she goes. First: the downed person. "You alright?" to Alfie preceeds a downright mournful look toward Corey.

People don't matter. Corey has eyes only for his pans, having scooped all of them into his lap, stroking fingers along the base of each to check for damage, it's almost like he's petting them. "They're okay!" he pronnounces after he's reassured himself, only now looking up to the situation Alfie and Sparrow have ended up in, re the mattress. "Huh? Oh, guess it's heavy, yeah?" Clueless. He probably didn't even notice the fall.

There was no telltale 'thunk' of skull on hardwood. Impact resolved by elbows and shoulder, slowing a kind of rolling descent of the rest of him. But Alfie is on the floor, looking down across himself at his fumbled mattress and what of Sparrow he can see at the other side of it. His right shoe, missing somewhere at the other side of the doorjam. Out in the open world where Corey's prized possessions crashed without damage. It's a late reply, but he gives it all the same. "Yeah." Simple as that, though a little breathless. He follows up with a slow ascent from prone to standing, mattress left at its bush-borne tilt, impaled twice on branches half broken. "Did a drum set fall out of someone's truck?" he asks, at last, curiosity over the cacophany of clanks catching up with him and his breath.

As her attention returns to Alfie at Corey's assurance that his cookware's okay, Sparrow casually flips her twin off, middle-finger held up low while she focuses on her fallen compatriot. "Drums are already downstairs," she informs him, even if that's not quite the answer he was looking for. Dryly, she clarifies, "My brother's kitchen escaped its cardboard prison to take a tour of the driveway." As she dips to try to start freeing the mattress from the branches, intent on drawing it upright if not actually off the ground, she eyes him again and asks, "You sure you're alright? We can leave this downstairs for now." But they should probably still take it in rather than just chilling awkwardly in the doorway.

Abandoning the still-closed box, Corey slowly stacks his pans, gathering them into a manageable armful, then pausing. Staring at the mattress currently wedged into the doorway, half in a bush and half on Alfie. "You guys need to move, I need to get these indoors!" he asserts, though of course isn't offering to help. He's got his hands full of things far more important than mere bedding. "C'mon!"

Alfie rubs his left elbow in his right hand, quite assured that despite the gently fading throb of pain in the joints that lessened his impact does not mean for any lasting injury. He looks back, over his shoulder and deeper into this newly invaded house with its venerable hardwood floors, and to the stairs. Imposing, given the recent stumble. "Yeah," he answers, eventually, as they block Corey's path. "Let's just get it inside."
Corey's assertion spurs him to action - albeit, at the speed of a slacker to a desk of papers. He takes his end of the mattress and with greater effort than had been afforded in getting it up the first time, properly lifts it from those splintered branches that have jutted into his bed like spears of broken bone. But he doesn't wince or look all that concerned over its condition. "I'm good on my end."

"There's a back door," Sparrow cuts to Corey when he objects to their continued obstruction of the entrance. Nevermind that they're actively working on getting moving again, she sounds ready to stand in the doorway all night if she needs to just to deny his sass. All the same, she doesn't fuss with the twigs and leaves clinging to the previously impaled portion of the bed once it's freed from the greenery, but rather stoops to lift her end as well, letting Alfie dictate the pace as they head in. "I can probably stitch it up?" She does not sound convinced of her own capability. "Mom made sure to send a sewing kit with me, so I have the tools." Just not the skills. It can't be that hard, right?

"I've got gorilla tape in the car," Corey offers as an alternative to Sparrow getting her sewing kit out. "'least you'll know it's gonna hold." Because he has no more faith in Phil's sewing skills than she does, apparently. He stands there on the driveway, still holding his pots and pans, just.. watching the mattress-moving. "How you gonna get it upstairs, Alf?" he prompts the other guy, since there was that mention of 'leaving it downstairs'.

Again at a testing pace, Alfie guides the mattress and its newly earned damage and detritus into the house proper. His breathing, a touch shallow for the sustained effort of having to keep the bed lifted up off the bush until they're in past the door frame, at which point he begins to simply drag his end until the mattress is situated against a wall with the damaged side facing out. He steps back from it as if assessing a piece of modern art. "Couldn't hurt, at this point," he says to either repair method, and with a certain casual distance in his voice.
As to getting it all upstairs, he continues to consider the mattress and eventually he shrugs. He doesn't need to look to the stairs again to know the steep difficulty ahead. "Guess I'm hoping there's an elevator tucked away somewhere," he says, just dry enough to provide doubt as to whether the absurd answer is a joke.

"Obviously," Sparrow begins as she, too, takes a moment to catch her breath and consider the damage to the mattress now that it's resting against a mostly empty wall, a light switch partially obscured, "he's gonna have to move into the kitchen until we get the elevator fixed." She angles a look toward Corey before starting off to the kitchen as if to scope out the space and decide where to drop the mattress. Or maybe just grab a drink.

There's a grumbling noise from Corey, though he doesn't protest the kitchen placement. It can always get worse. Instead, he meanders around the side of the house, letting himself in through the back so he can stash his pans on the kitchen worktop before the room get filled full of springs and padding.

Alfie is just inside the front door, by a mattress set against a wall with a couple of deep holes gouged into it. Corey and Sparrow have both headed toward the kitchen - Corey from around the house, Sparrow from within it. Leaves are buried into the damage to the mattress, deeming it rather recent. Alfie, arms crossed, considering the mess as he leans back like he's trying to 'get' this particular piece of accidental modern art. He's dressed in a baggy black moving day t-shirt, artificially distressed gray jeans, and a pair of beat up converse that were probably once bright red.
Aside from the gouges in it, the mattress looks to be quite new. Pearly white without any of the off coloring of long term use - of oils and drool soaked down into the depths of it. Something as recently purchased as his move back from where he'd spent the last year of his time away, and no sooner acquired than that. "I'll know where to find the midnight snacks, at least. But I'll always get blamed for missing beer," he says as if weighing the pros and cons of living in the kitchen until the fictional elevator is fixed.
"Thanks," is added a little late, maybe even after Sparrow has exited earshot. And without the slightest bit of sarcasm for how things ended up. He turns away from the mattress and walks back over to the box he'd left out in the living space, gradually nudging it aside to the wall as well, with only his left foot as he keeps his arms crossed.

The doors and windows of 7 Oak Avenue stand open with Lana Del Rey crooning at an only slightly unreasonable volume from inside. The car in the driveway has boxes inside and on top--and one, empty and flat beside it--while some more boxes sit out on the sidewalk waiting to be brought in. A shrub by the door has been partly flattened, looking a bit disheveled on one side, but it will surely recover.

Sparrow waves over her shoulder, an answer to that gratitude from Alfie, as she calls back, "What some water? Or beer. Beer-thief." He hasn't even stolen anything, and already the accusations have begun. Once both she and Corey are in the kitchen, she asks her twin more quietly, "Are you okay?" as she sets to getting herself some tap water in a red solo cup, real glasses still packed somewhere. Or not yet purchased. It's not her domain.

Setting down his pots and pans beside the cooker, Corey turns towards Sparrow, favouring his twin with a brief, slightly tight smile, then turning to grab a solo cup for himself, and some water to fill it. "Gonna take some getting used to," is all he says, before inexplicably his fingers lose their grip, spilling most of the water down his shirt and jeans. Sigh. It's not like they even /own/ kitchen cloths or towels yet, so he shrugs off his shirt and begins to mop up the water that got to the floor. "Feeling the itch."

It's been a rough day, everyone might agree to that. Ash hasn't been home to see how tragic things have been with the dropped mattresses or spilled water, but she comes home in time to see that there are individuals moving into the house next door. Held in one hand is the broken strap of a messenger bag, and the tall blonde walks with the very slightest of limps. Despite the ragged appearance she seems to be in a mostly good mood as she comes to a stop outside 7 Oak, "Moving in?"

"Beer," Alfie answers, not protesting against the title he has yet to earn. Not even a fraction moved into his room. Though, calling dibs on one of those available may still be in order. And with the lowest amount of effort expended to do so, he finally gets that box squared away against his mattress. But he doesn't hurry to join the other two in the kitchen, though if that's due to him assuming a private exchange, he shows no signs of knowing. Instead, he stands there with the portion of his things that have made it in off the sidewalk and assesses the space around him. New-home.
It's only the addition of Ash's voice through the din of music that breaks his stupor as he awaits his beer. He blinks, once, to shed the surprise at the additional voice, and steps out to the door frame. "Yeah," he answers in short, expression distant but curious. "Me and two more." Some delay before he inquires in return, "Here to complain about the noise?"

Sparrow surely had something reassuring right on the tip of her tongue when suddenly water. She can't help the snort of laughter at her brother's misfortune. She moves back to the grocery bag the plastic cups had come from and pulls out a roll of paper towels, still unopened, to set them down on the counter. "You want me to run to the store?" She takes a moment to fill a second cup with tap water, long enough for Corey to answer, but she's got a 'beer' to deliver. Yeah, so, she might've misrepresented the available options. "Hope you like lite beer," precedes her return to the living room and entrance to the house where there's suddenly a new person. Broad smile turned Ash's way, she greets the stranger with an easy, "Hey," and holds the cup--definitely of water--out to Alfie. "Looking for a room?"

"Yeah, please," Corey murmurs to Sparrow, finishing the job of mopping up water with his plaid shirt, since he's already mostly there. The damp flannel then gets tossed into a corner of the kitchen, and he follows his twin on out, blue eyes fixing on Ash. "Hey babe," he greets the blonde woman amiably, intercepting the cup of water Sparrow is holding out in Alfie's direction, taking it and gulping down about half before, of course, passing it on in the other guy's direction. "I've got dry, jars and tins of stuff in the car, but we'll need.. minced beef, couple'a garlic heads, and some yellow onions," he informs. "Oh, and some cheddar."

"Ash." It's probably supposed to be an introduction for the trio she's now faced with as the other two arrive, then she waves in the direction of the house next door that was her original destination. "I live next door." It's all very rote, these responses, like her brain is on autopilot for a moment before the 'hey babe' gets through the bad day, and she glances at Corey, "What's up, stud?" A smile is tossed right along with the words before she shakes her head, addressing the group for the rest, "Noise? Shit...it'll be nice not to be the loudest house on the street. If you hear war drums next door, don't freak out."

"Ah," and a nod at the explanation regarding checking in from next door. "I think we'll blend in well enough," Alfie adds, after Ash's answer regarding a potential noise complaint. And no question regarding the probability of war drums.
Sparrow's question of beer tastes prompts, "I don't think it matters much when it's free." He takes the cup and steps back and turns, enough so that he's partly facing both Ash, through the door, and Sparrow, on his side of it. It's room made for an intercept course for Corey to take advantage of with stealing half of his - what he still assumes to be - beer. He gives Corey a flat look that descends to the cup when it's placed into his hand and his brow furrows in confusion as he stares down the clear liquid in the plastic cup for a few seconds before he properly catches on. "Very light," he remarks.
"Need me to chip in anything for the groceries?" he adds, confusion filtering back out of his face with the mystery liquid figured out. And his dryness adds to the effect when he looks between Corey and Sparrow with a muted expression of realization and asks, "It's not contagious through saliva, is it?" An act of minor revenge for the aqua-theft.

Sparrow slaps Corey lightly with the back of her hand against his flank as he steals the cup. "Dude!" might not be the strongest objection, but she definitely communicates her objection. She reassures Alfie with a quiet, "Probably not," which doesn't sound all that reassuring.

"Sparrow, Alfie, Stud," she introduces imperfectly, that last nameless third accompanied by a crinkle of her nose. "Nice to meetcha, Ash. You ever hear real drums over here, feel free to bring some booze and stop on by," but she's grabbing keys from her shorts pockets and heading out the door. "I'll make sure to grab ketchup!"

"Yep. Terribly contagious, you've probably already caught it in fact," Corey tells Alfie with a cheerful tone, before moseying on over to Ash and flashing a smile her way. "I apologise ahead of time for Phil's taste in music," he notes, nodding towards Sparrow when he says 'Phil'. "You wanna stay for dinner?" That's equally to both A-names, given he knows Sparrow will be. "Nothin' too fancy, just pasta bolognese." He sounds almost apologetic about that.

"Sparrow. Alfie." Since Corey is now Stud. Forever, she doesn't wait for his name. Although there's an upwards sweep of her brows at the Phil name change, until it becomes clear who Phil is. "I'm sure her taste in music is just fine." Ash waves a hand towards the house, her house. 9 Oak. "There's me and Astrid, then Marius, Jens, and Runa. The last three are siblings." She holds up three fingers that she wiggles, only to drop her hand when invited to dinner. "Maybe." She looks like she's debating it, "Sure. Yeah. I don't think we had anything planned. Let me just run inside and drop off my bag...you guys drink?" She starts to head towards #9, slow enough that they can easily answer her.

Alfie nods slow, for effect, at Sparrow's unconvincing reassurance regarding contagion. He goes without drinking from his cup, for now, and he doesn't rush off to fetch a wallet with Sparrow already heading out the door. "Hey," he adds, for Ash, along with a dip of his chin at the recital of his name in introduction - whereas he must have forgotten that step in meeting new neighbors.
Corey taking the revenge in stride nets a slight smirk - on par with much of his expressions and the reserved cast of them. But it does take him a moment to figure out that the question of dinner is one posed to both of them. "Yeah - sure," he adds, a little late. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."
There's a sound like a scoff and half a laugh at the mention of 9 Oak's collection of siblings. He points to Corey, or 'Stud', in lieu of Sparrow to point at as well. "They're twins," he shares. Each house with its own designated family unit. "Definitely," he adds, hastily, to the question of drink in Ash's motion to leave - a perk to his posture preceding said answer.

"Sure. Lemme know how many are coming, I can text Mena to ask her to get double," Corey calls out as Ash confirms she's coming back for dinner, the invitation apparently extended to the whole of the #9 household. "Alf, can you unpack the plates and stuff? I'll grab the rest of my shit from the car," he requests, heading for the door already to do just that. "And yeah, whatever beer you've got would be great. I've got a bottle of red wine too." For cooking with, obviously, but since it'll be open.. shame not to drink it.

Beer? Beer is not what Ash comes back with when she comes back. It's a little while, though, longer than just dropping her bag off and grabbing a six pack would be. Long enough for a shower, and a change of clothes, and doctoring whatever was causing her limp earlier.

Someone raised her sort of right, because she cleans up nice. It's still jeans, but it is a clean pair, and not ripped anywhere, and a t-shirt. And with her she carries several bottles of alcohol, at first glance it seems to be vodka, two different kinds of rum, and something fancy and blue, as well as a carton of OJ.

"Sure." Alfie contradicts his answer with a shrug that doesn't lead anywhere. He doesn't consider the mattress and box against the wall behind him. Or the boxes still out on the curb. Rather, with Ash off to return her bag and the promise of drink - red wine or otherwise - and Corey out to fetch more from the car, he steps toward the kitchen at his own unhurried pace. The half-cup of water carried through the house and its hardwood floors with him.
But for all his lack of hurry, he doesn't seem to get distracted this time around. At least not distracted enough to detour from the chore of unpacking plates and glasses and assigning them to cupboard space, while relegating the cutlery to drawers. And when he's done, he doesn't return yet to moving the rest of his things into the house. Rather, he turns his attention to the backyard and zones out on a sunny day. Only snapping out of it at the sound of someone through the door other than Corey to announce, "Back here."

Having been back and forth a few times bringing the rest of his stuff in, Corey has vanished off upstairs to put the few actual personal items and bag of clothes into one of the rooms. The smallest, as it happens. Then, just after Ash returns, he's heading back down the stairs, grinning brightly at both Alfie and Ash. "Right! How many are coming over, babe?" he prompts of their neighbour, before sauntering through into the kitchen to unpack jars and tins and various dried foods from one of the boxes he'd put in there.

"Hey!" Ash calls back when she hears Alfie from the back yard, the bottles and things she's collected are dropped in the kitchen before she heads out into the backyard, "Hey...so.."

Whatever was going to be said is cut off when Corey turns back up, "Not sure who...maybe three?" She shrugs her shoulders before she tucks her hands into her pockets, "I left a note, and texted, sent smoke signals. We'll see who shakes loose. But, look, Stud. I'm going to warn you, feeding some of them will just invite them over forever. You might come to regret this choice." But before he can change his mind she's turning her attention back towards Alfie, "So all three of you guys are living here, not just the twins?"

"I made cookies earlier! And I have Mar!" calls Runa as she emerges from the neighboring house, tupperware container cradled protectively in her arms. Bright red hair is piled into the messiest of buns on the top of her head. "What's up, thanks for the invite. I'm starving." Tiny she may be, her appetite is as huge as her brothers'. Not far behind Ash, she affectionately shoulder-bumps once in close enough range to do so. "I'm Runa," she adds, though they probably all at least recognize each other by now. Maybe it's just a reminder.

Like a plague of locusts come the Anderssons. And it's not even all of them, just two of the three. At least it's not both of the boys at once. Marius comes over from next-door with a pony-keg up on one shoulder. From the ease with which he carries it, it's either nearly empty or he's even stronger than he looks. It's already tapped, however, so probably the former. "And mead." Because of course a guy who looks like a modern-day viking in his sleeveless WSU t-shirt, clean jeans, and topknot brought mead. He lifts his free hand in greeting, "Marius."

There's a mattress and a tape sealed box propped against the wall at the entry to the house - holes in the side of the mattress match the partly flattened bush just outside the front door.
Alfie steps aside from taking up room adjacent to counter-space as Corey starts unpacking jars and tins. He's in a baggy black t-shirt, artificially distressed blue jeans, and socks. His beat-up red converse shed, solidifying the implication that he won't be out to fetch the rest of his boxes from the curb anytime soon. There's a flash of a smile, brief, upon his lips in response to Corey's. Automatic. Empathic. A mirrored expression that Alfie catches and extinguishes about as quick as it caught. Instead, he diverts his attention to the variety of drinks hefted by Ash as she warns Corey about his food-obelisk.
"Yeah. I think Phil said something about a fourth, maybe. But it's the three of us so far," he answers, lifting his gaze from the bottled variety to meet Ash's gaze. He turns to more voices, and provides his own name this time as he inspects the two more arrivals. And the keg. "Alfie." Then returns his regard to Ash, briefly, to suggest, "Drinks?"

"It's all good, babe. I like feeding people," Corey assures Ash with another smile, clearly happily in his element as he gets stuff settled into cupboards. "HEY!" he then greets Runa and Marius, recognising them a little bit, one hand lifted in a broad-sweeping wave that almost ends up smacking Alfie before the other guy steps aside. "I know you!" Not that he remembers their names before he's reminded, noting to Runa, "It'll be a little bit. Phil is out getting stuff at the store, so I'll start it when she's back with the goods." And on that note, he fires off a text to his twin, advising her to buy double.

"Drinks." Ash can make this happen. When the request comes in for them she heads back to where she set the bottles, "Point me towards the glasses...and I'll make everyone an Ash special." Those that live with her probably know what is on the horizon for the poor new people. As she waits to be pointed towards where to grab glasses from she glances towards those that seem to know each other, looking briefly amused by the fact that still she's the outsider in the room.

"You want some help?" Runa asks of Corey and Alfie, gesturing with her chin toward the unpacking in progress. Her sleeves are literally rolled up in preparation to assist. She'll just have to stick to the lower shelves because she's really short, y'all. Then she cracks open the cookie bin, holding it out toward everyone as she makes the rounds. "To tide you over," she adds. They are extra chunky chocolate chip. "Cool, thanks," she adds for Corey, giving him a sly grin. "We're gonna have to have a lot of cookouts this summer. I hope our other neighbors are chill." Because they may be in for a rude awakening. "I loooove an Ash special, you guys are in for a treat," she wiggles her eyebrows excitedly.

"I can't stay long," Marius reassures those providing food, "I've got orientation or something." Slinging the pony keg off his shoulder, he holds it in two hands, "We drained off some of it last weekend, but even the five of us can't finish one that fast." He chuckles softly, "What I'm saying is, it's not too heavy. Where do you want it?" He nods at Corey's exuberate statement of knowledge, "Yeah... you and... um... twin sister, right?" He shuffles over to nudge Ash's hip, "Ash's okay, even if she's not from around here." Nodding toward 9 Oak next door, he adds, "It's the three of us, me, Runa, and Jens, plus Ash and Astrid, over there. Don't worry, we don't pillage too hard." As he says this, he reaches over Runa's shoulder to pillage one of her cookies and shove it into his mouth.

Alfie looks the same as he did before he went away, in terms of his frame. The same facial structure. Boyish, youthful, rounded. But the spacer in his ear is new, as well as the tattoos. And there's a lot of tattoos. His own vague recollection of those that arrive in tow behind Ash, from Oak 9, sets in and warrants a slight widening of his pale blue eyes. More immersion back into the world where he'd spent most of his life. He gives an additional nod to Runa and Marius, as well as a tight-lipped slight smile. Confirmation that he recognizes them, to some extent, should they recognize him as well.
He turns, then, to the cupboards braced on the wall and scans them. He points out the one that he'd set the glasses into, just a few minutes prior, for Ash. "I think," he adds, non-committally. And adds, to Runa, "Help?" Before he remembers the process of moving in. He checks his head. "Nah - I'll get around to that. Drinks, food, then work." A far cry from the energetic high schooler with his nose in his studies. The one who smiled all the time, where Alfie's present default expression seems to be distracted distance. He takes a cookie and points to empty counter space for the keg, for Marius, regardless of what Corey might have planned for his cooking area.

Oh hey, cookie. Corey accepts Runa's tiding-over snack, munching it down with obvious enjoyment, getting crumbs everywhere. But that's okay; he who cooks does not have to do the washing up or general kitchen sweeping, so that joy will almost certainly go to Sparrow. "Thanks," he voices after he finishes demolishing the treat, nodding to Ash's offer of something alcoholic, largely uncaring of what it turns out to be. "Yeah, twin. She's out grabbing stuff from the store," he reiterates to Marius, fidgeting a bit in place. He wants to get his cook on, but until his sister returns, no bueno.

"I'm the very best." Ash assures them both, moving to give Runa a hug and a smooch on the cheek, "Best baby Viking." She then is off to pillage the kitchen in search of cups. The usual places are checked first, just in case someone unpacked them already, and then if she doesn't find them in the cabinets she goes for boxes. It doesn't matter when or how long, but when she gets the glasses set up she begins to make drinks, which means she mostly pours random amounts of alcohol into the glasses, with a dash of OJ. Alfie and Corey each get a glass first, then she handles the ones for the rest of them, Runa and Marius getting offered ones before she takes her own.

"He might not pillage hard, but I pillage allll the time," Runa holds a hand to her heart and winks at her brother. She taps his shoulder with the lid of the cookie bin because she is not tall enough to tap him on the head with it. There's a moment of looking at Alfie, recognition sinking in - and then a mental note regarding the changes over the years. She offers a quick smile and a shrug of her shoulders at the offer decline. "I like your priorities," she notes, sliding her hands into her back pockets as she takes a step back. "Welcome," she beams at Corey, proud of her cookie skills. "Whatcha gonna make?" Nose crinkling affectionately at Ash, she gives the other woman a quick squeeze in return and bump of her nose to Ash's shoulder. "Best bartender." She is quick to start working on her drink, because OJ instantly makes all the things better.

Marius sets the keg down, pumps the tap, and sets out the hose. "Cool," he responds to the confirmation of sibling-hood, "You guys all at Hoquiam too? Or some of you at Bayside?" Because in Marius's college-centric mind, anyone their age must be in school somewhere. He chuckles at Ash's description, taking the drink she mixes and lifting it up in salute, "Never ask what's in an Ash special. It depends on what you've got, but it's almost always got your Vitamin C for the day, and always tastes good." Mischief dances in his pale eyes, and he leans in, adding in sotto voce, "Never drink anything Astrid mixes you." He makes a disgusted face, "Best to just give it to me to get rid of."

Alfie bites down on extra chunky chocolate chip cookie, snacking as dinner is delayed to coincide with the arrival of materials to cook. He's on his second or third bite when Ash comes around with drinks, and he takes his own with a nod and a cookie muffled, "Thanks." Before washing the crumbs down with an uncautious swig of a taste test of the randomized, vaguely orange tasting drink. His review, which lands with a positive tone of voice, is simply, "That's definitely alcoholic." High praise. He takes a second swig.
"They're new," he answers Runa, with regard to his priorities. "I'll let you know how true they lead me." He lifts his drink to her, at that, maybe a delayed thanks of sorts for the half-eaten cookie in his other hand. And he takes another bite of the cookie before he answers Marius, at least on his own behalf. He swallows this time before he speaks. "Hoquiam," he confirms. "I start in the Fall."

"That's cool. So are we." Ash gestures around, but might also be indicating those in the other house as well. Once drinks are passed out, and Ash has downed half hers like any good alcoholic in the making, she tops it off. Then she moves to find an empty space to hop up and sit on the counter, which probably she should ask for permission of. But here she is. "What're you majoring in?"

Runa just smirks and rolls her eyes at Marius. Whatever thoughts she has on his words remain unsaid. Sipping away, she tilts her head toward Alfie and lifts one shoulder. "Nothing wrong with them changing, either," she insists with a return lift of her own glass. Once Ash settles, after drink making, she offers her a cookie too.

Marius gives Ash a light shove after she's settled on the counter, chuckling at her question, "Hey, the guy's just starting, Ash. He doesn't know what he's majoring yet." Beat pause, and then he turns to Alfie, "So whatcha gonna major in?" He nods to Runa at the statement about changing majors. "I'm architecture." Just so that Alfie isn't the only one being grilled.

Alfie, Corey, and those of Oak 9 that have amassed are back in the kitchen. Corey, busy dealing with unpacking and ready to cook on in the background what is certain to be 'Good' pasta bolognaise with optional grated cheddar. Ash has made drinks, Runa has brought cookies, and Marius has hefted a keg up onto the counter.
"Corey here is - I think - culinary science," Alfie provides. The easy answer, given on another's behalf as Corey squares away more preserves and personal items. And there's an additional beat of delay before he answers on his own behalf, and with just a shrug at first, following Marius' furthering of the question. "General studies, I guess," he adds. "Arts courses mostly." Again, non-committal, like university was just something the formerly studious Alfie was just caught within the gravitational pull of. "Changeable priorities," he determines, academically, in reference to what Runa insists.
"Architecture," he repeats. "You had the grades for it," he recalls. "Gonna stick around, spice up Gray Harbor, or take those skills on the road?" he asks. And, with a look between Runa and Ash, "And you two?"

"Ow. Ow." Ash overdramatizes the light shove, holding onto her arm like something really real just happened. But then she hauls off and punches Marius in the arm, trying her very best to dead-arm him, but probably being more a pest than anything. "History." She offers to Alfie, grinning wider, "Minor in philosophy, I think. But pretty much history." She leans towards Marius, lowering her voice, "The one cooking totally thinks I'm hot."

Most of the time, Marius would soak up that punch just fine. He might even no-sell it. For some reason, though, it lands right on a nerve cluster, and his fingers spasm, dropping his cookie down onto the ground where it shatters into a million pieces, "Ow!" Shaking out his arm, he gives Ash a reproachful look, "Goddamnit, Ash." The drink is set on the counter so he can rub his arm, "That hurt." He manages to chuckle, however, shaking his head and looking back to Alfie, "Yeah. Thanks, man. Not the grades that're hurting now. Just the math. Like, the basics are easy, but it gets complicated real fast. And I figure I'll stick around, at least for a while. See if there's a market." And then he looks back to Ash, not lowering his voice at all, "Uh... Ash... doesn't everyone who swings that way think so?"

"Music didn't pan out - at least not yet - so uh, being super practical," Runa begins to explain to Alfie, tucking loose red hair behind an ear. "Physical therapy. So I can torture people," she deadpans. Except she might be serious? Sometimes it's hard to tell. "You are the hottest, A," she makes a kissy face at Ash.

Sparrow's earlier return to deliver groceries was in and out, a hand off of a few backs before she was off again, who knows where, assuring she'd be back for dinner. Probably. Her eventual return is heralded, first, by a thud of a few bags out in the living room, dropped next to boxes that have already been brought in. Soon thereafter comes a voice singing, "No time for the bad shit, fact is! Na na na na na na na..." in concert with the music still playing. A few seconds later comes a, "Smells good!" surely meant for Corey before she goes back to her singing. Seems she hasn't noticed yet that there are too many voices in the kitchen.

Alfie remains an observer in the exchange of shoves and punches, smirking, minutely, for a moment, but not addressing that particular interaction. "That combo kind of just makes sense," he says of history and philosophy. "Work out the facts of what went down, think about how they thought, and study in a state with legalized weed." He shoves the last chunk of his cookie in his mouth, chewing as he turns his attention back on to Marius, in turn, for answers given. A casual nod along, to demonstrate understanding while his mouth is full, right up until when he swallows, with a subsequent wash-down of orange-flavored alcohol.
"I can imagine," he says of the math Marius faces. Though, he seems to have diverted himself from any courses dealing with anything of the sort by focusing on Arts. "Torture and rehabilitate. Good sideline, there," he says of physical therapy. Curiosity piqued to the prior, "Music?" Drinking some more, nearing the bottom of his heavily alcoholic cup as one-third of the trio speak in hushed tones.
Subsequently distracted by the re-arrival of his other roommate. "There's drinks," he informs Sparrow, without leaving the kitchen and disrupting her diversion into song. Hardly a warning as to guests. Maybe that's on purpose, as they attend her singing.

"I'm sorry, baby!" Ash throws her arms around Marius, giving him a kiss on the cheek in apology for the punch, then she promptly pushes him away so she can blow kisses back at Runa. "Wait...are we torturing people again?" She glances towards Sparrow as she breezes in and out, but down't do much more than wave, "I'm not sure we're supposed to torture the neighbords their first day in, Runa."

"It's kind of my responsibility in life, don't worry, I'm careful with my targets," says the redhead to Ash with a mischievous smile on her lips. "Yeah, kinda thought I'd make it big but--" Runa starts to tell Alfie, but she doesn't finish that. She hears Sparrow singing, and a lightbulb goes off, along with a megawatt smile. Suddenly filled with devious glee, she sets her drink on the counter and quietly - all stealthy like - rounds the corner and prepares to squish Sparrow in the biggest of hugs. "Sparrooooow!" she sing-songs.

"Hey, you and Astrid both got serious talent, Runa." Marius's charlie horse seems to be fading a little, although that may be helped by the hug and kiss from Ash, which draws a laugh, "I mean, it didn't hurt," because that's important to state, "but it hurt." That settled, he nods to Runa, "So you can sing while you beat people up." Speaking of, the singing from near the entry draws Marius's head around, and he drains off the rest of the Ash Special, moving over to pour golden mead from the pony keg on the counter. "Hello." He points to himself, his sister, and their housemate in turn, "Marius, Runa, Ash." Pause, "And you already know Runa. Or remember. Or whatever." Because there's a hug-attack happening.

Sparrow's singing might be better left unattended. She's better on drums and not that great at those either. She's got enthusiasm, at least. "You can't pull my own tricks on me, beer-thief!" she calls back to the kitchen, almost certainly teasing. She's just barely at the doorway when Runa calls her name, when eyes lock and literall squeeing happens. One girl rushes toward the other, and the shorter may well get swooped up off her feet in that giddy, squishing hug. "Ohmygodohmygod! How did--what?" As she pulls back, she looks to Alfie as if he might have explanation, as if this is somehow his magic. Then onto Marius to give him a crooked look. "Don't pretend you don't know me," comes with a stuck out tongue at the end. Remember that bad, bad high school pop-punk band Runa had been in? Helgrind? Sparrow was the drummer. The loud, likes banging on things, always has an obnoxious hair-color drummer. How muted her current appearance must seem by contrast!

"I think getting everything upstairs is going to be torture enough. Is it possible to be too tired for torture?" Alfie asks, before finishing up his drink and arching one eyebrow at Runa's past tense dream and her diversion out to where Sparrow is. Rather than follow up or just follow, he waits his turn to refill his glass with from the pony keg, happy to let Marius take the lead with introductions or reintroductions. Not providing the explanation that Sparrow looks for. "More for me," he replies, to the name of 'beer-thief'.
With the glass full, he lifts it to his nose, sniffs, deeming it quite unlike any beer he has tasted before. Though he might have just missed the mention of mead that might have warned him of the surprising contrast. Following a breath of silence, as break from being the social sort he definitely wasn't in years part, he taste-tests the contents of his glass. He'll be out to join the migration of the crowd soon enough. Just one more sip.

Marius blinks at Sparrow's accusation and tongue-sticking-out, and then recognition dawns, "Oh shit, yes. Helgrind." He points up to her hair, "Didn't recognize you." The pointing finger aims instead through the wall to the house next door, "All three of us are next door. Plus Ash and Astrid." His phone chimes, and he digs it out of his pocket. "Now I gotta go though." He takes a swig of the mead, then hands the cup off to Ash as he heads for the door, stopping short to offer Alfie, "You need help later, let me know. Jens and I can lend a hand." What's better than one Viking helping move? Two Vikings helping move -- with supervision. "Good to see you guys again. Come on by if you need anything. We're not usually naked." Let Ash and Runa explain that one, because he's out.

"Everyone likes to have their sore spots knocked out while they're serenaded, right?" Runa laughs at Marius' suggestion, hands briefly on her hips. This is, of course, after she's swooped around by Sparrow's arms, an embrace she welcomes openly. Laughing brightly, she gives the other woman one last, quick squeeze and keeps an arm draped over her shoulders. "We're neighbors now! Isn't that awesome?" There's a curious look toward Alfie, then toward the others. "Isn't all beer pretty much communal beer?" A hand lifts to wave after Marius, "Have fuuuuun with orientation or wahtever." Then she makes a face. "Usually." There's a long-suffering sigh that punctuates her sentiment.

"I'm practicing subtlety," Sparrow flat out lies to Marius with her eyes and smile both magnificently wide. One might wonder if she has the capacity to even identify subtlety. It's certainly not her strong suit. Her gaze darts between Marius and Runa, then to Ash, then to... well, she can't see their house from over here, except maybe some little sliver of it through a window. "So fucking awesome," is spoken with a bit of disbelief, like she's waiting for a catch. "Shit." She turns an almost distraught look back to the redhead. "If half of us weren't... who the fuck knows where, we could get the band back together." Which sounds like it would be totally epic if it weren't impossible. A cheerful, "Byyyye!" is offered to Marius as she starts toward the keg, crooning to Alfie on the way, "I don't know who you stole this from, but you did well, beer-thief." As she pours, she asks Runa, "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?" And then Ash, "How did you get adopted by vikings?"

Alfie comes out of the kitchen in time to raise a glass to Marius' offer of help. He might get around to taking everyone who's offered it up on that, when he gets around to getting started on finishing moving, himself. "You too," he says, to seeing familiar faces again, with a kind of relief to his voice, like it could have gone so much worse. He stands at the cusp of kitchen and living space and drinks more than just a sip from his sufficiently tested mead. A glance between those that might explain as to 'usually' without pressing the issue. Instead, as to communal beer, he agrees, flatly, "The beer belongs to the people." The beginnings of a political movement that will likely descend into apathy by the time Alfie has his belongings inside the house.
"If I told you that, I'd be out of a job," he replies to Sparrow over his shoulder as she passes toward the keg of mead on the subject of his non-existent beer thieving ways. And quite possibly a non-existent job, given that he hasn't mentioned one. He doesn't butt in on the well acquainted getting reacquainted, but remains part of the conversation otherwise, drinking free drink as he does.

"Subtlety..." Then Runa cracks up with laughter. "Perfect. We're gonna have to get our shit together again, at least jam out a little," she insists. "Won't be exactly the same, but we'll still have some good times," she sounds quite confident of that much. "Was on the road for a while, yeah, but since things weren't going so great? Figured I'd catch up on some school before trying again." There's an lift of her chin at Alfie in agreement. Beer for everyone! Especially beer she doesn't buy herself. "Which reminds me, I gotta go make a call buuuuut I'm totally coming by later and we're gonna catch up on everything," she insists to her former bandmate, giving her hands a quick squeeze. "Nice to see you again, Alfie. I have questions for you," she points to her eyes with two of her fingers, and then to Alfie. This promise is punctuated with a big grin. "Later!" With that, she scurries on out, digging her cell phone out of her pocket to tend to something quickly.

And then there was one. Ash hasn't gone anywhere, in fact, she's sort of loitering and drinking as everyone else catches up, talks, does all those things that they do. At some point she's pulled out her phone to text someone on it, but then she looks up, "So you guys all know each other then?"

"You better," Sparrow tells Runa with a stern lift of her dark brows. In playful threat, she adds, "I know where you live." With that, she takes a swig of--not what she was expecting. It's not bad! But it definitely catches her off-guard, leaving her coughing for a second, sputtering out a rough, uncertain laughter. It's cleared with another gulp and a smile that reads 'I'm fine, nothing to see here!' Settling in close to where Alfie loiters, she looks out over the house emptying of bodies and yet full of boxes, all the unpacking left to do. Daunting. Way easier to settle her attention on Ash, her smile easier now. "High school. The three of us were in the same year as their younger brother. Runa and I and a couple of friends off at faraway colleges played at being rockstars for a while, but then she left to go be a big star and Alfie was abducted by aliens and I ran off to see the world." Looking back over her shoulder, she adds, "And Chef Stud--" One can hear the amused eyeroll in her tone. "--learned how to make moose noises."

Alfie is adjusting to this incomparable beverage referred to as 'mead' while Runa and Sparrow talk jamming and catching up. His posture perks up, though, when directly addressed like he'd lost track of his own presence here. "Likewise," he tags on to the quality of the reunion. At the mention of questions, he nods slow, curious, but the following gesture does earn a minute smirk. "Next time," he promises as to answers to unstated questions - and the offer stands in for any manner of formal farewell as Runa scurries away.
The smirk grows further still, as he attends Sparrow's introduction to mead, before smugly drinking from his own. Not that he'd known it was mead back when he'd poured it, either. And he surveys the state of the house alongside Sparrow until Ash returns from her phone. "Yeah," he confirms, with regard to high school. But he neither confirms or denies alien abduction as he takes another swig, returning from which to ask, "How far did you get?"

"So you were in the same class as Jens?" Ash tucks her phone into her pocket, smilin at the pair of them, "That's really super cool." She decides, glancing in the direction of Corey, before she laughs, "Moose noises? What the hell...that's fucking amazing. Can he still do it?" At the question of how far did Sparrow get from Alfie she glances over, "Tell us all the fantastic places you've been."

"Mmhmm!" Sparrow confirms of being the kids of the group. Her smile widens at the question about her brother's strange talent, but she shrugs and croons, "You're gonna have to ask him." She flicks a look between Alfie and Ash at their curiosity about her travels, offering first, "New Orleans," which might mark her farthest point. "Stayed there for a bit. Volunteering during the day. Seeing how much we could get away with at night. Thought about staying, but." She shrugs, clearly not all that broken up about that abandoned possibility. "But stopped at so many national parks and all these weird places. Doll museums and two story high yarn balls and cheese shops on the side of the highway..."

"Same year," Alfie says of school with Jens, though with a tone of uncertainty. As if he might not be the best source to plumb for memories. He has no insight on moose noises. Rather, he looks to Sparrow for that one - and there his attention remains, as Ash joins him in his curiosity over her travels. For it, he's a little more engaged than his default expression of distraction, a little closer to a part of himself left behind. "That must have been something," he says, with maybe a hint of awe sneaking into his voice, past his reserved manner. "I haven't really left the state since Beijing. Read a lot of travelogues, though." Beijing. The year in junior high that he spent as an exchange student. A brief taste of his much longer absence that followed.

"Never been to New Orleans." Ash shakes her head quickly, "We went to Boston a few times to visit my grandparents, and then Disney World once. But that's all the exciting places I've been. Oh, and Seattle. But I grew up there instead of here." The drink in her hand gets knocked back before she moves to start mixing herself another one, slightly different than the first, "I'll ask him about the moose noises."

"I figured you went back," Sparrow says of Beijing, maybe not quite as casually as she meant, a hint of genuine curiosity creeping in. Nothing worth unearthing now, though, surely. She takes another swig of her not-beer, much happier with the mead now that she knows it's not mead. "Man, I wish we'd made it all the way to Disney World. We talked about it. I wanted to ride Space Mountain. Go on safari. But we hit Silver Dollar City in Missouri on our way back. Maybe I'll just do coasters if I do it again." The way her gaze wanders, it seems like she might be planning that trip already.

"I spent the last year in Seattle," Alfie notes after Ash brings up her point of origin. "What's Boston like?" he asks, rather than of Disney World - seeing as how Sparrow covers that. His posture, more relaxed than it'd been following the impaling of the mattress, likely evidence of a buzz earned from Ash's drink and the mead mostly finished in hand. "I rather like that assumption," he admits, to the figuring that he'd just gone back to China a second time - for a longer or semi-permanent stretch. And, perhaps just as casually intended but not actualized in such a manner, he adds, "I would have wrote. Sent postcards."

"Boston is big and loud, and has so much history to it. We got to go to Salem for the day, the museums there are crazy." Ash finishes mixing her drink, taking another large swallow from it before she flashes a wide smile at the pair of them. "You guys like camping?"

"But ya didn't." The words are quiet but casual, gravity balanced against apathy. Sparrow doesn't linger there long, her smile returned by the time she's taken another pull from her cup. Her eyes go wide at the prospect of what museums in Salem might be like, something else to add to her list of weird places to visit on her next cross-country trip, as if those things happen more than once in a lifetime. The question of camping is met with an easy, "Sure," that might be read--especially by empaths--as an absence of opinion outweighed by general gameness. "Corey--" He has a name, let slip, surely actually provided at some point between then and now. "--definitely does. If you see him camping out in the backyard? Totally normal. Just hanging with his vegetables."

Delay, like a shameful pause where Alfie parts his lips to say nothing. But he didn't. He tilts his drink, slightly, one way, then the other. "So much brick, in the pictures," Alfie says of Boston's appearance, when he does speak. Or, rather, in the form of pictures taken in decades long past, of an un-modern Boston that was. On the subject of camping he pauses, he furrows his brow and considers his mostly finished drink as if he needs to think hard on the subject. "I don't think I've been camping before," he says, uncertain - maybe still snagged on that delay of quiet regret. And follows up with a more confident, "No, I haven't." He nods at that confirmation and finishes the glass with one last swig. "But I'll give anything a try, once."

"Well the boys really like camping, they do the whole Viking re-enactment thing, and we get drug along." Ash isn't going to push the blame for those activities onto Astrid or Runa, even if they might be as guilty. "And we like camping a lot, just in general. Next time we head out, I'll make sure that one of us swings by and offers an invite." She takes another swallow from the drink, then sets it down before she glances in the direction of the back yard, "You'll probably notice a half naked person in ours sooner or later, in fact....just a fair warning, always a risk of a half-naked someone when you come over. Don't pay it any attention, unless you like making Marius blush, then comment on it."

"That so?" Sparrow quips to Alfie at his willingness to try anything once as if she hadn't just snagged him on some years-old guilt, right back to friendly banter as if it had never happened or hadn't meant anything. "Yeah, cool," comes for the promise of eventual camping. "We'd like that," as if she were delegated to speak for the household. "Just need some time to get situated and settled in here first. Like, so we're not still camping in the living room." With a look aside to Alfie, she notes, "Though that might be the plan for the night if we don't get that monster upstairs," of the mattress. Looking back to Ash, she wonders, "Which half is it usually?" as if this were a serious question meriting a serious answer.

"New philosophy. Picked it up somewhere in the last year," Alfie confirms for Sparrow. Adding an open mind to the list of changes that he'd gone through, alongside all that ink. "Looking forward to it. I think," he says to Ash, uncertain of what he might think of camping but entirely game. He lowers his empty glass and holds it loosely at his side. The warning of half-nudity met with less curious confusion this time around, now that he's met (or been reacquainted with) so much of the crew. He just nods in understanding. He takes another look at his glass and then at the stairs. "I mean. Yeah. Let's just deal with that later." A vote for camping out downstairs. A late additional question for Ash in the form of, "Viking re-enactment? Like hunting and pillaging motorhomes?"

"Usually Marius and Jens." Ash assumes Sparrow is wondering about who, but then she realizes she means what, "Oh, they never get the boxers off in public. But there's a lot of shirtless boxer walking around sometimes. It's very hot." She pauses when her phone chirps at her, pulling it out to check a text, "Like the SCA stuff, I think? You'd have to ask one of them for real answers. I just go along for the free booze."

Sparrow is already starting to gesture with both hands, one empty and the other still holding a red cup, when Ash gets her meaning. With a snort of laughter and a lift of her cup to confirm, yeah, sounds hot, she still quips, "Other half might've been more entertaining." Reaching over, she gives Alfie's empty cup a little tug, intending to take it if he allows, then starts back toward the counter-mounted keg to pour them both some more. "What are you into, Ash? I mean, aside from shirtless vikings and beer-for-all."

Half-laugh, half scoff, entirely non-commital where Alfie stands on the subject of particular hotness. "Free booze sounds nice," he admits, freely, instead. He's just downed two glasses of the stuff, after all. And he decides on a third, releasing his cup to Sparrow's custody when he catches what she's getting at. Promises of inebriation awaiting, beyond the cool buzz settling liquid laziness into his limbs well suited to putting off trekking assorted belongings up stairs - let alone a mattress. "Not that there's anything wrong with not having any interests beyond those," he supplies after Sparrow's question for Ash. "She's a history major," he adds, for Sparrow, before thinking back as to whether she'd been present for that portion of the conversation.

There's a tentative knock at the door of the next door neighbor's house, Astrid having gotten a text at some point that Ash had met their new neighbors! The brunette in her overalls and sports bra complete with a bandana tied around her head peeks into the house before she calls ."Uh. Ash?"

"In here!" Ash calls as soon as she hears Astrid's voice, moving so that she can wave to her from the place they are standing, where ever that really is. Kitchenish. "I love shirtless Vikings, for the record. But yeah, history is my major...I also like writing, philosophy, reality shows."

"I wouldn't've pegged you as a nerd," Sparrow says of Ash with a smile. Lest that be taken in some derogatory manner, she lifts her cup toward herself and self-identifies as, "Chem major." She crosses back to Alfie, handing him his refilled cup and maybe giving him a quick once-over to gauge his current level of inebriation. The sound of another arrival earns an amused look for Ash before her gaze moves on to Astrid. "Welcome to Camp Not Unpacking Tonight. Mead's in the kitchen. Help yourself to some spaghetti."

The bush beside the front door has seen better days. It's dented, really, for lack of a better term - partly flattened on one side. A mattress just inside the door, against the wall bares matching puncture wounds, likely from broken branches. And there's a tape sealed box down against the wall beside it. All evidence of abandoned efforts in this halted move-in process.
Alfie lifts a brow at the unfamiliar voice from the door, quietly curious at Astrid and Ash's call and response. He's dressed in a baggy black t-shirt, plain, well suited to moving. His jeans are artificially distressed. And he has shed his beat up converse sneakers at some point in favor of the socks that he's wearing. "What do you write?" he asks Ash. Another tagged curiosity. One interrupted as Alfie takes the refilled cup handed back to him. He's past the realms of merely buzzed and beginning to settle gently into the domain of inebriation. No sway to him, but his posture is utterly relaxed and the usually distracted expression of distant thought on his face has been replaced by scattered attentiveness to what's around him. Less in his head as he has to observe to keep up. "Thanks," he says, to Sparrow, with a ghost of a smile.

Astrid just hears something about shirtless vikings, and she laughs as she crosses toward the group with the little rhythm of her flip-flops. "I see we've given our new neighbors warnings about the The Boys." Then she is brightening to the point of incandescence for Sparrow. "Hi! Thank you. Um, I'm Astrid." She waves slightly. She doesn't go for the spaghetti, but the mead is definitely welcomed. She has dirt on the knees of her overalls and grime under her nails, but she looks at least pleasantly dirty. She gets a cup and fills it, and then she's sliding in to join the gaggle.

Oh. Right. Names! "Sparrow, Alfie and, uh. Corey's around here somewhere." A quick glance about doesn't reveal any more people lurking about, so who knows where her twin got up to. "We went to school with Jens. Class of Sixteen." With a little tip of her red solo cup in a sorta wobble, she adds, "Give or take," without any clarification about what that might mean. "Think that makes you number five then, yeah? Adopted by vikings?"

Alfie waves in reply to Astrid's greeting, and he takes a swig of his fresh cup and the path to proper drunkenness that it promises, in time. This diversion into drink delays his own proper introduction, however - a delay that Sparrow solves in providing his name and the high school connection. And he deems 'give or take' an adequate enough cover that he offers no correction. "Good to meet the whole lot in one go. Even if not all at once," he adds, post-introduction. It should be suitable that a honey mead would provide a general languidness, like moving through its source substance.

Astrid actually laughs at Sparrow's inference, and she shrugs up one shoulder. "Um. Kinda. My moms are Danish and Norwegian. They'd probably argue a bit about the Vikings bit, but it's how I know Marius, Jens, and Runa." Then she starts to smile warmer now. "Did I hear you guys, right? You're over at Hoaquim, too?" Because all college kids talk about is school and work. It is known.

Sparrow snorts at Astrid's comment about vikings, her shrug seeming to deny any blame for that particular term. When she asks about school, though, she nods. "Second year for me and my absent sibling. Floaty here's just enrolled." Smile dimming, she says, "Hate to meet and mosey, but I'mma go check in on my brother. It was awesome meeting you both." She tips the edge of her cup against Alfie's and promises, "I'll look in on you later." But, for now, she's trudging off in search of her twin.

"What's a name for a pack of vikings? A gaggle? A horde?" Alfie asks the room, as the question slips into his mind and past the internal censor of questions worth asking thanks to the effects of nerve-soothing beverage and those that came before it. He nods at the question as to Hoaquim, confirming Sparrow's answer on behalf of him while still working out that he's 'Floaty'. "I start in the Fall." Maybe not all the way there when Sparrow taps his cup with her own. But he nods to her promise. "I should still be in this general vicinity," he promises, in turn, gesturing to the room about them with his free hand. "Or camped out at the curb with my things."