2019-08-04 - Giant snake riot rave porn what now!?

Joey is parked, late morning, after the early morning coaching is done. The heat over the summer's not been kind and lo, the diner's AC isn't great but it works a lot better than being at 11am on the sidewalk. The door going 'ding' is what brings Joey's attention up from his phone waiting for someone maybe, or a force of defensive habit. It's a small ass town though so the odds of knowing who is coming and going is decent, and the odds of them steering clear of Joey? More so.

Second-hand furniture shopping is hard work. One can only look at so many ridiculous lamps before needing a break from the strangeness. Chances are, Sparrow's been here before a time or two, but it's been years, chosen today simply for the bear-themed decor as they drove by. It matches her shirt, a pink Care Bears crop-top that leaves a bit of her belly bare above her short denim cut-offs. Not that anyone can tell at the moment given her comfortable slouch in one of the beat-up vinyl booths, legs stretched across below the table to use the opposite seat as a footrest. She sits with Alfie, sipping at water while they wait for their orders to come up, babbling about how, "I really want one of those beanbags that are big enough to sleep on, but like... second hand beanbags are kinda scary even if they don't have questionable leaks."
Even as she chatters, her gaze strays to the door, catching Joey as she comes in and tracking his movement. Does she recognize him? Maybe. Does she say anything? No. She's not remarkably recognizable herself save for that same easy wide-smile she had as a high schooler. But her hair? Dark and boring rather than the neon red or orange or some other sherbet-bright shade she used to rock a few years ago.

Alfie settles into breaks, easy, into lazing and lethargy where proper work might be concerned. He leans forward on his seat, one forearm planted on the table, his other elbow bracing against it, hand holding up his chin as his regard sticks with Sparrow across the table and over his coffee. The uncomfortable heat of summer is trying the range of Alfie's presently limited wardrobe. He's wearing a wide strapped, white tank top with pinyin characters across the stomach and a graphic of a squirrel that looks suspiciously close to a certain glasses wearing, trademarked cartoon character. With it, he wears a pair of bright red swim trunks and faded red Converse hi-tops without socks. This combination bares many tattoos. Of special note are the thorns down his left thigh, small symbols of strangeness and fortune caught on the pointy ends and an anchor weighing down its bottom end. His left arm is a singular piece in a Japanese fashion, flowers and leaves in cloud and surf, details of linework the tone of his pale flesh with the rest filled out in black. His right arm is a blend of many tattoos, of which a few should be detailed. The back of his hand depicts a diving raven, its beak parted between his index and middle fingers. The inside of his forearm shows a grayscale red panda's head with blind white eyes and its striped tail as a scarf. And his shoulder, an open doorway to a starlit void. These are by no means the only tattoos visible, but those that might draw the eye first. "You wouldn't even know what was in them until you wake up with weird impressions in your skin," he agrees, for the concerning pedigree of second-hand beanbag chairs.

Jaime comes rolling up to the diner in a beat-up truck that is left unlocked because nobody wants to steal that heap of junk. It would probably break down half-way out of the parking lot, and that would just be embarassing. He has on a plain white t-shirt and jeans with workboots, and a series of leather bands around one wrist, a couple of silver rings on his fingers. There's a hint of ink visible at the edge of his sleeves, but none of his tattoos are currently visible, as he notes his twin and wanders over to the booth, sliding into it and sprawling in a corner heavily, "Got your message. Did you get me a coffee?"

Another arrival into the diner, here comes Corey. He's in his usual scruffy jeans and 'baking is chemistry for hungry people' t-shirt, and he pauses by the door. Looks around, heads for Sparrow's table, slides in. "PLEASE tell me you didn't buy the white messiah lamp," he pleads, apropos of nothing except one of the many weird pictures she sent while shopping. "Also, hey Alf. You guys ordered yet?"

Joey notes Sparrow curious. Will have to work on placing name with face. The door dings again and it is Jaime a cleaned off, but still grubby hand lifts to flag him down. "Jaim'." There we go. Oh right, the twins: Double Trouble. He glances to where the waitress is behind the counter getting some things together with the coffeepot and mugs. A finger points yon. "Yeah, she's gettin it."

Still there's curiosity and finally he asks directed to Sparrow and asks, "Hey," Then Corey's in and he notes the like and like. "Sup." To Jaime he murmurs, "She's the one that used to rent the gym from me and Unca Larry. Hod the band." Looking back to her he nods only adding, "Wondered what the hell happened to you."

"Unexpected imprint of a bony three-fingered hand showing up somewhere untoward," Sparrow answers back to Alfie with her eyes all wide and unfocused, haunted by the thought. Half-haunted. Half-delighted, if the wide smile is any indication. When her gaze resettles on the skinny guy across from her, she tells him, "You are morbid," as if he came up with the specifics, not her. All his fault. Curiosity flickers toward Kelly Twin Number Two, but her own other half comes through the door a whole two seconds later and steals her curiosity. "We totally did," sounds almost indignant. How could he think otherwise? It might be a lie. "We're gonna give him a makeover," comes with a big, satisfied smile that says otherwise.
She doesn't answer the question that wasn't directed to her, instead turning a belated look toward Joey, that 'hey' meant for her clicking only after Corey's settled, after that wonderment is sent her direction. "Oh fuck! Right! Mr. Enabler!" She throws up devil horns both in honor of Joey's badassery and in memory of Helgrind--nevermind that the pop-punk band wasn't hardcore enough to really earn that sorta salute. With a smile for Jaime, she croons, "Forgot there were two of you. Sometimes forget there are two of me." She nudges her brother with her shoulder and shrugs.

"That feels like something we should do on purpose," Alfie decides, regarding the impression of the skeletal through beanbag chairs. "Make it from a mold, and pierce a chair with it." He accepts the mantle of 'morbid' regardless of where the thought was sourced, and pays back the haunted smile with a ghost of a smile his own. Alfie swivels, his chin rotating in his hand, at notice of Corey's arrival. He lifts his other hand from the table, a lazy wave when he notes that Corey has noticed them in turn. He turns his head further, unable to quite turn enough to look to the source of the voice addressing Sparrow and Corey, but getting partway there at least, and remaining in lethargy in said position. "I voted ill-considered face tattoos. 'Saint' and 'Sinner' on his holy cheekbones," he quips, regarding the lamp and without interrupting the moment of recognition between the two twin camps. Just observing as best he can without taking the effort to unslump and turn.

When Joey mentions the one who used to rent the gym, Jaime oh-so-subtly twists right around to look over at Sparrow and Alfie's booth just as Corey joins them, giving an up-nod in their direction when Joey calls out to them. "Oh yeah, crazy-color-hair-chick." Or at least she was, before, if not now. He flashes a grin. "How's it going?" That seems directed to the entirety of the trio, not to any single one of them in particular. But then sweet, sweet caffeine is delivered in front of him and he dumps some sugar and creamer into it indiscriminately before taking a deep swig. "Also," he opines on second thought, because he couldn't help but overhearing, "Second-hand beanbags that /don't/ come with weird things in them should be opened up and have stuff added, just to freak people out. Also, because you should check them for drug money or bonus prizes."

"Ugh, you would." This is the long-suffering sound of Phil's twin, and Corey shakes his head. A makeover for the white messiah indeed. "Yo," he then calls over to the other table with the other twins on, one hand lifted in a vague wave/salute sort of thing. "Goin' good, thanks," he answers, for himself rather than the table as a whole, even as he nudges Sparrow right back. "I am totally not you. I'm the way better looking twin," he informs her, in a tone that suggests he's said it many times before. "Beanbag chairs? Did you get one of those?" Now, he sounds interested, the question sort-of directed towards Alfie.

Joey turns a faint smile of amusement with an upnod. "Well to be fair people try to forget that about us." Looking to Jaime he arches an eyebrow, "Shit, you're givin me ideas now." Even if he wouldn't be the first person to play Pinata with a heavy bag and someone that owed the boss money. He swirls his coffee and orders the everything omelette, three eggs. Wheat toast. Looking up he asks, "So the band toast or what?" He pauses and adds, "Jaim, I have to follow up on a thing this afternoon. You wanna come with?"

"It's like they remade him just for me," Sparrow says to Corey with wide-eyed delight turned toward Alfie. Nevermind who 'they' are. Or how it sounds like she's adopting the new roommate as her own personal minion. Mad Scientist Mode Activated. Evil Artist Mode? Whatever. This probably won't go horribly awry. She turns her only-slightly-mad smile back toward Jaime, beaming at being remembered, but then it's back to Alfie again as she makes a face and says sotto voce, "And I got repackaged to look sane." Those paying attention might catch a suggestion of softness in that expression, the madness muting into something warmer, hinting at an inside joke, there and gone.
"It's certainly adorable that you think so," she croons to her brother regarding his cuteness. More seriously, she tells him, "No," in regards to the beanbag chairs. "But I'm thinking maybe now that we should. See, I was just worried about what's that stain, but--" She flicks a look to the wise, wise Jaime as she concludes, "Drug money and bonus prizes," in a sing-song clearly meant to tempt her roommates into going along with this awful idea. With a half-convincing frown for Joey, she says, "Dead," of Helgrind, but the unconvincing half surges forward with widening eyes as she hurriedly adds, "But might come back from the dead! Runa's back. I'm back. What else do we need?" Oh, right, like... the rest of a band, but whatever. "What sorta thing?"
A waitress swings by in her bear-patterned apron and delivers a grilled cheese with a big old pile of fries to Alfie and what might be a cuban sandwich to Sparrow, a matching pile of fries taking up half of her plate as well. "Getcha something?" is turned toward Corey.

A like mind. Beanbag plans mirrored by a stranger at the other table. Alfie finally lifts his chin from his hand and half-turns within the booth to look back over his shoulder at Jaime and Joey, eyebrow raised. Greeting nod. Corey's question, sort of directed at him, draws a glance back toward his other roommate - placed between the two groups, like the center of a Venn diagram detailing the beanbag dreams of the two tables. Unless they'd recognize him from a few years ago, sans tattoos, honor roll golden boy. But there'd have to still be a reason for them to have collided. "On the hunt," he tells Corey as extension to Sparrow's answer. Beanbag in flux. "The bigger the better," he adds, for how far he and Sparrow have gotten with planning to find one. He turns back to his meal as it arrives, nods and mumbles a thanks to the waitress who delivers their food. He plucks half on his grilled cheese. "Snag some fries?" he offers off his plate to Corey.

"Sure," Jaime says when Joey mentions needing to follow up on a thing. He doesn't even bother asking what sort of thing, or what following up entails. He just agrees, easily, and without hesitation. Though he does glance over toward Sparrow to see what her answer is about the band. "Too bad. I remember listening to you guys play a few times." He still plays the guitar, himself. He takes a swig of his coffee and then adds some more creamer to balance the sugar to cream ratio. When Alfie turns around, he gives him a nod in greeting as well. Bonding through beanbag shenanigans.

"Yeah, thanks.." Corey trails off, glancing to the waitress' nametag and continuing, "Judy. Can I get a black coffee and a burger, please? Salad, relish, no cheese." His order placed, he then reaches out to filch a few fries from Alfie as the other guy offers, earning a grateful grin. On the topic of beanbag, he muses, "A bunch of 'em would be good. Save on getting actual furniture." Apart from the one futon they have currently doing couch duty.

Joey is really putting some thought into this lacing his fingers under his chin to rest on. Objectivly he murmurs, "Shit, hit up teh Wal-Mart...mve half the shit into other shit. Be fuckin hysterical. Watch all these socker moms look horrified at the little alarms go off for trying to boost a copy of Jingle All the Way. Cause a fuckin panic is what it'd do."

Mayhem at its finest and most lazy.

The question about the gym is answered, "Eh, tell the right people been a while tho wince there's been a warehouse rave. " By the right people he means the guy that controls all unspoken mischief in the town. But still... fun shit.

"You can be president of our fan club," Sparrow croons so very sweetly to Jaime, dark lashes dipping low over her bright brown eyes. Nevermind that there's not a band anymore. That really has no bearing whatsoever on her invitation. Her attention lingers right there for a second before finally turning back to her brother, leveling him with a look. A fry rather coincidentally in hand, she holds up both of her arms as if to encircle something massive. "You really have no appreciation for the size of the beast we're hoping to bring home." She sounds certain that Alfie, Minion Number One, shares her bed-sized beanbag dreams.
Drawing up a little straighter, she falls blessedly quiet for a whole quarter of a minute--maybe even more!--while she starts in on her sandwich, the layers of ham, pork, swiss and pickle confirming that yeah, this not-thin-enough sandwich is meant to be a cuban. "More a riot than a rave girl," she half-lies with a tip of her bitten half-a-sandwich toward Joey, "but count me in for future mayhem. Just like, not today. Too much shit of our own to move. Too many thrift stores to visit."

Alfie bites in from the corner of his half of a grilled cheese, chewing with a distinct lack of hurry. Lips twitching toward a brief reflective grin for the one that Corey shows while filching fries. But eventually, he does get to commentating on the Wal-Mart idea. "Electronics with the spider wire inside a pillowcase." The kind of blaring alarm that gets the loss prevention officers really moving. Condensed chaos. He wasn't around for the performances - either unable to attend or already out of town. More of a forced piano lessons kid, back in the day. "Big enough to recreate that one Mario Party mini-game," he decides, where the beanbag is considered. "Where the last person left standing on it will be dubbed the winner." He takes another bite of grilled cheese.

Oh no, a look. Corey quirks a brow at his twin, then nods. "Sure. Is that the one that got away?" he teases, but seems on-board with bringing home a gigantic beanbag. "I mean, plenty of room for new suspicious stains, right?" he adds with a grin, chomping on his purloined fries while he waits for his burger. "She's a rave girl," he then contradicts helpfully in the direction of the other table.

"Oh, it'll be Sparrow left standing. She's not strong, but her elbows are lethal," he warns Alfie. This comes from experience.

Jaime smiles amusedly at the offer to be President of the fanclub of a defunct band. "You got t-shirts?" he asks. Because therein lies the important question. There's a grin at the illustration at the size of the beanbag. When mention of lethal elbows comes up he winces and says, "Sounds like Everly." Their cousin. "She's got bony elbows. Pretty sure she sharpens them when we're not looking." He takes up his coffee and grabs another sip before grabbing a menu, as though finally caffeinated enough to contemplate actual food.

Joey grins to Jaime with the arches eyebrow. When he actually smiles he really could pass for his ever amused twin with little effort. "Really does sound like her." He just shakes his head though the amusement in his expression might prove he's actually really on about the sabotaging of Wal-Mart idea.

Arching an eyebrow he says, "Speaking of moving beasts I tell you? We ran into a fuckin water snake thing size of your truck? Because we needed more shit crawlin around the back forty in a pissy mood. I swear Lyric is trying to find new ways to get eatn for altruism."

Sparrow laugh-coughs, a half-choked sputter around another bite of sandwich ill-timed with the key points of conversation like some mental tangent came to a late and amusing conclusion. Or some joke understood seconds after its telling. She nods to Corey even as she tries to down some water, confirming the emotional significance of this imaginary beanbag. Though she flips him off for his correction of her self-categorization, she offers no counter-contradiction of her own. Not until he mentions the brutality of her elbows, that remark earning Alfie a little look-and-lean as she stage-whispers, "Riot," as if her twin had just made her point. With a tip of her head to her twin, she asides with feigned formality, "Please refrain from engaging in stain-making activities on shared surfaces." Beat. "Even if your partner in stain-making's got killer legs, thanks." Another look, this one with arched brow.
Eventually, she turns another flirtatious look toward Jaime and tells him, "Sure," even though it's almost certainly a lie. It's delivered with effortless confidence, as if she's got a whole warehouse of Helgrind merchandise just waiting somewhere. With a tilt of her head that suggests she might be sizing him up, she wonders, "You still play? You don't gotta be stuck in the fan club if you don't wanna, though there are benefits." As the elbows of unknown quantities and the dubious size of unfamiliar creatures are discussed, she returns her attention to her food, to the guy across from her in their booth. She's still looking at Alfie when she pipes up, in regards to getting eaten for altruism, "I've seen that porn," oh so casually.

One that got away? Fan club? Alfie raises his brow as he chews, like he's letting his expression extend Corey's question where to do so verbally might share a new form of breaded cheese casserole with the table. Curiosity for the functions he could never attend in youth. After he swallows, he jumps to answering Corey's warning. "I'll fall flat. Play dead," he says, spoiling his tactics should they attempt to recreate dangerous 'as seen on TV' play. "Hopefully that works with giant water snakes, too," he adds, extending that note to those behind him. And to Sparrow, grinning a little after she laughs, he says, "I've never been to a riot." Which indicates, at least, that he's probably been to a rave. Or just hasn't seen fit to say he hasn't. A timely sip of coffee covering expression as Sparrow comments on her twin's partner's legs. "'Stranger Tackles Giant Anaconda'," he quips at the unlikely porno Sparrow references.

"Is she short? Must be a short girl thing," Corey muses to the other pair of twins. Of course, most people are short, to him. Including Sparrow, who most definitely isn't short in comparison to regular-sized people. "Water snake? Kill it if you can. Snake's a great meat to add to a stew." And one the size of a truck would make a lot of stew. Then he flashes a grin at his sister. "You're such a killjoy, Mena. I'd totally wash it after. Also, yeah, she does have killer legs."

Though, he does make a slight face as Sparrow mentions watching porn. Sure, intellectually he knows she has sex and stuff, but.. ew. That's his sister. "Been to a rave, though?" he then enquires of Alfie, checking the guy's party credentials.

"Who are you kidding? Lyric'd bite that snake before it bit her," Jaime says but smirks at the idea of a "back 40" given that their place has a tiny postage stamp of a yard in front and almost nothing in back. "Where did you even /find/ a snake that big? Not anywhere on Elm." He clearly is having a hard time believing that Joey found a serpent of that size anywhere in Gray Harbor, let alone anywhere near their actual house. Sparrow's question gets a grin and a nod, "Yeah, I still play." Then after a beat, "What benefits are those, exactly?" One brow curves upward, curious. Then he nods to Corey, "Yeah, she's about yea high." He holds his hand up at about the five foot even mark. "What she lacks in height she makes up for in fierceness."

"We'll fix that," Sparrow promises in a side-whisper to Alfie on his missing out on riots, like she might raze a small village just to see it done. After she's done with her sandwich. And all the thrift-store visits they've gotta get through this afternoon. There's no time to elborate on this Very Important Plans because she's too busy gasping as if utterly affronted at Corey's lumping her in with short girls. "I am a giant among the Razor Elbow Tribe, thank you." Let's set that record straight. Jaime gets a nod for his defense of what's now obviously her people: shorter-than-Corey and sharp-elbowed.
Keeping her attention on the more musically inclined Kelly, she tells him, "Hand-written letters from the band, of course. First dibs on merchandise. Backstage access to all our shows. And..." Her smile goes dopey wide as she adds, "You get to lick all the stamps." Let's hope that's innuendo? That little bump of her dark brows seems to suggest it might be. But, on that note, her attention settles back on Alfie as she counters, "Charity Clam-a-thon."

If Alfie is self-conscious about being the shortest (by a slight margin) resident of 7 Oak, he doesn't express it among the bickering between brother and sister. But he does nod as to having attended a rave. "Month before I moved back," he admits. A portion of that last year of his extended away time - the stretch of it that he'd been away. "Took a bit to get used to the crowd. But the music was good - or just loud. And the drugs were great." Robin's egg blue eyes flashing wider, momentarily, to really get across the quality of high. And he does give a sharp nod, confirming his gameness for giving a riot a go. So distant from the Alfie that once was in these moments. He finishes off that first half of grilled cheese, chewing through the exchange on benefits for the fan club, snorting at the nostalgic add of curated handwritten letters from musicians. Eating more hurriedly to meet Sparrow's counter at the end of it. "Marathon Runner Takes the Extra Mile." No delay on quipped replies aside from the obstacle of food.

Burger and coffee delivered, Corey thanks the waitress and bites into his food. Om nom nom. He's thus unable to counter Sparrow's claim of being a giant, letting that go and sipping coffee once he's done with that first mouthful. To the Kelly twins he notes, "Her writing is pretty." Pretty Awful. But he's not saying that, because clearly hand-written notes from the band need to be legible to be valuable. Probably.

"Yeah? Maybe you should be my rave guide, then," he asides to Alfie. "Next summer, when I've got time to pick up more hours. Can't afford to be doing much fun stuff during class times." Not that he wouldn't, just he can't afford to. And then he adds casually, to Sparrow, "I got a job, by the way."

Joey HAS TO ASK eyeing Sparrow, "What... the hell is the difference between a riot and a rave aside from the free TV?" Okay maybe not the thing someone might think he was going to ask. As Jaime answer the question about Everly Joey's hand goes out at the same height Jaime's hovers without planning.

Looking to his twin both eyebrows go up and he thumbs over his shoulder, "A'ight it was by the damn pond. Big enough to ride. Apparently the issue is they were twins and now conjoined. I was like well shit that'd drive me kinda batshit too., eh, mostly. Ish."

Jaime seems to weigh the benefits of this fan club position seriously, tilting his head one way, and then the other, that grin spreading across his lips, brows raising at the innuendo, shoulders shaking with a laugh, "Man, with that list of benefits, tempting, very tempting." He then glances over at Corey and he opens his mouth to respond, "So's her.." but then Joey distracts him and he twists around to look at his twin, "Wait what? Conjoind snake twins? What are you talking about?" He lost the thread of that conversation somewhere.

"Elbows," Sparrow answers Joey as if it were entirely obvious, even as one of hers knocks into Corey none too sharply. Maybe it's just to make that point, but it does coincide with his comment to Alfie about next summer's raves. There's no meaningful look to go with it to offer any clues to deeper meanings. Her attention's too comfortably settled on the Kellys. Mostly on Jaime as her smile skews sideways. "How bout I give you my number, Mr. President, and you give me a call when you're ready to enlist?" Though she keeps her focus on him for a couple seconds to really sell the invitation, that shamelessness turns almost giddily to Alfie as she counters, wide-eyed, "Snake Charmer Meets Spitting Cobras!"

"I mean, I've only been to the one," Alfie tells Corey, as to rave experience - as if entirely ignorant to the elbow witnessed, that he clearly just attended. "But that might be fun too. Falling into it." In the end, he nods. Despite any pain that Corey might be experiencing for the impact. Next summer, rave guide. It's as close to in stone as a thrift shop break can provide, making plans over diner fare. He washes down the last of that first slice of grilled cheese with some more coffee as numbers are offered for the enlistment of a fan club president. But he sputters some at the title Sparrow settles on, at least keeping the coffee in the cup this time, backwash. "That one," he croaks. The title, definitely found. He sets his coffee aside.

"Riots don't usually have music, raves don't usually end up with you on the local news," Corey informs Joey on Sparrow's behalf, as if it's obvious. Jaime gets a look and then the male Jones twin looks back to Alfie, adding, "Oh, so you need some guidance? Phil's a pretty good trip guide," he notes to his other housemate, before letting the topic change. He's not shown any physical response to the elbow, perhaps he's immune! Or just knows better than to flinch, because that's two.

Joey snickers and takes the large omelette with a murmur of thanks and starts in on the bacon. "Riiiight. Can't we do both? Go MAd MAx. DJ on wheels or somethin." He eyes Jaime with some amusement getting elected president already and just shakes his head. "Yeaaah just this big fuckin Titanboa thing that musta gone through some failed science project. One half? Pretty chill. The other half tried to bite me. So we had a nice Fuck Off conversation and we're lookin to maybe get it fixed."

"Elbows," Jaime confirms along with Sparrow, nodding to Joey. "I'd argue that a riot could benefit from a good soundtrack." There's an amused smile at the invitation, and he pushes his phone out onto the table and in that general direction, an invitation to her to put her number in it, or send herself a text, whatever works, not seeming terribly concerned what she does with the phone, or if she takes up the offer at all. "We should have that barbecue now that it's not pouring," Jaime says to Joey, "Or shit, maybe we should just do it anyway even if it is pouring, this time." He catches that look from Corey, which just makes his smile grow more broad, both eyebrows lifting for a moment. But then there's the boa, and he squints over at Joey, "I want to see this bizarre merged twin snake thing. And how are you going to fix it? Aren't conjoined things like.. generally sharing organs?" His brows knit.

Sparrow couldn't be prouder as she wins a competition she might not have even known they were having, her ear-to-ear grin utterly shining as she croons, "Lookit 'im spit." Whistling a fitting melody, she lets her gaze stray skyward, as if in search of a halo no one's ever gonna find, only coming back down again when Corey offers her services. She clips a two-finger salute at Alfie and tells him she's, "Best at chemistry," in such a way that it sounds like there should be an addendum. Four years running? In the Greater Seattle Area? Who knows. Looking back to Jaime as he heads on over, she observes that, "He gets it," probably in regards to riots deserving appropriate music. She takes up his phone, snaps a quick--and undeniably adorable, slightly dorky--selfie, both adding herself to his contacts under Sparrow and sending herself a text. She's all smiles as she hands the device back to the guitarist, but then she's mostly smiles as her default state. With that, so very pleased with herself on all fronts, she returns to her sandwich and pile of fries, actually silent for a little while.

"I feel like riots should have music," Alfie comments, agreement with Joey and Jaime's notion of a hybrid event. Mostly with his voice back, post-choked sputter. "Classic rock. Rage Against the Machine. Or the hockey game. Whatever," he specifies. It's an off genre classification, but it's not a band that's been heard playing through Alfie's door. He draws his plate out of the way as Jaime adds his phone to the table. "I'll take you up on that, best chemist," he tells Sparrow. A definite nod to go with it. "It'll be just like the lab partner days. Only without the tanked letter grades. Probably," he adds. And glances at Joey and Jaime afterward. "Anyone get a picture of twinsnake?" he asks, curiosity tagged beyond mere faux porno titles.