2019-08-11 - Crepes

It's a nice day. A bit cloudy, but the sultry summer sun hasn't hit hard yet, the temperature comfortably warm rather than uncomfortably sticky. Just approaching 10am sees Corey sat on the front stoop of 7 Oak Avenue, enjoying a cigarette, a mug of coffee on the step beside him.

Isolde knew full well she was supposed to be laying on the couch at 13 Elm, watching tv or something and resting up. However, she didn't want to be cooped up in the house with her messy thoughts and the sun was so pretty. She was in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white tank top. Feeling a little naked without her ragged flannel but, oh well. On her wrist was a charm braclet that had various little frog charms on it. Long red hair pulled back in to a ponytail. She's walking kind of slow, not wanting to work up too much of a sweat or aggrivate her healing wounds. Still, when she sees Corey - a brand new face - she lifts a hand in a wave and flashes a friendly enough smile. "Pretty morning right?"

"Morning babe," Corey greets Isolde in return when she offers that wave and smile. "Yeah, it's gonna be a nice one." He picks up his coffee for a couple of sips before setting it down again, asking, "You one of my neighbours?" His cigarette-holding hand motions vaguely up and down along Oak.

Isolde peers at Corey a moment, curious. Then looks over her shoulder. "Sort of." To the neighbor thing. Taking a few steps closer to him. "I live on Elm. My name is Izzy."

"Nice to meet you, neighbour." Corey grins at Isolde. "I'm Corey. Moved in here last week with my sister and a friend." Hence why he doesn't know all his neighbours just yet. "Just about to cook breakfast, and you look like you skipped yours. Want something to eat?" The offer seems to be genuine, his tone casual, body-language relaxed.

"Corey. Nice to meet you too." Isolde nodded. There's a pause, like she looks a little uncertain about his breakfast offer. Because he is still a stranger after all! There's a quick glance over his house and then finally nods again. "Okay. Breakfast might be good." Offering up another smile. "What will you make?" She takes a couple more steps now so she is near the stairs to the porch.

"Omelettes, probably. Or crepes. Got a preference?" the student chef replies, taking another drag from his cigarette. "I can bring it out here if you'd rather not come in," Corey then offers, noting that moment of hesitation. "I just like feeding people."

"What's a crepe?" Is Isolde's first question. Then she follows it up with, "I would like to try that." She carefully lowers herself on to one of the steps. "Outside is good. Because it's a good day for eating outside." If it had been raining or something, she probably would have accepted going inside the house. Her fingers idly toy with her charm bracelet. "Do you cook a lot of things?"

There's a slightly surprised look from Corey at that question. "..you've never had a crepe?" he checks, to be sure he heard that right. "It's.. uh." Words do not suffice, so he drags his phone from his pocket and googles a picture to show Isolde. "These. They're tasty with either savoury or sweet fillings. I'ma make those if you've never tried them." He nods to her other question. "Yeah, I'm a culinary science student. Food's sort of my thing." Finishing his smoke, he pushes up to his feet. "I'll be back in like seven minutes or so. Do you want sweet or savoury, and are you allergic to anything?"

Isolde's eyes go wide at the pictures. "Those look good!" She nods a bit, then winces at the nodding. "No allergies I don't think...Make them however you think will be good. I am not picky." Smiling again. Clearly looking forward to trying something new. Especially if they looked like some of the pictures he showed her! She's happy to relax on the stairs, taking a break from walking and enjoying the sunshine while she waits for him to return with food.

Nodding, Corey heads back inside. All is quiet for maybe ten minutes, then he calls out, "Almost done, d'you want coffee or something to drink?"

"Do you have orange juice?" Isolde calls back, taking out her phone to look at a couple things while she waits.

When Corey emerges, he's carrying breakfast on a 70s style black tray with gold paint on it. A bit chipped and flecked, but still usable. The tray is set down on the top step, and has two plates of crepes on it, along witha fresh mug of coffee for him and a glass of OJ for her. Rather than roll the crepes into thin tubes, he's gone with folding them into fan-shaped quarters. "Okay. Those two are savoury, those two are sweet," he notes to the four fans on her plate. "Ricotta and smoked salmon, ham and melted swiss, raspberry and nutella, peanut butter and banana." He's got four of the same on his own plate, and he starts in on the ham and cheese one. Nom.

Isolde sits up a little more when Corey returns. Turning most of her body so there's easier access to the plate and OJ. "Thank you! It looks so good!" She picks up the plate, eyeing each other carefully. Then decides to start on the Raspberry and Nutella! "Mmm..." She closes her eyes for a brief moment and then focused back on Corey, swallowing. "This is really good!" Deciding to take a bite from each other them to see which one she wanted to finish first.

The praise earns a bright grin from Corey, though he doesn't reply, busy eating his own breakfast. He finishes the ham and swiss before moving on to the ricotta and salmon, sipping coffee between each set of flavours. Only once he's eaten the two savoury ones does he speak. "I'm glad you like 'em. They're super easy to make but they taste so good."

"I am not good at cooking." Isolde says after she's decided to finish the Banana and Peanut Butter one first. "My friend Itzhak is going to help teach me though." She falls quiet as she finishes the crepe off and then goes with the ham and cheese next. "I will have to try these! Maybe you can show me one day."

"I could totally show you," Corey confirms with a nod. "The key to a good crepe is a hot, flat pan. These aren't my best, because my crepe pan got dented in the move, but I'm saving up to replace it, so. Maybe by the time you're ready to learn, I'll be able to teach you properly." Then he starts in on the banana and peanut butter one, saving his favourite for last.

Isolde is listening intently as she eats. "I will remember that." About the pan. "And see you when I'm ready!" She agreed. "Alexander would like these I think. I don't know if he's had crepes before." Glancing out over in the direction of Elm. Well, after he possibly got over the fact she wasn't doing her bed rest. Then she started in on the raspberry and nutella one.

Alexander is a pretty common name. But the combination with her mention of living on Elm has Corey cocking his head slightly. "That wouldn't be Mr. Clayton, would it?" he enquires, curious, though it's almost certainly not the same person. Right? Then again, Gray Harbour is pretty small.

Isolde's eyes fly back up to Corey, regarding him quietly, curiously, as she finishes swallowing the food that was in her mouth. A touch of surprise in her gaze maybe. "It is. How do you know him?" She didn't remember Alexander mentioning him. Then again, it wasn't like she knew all the people he knew and spoke to. "He is my friend. And roommate."

"Ha!" Corey seems tickled by the connection. "I've met him like twice. Accidently texted his number while he was in hospital, and ended up delivering a croque madame to his room because hospital food sucks ass," the student chef replies. Because of course he was delivering food to a total stranger.

The house smells amazing. Much as Sparrow might like to ignore it so that she can actually get done whatever she's been doing since she got up--way too early, always--the pull of crepes is just too strong, and so the girltwin follows her nose up from the basement, out to the kitchen and onward... to the front porch? Weird place for breakfast, bro, but what does she care. Dressed in colorful pajama shorts and a loose grey tank top with six black swords on it, hair pulled back and feet bare, she steps out wondering, "Did you make enough for everyone?" with a smile to the stranger.

The look on Isolde's face clearly says that she has no idea what a croque madame is. However! She doesn't ask what it is either. "Hospital food is terrible." She agrees, instead, setting her half finished plate down and taking a drink of her orange juice. Then her attention turns to Sparrow as she walks out on to the porch. "I like your shorts." Is the first thing she says, setting her cup down. "My name is Izzy." Is what's offered next.

"Yeah, there's a stack by the fridge," Corey confirms to Sparrow as she comes out onto the porch, grinning up at her. "And some chopped banana bits mixed with peanut butter. And there's some of the ricotta and smoked salmon left in the fridge." Because what good are crepes without fillings? He's just about to start in on his raspberry and nutella one. Nom. To Isolde he offers, "This is my sister, Phil." Because he's a good host, see?

Sparrow gives her hips a little shimmy at the compliment, her smile growing brighter. "Why, thank you, Izzy." It's a testament to how well-trained Corey's got his roommates--or, at least, his sister--that none of the crepes were taken after her initial trip to the kitchen; she knows to ask before touching, in case they're for something special. She croons, "You're the best!" to her brother even as she turns tail right back into the house, wasting no time in her pursuit of tasty, tasty breakfast.

Finishing off his last crepe, Corey sits back and sips his coffee, sparks up a fresh cigarette and generally enjoys the morning sun. Humming a bit to himself, raising a hand to wave at people walking past if he knows them. This is the life.

Sparrow doesn't take long. Maybe longer than Corey would take. And her filled crepes are certainly messier than his. And there might be peanut butter on a couple of her knuckles, who knows how it got there, but she does eventually emerge to plop down on the porch with the pair and enjoy some breakfast outside. "Any word on the cookout? Weather's nice."

"Not yet. Might go bang on next door's door to see if they're in and up for it," Corey muses to Sparrow, taking another gulp of coffee. "Or maybe we just start it without them and see who turns up hungry," he adds, a lazy smile accompanying that suggestion. He wouldn't, would he?

Sparrow taps a finger to her nose at the latter suggestion, but her mouth's full. Of peanut butter and bananas. It's a few seconds before she's able to speak again, suggesting, "We should. Just roll with it. What's the worse that happens? We have another one later?" She makes a thoughtful little noise, "Though not sure if Alfie's in. Told him he's got a week before I'm abducting him, ready or not. I'll let you know whenever we do end up leaving."

There's a slow, thoughtful nod from Corey. "Could work," he agrees, warming to the idea that he himself suggested. "Maybe less fancy, but it'll get started rather than us waiting on everyone to agree."

Sparrow squints at her brother. This time, she doesn't wait for her mouth to be empty before asking, "Ih wuh gun be fanceh?" She starts to say something more, but that's even less intelligible. Once she swallows, her attention turns to Izzy, a crepe lifted--was she supposed to be using a fork?--as she declares their breakfast, "Fancy," even if she makes it look anything but.

The studentchef shakes his head. "No. Not fancy-fancy, but things like baking cakes to be decorated; not gonna do that if there's a chance people won't be there," Corey amends, after another sip of coffee. "Check with Alfie and let me know."

"No romcom, you mean," Sparrow counters with a sly smile. Though there's a nod for the direction to check with their other roommate, she doesn't stray from her first point, teasing expanding to suggest, "You could invite the chick from the pawnshop, too. Or whoever else you're using your cheesy lines on. I know I've seen that movie before."

There's a satisfied grin from Corey as Sparrow mentions cheesy lines. "Cheesy, sure. But they work. Even if nothing else happens, I get a great meal with good company." Great because he's cooked it, obviously. "I'll see if she texts me, first." He draws on his cigarette, exhaling contentedly.

Sparrow snorts a laugh at an unfortunately bad time, with a mouthful of food, and snarfs a bit of banana down her windpipe. She coughs as she tries to laugh until her eyes are watery, a hand held up in steady assurance that she's not going to die right here and now over her amusement at her brother's appreciation for his own food. "Right," comes roughly, followed by a couple little throat-clearing coughs. She smiles, red-faced, at Corey and proposes playfully, "And then just send her pictures of the dinner she's missing if she doesn't?"

"Hey, that's actually a good idea," Corey tells Sparrow, faux-serious. "Also it /will/ be a great meal. I don't see you complaining about what I feed you, Mena." Arms fold, brows raise in challenge. Is she really gonna piss off the cook?

"I didn't say nothing," Sparrow points out before stuffing the rest of her breakfast into her face so that she literally can't say anything more for several seconds at least. Without thinking, she wipes her hand on her hip, smudging peanut butter across the brightly colored fabric, but she hardly seems to notice. That's what washing machines are for. "I tell you I might've found a bassist? Pretty sure her dreams are too big for what we're doing, but she plays well. Enthusiastic." The thought cuts off as her phone chirps from somewhere in the house. Without thinking, she snags her plate and heads in through the open door to go find it, still easily within conversational distance.

"Mmhm." Corey lets Sparrow's implied food criticism rest with that, nodding. "Oh, you did? Cool. Is she hot?" Because of course that's his first question, then he follows with a shake of his head. "Forget I asked. Not getting involved with your bandmates, that's just asking for trouble."

When she comes back out, plate gone, phone in hand, Sparrow stops in the doorway and leans against the frame. "She's cute, but... weird. Like." She goes quiet for a moment, smile gone as she tries to find the right words. "I dunno. Weird. Like probably never kissed anyone weird. Like I think I could see her going for your chef knife when she gets upset weird. But she played alright." With a little waggle of her phone, she adds, "Might not matter, though. Got another bite. Should be over soon."

Corey's expression shifts, eyes widening. "Nobody touches my knife. I'd like to apply twin veto," he voices, even though the band really is nothing to do with him. "Never stick your drumstick in the crazy, Mena." He's sat out on the front porch steps with Sparrow, Isolde having wandered off to make a call or something. The remains of breakfast (yay crepes!) suggest they've been chilling in the sun.

Driving slow, a red Jeep with a couple rust spots around the wheel wells makes its way down Oak, eventually coming to a stop outside the house in question, Garrett climbing out and double checking the house number. "Hey, I'm Garrett. The bassist?" he says by way of introduction, blinking a few times when he sees the pair before offering them a small, uncertain smile as he approaches.

"I don't stick my drumsticks anywhere, Corey," Sparrow replies dryly to Corey. "That's unhygeinic." Cuz the girl with smudges of peanut butter across her sleep shorts is really the resident expert on hygeine. She definitely doesn't look like she's ready to receive guests, still in her colorful pajama shorts and a loose grey tanktop with six black swords on it. Barefoot. Hair pulled back. Still, there's eyeliner. There's always eyeliner. "I could be wrong, but if bite number two works out, we won't need to find out. Little worried I might be calling Jaime's bluff..."

But that's a problem to figure out later. Cuz, right now, there's a jeep pulling up outside the house. Sparrow straightens from her doorframe lean to wave to Garrett. "Hey. Sparrow." Hadn't Corey called her Phil? And Mena? How many names does one girl need? "Corey." She points to her twin. "And Izzy." Wherever Isolde's wandered off to. "Crepes?"

"Yo." Corey tips a vague wave/salute towards the guy who just arrived, when Sparrow gives his name. "Yeah, we've got more crepes inside. Sweet or savoury?" The question is asked as if there's no way he could imagine Garrett turning down breakfast.

Assured he has, in fact, found the right place, Garrett relaxes a bit and his smile widens. He offers handshakes to the siblings and clears his throat quietly. "Nice to meet you both," he says, hints of his London origins creeping into his voice. "And I already ate, but I suppose a little bit of something sweet wouldn't hurt," he concedes. "How's things?" he asks the pair.

Isolde had indeed wander off briefly to make a phone call. Or text or something. Probablyto let Alexander know she wasn't dead. She's coming back as Garrett is coming up. "Hello there!" SHe offers to him cheerfully enough, though she's moving a little slow. And theres a small scar visible on the side of her head that looks pretty recent. "Sorry. Took longer than I thought." She offered to Sparrow and Corey.

Sparrow has the sense to look down at her hand and brush a little more peanut butter from it--how did it get on the backs of her knuckles--before she steps forward to accept the handshake, quick and easy. "Cute accent." With a look aside at Corey, she notes, "Pretty sure bassist with a cute accent instantly increases the fan base." Like it's a video game power-up. With Isolde returning, she waves to the woman and explains of Garrett, "Bassist. For my not yet really actually fully formed band of nebulous genre and composition." Someone might jump in feet first without looking where she's going as a matter of habit. Back to said bassist with a cute accent, she explains, "This is likely where we'll be rehearsing most. Laid claim to the basement. And if we can coax C into making us something sweet on the regular?" All the better!

"Raspberry and nutella, or banana and peanut butter?" Corey then checks, taking the tray and heading inside once Garrett has answered, to add fillings to a couple crepes. And since he's heard the accent and stereotypes are real, also makes some tea. From a teabag.

A little grin, modesty of questionable sincerity, at the 'cute accent' comment, comes from Garrett. "Certainly can't hurt," he concedes before offering Isolde a smile, too. "Pleasure to meet you," he greets, again offering a handshake. "Oooh, raspberry, please and thank you," he tells Corey. "So, any ideas what sort of music you might be thinking of? Or what you're sure you're not thinking of? You know, besides death metal," he tacks on.

Isolde peers at Garrett for a moment, curious but then does shake his hand. "Just play good music." As if it was that easy to come up with good music. She slips her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "What do you two play? Are there other people in the band?" Somewhat intrigued by this talk of band because Isolde loves music even if she can't actually play anything or sing right, or even dance that well.

"My favorite kind," Sparrow croons to Isolde with a wide, dopey smile. "Though, if I'm being honest, I like some pretty shit music, too." No shame. That little wiggle of her hips might be evidence of a bar of some song of questionable taste playing through her head right quick. Sort of addressing both Izzy and Garrett's questions, she explains, "I used to be the drummer in a pop-punk band, few years back. Hoping I can coax the singer--" She points next door, to 9 Oak Avenue, entirely unhelpfully. "--to join us on this adventure, but I don't think whatever we end up doing is gonna be very much like that. Got a guitarist lined up who tends toward bluesy rock, soulful stuff when he's playing solo. Right now, I'm kinda feeling, like... Black Keys, Arctic Monkeys, Sunflower Bean sorta thing?" But she doesn't sound sure on that.

It doesn't take Corey long to warm a couple crepes, add nutella and raspberries and fold them into fan-shaped quarters, bringing a plate out and offering it to Garret, along with a mug of tea. It has milk in, no sugar, and is probably a little on the strong side, but hey, not his area of expertise. He also has some crepes in a tupperware container. "Right, I'ma leave you music-y people to it," he announces, possibly to Sparrow's relief. "Isolde, can I walk you back? I've got something for Mr. Clayton." The tupperware is waggled.

"Oh, good music, of course. No pressure, then?" Garrett teases faintly, grinning, before listening to Sparrow deliver the prospects for this band business. "Bluesy rock, eh? Like--" He cuts himself off, nodding. "Right, was thinking Black Keys. If that's your sort of music, I think this is going to play out nicely," he ventures. And then crepes are arriving! "And tea. You, sir, might be my new favorite in this town," he says. "Thanks." The first bite is met with a grateful nod and smile of clear approval.

Isolde clearly has no idea what any of those bands are that Sparrow's just listed off. She makes mental notes to check them out later if she can remember. Her attention shifts again when Corey returns. "They're very good!" Is added to Garrett before nodding to the boytwin. "You can walk me back. He will like them. I am sure of it." Smiling again. "I can't wait to hear you guys play."

"Nice meeting ya, Izzy!" Sparrow makes no promises about anyone hearing them play any time soon, reserved in her optimism where this actually worthwhile project is concerned. She tells Corey, somewhat unnecessarily, "We'll be downstairs," as she waves the departing pair off and gestures for Garrett to follow. "He will spoil anyone who lets him," she informs the bassist of her brother. "Loves showing off. Milk it for all it's worth." And they're off!

"Very welcome," Corey assures Garret, before heading down off the porch, in the direction of Elm.