2019-08-17 - A new arrival at #7 Oak

Sparrow could probably be doing something more productive than sitting out on the front lawn at the moment, but she really can't seem to think of anything. She's gotta wait for the potential tenant, right? Totally valid excuse to happily slack for a little while. She's got her hair pulled back in low pigtails today, not quite long enough to produce more than a fluff of dark hair at either end. Jean shorts are paired with a comfy white tee shirt which declares DIBS ON THE DRUMMER in glossy black letters. She's got a beer in hand while she waits, something in a can with a devil on the label, and there's music playing inside, some vaguely sci-fi sorta surf rock that has her happily bobbing her head.

A car rolls to a stop in front of the place, and after a brief exchange between the driver and the woman in the back, the latter steps out. There's a little wave, then she turns her attention to the house... and almost immediately to Sparrow. She steps forward. "Uh-... hey?" she asks, a little uncertain. Monica is all legs today, in barely-showing short cut-offs, with a white sweater sporting a rainbow across the chest. It's knit, it's tattered, it's torn, it was probably bought this way and probably terribly expensive. "This is... 7 Oak Avenue?"

Coming out onto the front porch is a Corey, likewise with a beer in hand. "What we doing out here, Phil?" he wonders idly. She did probably mention their new housemate was coming over, but eh, details. Then as a car rolls up to a stop, he eyes Monica with raised brows. "Don't figure she's delivering my new crepe pan," he muses, lifting his free hand in a lazy wave/salute to the stranger. "Yarp. 'sup?" he greets, confirming she's in the right place.

Sparrow straightens when Monica turns her attention toward the house, a wide smile answering that initial curiosity. "That's us," a more articulate echo of her brother's confirmation. Those paying attention might catch her uneven tan, how her shoulders and cheeks have taken the most color, her left arm darker than her right. She'll be oddly colored for a few days, at least, as a result of her recent road trip. Getting to her bare feet, she explains, "We've been waiting for Monica," to Corey before confirming, "You're Monica? I'm Sparrow--" Had he called her Phil? "--and this is my kid brother Corey." With a dip of her attention to Monica's chest, she adds, "Like you shirt." Then, "Wanna take a look around?"

Monica does give a small look about, for 'Phil'. She doesn't dwell on it. Her attention lingers on Corey for a moment, then she shifts her gaze to Sparrow. "Yep, that's me! Awesome to meet you," she says, holding friendly smile. "And you, Corey. Sup?" she asks him. Then there's an awkward moment of standing there... which Sparrow tames masterfully. "Oh, yeah. The pictures looked great, and... it's super nice. From the outside. How far is it to the coast?"

"Three minutes, Phil. Three goddamned minutes," Corey grumbles as Sparrow introduces him as her 'kid' brother. It has the sound of a well-worn complaint, and he shakes his head before continuing at a more publicly-audible volume, "Hey, yeah. Come on in. Coffee? Beer? Juice?" he offers, before turning to head inwards, assuming the girls will be following since it's hard to look around the house without entering it. "Quick check, Mon. You don't cook, do you?"

"Philomena," the brunette on the porch cheerfully clarifies when Corey, again, refers to her as Phil, ignoring his grumbling about the vast three minutes between her arrival into this world and his. "Sparrow's my middle name. Swear to Mother Earth." Hard to know how serious she's being given the wide-eyed whatcha-gonna-do smile that follows. She points one way then rethinks, recalibrates, maybe getting west right when she settles, shrugging, "Not far," for the question about the coast. "Could definitely walk it. Ten minutes? Ish?" She tips her head toward the door and moves to follow her brother, inviting Monica inside for a look around.

The place is... not as furnished as one might hope. There's a small table off the kitchen and a futon in what might pass as the living room, but it's all retro fold-out trays, weird lamps and boxes beyond that. It makes the space look big. Real big. It really needs a proper couch.

"Oh," Monica replies to Sparrow. There's just the briefest flash of 'what the fuck am I getting in to' that follows 'Mother Earth'. But she's quick to smile once more. "Rad," she adds, with a little nod. And she's moving, following along. "Uh... I fry up some pretty fucking mean arepas," she tells Corey, as she goes. Then a glance back to Sparrow. "Good. It looked close on the map, but like... you never know if there's some sudden death intersection between here and there, you know?" And then she's looking around. And withholding comments.

"Uh-huh." Corey nods as Monica admits to at least some kind of cooking prowess, though he doesn't sound as if he's glad of that fact. Without an answer as to what she'd like to drink he goes for the safe option, heading to the kitchen to pour out a glass of orange juice for their guest-possible-housemate, rejoining the girls a moment later to offer it over to her. "It's close enough to drunken-stagger back easily enough, though you'll probably wanna remove your shoes for that bit," he opines, folding his arms and looking over their living room. Their domain. Complete, yes, with weird lamps. At least the kitchen is lamp-free and looks fairly well kitted out with decent pans and knives and stuff.

Sparrow offers neither explanation nor apology for her reference to mother earth, all too happy to let that weirdness linger indefinitely, unresolved. Blessedly, none of the minimal furnishings really shout new age hippie dreamchild, but there is a porcelain lamp that looks like it may have once depicted Jesus before receiving a colorful makeover. While Corey's in the kitchen, she explains to Monica, "Brother's a culinary student. Kitchen's his domain. Can get really... protective of his territory." When he rejoins them, she looks his way and adds, "But he cooks for us, so." Shrug. "There's a half-bath on this level and downstairs. I've got my drums set up down there. Upstairs, you'll be sharing a full bath with Alfie, but your room's a little bigger." Beat. "Washer and dryer up there, too." Is there something she's missing?

"Oh, uh, they're-... Sandwiches. Burgers? From the exotic lands of South America," Monica explains, to Corey. Because surely that is what has him acting odd. That is until she looks back to Sparrow. "Oh." Beat. "Is he straight? Can I just bat my lashes and he'll forgive me...?" She gives a sweet smile. She looks back to the kitchen, then back to Sparrow. "What's an Alfie?"

Monica asks, as she totally takes that orange juice. "Thanks!"

"I'd prefer you didn't use my pans and knives," Corey mutters at Monica, shaking his head slightly as she asks his sister about his sexuality and potential weakness to fluttered lashes. "Alfie is our other housemate. He's pretty chill," the chef student then explains. "And he doesn't try to cook with my stuff." Which is clearly a bonus, to him. "What do you eat? Any food allergies?" he then asks, as if this is also vitally important. Not the typical new-person-quizzing, but there you go.

Sparrow nodnodnods. Yep. She's totally willing to sell out her twin as being entirely manipulable by pretty girls. Her smile flickers soft and dopey for all of a heartbeat at the question about Alfie before she adds to Corey's answer, "Skinny, inked embodiment of sloth. Good weed." She falls quiet here, letting her twin handle the food-related interrogation.

"No pans, no knives," Monica echoes, with a nod, and a smile. "Are there pans and knives that aren't yours? I mean, I got it either way. Don't fuck up the kitchen. Ask for permission." Beat. "Skinny, inked, lazy. I love him already," she says, smiling brightly one more. Though her eyes do linger on Corey, as if debating... well. Things. "I mean, I eat, like, super healthy if I can. Paleo is great for keeping... you know..." She gestures to herself.

Boytwin can't help it, there is an eyeroll at the mention of paleo, but he does allow, "I can cook healthy stuff. But there will be cakes and pastries in the house." Corey says it like it's a threat. He nods to her mention of not fucking up the kitchen and asking for permission, relenting a little bit. "There's one pot and one frying pan. They're the ones without copper bottoms." Those, he will grudgingly allow others to use.

"Right?" Sparrow confirms quietly of Monica's preemptive affection of the as-yet-unmet roommate. While Corey's busy eyerolling over the paleo, his sister takes the opportunity to give the Colombian a look over, her opinion on Monica's physique kept entirely to herself. "His desserts are amazing. Easily worth a daily workout." But, of course, she'd say that about most sweets. Currently, there's a box of donuts on the kitchen table, an incomplete dozen in various glazes and toppings, bought from some shop despite her brother's admitted talent. "Was there anything else you wanted to see? Any questions for us?" The look to Corey seems to ask if there's anything else she should be asking too.

"I mean, like... you don't have to adjust anything for me. I'm super self-sufficient. And I can resist stuffing my fat ass with cupcakes," Monica says, reassuringly, to Corey. "Which, like, if my ass would get fat wouldn't be an issue. But it totally goes straight to my stomach and then, like, it's already hard enough to-..." And she's rambling. So she just stops. And smiles. "Uh, yeah, my room?" she asks, with a soft laugh. Then a swig of OJ.

It almost seems like Corey has taken Monica's first reply as a challenge. "Nobody goes hungry in this house. I'll fucking cook healthy." There's even a bit of glower with it, rather unnusual for the guy with his almost eternally sunny disposition. Arms remain folded, his body language uneasy. "Phil can show you your room. I'll make lunch." Because going into a girl's (potential) room, even one he'll be living with, is not on his agenda. At least, not if there's not sex involved, which would just be totally awkward with Sparrow there too.

"So thoughtful," Sparrow croons as Corey volunteers to cook a healthy lunch for them. She studies her brother for a moment, but decides maybe now, in front of the might-be-new roommate, isn't the best time to issue assurances and check in with his well-being. So, off they go! She leads Monica upstairs, explaining as she goes, "Next door neighbors in number nine are pretty cool. Mostly our age. Chill. Good company. Couple of 'em work at a bar down on the boardwalk." At the top of the stairs, she directs to the first door on the left, past the railing where the second floor opens up to look down on the foyer below. "We don't really have formal rules? Just pay your rent and be respectful? Probably need a little more structure once classes start, so don't hold me to that, but it's been easy so far."

A devious little smirk crosses Monica's lips as she watches Corey. It's a look that suggest, just maybe, she plans to make him her meal. But then it's, "Thank you!" and she turns, to walk with Sparrow. "Sounds good. And, yeah, like-... Just let me know the rules as they develop or whatever. I'm, like, super good at following rules. When I was real little mi abuelita came to stay with us for-... a really long time. And she was definitely the beat-you-with-a-shoe type," she explains. "Totally stuck with me. And, you know, I got class, too. Did I mention that? Working on my art degree..." She walks forward, looking down over the railing, then to the indicated door. "This is me? And-... where's Alfie's?"

Grumbling, Corey heads into the kitchen. Paleo. Bah. He rattles around; there are pans being clanged and fridge doors being yanked open and elbowed closed, but he does as he promises. There's eventually the sound of something being cooked in a pan, a knife chopping against a board, before a radio is turned on. Loudly. It's the local soft rock station, a little Republica playing. o/' Your lies, don't want 'em. Drop dead, not joking. o/' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRtFnxwmM3M)

"I only beat people with shoes if they're into it," Sparrow promises casually, hand to her heart as she smiles lazily. "Oh yeah?" The mention of an art degree in progress piques her curiosity. "So's Jens, one of our neighbors. And I'm a little bit of an artist too? Sometimes sorta? Already decided I'mma fuck with the walls, so feel free to do the same." All that said, she starts to point, going round the second floor clockwise from Monica's room. "Bathroom. Linen closet. Alfie." Then there's the space that might eventually be a lounge or something. "Washer and dryer. Me." She frowns faintly when her Daikaiju is replaced with Republica, but there's no objection, just a sighed, "Corey," for the last door.

"I mean, like-... I don't think I can actually process that my spanking fetish is due to my grandma? So I'll just not think about it," Monica decides, with a firm nod. Because not thinking about things is her specialty. She looks over the rooms, nodding, and then finally turning to step into hers. "Is he, like, super stick-up-the-ass all the time?" she asks. Of Corey, as his room is introduced. "And, like, what's the deal? Are you all renting the house, or own, or...?"

Sparrow snorts a laugh at that very sound logic from Monica, happily letting the talk of spanking fall to the wayside. When the bedroom under inspection is entered, she follows. The space is nice, empty, the entrance on an angle. It's got a reasonably sized closet on the wall nearer the bathroom and two windows looking out over the front lawn. And a few ghostly rectangles on the wall where pictures used to hang. "We're renting." She focuses on that first, given its importance. "And full disclosure? The house is still up for sale. Has been for a looooong time. No one's buying at the price they've got listed, so." Shrug. "Hopefully that doesn't change, but part of the reason we got good terms is because we could be kicked out on our asses if it does sell and the new owners don't want us here." Had she neglected to mention that? Oops! "And Corey's just weird about the kitchen. Think he sensed a threat when you said you cook and got his hackles up. He'll be fine. Let him cook it out."

"Yeah, that's-... yeah. Like, you say 'fuck with the walls' but all I can envision is my ass losing my security deposit," Monica explains, with a grin. "But, like, sounds like we've already decided on that outcome? So... why not go nuts?" she asks, her brows lifting. She looks around the place again. "He's super cute. Or... is that weird?" Beat. "Is he gay? ... Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Ohmygod, I am so sorry. Is that wildly inappropriate?"

"Pretty much," Sparrow confirms with a wide smile when Monica works through the logic. When her brother is then described as 'super cute,' her nose scrunches a little in restrained disagreement; she just doesn't see it. She's the cute one, obviously. With a snorted laugh and her hand held up to indicate a tiny amount, she answers, "Lil' weird," as if she's critiquing the art major's taste. "He is... straight. And, uh, dating, I guess? No heavy attachments to worry about." Beat. "Except me. Ya know. Little brother and all." She smiles not at all threateningly but decidedly pointedly. A cheerful sound erupts from her hip as her mouth opens to say something more, a little 'hold please' ending up with her on the phone. For some entirely official and academic reason. Class schedules or tuition or something. Who knows. It looks like she might be a while.

"Well, weird I can do," Monica answers, easily. Because Sparrow started the weird! She might have more to say, but the phone comes. Monica nodnodnods... Then points out that way. She's going to scamper back downstairs while Sparrow handles the call. And then she's heading that way, down the stairs, bouncing noisily - intentionally so - as she goes. "Hey Corey? If I'm sharing a bathroom with Alf, does that mean you have your own? Or do you and Phil-row share?" She's talking before she even sees the man.

"Yeah, got my own." The boytwin sounds less surly now that he's doing his thing, the aromas of chicken and balsamic prevalent in the air as Monica gets closer to the kitchen. When she's within viewing range, it turns out he's frying strips of chicken in balsamic vinegar, along with asparagus spears, baby tomatoes, strips of bell pepper and some sugar-snap peas. Not a carb in sight, unless you count the beer he's drinking.

"Yeah?" Monica echoes, as she continues into the kitchen. She proceeds to step behind him... close. Looking over his shoulder. It's really needless, she could just stand next to him, but... "Is it nice?" she asks. "Does Spee-dog have her own bathroom, too?"

Spee-dog? Oh, Sparrow. Right. It takes Corey a moment to process that, and he directs a slightly irritated glance back at Monica when she hovers behind him. "Can you set plates and cutlary for three, please?" he requests in a slightly tight tone, pointing to the relevant cupboard and drawer. "Yeah, she's got the master bathroom. It's big." He sounds just a touch envious, but then again, Sparrow picked the house and did all the work landing it, so. Only a tad.

"Because you're the little brother?" Monica asks, fully innocent. So naive! She doesn't catch that look, or any other agitation. All's well! "Or because she's the cute one?" she follows up, as she moves over... to the wrong drawer. She opens it. "I understand it's for sale or whatever, but... you guys got rich folks or something?" Beat. "I don't see any silverware in here."

"We're twins," Corey replies flatly to the little brother comment. He'll take it from Sparrow, less so from others. "Though she did get the better jawline." Even he has to admit that, to bow to external judgement on that very odd and specific point. "No rich folks, she got us a good deal is all. Just about doable with three, better with four," he then elaborates on the rent situation, before pointing out the correct drawer again. His other hand continues to move stuff around the pan, and then he turns off the heat, taking the pan to one side. "Plates now, please. Serving time." A slotted spoon is yanked from the utensil jar.

"Right," Monica says, with a nod. Then she turns to the correct drawer. "In here?" she asks, needlessly. Then she opens it. "You said three settings?" she asks. Yes, she must just be annoying, because there's only three of them here! "And plates are... where...?" she starts opening cabinets, going to tip toes and stretching up to reach around. And to, you know, have an excuse to stretch out and show off. Do you see how tall and lean she is!?

Jesus. Is this woman really going to be his housemate? Corey's expression makes his annoyance clear as he points to the right cupboard for the plates. If he notices her lithe build as she shows off, it's buried in that irritation. "For fuck's sake," he mutters, getting the plates himself, serving up the food without his usual care. Oh, it gets onto the plate, but there's no effort given to presentation, no artful arrangement of the veg under the chicken. "Here." A plate is shoved in Monica's direction.

"Oh, geez, sorry, chef..." Monica asks, faking like she might actually be a little upset by that. "I guess she wasn't kidding..." she says, quietly, to herself. But then she takes the plate, and flashes a smile once more. "This looks incredible," she decides, as she makes her way over to the table. "So, like, you're in culinary school? Is that through the university, or, like, it's own trade school thing? What even is a degree in cooking? Like... B-C-A? Bachelors of Culinary Arts? Or..." she sits, tucking one leg under her as she does. "Just a BA? Or, like, B-C-S? Bachelor of Culinary Sciences? Do you take science classes, to learn about, like, food chemicals?"

Leaving the third plate for Sparrow, for whenever she comes back down, Corey takes his and moves to sit opposite Monica at the table. "Bachelor of Arts, Culinary Science," he confirms, relaxing a little when she compliments his cooking. Sure, he's proud of his skill, and definitely susceptable to flattery on that subject. "Yeah, molecular gastronomy is a module next year. I can't wait," he admits, taking up his knife and fork and beginning to eat.

"That sounds super hard. I can't hardly imagine..." Monica sighs out, as she cuts a dainty little bite of her chicken. "I have two science courses. I'm super dreading them. One is just intro whatever because I didn't take it as a freshman cause I'm fucking lazy. But the other is specific to art... like, a whole sections on optics and light and stuff. I'm going to need, like, major help studying for that one..." she heaves a sigh. Her life is hard.

"Ask Sparrow. She can totally help." Yes, Corey will throw his twin under the bus if it means he doesn't have to try and console Monica about her lack of scientific knowledge. Art, really not his thing; he's never graduated past stick-men and finger-painting except when it comes to decorating cakes. Which is a whole other skillset. Likewise carving vegetable flowers and stuff. Nothing like art at all.

"What's she studying?" Monica asks. She's spending more time staring at Corey than eating. "She says the neighbor is an art major? Pretty rad having neighbors that we can party with, right?" she asks. "She also said you're dating someone...?" Totally related thought.

Between mouthfuls of balsamic chicken and veg, Corey answers, "Chemistry." Totally the same thing as physics, for optics and light and stuff. "Yeah, the neighbours are cool." He shrugs one shoulder at the question about dating someone, leaving that to hang unanswered.

"... Cool," Monica says, after a few moments. She'll it all at that, and focus exclusively on eating, until she takes down not even half her chicken. "This is great. Do you-... we?... have, like, tupperware?"

"Yes, we have tupperware." Corey probably expected this, and rather than point out where they're kept, he rises to fetch her a container. He at least doesn't seem to mind if she saves some of her lunch for later. Women, they do that shit.

Soon as Corey's moving, she happily stays put and waits. This is a young woman who probably is waited on more than occasionally... or had been, before now. Now, she'll wait until that's all done, then a smile and "Thanks" is Corey's reward. "Seriously, it was awesome. But I need to go check in with Spil. And, like, meditate upon my new room? Thanks again!" and she's off.