2019-09-04 - Chemistry

The backdoor letting out onto the deck stands open so that the music playing from the speakers set up in the kitchen can filter out to where Sparrow sits at the table hunched over a text book. MØ's Trying to Be Good isn't really an anthem for progress, but she really, really is trying. Classes have started back up, and she's already got assignments. Hell, she's already been out to classes this morning--who schedules early AM classes for themselves!?--and come back for lunch. At the moment, she wears a string bikini top with black and white strips on the fabric which maintains her modesty paired with cut off shorts, a means of enjoying the summer warmth while it lasts.

The door opens, and out steps Monica. It's a Monica who has quite obviously just finished up a run, dressed in a pair of running tights, a little sports bra, and then a baggy, oversized, sleeves-cut-off tee over it. The tee is tie dye, advertising something in Spanish. It's got a fish in the center. Whatever that's about. "Fuuuuuck," she says, soon as she spots Sparrow. "You already struggling, boo?" she asks, with a grim frown crossing her lips. She continues to stride on over, as she wipes at her sweaty brow with a towel.

Sparrow angles a sidelong look toward Monica which starts at a reasonable height, dips all the way down to the ground before creeping back up again without her own 'fuuuuuuck' showing too obviously on her face. As she sinks back in her seat, leaving her hefty text book with weird scientific diagrams open and abandoned, she shrugs. "I was struggling before I even began. Only in it for the panna cotta at this point." What does that have to do with chemistry? With a curious tilt of her head, she wonders, "Your classes start yet?"

"Yeeeeah. But it's pretty easy. I got, like, a bunch of core classes that weren't required at Santa Barbara that I'm making up now... So, it's, like, me and a dozen fifteen year olds or whatever," Monica sighs out. She means Freshmen, of course. She then steps right over to Sparrow, to the table, and after hanging her towel around her neck, she puts one hand on the table, so she can reach back with the other, to grab the foot that comes up. Stretching out those quads! "But... like... I thought you were good at science and shit? Your kid brother-" Yes. "-made it sound like you were, like, ready to break bad and shit."

Coming out of the house with his gardening toolbox in hand, barefoot in olive cargo shorts and not bothering with a shirt, is Corey. He meanders across the deck with a cheerful, "Hey Phil. Mon," and then down the steps, down the path, towards his planters. He's already done a shift at work today and has classes later, but now he's got just enough time to weed and nurture.

It's not fair. It is so not fair. Sparrow shifts a little in her seat as she finds a casual, not too obvious angle from which she can watch Monica stretching. "Definitely good at it. Doesn't mean I'm good at the..." She gestures vaguely to the book in front of her. The studying part. Yuck. When Corey heads out, she starts a little, like she just got caught doing something she'd rather not notice. Like gawking at the new roommate. Straightening, she smiles to her brother. "Hey." Returning her attention more directly to the statuesque runner, she asks, "You in the market for meth?" with enough of a grin to make plain she's not really offering.

As Corey emerges, Monica glances that way, and offers him a smile. "Hey," she says. No snarky comments or any such yet! She looks back over to Sparrow-... just in time to catch a bit of looking. She opts not to say anything. No, instead, she'll just switch stretches, crossing her arms at the wrist and reaching up over her head, going to tip toes, working out the length of her core. And oh, look how long and lean she is. "Wait, what?" she asks, finding herself caught off guard. Blink, blink. "Oh! Uh, no. This body is a temple. None of that poison inside it. Only raw cookie dough, weed, and nicotine," she says, with a sweet smile. Then a laugh. "No, uh, I got, like, some science shit next semester. I'm... going to need some hand holding. Lil Corey volunteered your help."

Kneeling down by his planters, Corey gets to work checking for weeds and adding liquid plant-food. "Mena, if it sucks too bad, why not see if you can change major?" he calls back reasonably, reading the meth comment as a cry for help. Far moreso than anything else. "I could always bake you cookies instead." Instead of delicious panna cotta.

"I can see that," Sparrow quips to Monica on the topic of bodies and temples. Sure, she might be blushing just a bit, but that clearly hasn't stifled her confidence any. She smiles wide as she stares more directly at the woman, nodding along. "Any time you wanna hold hands, you just lemme know." Her amusement dims as she angles a look over at Corey, cheek settling against her shoulder. "To what? You think anything else is gonna be better? There's no major for generally fucking off. I mean, that's what I'm really good at." Her eyes go wide as she suggests, "Except maybe philosophy," knowing full well what a terrible idea that is.

'Mena', Monica mouths, as she looks just a touch confused. Then it clicks. Right, more names for the girl-with-many-names. She then turns, and finds herself a spot to sit right on the ground. Long, long legs stretch out, and she leans over, to touch her toes. "I mean, I had this Phil 101 class that like... yeah. If this neckbeard wasn't sure I was going to trade him sex for study help, I would have deeeeeeefinitely failed." Beat. "You wanna give me some Phil lessons?" she asks Sparrow, with a cheesy smile. "Though seriously, art major. You're graded on, like, the effort of your fucking off, not the quality of it."

"There's loads of majors for fucking off. Philosophy, Women's Studies, Vegan History.." Corey contradicts, naming at least two more. See? Loads. Though one of those will probably get him yelled at. Hah. More weeding occurs. "Also, Mon, it ain't 'lil'," he notes belatedly to the newest housemate.

"Pretty sure I could teach you something." Sparrow flirts shamelessly with Monica, dark lashes dipping low over bright brown eyes. Which roll at the list provided by Corey, a snort for the last. Definitely not a major. With a cant of her head toward Monica, she notes, "I've never been graded on my study of women," as if she might be open to the idea. Almost an invitation. More seriously, she adds, "And I hate being graded on my art. I see the shit Jens has to do just to get through class. It's not as fucking offy as you make it sound."

"Oh yeah? Is Big Corey going to Make America Great Again?" Monica asks, as she leans the other way, to stretch out the other leg. She goes all the way down, forehead to her knee. And while down, she side-eyes Sparrow. "I could use the help. Being studied. I got an audition coming up, and a casting call. I mean, both are super lame local stuff but whatever... Still need someone to help me pick out outfits," she offers. A pause, then she sits back up. "Maybe I'm just, like, super good at art? Or maybe all the profs here are terrible and I'm about to regret my life?" Could go either way!

Sparrow nods agreeably as her smile skews a bit to the left. Yeah, she's totally down for the fashion show. "Glad to lend a hand wherever I can." And more comfortable watching all of that stretching now, from the looks of it. She snorts a laugh for Monica's explanation for why she finds majoring in art easy, her smile still wide as she concedes, "Yeah, I'm kinda shit at it. But I like it. And I wanna keep liking it. So I'mma keep not being graded on it." Beat. "Unlike chem. I'm good at it. I'll..." Shrug. "Keep being good at it."

Stretching finished, Monica rises back to her feet, and raises arms and hands toward the sky once more. "Mmmph. Good run... the weather here is great for it. I mean, when it's not, like, dripping-fucking-wet. Temperature is great," she decides. Then she steps over, behind Sparrow. "So, is this, like, just the way things go around here? Whine and complain about shit we're good at?" she asks, with a grin. Then both hands rise up and she wraps those hands around Sparrow's hair, just behind her neck, stroking idly. "Whatcha working on?"

Sparrow opens her mouth and then closes it right back up as Monica talks about the weather. Nope. Not gonna take that one. Too easy. Her head turns to track the model until she's out of easy view. "Definitely, yeah. This is First World Problem Central right here. Ugh." She rests back into that contact, her ridiculously red hair so very soft from all the extra conditioning and color-preservation treatments lately. "I'm so good at everything--" Dryly, she reminds, "Except art," before continuing her overdramatic whining. "--and it's the worst. However will I decide what I want to be when I grow up?" Sigh. But there was a question asked. She tries to look back, gaze angling skyward to catch a glimpse of the woman behind her. "Refresh of structures and bonding. Moving into hybridization to review..." She babbles for a bit about orbital structures and other obscenely nerdy nonsense... and, for just a second there, sounds a little more into it than her earlier grumbling might've implied.

"Can't you just leech off Corey's forthcoming success?" Monica asks, idly, as she strokes the other woman's hair. "God, your hair is so soft... I want to, like, cut it all off and put it on a muppet. Like, in a creepy way," she clarifies, her smile ever-so-sweet. But then science talk is coming. She blinks a few times. "Bonding, like, when-..." No, not like anything she knows about. So instead she just stays quiet as Sparrow rambles. "God, you are like, serious smart. I'm jealous. And super ready to let you help me study." Yes, let her.

"Yeah," Sparrow croons as she tips her head back to look at Monica, "but only kinda hot. By comparison. So it balances out." She flashes that wide, dopey smile up at the model, upside down from this angle. "I don't mind creepy when it's consensual, so just, like, warn me if you're gonna sneak into my room in the middle of the night with a pair of scissors, alright?" Her brow knits just a bit as she realizes she could've maybe been lewder there, but it's probably for the best that she missed it.

"Uh, are you kidding me?" Monica laughs out. "You're gorgeous, baby," she croons, then follows with a little laugh. "And, you know, not freakishly tall?" Never mind that Monica obviously plays up her height as best she can. Then she blinks. And laughs again. "That sounds, like, super boring. I promise you nothing, Sparamena." Beat. "Though I don't know if you'd be half as hot bald. That's one of those, like, impossible things to predict, you know?"

Finishing playing with his plants, all the seedlings clear of weeds and stocked up on nutrients, Corey heads back up the path and into the house, to the bathroom. Shower time! Because going to class with garden dirt on him... ugh, gross. No.

Sparrow's nose scrunches cutely at that declaration from Monica, head tilting toward her shoulder oh so adorably. "True," she croons on the point of her height, as if she's got the amazon beat there, a tease, to be sure. At the new name added to her collection, her smile goes all soft and dopey, decidedly approving. One hand lifts to her hair, maybe ready to speak out in favor of shaving all that neon red off, but Corey moving past steals her attention. "No goodbye? Aww. Sit with us a little. I'll be nice." And stop flirting so blatantly in front of him. Maybe.

Monica continues to stroke Sparrow's hair, though Corey's movement has her gaze distracted. In the wake of Sparrow's words, she flashes a pout. "Honestly, you don't even have to talk. You could just sit there, shirtless and dirty... Teach us why Studying Men is so much more fun than Studying Women?" she offers up, with a decidedly impish grin. Of course, it lasts just a moment, before she looks back down to Sparrow. "Sorry," she says, with a little laugh.

It is probable that just for Monica, Corey wouldn't even pause. But with both of them requesting his presence, Corey turns on one heel, nabs a wicker chair and settles into it, slouched and sprawling, one hand lifted to gesture to .. well, all of himself. "Study away," he invites Monica, then turns his gaze to Sparrow, a lazy smile eventually surfacing. "It'll be worth it when you graduate, Phil."

Sparrow makes a face up at Monica, this crinkle of her nose quite different from the last. "You're the worst," she croons affectionately even as she rolls her eyes and settles her attention back on her brother. "That's bullshit," she asserts. "Unless the government catches up with all the research into the effects of psychotropics on mood and psychological disorders and how beneficial they can be in every day life at appropriate dosages." Beat. "And recreationally. Definitely benefit to using recreationally." Are there studies on that? Probably less so. "Mm, but maybe I can get in on that sort of research instead of, like, making better boner pills for the rest of my life."

"College is, like, just another tool for the elite to keep you poor," Monica opines, in that particular tone that suggests she might have read that on a t-shirt or sticker somewhere, and really hasn't thought about it overly hard since. "But, like, if you want to study my body while we do some take-home chemistry homework, that sounds like a lot of fun! And, like, practical application of your skillset?" Beat. "I mean, you can make acid and molly and shit right...? Because I don't need a better boner." Though that does have her looking back over at Corey.

"Nope. Not going there," Corey tells Monica at that look, brows raising slightly. "Not talking about boner pills with my big sister." He shakes his head to reinforce it, before replying to Sparrow with, "You'll be able to do studies. Fuck, you could annoy the government into funding just about anything with plausible deniability," he offers faux-reassuringly, though his tone is affectionate. "And no, she can't coast on my success. Unless you go into serious high class production, chefs don't make bank," he adds, belatedly, to their housemate.

Sparrow buys that line from Monica without question, brows shooting high as she points at the model over her shoulder. Like that's what she was trying to get at all along even if she never skirted anywhere close. She leans back into the fingers still working through her hair, a happily half-lidded look tipped toward the person petting her. "Just how I like it. Fun and practical both." A quiet, "Mmhmm," starts in answer to the questions about what she can do before her gaze dips back to her brother. "It's just science," she tells him of that topic he's not touching. "Purely clinical." Look at that professional detachment! Ignore her inability to keep a straight face, please. "Annoying the government sounds like work," that she might actually be pretty good at, but she doesn't linger there long, too happy to move on to pointing out to their housemate, "I'mma be the one supporting him. He's the artiste."

"You brought it up!" Monica says, to Corey, all feigning defensiveness. "And, like, isn't the government pretty stupid-out-loud about science right now? You're going to go back to, like, curing flaccid dicks with holy water and weird smoke or-... whatever... they used to do." Beat. "Cocaine?" She looks decidedly lost for a moment, her hands on Sparrow's hair stopping as she rather visibly tries to think. And moment later, she lets it go, and starts to idly braiding a small bit of red hair. "You don't need to make bank to keep a Sparrow. Like, she just said she wants to do nothing. Just make sure she has enough money for new string bikinis and, like, I don't know. Change the newspaper in her cage every week or whatever? Sounds pretty easy..."

"Yeah, point. Though by the time Mena graduates, there'll be someone else in office." He hopes. Corey pushes up to his feet - is he flexing just a little bit? Yeah. Maybe. "Still no; I'ma be spending all my cash on fancy cookware and weed, I expect. Anyway. I do need to go shower and get ready for class," he notes, leaning over to ruffle Sparrow's hair all up, probably destroying whatever braiding Monica has managed to do so far, then turning to head indoors.

Sparrow is totally ready to yeah-but some optimism at Monica about how the 2020 elections are going to set things straight, bless her, but Corey gets there first. Twin powers, obvs. Anyway, the question about cocaine makes her face light up like 'oh right!' She totally had something else to say earlier. "The capacity to make a thing does not mean I've got the supplies to make a thing. I don't... really know how to refine coke? But LSD and MDMA are within my wheelhouse. And there are some fucking great research chemicals that are way less regulated that have really similar effects, but their formulas are a little harder to get a hold of, new and all. Though I've got this psilocybin analog that I could totally fucking analyze--" Her tone goes more thoughtful, a bit slower, a little distant, as if she's never thought about that before. "--if I didn't mean to use it. Shit. Probably should order fresh, cuz it's got a crap half-life..." But it does sound like there might be some science happening in the not too distant future.

The ruffling draws her back into the moment and out of the part of her brain that's actually got the potential to be a competent chemist, a hand swiping at Corey's. As if she's protective of her hair. When anyone but Monica's touching it. "One day, I'mma convert you!" Away from an organic high to the wonderful world of chemistry, she means. They've probably had this conversation before. With a pout for Monica, she says, "I should pack up, too, beautiful. Got another class soon. But let's do that fashion show real soon, mm?"

Monica stops her braiding, to lift both hands, and cross fingers. That, at Corey's optimism. Then she grins. "Just call if you need any help!" ... In the shower, she means. Then she looks back at Sparrow. And she stares. And stares. Right up until she's switching gears. Monica gives a laugh. "Okay, well, like, you know. Let me know when you wanna do some science together," she says, with a big wink. Then she, too, turns. "And yeah, I need to go forget which shower is mine. Wish me luck!" And then she's trotting into the house, just far enough behind Corey to make it look... innocent.