2019-09-18 - Recalibration

It's a warm summer night, fairly late on a Wednesady evening, but Jaime is sitting out on the front porch in an old rocking chair with his acoustic guitar on one knee. He plays it relatively quietly, and the neighbors never seem to complain -- in part because he's good, in part because they're often louder than he is -- hollering and making enough noise all on their own. He's in his usual jeans and boots with a plain black t-shirt on. There's light on inside the house, the sound of the television on behind him, the windows open to allow in a bit of a breeze.

Sparrow texted. When the person you're planning on visiting is often out of town for work, it's a good idea to text before just showing up. Of course, the entirety of her text was, 'You home tonight?' followed by silence after Jaime confirmed his presence. Maybe that was telling enough. The street is still wet from the earlier storm, a bit of water kicked up as the road-worn red Kia with its assortment of weird bumper stickers pulls up outside the Kelly house. The weird, dreamy electropop cuts off when she kills the engine and opens the door, waving over the top of the car to the guitarist on the porch.

She's in half-muted hues tonight, her loose white tanktop with its faded grey logo for some band that never made it worn over a black bra and some rainbow-dyed denim cut-offs. Her old sneakers, greyed-out white, have rainbow-glitter laces. Like some part of her is still eight years old and in love with Lisa Frank. "Mind a little company?" seems a genuine question in tone, even if her presence might seem otherwise. There's no bright smile to go with it. Someone's feeling serious tonight.

Jaime lifts his chin in greeting whens he gets out of the car, more than familiar with the sight of that little red Kia with its assortment of bumper stickers. He doesn't stop playing, however, as she comes wandering over, watching her approach. He seems to be well-rested, even though he had been out working most of the day. The evening is his own, it seems, for the most part. It's likely that Jess is asleep inside while Everly's at work. "Nope, make yourself at home. There's stuff in the fridge that's drinkable if you're thirsty." He makes no claims regarding anything that might be edible. "How's it going?"

"Yeah, maybe," Sparrow says of the drink she might eventually grab, but she doesn't head in just yet. Instead, she takes up a seat and, for a while, just listens. To Jaime's playing. To the sound of cars going by on the next street over. To the crickets hiding in the grass and the television inside. It's a stillness that he's seen before, having kept her company long enough now to know it happens from time to time. And, more importantly, that it doesn't necessarily signal distress. But then she starts with, "We never really talked about the table," when she breaks her silence. "Was that the first time you had to deal with something like that?"

Jaime continues that quiet playing from where he sits, strumming along. It's a little bit more of the melody that he'd been humming when they'd been out driving around after amateur night. The melody seems to have taken on a bit more form gradually over time, becoming a little more complex. He doesn't seem concerned when she is still and quiet, seeming content just to keep company. A few fireflies wink here and there over the lawn, and in the bushes surrounding the garage that leans precariously to one side, like as not to collapse in the not too distant future if it isn't shored up somehow or another. "With what? Unruly furniture? Nah. Mom gets pissy sometimes and stuff moves around. Though that was probably the most violent kitchen table I've ever seen." He gives her a sidelong grin.

Whatever answers Sparrow might've been prepared for, it doesn't look like that falls anywhere close given how she just head-tilts and stares, lips parted in stalled answer. Huh? How old was she when their mom died? Does she even remember that happened? Wasn't Joey talking to a woman stomping about upstairs while they were wrangling the table in the basement? She musters a confused, "What?" before she manages to make a full question out of it. "What does your mom moving furniture have to do with said furniture taking on a life of its own? And no, I don't just mean furniture, but please don't ask me to define the full scope of strange because Corey's been talking at me about dream seals and I don't--" She falters, squints, and just stops there. Yeah, yeah, that's better. Without everything just spilling out like that.

Jaime is used to those kind of stares, to be honest. He's spent his entire life in Gray Harbor save for his forays out and about around the country. Weird shit just happens sometimes. It rolls off of him like water off a duck's back. "Well, I mean, mom moves the furniture around when she gets agitated, and the furniture got agitated, so I just figured it was mom." His dead mother. The one that's been dead for quite some time now. That she's haunting the house seems to be something he just presumes makes sense, apparently. He continues the quiet strumming. "Seals? I haven't seen any seals, though I suppose if you go along the coast there'd be some there." He glances over at her, studying her a little curiously. "You alright?"

Sparrow grew up here, too, but some things are decidedly weirder and more worrying than others. The logic Jaime is applying to agitated tables is both. Weird and worrying. The redhead huffs a quiet, frustrated sigh when his clarification clarifies nothing, but at least what he's got to say about seals makes sense. One arm goes up, gesturing his direction as if to say 'right?' or 'see?' when she finds someone on her side. Nevermind that whoever she might want to make that point to isn't present. "That's what I said." But then he goes and asks a direct question, most promptly answered by a face, all scrunched and pouty, and a look out over at the fireflies blinking about oblivious to all this nonsense. "Yeah, probably. Corey's all worked about something, and I don't know what to do about it. So. Figured Mr. Family Man might know how to keep everything right and steady and okay." Her shoulders sink when she says that, instantly feeling better as she looks back to Jaime.

Jaime rocks a little bit on the rocking chair, the strumming on the guitar alternating with a few light slaps against the wood, creating a beat along to the melody that he's playing. Poor Sparrow. If she hoped for Jaime of all people to be enlightening no the topic of the Weird of Gray Harbor, she was in for some serious disappointment. "So what, Corey thinks he's seeing seals or something? Maybe it was just a big wood chuck?" He laughs then and says, "I mean, I could tell you a seal-related bedtime story. That's how I generally make things steady and okay here. An occasional cookie and glass of milk doesn't hurt, either. Not sure if that's going to help Corey with his seal problem, though."

The car that Everly drives is about two decades too old, and held together purely by hopes and dreams at this point. It makes something of a familiar noise when it pulls up to the house, one that Jaime would easily recognize at least. Then Everly gets out, closes the door and heads into the house to bang around inside for a little while before she steps out onto the back porch, and unlit cigarette hanging from her lips, and the outfit she's wearing is not the uniform for the wonderful waffle job. Short black jean shorts, partially unlaced combat boots, and a black tank top is worn, all accompanied with the aura of shame and glitter that comes from serving drinks at the stripclub.

Sparrow grins crookedly at Jaime as her nose scrunches and admits, "I could maybe go for a seal-related bedtime story and a cookie," apparently a-okay with the easy answer to whatever's weighing on her. She falls quiet when Everly pulls up, offering the woman a wave on her way past, no inquiry about her identity. "One of Corey's friends is in the hospital. All drugged up on pain meds, right? And she tells him this story about how a seal came out of her dream or something and almost killed her. And I told him it was probably just the trauma and the drugs and that there are entirely real murderers going around right now, and I don't get how that doesn't register as the scarier prospect to him, that someone could've broken into her place and tried to kill her, but he's sticking by this story, and I just..." She looks up at Everly, flashing an apologetic smile for the weird happening right here, before looking back to Jaime with a shrug. "I don't know how to help him back down from whatever weird place he's in. And there was, like, a second there? Thinking about the table and some other stuff? When I almost ended up there with him. Believing." Another nose crinkling. "Feeling better now. Knew you'd help."

Jaime grins over at Sparrow, chuckling. "We might have some cookies. Pretty sure there are some in there." He hears the sound of that familiar car pulling up. "There are a shit ton of actual murders going on right now. It's kind of disturbing." /That/ is disturbing. Attack furniture is apparently not. "Maybe she was on some serious drugs. And she was on painkillers so.. who knows?" He shrugs his shoulders. When Everly comes out onto the porch and joins him he grins at her and says, "Hey Ev. How was work?" Then he shakes his head at Sparrow and says, "Well, if the furniture starts flying around, you may just have ghosts. I mean, is he seriously messed up over it? Did he actually see anything weird? Or is it just her story that's freaking him out?"

There is a blank stare at Sparrow for a moment, then she glances at Jaime, "I'm pretty sure that I've got glitter in places it was never meant to be, and all I do is serve drinks." Everly fishes a lighter from her pocket, lighting the cigarette before she moves to lean against the railing of the porch in defiance of the possibility she might instead break the railing and tumble to her doom. "You know the best way to deal with flying furniture is to pet it. Like a dog. Disney taught me this."

"She's got a point," Sparrow says of Everly's suggestion. That's the easiest part to address. "We never tried petting it. And I do pet Howard on the regular, which may explain why he's never wandered off." Not at all because he's got a lamp for a head and is filled with fluff and wire. With a little shake of her head at Jaime, she explains, "It's not just the story, but it's not a whole lot more either. Told him it was bad science to draw specious correlations between coincidental bulshit, but." Shrug. She's done worrying about it. "I like where the song's going. Little low-key maybe. Kinda wanna drop some panties at the audition, so unless you're going for smoldery..."

Jaime grins at Everly and says, "Yeah, me too. And they didn't even put any glitter on us." His little adventure in semi-stripping having left him with very little in the glitter department, all things considered. Though when both Sparrow and Everly agree on the approach of petting the table, he snorts and says, "Alright well, I'll try that next time. Maybe I should have sang it a little song like the Snow Fucking White of Animate Furniture." He smirks at Sparrow and says, "Who said this was for our audition? This is jsut something I've been fiddling with. Pretty sure I can find something that smokes a little more for that. Did you call up Easton and tell him we were going to audition? And have you heard from Garrett? We're going to need to maybe actually practice and pick a couple of songs."

"You could sing it a song, pretty sure if you do that you'll want to sing Be Our Guest." Everly points out with a smirk, taking a drag off the cigarette before she flicks the ashes off into the yard beyond the railing. The shift in conversation towards auditions and panty dropping gets listened to, but uncommented on as she turns her attention to her cigarette, and trying to get a stray speck of glitter off her arm. It's practically melded into skin though, as it does.

Sparrow holds her hands up at that glitter-quip from Jaime, denying any and all blame on that front. All while looking proud enough to completely undermine any attempt at innocence. Everly's song suggestion earns a snort-and-nod, and she croons, "I can see the salt shakers and vases gathering round now." Her wide smile softens at the clarification about that particular song, a little, "Alright," accepting without further prodding. Just a touch of (potentially misplaced) smugness. "Texted," she confirms of reaching out to Easton. "And yeah." Something odd dawns, earning a cant of her head. She could voice it and deal with that nonsense aloud or she could move right on past. Plan B definitely seems easier. "Our pretty british bassist is down whenever, though he's looking after a sick friend right now, and Easton said to expect open mic night in, like, a week." Cuz he's got a sick girlfriend, evidently. Nope. Not at all thinking about all the sick and hospitalized women of Gray Harbor right now. Nope. "Think we're stuck with Lowered Expectations now. Cuz he asked. And I still like it."

"Lumiere, I am not," Jaime says with a chuckle. Though he's sung the song more than once in recent memory. That DVD may have been played once or twice, along with any number of other Disney movies he knows all the song lyrics to. Pulling himself up from the seat, he sets the guitar against the wall and walks over to Everly, reaching out to steal her cigarette and taking a drag off of it, both brows raised at her before he blows the smoke out over the rail and hands it back to her. He turns around then to lean back against the railing which groans a little in protest. At least if they topple to their doom, it's a short topple and would likely not result in hospitalization. He laughs over at Sparrow and says, "Alright. Lowered Expectations it is." He says to Everly, "Turns out our bassist, Garrett, lives on Elm too." He nods vaguely down the street in the rough direction of Garrett's place. Does he even know which one it is? Nope. But it's the general direction Garrett had nodded in when he was there. "I can do a week. No long hauls for me this month."

"Sounds like a punk band from the 80's." Or grunge from the 90's...or any number of actual other bands in the world, but the reference is at least one that pleases Everly for some reason. Possibly only known to her. The cigarette is given up, and taken back, all without any protest, she just lifts it back to take another drag from it, one eye squinting as some of the smoke blows back into her face. Garrett's home location gets a nod, and Everly even looks that way before she drops the bomb on this, "Who is Garrett?"

"Yeah, well," Sparrow directs to Jaime with an imperious arch of her dark brows rising right on up below her red bangs, "we're still practicing at my place." As if that's why he mentioned Garrett's place at all. "My kit's bigger, I got the whole basement to myself and the house is full of stress donuts right now." The wideness of her eyes might suggest they're just spilling out the windows. This is almost certainly not the case. "Garrett's our bassist. Cute. Cute accent. Laidback." Shifting in her seat, she starts tapping out a rhythm with her foot, hands working shallowly through something she only hears in her head, which bobs along. "I could totally do The Damned." She grins wide at Jaime and suggests, not sings, "I'll be the parcel? You'll be my sorter?" Nevermind that the album came out in 1979. She wouldn't know. Were her parents even alive yet?

Jaime grins over at Everly and says, "She's probably the most punk out of all of us." He nods in Sparrow's direction with a chuckle and then says, "Bassist.. " but he stops when Sparrow fills in everything he was going to say. Then he arches both brows, "Never said we weren't? You've got the room and the set up.. and hauling the drums around would be a pain in the ass. Not to mention, stress baking is a fine quality in a brother." He flashes her a grin that then turns to puzzlement, "The what now? When did I become a postal worker?"

The cigarette gets held out towards Jaime, and Everly nods slowly at Sparrow's description of Garrett, "Right then, cute, cute accent. I'm sure that'll narrow things down." She shakes her head at the question about postal workers, because she's clearly not at all sure what the fuck just happened, either.

"You'll just have to meet him and I'll introduce you," Jaime says to Everly with a grin. "What've you got planned for the night?" He takes the cigarette when she offers it out to him and takes another drag off of it, careful to blow the smoke up into the air so that it doesn't end up in her face before handing it back. "I think we're going to give the barbecue another go soon. Maybe for our birthday."

"You know..." He probably does know. But Everly doesn't finish the thought as she instead takes the cigarette back, flicking the ashes over the railing into the yard again before taking another drag from it. She's not as careful about where she blows it, mostly because if she blew up it'd go right for his face. "Just tell me when you guys are planning to have it, and I'll be here for it. Or try to." Work, sometimes it gets in the way of shit. "How old is this mysterious bassist with the cute and the cute accent?"

"Oh, baby, I need to educate you," Sparrow croons to Jaime with affectionate pity. "And you can send your brother over to be educated by my brother any time you'd like." Surely, that won't be a complete disaster. There's no reason for her grinning. Of Garrett, she notes, "Older than me," as if it were a good thing. Cuz it almost certainly is. Getting to her feet, she moves over toward Jaime and slings an arm around his waist all nice and familiar-like as she tells him, "You're having a party. Joey promised." Like he promised her. Like she has anything to do with it. She leans in with every intention of claiming a quick kiss before sinking back and smiling at Everly. "Nice sorta meeting you," seems genuine. And whatever worries she'd brought over with her? Those seem gone. Stress untangled. Like magic.

Jaime raises a brow and asks, "What's Corey going to teach Joey?" Because he somewhow can't see Joey suddenly taking up cooking, but that question won't be answered any time soon. He considers Everly's question and glances over at Sparrow, nodding, "Couple of years older than Sparrow. Younger than me. Of course, everyone's younger than me." That whole general crew is all way too young for him to be hanging around, but it doesn't seem to boterh him at all. "Joey promised, did he?" Jaime asks with a chuckle. "Guess that's happening, then." When she comes over, he gives Sparrow's hair a ruffle and a light kiss before she heads off. He gives her a wave as she heads back to her car, then turns his attention back to Everly. "When do you have at least one day off soon?"

There is a very, very slow upwards twitch of Everly's brows at Sparrow's exit, and then she gives Jaime a Look. But she just lifts the cigarette up, taking another drag from it before she stubs it out on the railing, making sure that any chance of it lighting things on fire is killed before she flicks it out into the yard, "No idea. Most of the time I work every day, off one place, work the next. But I can get a day off if you really want me to."

Jaime leans back against the rail comfortably, watching that upward twitch of eyebrows and catching the Look. He doesn't comment on it for the time being. Instead, he says, "Only if it isn't going to be a problem. But yeah, I'd like to take one of those road trips we talked about, even if it's just for one day. If you can get away."

"Not the barbeque?" Which is clearly what she thought he was wanting her to have a whole day off for. One hand reaches down to grab her phone from her pocket, checking it before she nods, "I'm sure I can get the weekend off, sometime. When did you want to go?" She tucks the phone back into her pocket, arms crossing over her chest before she tilts her chin towards the house, "You told her yet?"

"Well yeah, I want you to come to the barbeque, too, but I figure that'd be easier since it's not a whole day. If you can get the whole weekend off, that'd be better. I can do more with that," Jaime grins a bit, nodding. "Whenever you can get off. I don't have any long hauls this month, all local monday through friday stuff." Which means his weekends are his for at least the next month. He glances toward the house, then back to Everly, brows knitting, "Told who what?"

"Jess...about the trip. Unless we're leaving her behind." Which Everly isn't against, exactly. Depending on what and where they are going. A hand raises to rub against her jaw before she pushes herself away from the railing, "Just pick two days, and let me know...unless you want to do it this weekend, and I'll make that happen."

Jaime shakes his head and says, "I was thinking we could go, just us, this time around. She got to go with me on that one run a few weeks before school started." He had taken her on a short run, just four days, before September had hit preschool started up. They'd had fun, and she'd been good. "And sure, this weekend would be good if you can get it."

"Alright, I'll make sure that someone can watch her this weekend, then." Everly glances towards the house, then back towards him, "I'll have the weekend off, so we can go any time Friday you want to leave." She checks her watch, then thinks about it before nodding, "Yeah, I'm just working the afternoon tomorrow instead of over night, so I can get up at a functional hour."

"Good," Jaime says, grinning a little. Clearly he has something planned, but he doesn't seem like he's about to give away what that plan might be, at least not right away. He wanders over to pick up his guitar and nods toward the house. "You hungry? I can make you something." He begins to head toward the door then, backing through it and holding it open for her.

"Starving." Everly replies with a nod, taking one final glance out around the yard before she starts through the door that he holds open for her, "I'll take anything but waffles or pancakes...and wings. No chicken wings either."