2019-09-24 - Descent

Everything had been peaceful. Until about a minute ago. It started with quiet footsteps crossing the hall from one door to another, soften enough to go unnoticed by those who might've been sleeping at god-only-knows-when AM or be written off by any night owls still awake enough to notice. Then there was the muttered, "Fuck," followed by the low whining sound of a half-awake Sparrow not at all sure what is going on, trying to get her brain in order. And failing. "Alfie!" is called loudly enough to wake others up as she goes tearing down the stairs, leaving his bedroom door open, his floor-bound mattress unmade and empty. Is that unusual? Who knows. It's certainly got the redhead in a panic.

Monica tended to rise early. Cooler for a run, and OMG the way the fog comes in! Makes for great shots to put on Insta. So it's not too early for her... but, surely, she was asleep. It's only a few moments later that her bedroom door opens and out comes the groggy-faced woman. She's dressed in a little white tank and some skimpy pajama shorts. Her eyes first go to the open door, then to the stares. "The fuck...?" she murmurs to herself.

In the 'hit snooze' phase of the morning, given he has to get up for work at 5, Corey is half-dozing when he hears the shout of Alfie's name. He grumbles something about thin walls, before jerking to full awakeness as the tone of Sparrow's cry sinks in. Dragging ass out of bed, wearing pyjama bottoms but no shirt or shoes, he stumbles out of his room. "Phil?"

Oblivious to the early birds woken up slightly earlier than usual in the wake of her panic, Sparrow offers neither answer nor explanation. She doesn't pause to say hello. She doesn't slow in her search. It is definitely a search. If either Monica or Corey were to look down into the foyer, they might catch her rush by in one direction then the other as she calls, "Alfie!" uselessly, as she scrambles from one room to the next fruitlessly.

After a minute or so of this nonsense, she just suddenly stops in the middle of the downstairs hallway in her oversized tee and rainbow pajama shorts and draws in a deep breath, trying to calm herself and get her head in order, eyes unfocused, chest heaving with quick, panicked breaths.

Monica's eyes catch movement. Corey! ... Half naked Corey. Her dopey little smirk starts to creep across her lips. Yes, this is a good-... Er, wait, no. She blinks out of it, then her brows lift, questioningly. She doesn't wait for a response, and merely starts down the stairs. "Sparrow...? What's going on, babe?"

Traipsing downstairs to find Sparrow, Corey angles around her until he's stood in front, lifting his hands to rest on her shoulders. "Mena, what's wrong?" he asks quietly, sounding concerned. I mean, it's probably a nightmare, but dreams around here have a funny way of being a lot nastier. Though, he's not seeing any obvious bloodstains on her clothing.

What? Sparrow starts when Monica's voice registers, when she steps into view. This is weird, isn't it? This is weird. She's being weird. She pushes a hand through her hair, making a weird face half-hidden by her arm. She mutters an unconvincing, "It's nothing," in hopes of dismissing it all and just going back to normal. But when Corey stands in front of her and looks at her like that... well, she makes that same pained face and explains, "I watched the floor swallow him up, and I know it was just a dream, but it felt so real, and when I went to go just... make sure..." The words get caught in her throat, panic pushing toward tears, much to her frustration if the scrunch of her features and grumbling sound are any indication.

Once Sparrow is in sight, Monica is far less concerned. She's alive. She's not covered in blood. What's the worst that could have happened? And so she folds her arm over her chest and leans against the wall, watching as Corey goes to handle it. A dream, hm. That has her leaning back, and looking back up the stairs. "Uh-... he probably stayed out tonight," Monica says, easily. "Or, like... doesn't he work at a club?"

Tugging Sparrow into a firm hug, patting her back a little bit, Corey glances over to Monica, nodding slightly at her suggestions. "Have you tried calling him, Phil?" he wonders on the tail of those potential locations that Alfie might be in.

Sparrow laughs, coarse and wet, like it could have just as easily been a sob, in answer to Monica's very rational explanation. She sinks into her brother's hug, hiding her foolish face against his shoulder. "No," she admits, grudgingly, increasingly aware of what an ass she's making of herself over a silly dream. "I'm sure he's fine." Drawing a deep breath, she straightens and draws away from Corey, flashing him an embarrassed, sleepy smile which grows rather awkward when she turns that same apologetic look to Monica. "I'm sorry. It's nothing. Just a bad dream. I should just--" Though she looks to the stairs, clearly thinking about bed, she doesn't move in that direction.

Monica nods along, with Corey. Then when Sparrow looks to her, she just flashes a warm smile. "It happens," she says. "I sometimes have dreams that are, like, totally fucked. Just glad you're okay." She then looks to Corey, brows lifting again. He's the family, he gets to decide what he'd like to do with the sleeping-stressed Sparrow.

"Phone him, Mena. You'll feel better," Corey suggests, obviously assuming Alfie is going to answer, because why wouldn't he? Unless he's at work, when he might not be able to. "Or we can go down to where he works, see him there if you can't get him on the phone." A glance over to Monica and one raised brow suggests she'd best get dressed just in case.

Sparrow's smile grows a little more natural for Monica's answer, for that assurance that she's not being all that weird in the grand scheme of things. "I don't even know what time it is," she mutters in answer to the suggestion of going to see Alfie, an absent pat to her pajama-clad hips noting that there are no pockets, no phone. "I'll just... text. And go back to sleep. And wait." Right? That sounds like a rational plan. It also sounds like she might be ignoring some welling terror in her stomach, but that will surely pass.

"It's, like, four in the morning. If he was still at work, he's probably, like, drunk. Or getting laid in a broom closet or whatever. Just text him," Monica says, nodding a long. There's a pause, then Monica looks to Corey. Her brows go up again. Then it's back to Sparrow. "You want me to keep you company? Until he gets home or texts back or whatever...?"

Corey gives his sister one last squeeze, head tilting and brow raising slightly at her, before he decides, "As I'm up, I'll make breakfast. You guys going back to bed, or want to eat pancakes?" Monica has the suggestions and company covered, so he's offering an alternative to sleep, since it seems unlikely Sparrow will be able to doze back off if she's worried about her beau. Well, one of them.

Sparrow breathes a quiet laugh, this one not quite on the verge of tears like the last, and nods to Monica's suggestion that Alfie's probably just out getting some. That's a much, much nicer thought than whatever's running through her head. She seems to consider Monica's offer--weighing the desire to spend time against doing so while she's a mental wreck--when Corey gives her an out, a good 'yes but' that might let her have both. "Pancakes," sounds pitiful. Starting upstairs, she says, "I'm... gonna... go get my phone." And maybe brush her teeth and wash her face and try to shake off some of these bad feelings.

Monica considers Corey's offers, but stays quiet. When Sparrow decides, she then gives a little nod. "Right." A pause, and Monica looks back up the stairs. Toward bed! Of course, she ends up just staring at Sparrow's ass. "Mmm..." she murmurs, before looking back to Corey. "I'll, uh-... I'll stay with her. I know you got, like, to get ready for work and whatever...?"

Pressing his cheek to Sparrow's forehead briefly, Corey lets the girltwin go and nods. "Thanks," he murmurs to Monica, before turning to head to the kitchen to fix pancakes. "You in on pancakes, or you want some fruit instead?" he asks of the eternally-dieting woman, for once not even seeming grumpy.