2019-10-01 - Pancakes & Serenades

Movie Night was decidedly a success, even with the visiting Veil Flu. Those who had fallen asleep downstairs were given pillows and blankets in the middle of the night and made as comfortable as possible given the potentially uncomfortable positions they may have drifted off in. Sparrow and Alfie had absconded while the third movie, Snatch, was playing, when they were the only ones left awake; Corey might notice all the energy drinks the latter had been mixing with his hard iced tea, a habit that's been going on for a week or so, suggesting just about zero desire to sleep. But the redhead has almost certainly slept, even if she's downstairs now in the same outfit she was wearing last night--Rainbow Brite tights and an oversized black tee shirt declaring her RAD in sparkly teal letters--with her make-up smudged about her eyes and her lip gloss faded. Already, she's taken all the plague blankets upstairs to get the wash started, the water piping hot and the bleach substitute used in high quantities. When she makes her second trip downstairs, it's less purposeful, lazy, hand scratching through her messy red hair as she wanders kitchenward.

Naturally, in the kitchen is a Corey. He's not cooking right now, but sat at the kitchen table with some books and a notepad in front of him, making lists and cross-checking things. He glances up as his redheaded twin wanders through, a smile tossed her way. "Hey Mena. Sleep alright?" he prompts, setting his pencil down and rising to his feet. "Fruit, pancakes or bacon sandwich?" Because obviously he'll cook her something to eat.

At some point in the night, Garrett migrated from his position slumped against the couch to actually laying on it, so that's where he is when the sounds of footsteps moving about the house slowly pull him out of his sleep. At least cargo shorts and a Decemberists t aren't particularly uncomfortable sleepwear. Thoroughly wrinkled, but otherwise serviceable, Garrett yawns, stretches, and gets to his feet, moseying towards the kitchen as well. "Morning," he greets Sparrow, giving her a little shoulder bump and smile as he enters. "Hey," he adds to Corey, as well, giving him a wave. Then a pause. "...Mena?" he questions.

"Fruit pancakes," Sparrow rumbles happily. That was an option, right? Corey surely knows her favorite pancakes have both bananas and granola cooked in. And also that she's not at all picky about what kinda fruit might show up instead. She slows as Garrett draws up beside her, resting her head on his shoulder sleepily, contentedly. "Short for Phil," she offers unhelpfully of 'Mena,' then clarifies, sorta, "Sparrow's my middle name," with a not entirely successful from this angle peek up at the bassist. Looking back to Corey, she tells him, "Alfie slept a little," as if that's progress. What that means about her own sleep? Well, she's still groggy, but morning people gonna morning.

"Philomena," Corey sheds light for Garrett following Sparrow's piecemeal not-really-explanation. "Alright, pancakes it is. You want some too?" he prompts the other guy, turning to the cupboards to get out the requisite ingredients, one ring of the hob turned on and a pan placed to heat.

"He did?" the boytwin then prompts of his sister, nodding at the notion of Alfie getting a little bit of shuteye. "How long, do you know?"

Garrett reaches up and gives the leaning head a little pat, but then rolls his eyes at the offered explanation for Mena. "Right. Naturally. I was just making sure it wasn't anything weird. Didn't wanna make assumptions." Corey and his more useful explanation, though, gets a wide-eyed look, then a little laugh. "Sorry! Not laughing at the name, I swear. Just... nevermind, I'll explain later. And who am I to say no to pancakes?" The Alfie update also gets an inquisitive look from Garrett, his focus going back to /Philomena/.

Sparrow straightens at the laugh from Garrett, though she's a touch too sleepy to manage any proper feigned indignation, that crooked little grin giving her away. Brows go up as she looks back to her brother and tells him it's, "An explain-later situation," with some amusement. She watches to make sure Corey's out of retaliation range before she moves deeper into the kitchen, angling for the fridge to get herself some orange juice, the carton lifted and waggled with a look back at Garrett to see if he wants some too. "Had to've been a couple hours," she notes of how much Alfie slept, though that hardly sounds like much. A little softer, slightly sadder, she adds, "Less than I did." Clearly, she didn't get much herself.

"Later. Uh-huh." Corey doesn't sound too much like he believes he'll get an explanation (because there often isn't one to be had), but he's not stressing over it either. Mixing up the pancake batter, he muses, "Banana, granola, maybe some peanut butter too?" A suggestion to the pair, a slight tweak to Sparrow's default.

Another eye-roll from Garrett. "It's a Decemberists song. It is.... not a particularly appropriate one," he says with a little laugh. And that's all the explanation he provides before he's giving a little nod in regards to the orange juice. "Yes, please." Corey's suggestion gets a little shrug. "You're the boss, mate."

The front door opens, in steps Monica, in full workout mode. She's dressed in a pair of running tights, pale blue with pink stripes here and there, the sides on the outsides of her legs covered by merely a mesh. Then it's a fairly skimpy sports bra, in a matching A E S T H E T I C color pattern. In one hand, a little hoodie, which suggests she went out wearing more clothing than this. But now, she's hot and sweaty and looking like it was a long run this morning. "Are there people alive in here?" she gasps, as she peeks into the rest of the house, before stopping to take off (matching) running shoes.

"No peanut butter please," Sparrow chirps to her twin, adventuresome ways left by the wayside in favor of the tried-and-true. It's a recovery morning, after all. She pours three glasses of orange juice, leaving one on the counter for Corey when, after returning the carton to the fridge like a decent human being, she plucks up the other two glasses to deliver one to Garrett. With a little grin, she tells him, "Guess I'll have to give it a listen." It's probably a small miracle that no one's shoved it at her already, but it might say something about the musical tastes of the company she keeps. When her attention strays to Monica, head tilted to see her around the corner, she starts from the bottom and works her way up. "Pancakes." That probably means yes, right?

"Actually, she's the boss," Corey tells Garrett with a sly smile, jerking a thumb in Sparrow's direction, before he pours out some of t batter into the hot pan and begins the process of making delicious fluffy pancakes with little granola bits and chunks of banana in. Doot de doot.

"I'll play it for you at some point," Garrett promises with a grin, but then he takes a half step to glance towards the door. "Morning," he greets. "Monica, right? And here I was not feeling at all guilty about skipping my morning run," he sighs before his attention is back in the kitchen. "She is, is she?" Garrett looks from Corey to Sparrow, then nods. "Yeah, that checks out," he agrees after a moment of consideration.

Shoeless, sockless, and using her hoodie as a towel, Monica steps over towards the others, with a soft smile. "Pancakes, huh?" she asks, eyeing them with suspicion. Look at how many carbs in there. "Any fruit?" she asks, swinging a gaze toward Corey. She then steps right over, to Sparrow, and leans down to kiss her cheek. "Sup, babe," she murmurs. Then she's back to standing, her full rather tall height. "You should have told me you wanted to go! I woulda woke your ass up!" she tells Garrett, cheerfully. "Uh, yeah, Monica."

Sparrow's brows arch unevenly at Garrett's promise. It takes a second, but she nods, agreeing to what she clearly takes as an invitation. "I'll try to be patient." But one might guess it's not her strong suit. Her eyes half-lid when Monica dips in, tilting into that kiss as if anticipating it. Gosh, that coulda been embarrassing if it didn't happen, but it does, and her smile goes dopey as fuck. Peeking at Garrett, she warns, "She goes hard," of the sweat, leggy runner. It almost sounds like a challenge. Almost. When she sinks down at the table in the little breakfast nook, her attention turns to the chef, wondering to Corey, "You up for doing this again next month? Or maybe every other?"

"Yeah, there's fruit in the fridge," Corey promises over his shoulder to Monica, flipping pancakes and pouring fresh ones, little spongy delights gradually being offloaded onto a plate. The first stack is passed to Garrett - he's a guest after all, and there's peanut butter on these. The second stack goes to his twin. "The plums need eating, if you've no preference. I'll be using them for plum pudding this evening if they're still in the fridge by then."

Then the boytwin nods at Sparrow. "Sure, monthly sounds good."

"Next time you see me passed out in your house you have full permission to wake me up for a workout," Garrett informs Monica, tone /totally/ innocent. Is he playing up the accent a little? Maybe. But then he's raising an eyebrow at Sparrow. "Ye of little faith. I, for one, am quite confident in my ability to keep up." A pause, and another look towards Monica. "...for a while, at least," he amends before clearing his throat. "Ah, great! Thanks," he says to Corey, offering a grateful smile as he pulls the pancakes closer.

"Oh, God, I love a good plum..." Monica says, mostly to herself. She turns and makes her way to the fridge. "Did Corey tell you about the open-water swim group I joined, Philrow?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder. She retrieves two plums, then stands upright, going to tip toes and reaching over her head. Minor stretching! "There's also an iron man up in Seattle coming up... considering it. Totally can use a training partner. And, like, I still don't know half the trails around here... Life is, like, hard?"

Sparrow makes heart-hands at Corey when he delivers her peanut-butter-less banana-and-granola pancakes, instantly making her morning better. "Can you makes some for AJ?" she inquires quietly, even if it doesn't look like he's gonna be making it down today. Her grin is back as she looks from Monica, shameless in her staring, potentially certain that over-the-head stretching is just for her personal benefit, to tell her, "He did not. You looking for someone to get wet with?" Terrible. Shameful. And yet she shows not one little flicker of remorse as she turns that same lazily lascivious grin to Garrett and tells him, "You know where to find me if you need tending once she's run you ragged." But there are pancakes, thank the gods, and she shuts up to eat some.

Sleep. It is something that isn't nearly as restful as Ash as it normally is. So anyone downstairs that might be a light sleeper, she should probably apologize to. But, eventually the moving around of people has woken the monster, and she's sat bolt up right. "Is there coffee?" She hopes there is coffee, enough that her and the blanket she's got get up and wander towards the kitchen in search of such things. Coffee. Probably without whiskey. Maybe.

A veritable pancake-making machine, Corey carries on churning out fluffy pillows of joy. "Yeah, sure," he affirms to the request for some for Alfie, stacking three up for the absent housemate and setting the plate out beside Sparrow when done. Then, he hears the dulcet tones of Ash as she stirs. "Babe, you still don't sound a hundred percent. Go sit on the couch, I'll bring coffee and something easy to eat, ok?" he suggests.

Garrett also watches the stretching, the nods. "I can do that if you want. I'm getting to know the trails around here pretty well. Or can head up to Olympic if you're feeling ambitious one day," he suggests before he raises an eyebrow at Sparrow. "Promises, promises," he says softly. Sounds from Ash get a glance in her direction and a little wave. "Morning. How're you feeling?"

Monica gives a little wave to Ash, then looks back to Sparrow. She laughs. "Like, we can totally shower together?" she offers. "Buuuut, you know. You're super cute and I love you to pieces... but if you go with me open water swimming... I imagine you'll die? And then, like, Corey will definitely not want to be my friend after that," she says, with a pout. Then it's back to Garrett. "But you!" she grins, as she steps over toward the man. "We should totally do stuff together before you get to know me and decide I'm annoying as fuck."

Sparrow issues a nod and a quiet, "Mhm," to Garrett as if to confirm--counter?--that it was, indeed, a promise. She angles a slightly concerned smile back at the waking walking dead, ready to offer Ash... well, Corey gets to it first, so she just nods and stays where she is. As Monica draws closer to the pancake-eating pair, the redhead points her fork and tells her, "First, yes. And second, fuck you, I won't die, thanks. What the fuck is open water swimming anyway? Like, it doesn't sound hard." Says the girl happily shoving carbs into her face.

"I'd kiss you, but..." Ash waves a blanket covered hand around in her face to indicate that she's the source of the plague, currently, and is aware that sharing bodily fluids probably should not be happening. So she turns to start back towards the couch, flopping herself face first onto it before she turns her head, enough that she can speak and respond to Garrett's question, "I feel terrible. Like death has come knocking, and I have forgotten how to open the door, and so now he's giving the po-po knock, and I'm hurriedly trying to flush all the drugs." She lifts her head, squinting, "Isn't that just like...swimming? In...the ocean?"

Fixing up some coffee, a bowl containing some chopped fruit and yoghurt, and two asperin with a glass of water, Corey loads it all onto a cheap black plastic tray and heads over to Ash as she puddles on the couch, waiting until she's settled to offer each item over in turn. "I hope you're not working, feeling like this?" he asks quietly, concerned. "You should be in bed, babe."

"Is that what we're worried about? Well then, yes, we should absolutely make sure that happens." Garrett tells Monica, then pauses. "Not the getting annoyed once I know you; the other bit," he clarifies with a wink. Ash gets a sympathetic look back towards her couch. "Rough. Hope you feel better." Not particularly helpful, but at least he's sincere.

"It is exactly that!" Monica says, cheerily, to Ash. "Swimming out in the ocean. You gotta, you know, not go into shock and drown? Which some people struggle with..." She shifts herself behind Sparrow, laying her hands on the redhead's shoulders. "If I stop moving for more than like 2 seconds it gets bad. But it's totally invigorating. So, yeah, it's a date!" she says, that last bit to Garrett. "And then you can help me warm up when I get back?" she asks, staring down at Sparrow's red head, grinning all the while. There's a pause, then, "So, like, what's with everyone getting sick? Is this some anti-vax bullshit?"

Sparrow sweeps her fork-holding hand out in Ash's direction at her expressed understanding of 'open water swimming.' That utensil droops in her hand when Monica... well, confirms that they got it right. Tilting her head back against the runner's tummy to look up at her, she says, "There is a part of me that is so insulted right now," even as she nods her agreement. When she looks back to her pancakes, she writes the ick off casually as, "Early flu season," cuz she totally saw something on social media or something about that. Shrug.

"Nuh uh...called in sick, which really sucks." Plus, no one really wants her around them right now, holding their drinks, serving their food. Ash sits back up so that she can take things as Corey hands them over, the asprin taken with the entire glass of water before she trades water for coffee. "I'll be fine. I promise I won't drop dead unless I get to throw myself in a very classy faint into your arms first." She lifts a hand to cross her heart quickly at that. Then she glances in the direction of the kitchen, "I have all my shots...so no, it's not that. Near as I can tell it's some freakish early flu. Which like, if you ask anyone in communicable diseases and shit, like the CDC, they're always saying we're overdue for a pandemic flu season...despite the bad seasons we've been having. Or whatever." Garrett's well wishes eventually get a thumbs up as she goes about consuming some of that coffee like it is life.

"Honestly, flu shots are a bit of a gamble, they try to figure out which strains are going to be the most prevalent, but they can't be right every time," Corey muses, taking the now-empty glass from Ash and then retreating back to the kitchen, to sort out breakfast for himself. Which, perhaps ironically, is just a trail bar.

"Lowered Expectations is going to be heartbroken if you get their bassist killed swimming in the ocean," Garrett points out to Monica. "Or any of the other members," he adds with a smile to Sparrow before he nudges out a chair for Monica. "Going to join us, or just keep leaning on Sparrow?" he teases. "Not that that's a bad choice or anything," he adds before turning his attention to his pancakes.

"I wanna meet that side," Monica says, to Sparrow. "The side that rises to challenges of open water swimming and not drowning in the icy tides..." she grins, then leans forward to kiss the top of Sparrow's head. She then looks over to Ash, then Corey, and makes a face. "Fuck. Well. I'm going to, like, double my zinc intake and get more of that airborne stuff... no getting sick." She gives Sparrow's shoulders a squeeze, as she looks to Garrett. "I'm just cooling off a bit, then need to get a shower. Then sit in a tub of cold water. Just needed to eat something..." she half mummbles to herself, as if planning out her next little while. "So, yeah, pass on the sitting. Thanks, though!"

Sparrow's eyes narrow at Corey, tracking his movement back to the kitchen. "You make it sound like they're guessing," she grumbles in plain disagreement. "There's no way to innoculate for every single strain, so--" The argument dies when Monica kisses the top of her head, that desire not unheard but remaining, for the moment, unaddressed. Instead, she looks to Garrett and tells him, wide-eyed, "Then I might really have to kidnap a new bassist," the thought punctuated with a very short-lived frown, swiftly shifting to humor as she reminds, "But I'm trying not to underestimate anyone, so."

"Educated guessing." Ash offers, which is really so much better, right? She sets the coffee down, starting to work through her fruit and yogurt with all the enthusiasm of someone who wants to enjoy food, but probably lacks the actual ability to taste anything at the moment. She slouches down further into the couch, staring at the silent TV, but listening to the chatter in the kitchen still.

Eating his trail bar and finishing kitchen cleanup, Corey asides, "I'm gonna head to the library for a bit. Hope you feel better soon, Ash. And the rest of you all stay healthy." Because he does not want to be ill, no sir. Stuffing his notes and books into his bag, he shoulders the satchel and meanders doorwards, one hand raised in a lazy wave.

"You're so sexy when you nerd-pout," Monica coos at Sparrow, then gives a little laugh. "I haven't even got my flu shot this season, fuck. Like-... I usually wait? But I'm going to go... tomorrow," she decides. "But right now-..." She pauses, to wave to Corey. "It's time for a shower. Everyone be good and stay healthy and shit. No kissing sick people, Phil." And Monica pulls away, grabbing her second uneaten plum and her hoodie.

"You make this workout buddy thing sound better by the moment," Garrett says, looking over at Monica with anither grin once he swallows his mouthful of pancake. "Have a good one, mate. Thanks for breakfast!" he calls to the departing Corey. "Also when she drums. Or sings," Garrett adds to Monica's Sparrow-assessment. And then attention back to pancakes.

"Bye, Corey." Ash calls, finishing the last of her fruit and then coffee before she collects her dishes and starts towards the kitchen to put them into the sink "I should probably also go, and like...shower, and go back to sleeping or something. Thanks for the movie last night."

Sparrow looks like she might jump up on her soap box again to elaborate on Ash's contribution, but her primary arguing target is taking off for the library. "Thanks for breakfast," she rumbles, her sincerity not quite carrying while she's still, well, nerd-pouting. With an elbow swung out to lightly jab Garrett for his comments, she quips to Monica, "Try not to get sick," and blows her a kiss. More seriously, she tracks Ash's movement toward the kitchen and notes, "There's some more soup in the fridge. From last night. If you wanna grab it. Or I can bring it by later." Cuz muscle weakness with the flu is the worst.

Monica sends Garrett a sweet smile. Then gives a wave, then pauses. "Oh! Give Sparrow your number for me?" she asks Garrett. "Get them digits..." And then she's off!

"What was that for?" Garrett fakes indignation at Sparrow's assault upon his person, dramatically rubbing the spot she elbowed. "Have a good one! Sparrow, if you could be so kind as to give your roommate my number, that would be lovely," he requests of the redhead, scooting his chair just a bit out of Ash's way as she makes for the kitchen... and maybe holds his breath a bit so as not to inhale whatever she has.

"I can take it...save you a trip to the sick house." And require Sparrow to disinfect every surface in the kitchen in the process. Either way, Ash goes to get the leftover soup from the fridge, "Thanks. It was fun...hopefully next time there isn't a whole bunch of the sick." She starts to retreat from the kitchen, so that it's safe to breathe, and gather up her pillow she brough, and drop off the blanket on the couch before starting for the door. Before she gets all the way out she pauses, then calls towards Garrett, "The accent is hot!"

The little, "Mm," from Sparrow to Garrett readily reads 'you know.' "Feel better, beautiful," she croons to Ash. "And, really, if you guys need anything at all..." Well, this household is still healthy, and she's gonna do her damnedest to make sure it stays that way. She snorts a quiet laugh at the compliment toward the bassist's accent, but says nothing. There is no reason her grin should be that smug, no reason for that I told you so look, but it's there all the same. As to phone numbers? The enabling's gonna have to happen later. She might not have her phone on her at the moment.

"So are the pajamas," Garrett counters to Ash with a smile and a wave. "Feel better, yeah?" Another smile, then he's turning back towards Sparrow. "And then there were two. Why'd you have to go and scare everyone off?" he accuses, though it's very clearly meant to be good natured. He grins at her little smug expression, working slowly through the rest of his pancakes. "Assuming there's a guitar down there I can borrow, can play that song for you after we're done eating," he offers. "You'll be amused, I promise."

"Get my number from Sparrow, and you can call! I'll listen to you read the phone book." Which are the very last words before Ash goes out the door to fall over in the privacy of her own home. Where no one else needs to watch her pathetic attempts at functionality.

Sparrow snorts at another request for playing phone number middle-man, a request she'll surely satisfy later, contact information cross-exchanged to assure all the best people can reach each other. Which is as it should be. For now, though, she levels a sidelong look at Garrett and shrugs. "Can't help that my nerd-brain's intimidating." Totally accepting that blame, due or not. At the offer to play the song this morning, she regards him more directly, grinning crookedly. "I don't play guitar," may be her way of saying there's not one down there. "Think you're gonna have to come back and get to serenading." Surely, her neighbors won't at all mind the inappropriate disruption to their day-to-day.

"A shower and change of clothes while I grab a guitar probably won't do any harm, either," Garrett muses, glancing down at himself. He looks around the area then looks back to Sparrow. "So, is being hot a requirement to live in this neighborhood, or....?" he trails off, waving first in the direction Monica departed, then the more recently departed Ash, and finally looking pointedly at Sparrow herself.

"I don't mind the morning-after scruff." Sparrow gets to her feet, collecting empty plates and glasses, then casting her own look about the empty space in it's own morning-after state. It's gonna need some attention to get back to a comfortably livable and germ-free state; question is mostly when she's gonna get to that. She angles a sly little grin toward Garrett as she starts to the kitchen. "Mhm. Totally part of the lease." Definitely a lie. "Pretty sure the only reason we got this place is cuz we were collectively way cuter than the other applicants." With a shrug of one shoulder as she starts loading the dishwasher, she notes, "Elm ain't doing bad either from what I've seen." Has he mentioned where he lives yet..?

"Hmmm, yeah, that checks out." Garrett accepts the explanation with a half-smile, rising to his feet. "Alright. I'll just go grab a guitar while you do your thing here," he says, waving at the dishes Sparrow has already begun on. "Back in a few." He moves to gives Sparrow a little hip bump and, if she doesn't move away, a quick peck on the cheek before making for the door.

Sparrow's already got her mouth open to issue protest when she's silenced with hip bump and cheek kiss, the faint frown which follows reflected so dimly in the window behind the kitchen, backlit by sunshine, that it almost certainly goes unnoticed. It's not until Garrett's almost to the door that she calls back, "I haven't got all day," in a sweet sing-song, suggestion that he should hurry... and a little untangling of whatever else is itching at her brain.

By the time he gets back, the pancakes for Alfie have been taken upstairs, the remaining blankets have all disappeared into a second load of laundry, the dishwasher is running, leftovers are put away, counters are cleaned and the recycling bin is brimming with bottles and cans from the previous night, ready to be taken to the curb. Sparrow has, too, taken a moment to wash up, fix her eyelinger, run a hand through her hair and... try not to smell too much like lemon-fresh disinfectant. She's also retrieved her phone, sitting on the couch with her attention turned to that gadget, a few text messages sent out to make sure everyone has everyone's number and folks all got home okay.

Garrett doesn't take his time. He's gone just long enough to run home, change clothes, grab a guitar and drive back. Just enough time for Sparrow to get her tasks handled, it would seem, when he knocks and enters once more. "Well hey there. We meet again," he says by way of greeting, moving to join her on the couch, settling his guitar case at his feet for the time being. "Get together was pretty fun last night. Excellent work on yours and Corey's parts, by the way."

Sparrow has enough time between Garrett's knock and his descent to finish fussing with her phone and drop it own onto the armrest, leaving her with empty hands and free attention to focus on him in full. She turns when he gets settled, bringing one knee up onto the couch to press against his hip, her bare foot lazily resting against his shin. "Yeah," she allows, like she's just now giving it some thought. "Went alright. Better than I expected, really. Felt good. Having a full house. All these wonderful people. Snoring." That gets a quiet snort. "Me and AJ kinda surveying our domain." Her smile skews soft for a second, but she doesn't linger there, refocusing on Garrett as she tells him, "I'm glad you made it."

Garrett's hand falls down to rest on the knee pressing against his hip, giving it a little squeeze. "Hopefully the neighbors get better sooner rather than later. They all looked... well, pretty bloody miserable," he says with a sympathetic look in the general direction of the neighbors' house. "Surveying your domain, hm? King and queen of the house?" He looks faintly amused at the thought, but then smiles wider. "I'm glad I made it, too. Your friends seem like a good crowd. Plus, you know, who doesn't like having their hair played with, right?"

"Yeeeeah," Sparrow draws out with a shared look over thattaway, toward the official quarantine zone, a faint frown of worry briefly creasing her features. It'll be a miracle if no one else gets sick. Sinking sideways against the back of the couch, shoulder-first, she lets her gaze dip to the hand on her knee, her fingers brushing curiously over knuckles. "Mmhmm," she confirms of her royalty, head lifting to adopt a slightly more regal cant. "I know I do," she says with a grin, in answer to his last remark. "In case you were still wondering what I like. I also like having a pretty boy at my knee. And keeping company that gets on well with the company I keep." That last strays away from more pointed flirtation, a genuine warmth edging in.

Garrett ponders this for a few moments. "I can think of far worse places to be kept," he eventually decides, using a fingertip to draw small circles on the knee in question. "You understand I might have trouble being at your knees /and/ playing with your hair, yes?" A playful grin. "I'm sure I'll figure out something." The comment about keeping good company just gets an agreeable little nod.

"I mean." Sparrow's low-lidded grin skews to the left a bit dopily. "I've been warned against underestimating you, so..." She lets that hang for a moment, one dark brow lifted up beneath her messy red bangs in lazy expectation. With an unnecessary tilt of her head, she looks to the guitar case then back to Garrett. "How inappropriate are we talking? You gonna serenade me right here?"

"Hmmm... I do like a challenge now and then," Garrett admits. His hand leaves her knee, moving up to run fingers, albeit briefly, through red, red hair. But then there's serenading to be done, and Garrett is reaching down towards his guitar case. "By Decemberists standards? Extremely inappropriate. By general standards of decency? A little, but tastefully done. We can go somewhere else if you'd like, though. You're the royalty here, remember?" He offers a little wink, opening the guitar case so he can start tuning up while Sparrow decides on a where.

Sparrow's fingers stray absently down to Garrett's hip when his hands go to the guitar, the contact kept light, noncommittal. Her gaze strays to the house, so quiet now compared to the night prior. Or even just a half hour ago. Her hand shifts to curl with more certainty about his hip as she decides, "Here's good," not expecting any interruptions but willing to risk it. And, with that, all of her attention is his again, eyebrows arched expectantly while she waits.

"Here it shall be then, your Majesty," Garrett says with a playful look Sparrow's way, situating his guitar in his lap, tuning up, humming under his breath as fiddles with tuners. Once he's satisfied with how the guitar sounds, he shifts a bit in his seat to better face his audience of one and begins to play, the chords and arrangement just overly sweet, maybe making one think there's no way this song is going to be even a little inappropriate. But then he begins to sing. "Oh, Philomena, you in a tawdry gown, lean through your window...." And so he continues, playing the entire song, shamelessly serenading Sparrow in the living room.

Sparrow proves patient while Garrett tunes, only a little restlessness expressed in the idle back-and-forth of her thumb along the outer seam of his pants. And even that is abandoned after a moment, as her elbow props against the back of the couch, hand lifted to support her head, fingers disappearing in a mess of too-red hair. When the song begins with a chord progression which might be better suited to some 1950's pop song, her brows knit with a mixture of concern and amusement which at least begins to resolve when he first sings her name. That peculiar pleasure earns a happy little sound. The first time he asks her to let him go down, down, down, her eyes go wide, head canting curiously, but it's not until the first repetition that she laughs, absolutely delighted. By the time he's done, she's still smiling wide, but the only feedback she offers is simply an, "Alright."

Sparrow's reactions to the song are contagious, and Garrett is smiling as wide as she is when he finishes. An eyebrow quirks upwards at her rather simple response at the end, though. "Didn't realize you liked the idea of me at your knees /that much/," he says softly, glancing down towards Sparrow's lap, then back up. "Sure the living room is still the best choice?" he asks, sliding down and kneeling on the floor... and turning to put his guitar back in the case. But he doesn't get back up on the couch after he's done with latches, either.

The swiftness with which color rises to Sparrow's cheek assures that Garrett's first quip hit its mark, a little shrug all she offers in actual answer, a shallow surrender to being called out. As he sinks down to the floor to put his instrument away, she shifts in her seat, bring both feet back onto the floor and scooting forward, closer, half-following. Head shaking, she tells him, "No," but that doesn't keep her from reaching over, fingers tracing down along his jaw to the side of his neck. Minor distraction before she leans in to pick up where they left off the other day, lips pressed firmly to his.

There's a shiver from Garrett at the fingers tracing along him, and there's definite interest when he looks up at Sparrow. There is, unsurprisingly, no hesitation from Garrett when she leans down, and his lips meet hers, parting beneath hers in open invitation. Hands slide up along the outside of her legs, an unrushed path up, then back down, then up again, until one leaves its exploration to move up and tangle itself in her hair, running through red locks.

Sparrow's legs shift beneath his roaming fingers, tensing as her heels lift from the ground, as knees part wider. The couch beneath her creaks quietly as she scoots forward, closer, just a couple inches away from spilling right into Garrett's lap. For the moment, though, she hovers there above him, hands taking up mirrored positions on the sides of his neck, fingertips pressing against skin, urging him to stay right here, hers for the moment, while her tongue slips past his lips to tangle with his. Mint from recent brushing overpowers any hints of banana pancakes that might have been there earlier; a telling sign, how she maybe planned for this. Above the notes of citrus-scented cleaner is something softer, sweeter, a perfume of apples and flowers and pale musk, more evidence of intention. And yet the way she leans into him seems anything but deliberate, speaking directly to impulse instead, a desire pursued without too much thought of consequence.

Garrett slides just a touch closer neck tilting back as he makes sure his lips don't lose track of Sparrow's while he moves until his body is pressed to hers as much as the positioning allows. He seems to have at least put in some effort while he was gone, since he smells like the same slightly sweet, not quite definable cologne of the other day, probably an improvement over morning-after scent. He does, eventually, separate his lips from Sparrow's, breathing in deep and smiling at the smell of her perfume, a lazy smile that gets turned upwards at Sparrow's face before he leans forward again, his lips now aiming for her neck, instead.

Sparrow breathes a happy, helpless, "Fuck," down at that all too charming smile. Her right hand strays from his pushing up into hair, taking loose hold of the back of his head to encourage that affectionate exploration as she tips her head back, pressing into his fingers. She steals a look through one doorway then the next, just in case, before dipping her head, teeth catching loosely on his jaw at an odd angle. "Kinda wanna just pin you down right here and now," has just enough frustration to it to suggest complications. With a little squirm that brings her closer still, thighs brushing his ribs, she asks, "Can we do this another night?" with a little whine in her voice.

Garrett explores, occasional nips and nibbles at the side of Sparrow's neck. Nowhere near enough to leave marks, and he's still grinning when Sparrow is talking, pulling his head away to look up at her. He raises an eyebrow at the somewhat frustrated statement, looking perhaps a touch flattered. Then comes the question, and while he can't fully disguise a hint of disappointment, that doesn't stop him from giving a small nod and reassuring smile. "No problem," he promises, leaning in and putting a quick peck on her cheek, slowly letting his fingers slip out of her hair.

Sparrow not only leans into that little kiss, but chases it, keeping close as her nose presses to his cheek. "Not that I don't wanna," is all but whispered. "Not that you aren't fucking amazing. Just... I have other things today. Things with a little more temporal relevance than all the things I wanna do to you. And I know I should've said so earlier, but you rushed out so fast, and I'm selfish and..." If there's more, she fails to find the words for it. Instead, her lips press to his cheek, lingering for a second or two before she draws back, letting him see her flushed cheeks and scrunched face.

Garrett listens patiently to the borderline-rambling explanation, looking more than a little pleased with the compliments mixed in. "Sparrow. Hey. No worries, yeah?" He playful little kiss on the tip of her scrunched up nose, then he finally moves to sit on the couch next to her, a far more neutral position than he had been in. "No rush. No doubt you've got more to worry about than making out with the bassist." A pause, then a self-deprecating grin. "There's always better things to do than make out with the bassist." He laughs softly, shaking his head. "I'm, like, a solid eighty percent sure I'm not about to get ghosted, so you don't have to keep offering explanations, I promise. Anything you need a hand with, or...?" he offers.

Sparrow's nose only scrunches further for the kiss placed upon it, but her smile goes wider to go with it. When Garrett gets up, she closes her eyes, hand pushing through her hair as she flops back, landing at an awkward angle for how far forward she's scooted on cushions. "Not always," she's quick to correct, countering with an, "Almost never," that seems unduly genuine. Like maybe she'd skip lab for that. At least once. "But yeah. You know where I live. And I kinda need you. So." Not ghosting. But she shakes her head for the offer. "Just, like. Say yes when I text you one night and tell you that I'm stealing you away for a bit? Knowing I've got that in my back pocket will definitely help."

Garrett leans back at a bit more reasonable angle, nodding a few more times as Sparrow speaks, smiling at her. "I'll absolutely do my best," he promises, leaning over for a last kiss. He lingers, but not overly long, before sitting back up. "Ever just need someone to talk to or something, don't be afraid to text, yeah?" And the he's picking up his guitar and standing. "Try to have a good day, Philomena." And unless he's stopped, he makes for the door, softly whistling 'Philomena' as he departs.

The, "Yeah," in answer to that offer has some heft to it, like there's some exposition tucked behind it that Sparrow's not getting into right now. She angles a soft--and still conflicted--smile up his way and remains akwardly pancaked on he couch when he gets up. Though he might hear her laugh for the whistling, it's not until the door opens that cushions creak beneath her, that she gets up to start tending to whatever's keeping her from making out with the bassist today.