2019-10-21 - Sushi & a Talk about Fishy Things

Some may say they clean up well. Grant only professes to clean up on the day he sets out to do so. it keeps expectations reasonable! A shower and a promise later they have sojourned out to the boardwalk for food with as much color in it as possible. Just trust them, this is important! It's autumn but not so much so that sitting outside isn't a bad idea. Sure the sky is grey but it's a super cool moody grey instead of Technicolor-doesn't-love-us grey(tm).

Sparrow does clean up rather well, even when she's dressed down. She makes sneakers, jeans and a sweatshirt look good. Today's top is black with a rectangular patch on the front with blocks of fuzzy colors patterned like an old analog television signal after the station's gone off-air for the night. It even reads OFFLINE across the front in black-on-white letters. It pairs well with her plum-colored lips, more muted than that too-red hair of hers or the black cat-eye she's penciled in. She keeps close to Grant as they head to the boardwalk, an arm slung loosely about his waist so that her head can tip to his shoulder now and then, comfortably affectionate with her Pleasantville partner. What a weird life that could've been. "Feel like you owe me a ring pop," comes out of nowhere, an idle thought while they drift closer to their destination.

Grant cannot imagine weirder than working in an office or in a button down shirt. Truly. His arm hangs around her shoulder and gives her a snug. He is, still as he was, reliably 'of the moment'. Not that anything not right in front of him doesn't matter, but he isn't going to give himself an existential crisis thinking too hard over things that are all entirely malleable. The declaration brings an easy, wide grin, "Haaaa should I? I can make that happen. Cherry? Like since I'm destined to fall madly in dessert with you." Food's important. Ask him. Finding a place outside where the water (the ever abundant coastline of water) is in range of appreciation he hands her the laminated menu and the marker. "This week's been good to me and I can eat a tiny pony. Go nuts."

"Blue raspberry'll do, too," Sparrow allows, permitting two out of three colors of the dream-breaking rocket pop. So gracious! She kisses Grant's shoulder before she slips free to take the menu and take a seat, a moment spent looking out over the water before she bothers to peruse the seaside sushi joint's specialty rolls. "Pretty sure there's no pony on the menu. Or any pony of the sea. I don't even know if you can eat seahorses. We'd probably be eating them if we could." Peeking up, she muses, "I bet they're crunchy." Beat. "Spider roll?" Softshell crab is close enough! She lists off another few rolls, favoring both sweet and spicy, before nudging the menu back to Grant, letting him handle the ordering. Her thoughts are half-elsewhere at the moment, gaze absently straying to people walking past.

Grant looks askance impressed, "Well how can I say no to a girl with taste? Blue Raspberry. Can do." He still looks over the menu and points, "At least one Las Vegas roll. I like the jalapeno slice." Looks up from teh mentu with both eyebrow popped up he gasps, "Awww nooo, not seahorses. For one more crunch than meat and for two they're like my favourite. I got to meet one the other day. It was super cute. I couldn't like bring em home though because, well, I'm not really a snork and I don't really get out too much under water so..." he stops and adds, "Rainbow roll too. Because it reminds me of you." He considers and nods, "Spider roll sounds good."

"You'd make an adorable snork," Sparrow croons to Grant, dark lashes dipping fliratiously low as if she might have a thing for guys with tubes coming out of the top of their heads. Her dark brows get a little waggle for the rainbow reference, her color palette today fitting well enough. Dropping her elbows onto the table, she leans closer and wonders, "How do you feel about aquariums?" Who knows if she means the small ones that fit in private homes or the huge ones you gotta go visit. She doesn't clarify. But at least her attention is all on him now.

Grant splits the difference, "I think it'd be badass to live in one. I used to want to break into the aquarium after dark." This is where those eyes light up and look up remembering that idea and even as he describes it the image forms for her to see so very clearly. "All the lights off, sleeping bags and all the lights on in the tanks like camping underwater- but, like, not drowning. All the blues and greens dancing with the pinks and purples like some liquid phantasm swimming with turtles." He looks back to her with a sated smile sharing, "My dad said it was, ya know, illegal. I was like it can't be if you come with me. You're a lawyer..." An eyebrow arches shaking his head with a chuckle, "Apparently it doesn't quite work that way. But pro. I'm pro aquarium."

"Used to?" Sparrow counters as if she hasn't yet ruled out that possibility, possibly prodding him toward bad ideas. No, not possibly. She starts planning. "You bring the sleeping bags, I'll bring the acid." Cuz if you're gonna be around all that color, might as well make it more colorful. "But I meant smaller ones. That you could keep at your own place with your own seahorse. Call him Starlite." With a grin, she teases, "Probably don't even need to tell your dad about that one."

Grant grins at being called out and his head swims in a slow figure 8, "Well I still do, but man, as a kid I wanted to live underwater all the time." Man at that suggestion is he getting lip wibby? he is but he's too damned impressed by this to really fall apart at the haphazardly Hallmark-ness of the moment. "That's like maybe the most damn romantic shit I can remember. Yeah. Like, yeah we're totally doing this. I'll have to see if we know of anyone who can hook u up." Awww, that's touching. Also a felony probably. Not worried about it. Water and tea show up. Menus are handed off. "Hey can I ask you a legit serious question?"

Sparrow heart-hands at Grant to maybe take a little of the emotional edge off of it, some cheese to balance out the inherent sweetness in her proposed criminality. "I mean. If we can find an inside man..." That'll limit the likelihood of getting caught, right? Either way, she doesn't seem too troubled at the prospect. Then again, her dad's not a lawyer who's had to drill her on the penalties of trespassing. She murmurs a, "Thanks," to the server for the drinks, going for the water without yet drinking, just kinda holding the glass as she studies the punk across from her. "Always," is spoken confidently, even if she might be worried about the substance on the wake of what they shared last night.

Grant watches his wonder-buddy with a quiet smile but there's little gnomes powering up his brain making thoughts happen. "How you holding up. Coming back is weird. The town is... weird. Sometimes things are a lil messed up but you ain't crazy even if you hang out with crazy people." He can poke light fun at himself. For what it is he's low-key concerned and listening. "Awww fuck YES miso soup. Awww, soup, I missed you." He moves the brought bowls in front of himself and looks back to her to check in here.

Sparrow fusses with her water glass instead of issuing any immediate answer. It's easy to say she's okay, good even, and genuinely mean it. There is so much good in her life right now. But she gets what he means and isn't about the brush off that honest inquiry with some empty answer. When he looks up, she's smiling, albeit shallowly, for his earnest appreciation of the soup, a little eyeroll preceding her answer. "I dunno," is honest if not especially helpful. "Almost everything is amazing, right? I got you, AJ, the band, my own personal fan club, art, plenty of inspiration, people who care about me, an amazing house, like. You saw that bathtub, right?" Seriously, her room is huge. "My brother's doing wha the loves. I'm close to my sister again. My grades are good, nevermind my angst over major life choices. Seriously, everything is really going right for me right now." But. It's right there in her words, unspoken, that hitch that says there's something fucking all of that up. "I don't know how I didn't see just how strange everything is. And it's all hitting hard and fast. And I've had three dreams about people I care about getting eaten up by darkness, and the fourth one I share with someone who matters to me is all black and white and--" She stops short, shrugs. "I'm glad you were next to me when I woke up. S'all."

Grant is, for as much as he is a flake, a good listener. Maybe it comes from growing up with profound hearing loss that in order to get a message it can take some effort to get the whole message. He listens; to the way she holds her water glass, to the way her posture shifts, to the hesitation before conveying the positives she has, and the bathtub that wins a wry grin and a nod (Oh yes, he saw it), and also the words and tone.

He listens to her.

The other thing about the nature of him is that as he wears his heart on his sleeve he has near zero guile. Troublesome. The response is slow and unhurried but there's a smile there. "Well, I can't say I will ever complain about you waking up on my chest like a cat. And... I'm glad I could be there for you when shit got funky." He pauses as food shows on a large rectangular plate. He doesn't move but to let the server explain which roll is which. Doesn't matter. It's all being inhaled and terrifically savored. A thanks is murmured and his hand goes out to pat at Sparrow's forearm until he can find her hand not taking his eyes off it. He whispers, "It's perfect... it's absolutely perfect. Just... look." SO much color! Is he done withthe conversation? No but this is a holy and sacred moment.

"Wait until summer comes back around, and I start shedding again," Sparrow teases quietly, half-heartedly, like she doesn't already leave red hair on his clothes to complement his own purple strands. It looks like she might have more to say about shit getting funky, but the array of sushi pulls her attention outward again. She, at least, listens attentively to the rundown, her own, "Thanks," added to his before the server stalks off. Her fingers are wet from condensation when he takes them, but there's no unease in her grip, that glad squeeze reciprocated. "Bet it tastes fucking amazing." She lifts his hand to brush a kiss to his knuckles before letting go so that she can pluck up one of the scarier pieces of the spider roll with the softshell crab legs peeking out. She gives it a little bounce, watching those fried limbs flop, and giggles. Then it's into her mouth in one large, happy bite, crunching contentedly.

Grant hmmmms quietly and gives the hand one more squeeze. It's us vs. this food. We got this. "To quote someone smarter than I, "Some days I feel everything at once. Other days I feel nothing at all. I don't know what's worse: Drowning beneath the waves, or dying from the thirst"" he pauses and looks to her with a faint grin making the decision, "I choose drown in fish." He lets the thoughts sit in quiet and food and takes the moment to savor the right reds and saffrons.

"You know me, Bax," comes before Sparrow's swallowed everything, a little muffled. It's a second or three before she follows up, telling him, "I'll drown myself in something new every day," as she plucks up a piece with a green sliver of jalepeno. "And then keep coming back to the same pretty pools over and over." Given the grin she flashes his way, there's a good chance that's meant as flirtation despite her tone. "But I'm seriously not sure it's not better to just never dream if my dreams can fuck other people up." Nomnomnom.

Grant nods in slow emphasis and asks, "Well they were good enough the first time. And how can you improve at something without sticking to it? Beside what two acid trips are really alike. Like one of them kalidescopes? Ya gotta enjoy the view before the dial moves." Eyebrows waggle, pause and then furrow. He chews his piece of the rainbow roll while tapping the ceramic plate that reads 'Oiishi in Hiragana on it. "Hmmm now don't get me wrong, buuuut like I fucking love every damn dream with you in it maaaaybe you consider you're sucked into someone else's? Sometimes there's just like... stuff on the other side of things like a primordial medium and you're not the only one sticking your brush in it." Sliding a glance to her letting her soak in that thought he asks related, not, and both, "You ever wonder if the picture lives in your head and becomes canvas, or if the canvas holds the picture and we just summon it to the surface with a brush? Sometimes the dreams? Eeeeh ain't our fault. It's trippy but like any trip? like we gotta kinda take care of ourselves or find someone to help."

Yeah. He really does know her. Sparrow's smile goes all warm for the opening analogy, even if her chewing skews its shape a little, her affection for the food-loving punk across from her easily read. When he talks about dreams, plural, with her in them, that soft smile edges left, sharpening into a grin with an obvious question behind it. Exactly how often does he dream about her? But the grin's tragically short-lived, the question unasked, because he's hitting on less pleasant notes. She doesn't take up another roll, even as she keeps quiet on the wake of Grant's words, taking a long, still moment to digest all of that. "You sound like another friend of mine. Told me I gotta share responsibility, that we need to look after each other. And I get it. I do." Does she? "But I know the difference between what I see in the world and what I make of it. I know what's mine. Last night... wasn't. It didn't itch the same way. It didn't end the same way. But whatever. That's not the point." The little furrow between her eyebrows might make one wonder if she knows what her point actually is. And then it resolves: found it. Looking Grant in the eyes, she asks, "You ever share a dream with someone without it going awful or uncomfortable or anything? Where it was just nice?"

Grant listens, but eats. The best part about ASL is you can absolutely talk while chewing and it's never, ever rude. The question ends, taking in the sour noes of distress with the anticipation of anxiousness. "Oh shit yeah. One time not long ago we were under the water and there was this mermaid crying and we had to help her get her stuff back. I got to ride on this seahorse that glowed like damn starlight. It was so far out. The ocean looked like space a bit like that. "

His face lights up like he's talking about third desert, "This other time I went into the Firefly Forest, and there was a glowing deer and I sat and ate lunch with her and named all the stars. Made some new constellations out of fireflies. Like this side there's lie... good and bad things. Doesn't mean it's all terrible but I'm not going to like... go walk aimlessly around Newark after dark aimlessly . Plenty of places here that're fucked up. We jsut got used to it and learned to navigate it."

Sparrow takes some comfort in that answer, clearly, the way her smile goes all fond again as she listens to Grant, how she starts eating again, plucking up a piece of that rainbow roll. He might catch a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes which goes unvoiced as she instead counters, "But if my boyfriend got kidnapped the first time we went to Newark, and I found him hours later doubled over in the dark in his own vomit?" Her brows lift till they're nearly hidden by her bangs. "Chances are, I'm not going to Newark again. But it's not like I can just choose not to visit. Not unless I'm hitting the caffeine as hard as AJ--" Alfie James Robertson, she means. The boy genius she frequently claimed as lab partner in middle school and early high school, before he went weird and disappeared. "--has been. He's barely sleeping anymore, and I'm stuck watching, waiting for it to catch up with him. Trying to figure out what I gotta do when that happens. But we're in this together, right? Not just me looking after everyone?" She smirks flatly, not buying that. But it skews apologetic promptly thereafter. "Sorry. I wanna buy into how nice it could all be, but that's just not what I've seen. Even last night itched in its own way. It all itches, Bax."

Grant arches an eyebrow and says all too casually like he's trying to locate something for her on premium adds, "Babydoll, you can leave your boyfriend with me and get the same result. Drinking games are not child's play, my friend. Nooo indeedy." The story though, and that fear from that place of love and feeling helpless? That shit is real. He pauses and gets that thoughtful look. He doesn't hunt words and find them immediately but offers a hand to her, palm up.

"I dunno if you remember my ma. it was like a long fucking time ago. There was just a lot of shit she couldn't handle and took off. A lot of people can't handle it and the ones that say they can are either stoned or stupid lemme tell you. Like Emory Wood said, ya gotta ride it out and do your best like any other day. What I can tell you is... like real life? It sucks and it's like... no less real in its own way. I also know you have never been the girl to sit and just let things happen. We're resourceful. We want something? We get it. We make it. We make shit happen. Learn to understand the medium and how itmoves and how it works and you'll find your own way to paint with it. Maybe with a brush or maybe you get naked and trip on some LSD and paint withthe bark of a sacred birch? I dunno. When you like... when you find your groofe you can start painting against it to direct it."

This wasn't coming out the way he wanted to and his head tilts, pink hair flopping to one side, "I don't have all the answers, just like... trying to sort of get it and work with shit. But if you can imagine someone's spilling paint down a wall but you take a brush to it and change how it flows and turn a leak or a stain into something of your design instead of jsut letting things happen. That... that's kinda how I see it I guess."

Sparrow accepts the offered hand without hesitation, that contact soft at first, but quick to squeeze, to hold. Despite the distraction of tasty food, of passing crowds, of music somewhere farther down the boardwalk and waves crashing against the shore, she doesn't take her eyes off of Grant, not once. Some of what he says seems to make some sort of sense, even if she doesn't say anything about it, ideas tucked away, analogies understood. When he's done? There are a few questions kicking about in her head, but there's one that seems to merit immediate asking: "Can you go there on purpose? Could we, together?"

Grant squeezes the hand back with that and really considers this. He doesn't want to give her a BS answer but equally difficult is sorting out what is real and fabrication some days. He hesitates and ways "Yeeees?" And after he's sorted it out a more firm, "Yes. My roomie, Greg? He can hook us up but also get us back. Me? Eeeeh not so much. Some people have kinda poked at the... whatever it is to make thing prettier. I mean I guess not a lot different than using flammable stuff. Just don't smoke while you paint."

Sparrow's empty hand flutters somewhere in that explanation. "The drugs are easy." Was that what he meant? "Not that I'll say no to another hook-up. But--" That wasn't entirely what she was getting at. It's not where she means to stop. "And I don't know that I care about pretty. Not here. Not... not for this. Just... you." Which gives her pause, a crooked grin forming. "Not that you're not plenty pretty. I just trust you. And you get me. And get this stuff on some level I don't yet. So, fine, right. If I wanna test this metaphor, I wanna be there with you. Anchored. Safe." With another nod, "And if your friend can get us out if shit goes sideways?" Even better, definitely. She pulls his hand up to her lips again, kissing at his knuckles before letting go so she can go back to eating. "You're fucking beautiful, Bax."