2019-10-21 - The Wrong Kind of Introduction

Coffee's already brewing downstairs on a gloomy Sunday morning. A purple-haired blanket monster ambles sleepily up the stairs in pursuit of a shower after coming in from the front porch with Sparrow, Grant's identity not entirely difficult to discern given that he'd crashed here last night after conking out with her on the couch while binging movies. The redhead in a black sweatshirt, rainbow plaid pajama pants and bare feet carries three mugs, a suggestion that they'd been talking with someone else who has since departed. Someone who might be sick given how quickly she sets to scrubbing all the mugs down before bothering to refill her own. Just in case. Let's hope her flu shot continues to hold.

Up pretty much at the crack of dawn every day during the week, the weekend is rarely different. So it is that Corey has been out in the back yard tending to his many growing vegetables and fruits, coming back in just as Sparrow is heading into the kitchen, wearing shorts but barefoot and shirtless. His hands and arms are muddy, and he meanders over to where his twin is scrubbing mugs, affectionately reaching out to smudge dirt on her cheek as he waits for her to be done with the sink. "Morning Phil," he greets, his voice cheerfully sing-song.

"Aren't you cold?" Sparrow asks of her brother, the morning a little bit chilly and damp with a promise of rain in the future. An, "Ergh!" follows as she whips her hand around to let the sponge fling sudsy water in Corey's direction right before her shoulder goes up to wipe at the dirt on her cheek. "Brat," is said affectionately. It only takes her a couple seconds to finish rinsing out the mugs and pluck up her own, heading to the coffee machine for a refill. "Met the homicide detective who lives two doors down. Detective Gabe." Sure, he gave his last name. This is what she remembers. "Real nice guy. Cute. Assures me that our serial killer problem is pretty much handled, so we're back to normal small town strange levels of danger again. Which is not at all comforting given how I actually met him." As she turns to lean against the counter once her coffee's doctored, she asks her twin, "You up for some strange?"

Accepting the splash of sudsy water with a cheerful grin, Corey reaches down into the sink to wash his hands and arms once Sparrow is done scrubbing viruses from the china, then drying his hands off on a nearby kitchen towel. "Nah, I don't really feel the cold," he admits, a skill he's picked up since living in Canada over their winter. "Yeah? Good to hear. Though.. how did you meet him?" he wonders, then nods slowly at the mention of strange. "I guess?"

Sparrow makes a face at the expected question, the one she was probably hoping Corey would ask. It doesn't make it any easier. "In a dream." She sips at her coffee before continuing, watching to see how he takes that. "Bax and I woke up on the couch, looking like something out of a fifties' sitcom. Whole world had gone greyscale. And we were married and knew all our neighbors and everything was just so perfect and pleasant and bland. And Gabe was there. And Lyric. Remember her? She was a year ahead. Runa's class. Astrid was there with some boy who couldn't stop blushing. And there was this panicked redhead and a guy I've never seen before. And Elias Weber who I hope to see again. Very pretty." Reciting the cast is way easier than going into any other details, her tone a little more casual as she goes on. "And we all got rocket pops and upset the Good Humor guy and riled up the neighbors, and I'm painting the porch posts to--" She pauses, considering. "I dunno. Ward off Pleasantville, I guess. Fight the blah. And the blackness. Fucking done with dreams going all black on me."

There's a slow blink as Sparrow outlines her dream and who was in it, the chef dumping off the towel to one side and standing with hands on hips, just... well, staring a bit. "Sounds creepy, but.. nothing came to get you? It wasn't a bad dream?" he asks curiously, before heading to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice, pouring a glass for himself and putting it back. "I mean, that doesn't sound so bad. Kinda glad to know we've got a cop living on Oak though."

"I don't know if I know how to tell," Sparrow answers honestly, quietly, like she's been thinking about this point all morning and hasn't come to any useful conclusions. "I mean. No blackness rose up and swallowed anyone? But the harder we pushed against the normalcy, the tenser it got. Definitely started feeling a bit fight-or-flight, and I was ready for a fucking throwdown, but Pleasantville turned tail and left us alone." She stares at her coffee for a second before looking up at her brother. "Do you think there are good dreams like that? Shared? I'm not sure there is. And last night's didn't convince me. Jens says there's..." There's that faintly sour face again. "Something. Someone. Them. Some they that does this to us, and we need to figure out how to stand together and fight this bullshit and keep each other safe, and that feels way more right than all that niceness last night."

Shaking his head slightly, Corey meanders on through to the lounge, assuming Sparrow will follow, and then slouching down onto a couch. "I don't know. From what I've been told, they come when we use our.. whatever they're called. Magic, or whatever. But they also like it when we're afraid, angry, filled with rage or hatred." He sips from his OJ. "So the more we use that stuff the more they find us, I guess? And they, whoever they are, are little fucking shits."

Sparrow does, indeed, follow, her pace unhurried. She plunks down sideways some short distance from her brother, one knee drawn onto cushions, dirty foot tucked beneath the other. "Yeah," comes quietly. "That's what Jens said. They feed on our bad feels. And it seems kinda self-perpetuating." The more this happens, the worse she feels about it. "Got plenty to be happy about, but even I can't be all sunshine all the time." And that's just the beginning of her worries. Frowning, she wonders, "How've you been holding up?"

The boytwin makes a so-so gesture with his free hand. "Honestly? Trying not to think of it much," Corey admits. "Though I did reach out to Lils. She's doing ok." He takes another sip from his orange juice. "Are next door all over that flu now? I assume Jens got it as well?" he asks, head tilting a little bit. "Oh, Alexander brought over a shit-ton of veggies and stuff, so we've got enough ratatouille for like a week. For all of us. And some spare."

"Yeah," Sparrow confirms of both flu-related questions at once. "Jens was well enough to come by and help me reclaim the basement before I kidnapped our sister." Flashing a smile, she detours briefly to tell him, "Which was awesome, by the way." Then back on track, she picks up, "Even if it interrupted my progress. I've got an idea. From Jens. I know what I wanna do now. It's just... finalizing the design." Right now, it's all yellow with pencil-drawn lines, a promise of billboards and doors as-yet-unrealized. With a glance toward the front of the house, she explains, "Bax is taking me out for sushi. But I'm sure that'll get me through the week. This semester's fucking killing me. Everyone's expecting Summer Fun Sparrow, and I'm all Can't We Just Nap Sparrow lately." Which gets a crinkle of her nose. "Who's Alexander?"

"You'll get to Kicking Leaf Piles Sparrow soon enough, Mena," Corey promises quietly, setting his orange juice aside and reaching over to tug his twin into a hug. "Glad you've got some inspiration - this is forthe basement, right?." Pause. "Oh, you promised you'd show me that, too. I haven't been down there without you, obvs." And true, he probably hasn't. He's good like that. "What do you want beyond sushi?"

Sparrow's coffee-holding arm swings out to the side, toward safety, as she's drawn into a hug, the mug pulled back in once movement has stilled, once her head is on Corey's shoulder. "Is a week's worth of ratatouille not enough?" she wonders. "Or did you mean from Bax? Cuz I'm kinda waiting for him to take me out on a boat." But she knows that's not at all what he meant. "Gimme a little time on the basement. I'll show you when I'm done. I mean, you're not forbidden or anything. Just not a lot to see right now besides all the yellow and Garrett's monster amp. I've got more ideas than time to get 'em out of my head right now, and I'm seriously considering taking up a meth habit to handle it." No, no, she really isn't. Caffeine will do. Sip.

"Alexander Clayton is.. I'unno. A twitcher, I guess. The kind of guy who looks into all this weird shit. Paranoid as fuck, but he likes my cooking," Corey explains a little belatedly, dipping his head to rest his cheek against Sparrow's offensively bright red hair. "He's the guy I delivered a croque madame to, in hospital, that time. Good people. Knows about all the crazy stuff." Presumably, where he got what little he knows about them. A slight nod follows her basement comments. "Sure. Not going down there 'til it's done, anyway. I've got no need to," he promises. "And, no meth. Not 'til classes finish for Christmas, anyway."

Video games? That's definitely where Sparrow's weekly-raider brain goes when Corey defines the guy as a 'twitcher.' When it turns out he's not streaming geekery on the internet but is, instead, just twitchy, she makes a face at no one in particular. It's not like Corey can see her confusion from here. "Ah," doesn't sound like she really gets it. Easier to point out, "I'm the chemist," in regards to the meth... before promptly circling back. "Been meaning to get together with Alfie and Garrett and one of G's friends to talk about these dreams and the Veil and whatever. Maybe you should do the same with your side and then we can, I dunno, reconvene? Compare notes? Decide if we need to start up some--" But there are wet footsteps slapping through the hall upstairs, causing a little hitch in her thought, inspiring her to straighten. Sounds like Grant's about ready to go, and she's not even dressed yet. "I dunno. We'll figure it out. I'mma go let a broke boy spoil me best he can. You need anything, hon?"

"Yeah, I know, but still. I'm pretty sure making meth doesn't get you extra credit," Corey replies, his tone amused. She can probably hear him smiling. "Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Any specific questions you want me to try and get answers to? Other than who they are, because I'm pretty sure that doesn't have an answer," he then prompts, lifting his head so she can straighten, nodding to her latter comment. "Sure, grab some eggs if you go past a shop. No worries if you don't, I can get them later."

Sparrow gives that question some thought on her way to the kitchen to dump out what's left of her coffee, to rinse out her mug. When she's back into easier conversational range, she poses, "Maybe how to stop getting the weird shared dreams. Or if there's any confirmation that some of them are good and innocuous, cuz I don't think any of mine have been. And how to get out of them if you know you're in one." Dream defense is clearly the redhead's number one priority. She'll see about the eggs, but for now, she's off, heading upstairs to get dressed. On her way, she calls back, "Bet I could get some extra credit for meth!" Let's hope she doesn't try.