2019-11-08 - What's Your Sign

Gray, rolling clouds loom in the sky, with a drizzle of rain that makes anywhere indoors an inviting prospect. Perched at the bar on one of the stools, Yule is canted to the side to both create a more open invitation from the main room and also to let him better watch. He's dressed in a pair of dark grey jeans, black ankle high boots. His shirt is an off white button up, the top one left undone, and the sleeves rolled up to hid forearm, the folded back cuffs revealing an inner white and black checkered pattern.

Set before him, and yet untouched, is a glass with two fingers of whiskey. He sits atop the dark navy blue jacket he brought in with him. Held in his hands, folded up, is an actual, real living, old school news paper, though he gives it only a sparing glance.

Sparrow exists in perpetual defiance of the all too common greyness of Gray Harbor. Even when she's wearing a black sweatshirt, blue jeans and comfortable old sneakers, it's all still in vibrant color from the rainbow of vertical lines down the front of her hoodie to the sparkly green shoelaces to her neon red hair, currently a bit damp as she makes her way in. Without much care for how messy it's gonna leave her tresses, a hand pushes through her hair and gives it a good shake, getting out some of the excess rain, but it doesn't do all that much beyond giving it some carelessly touseled body. It doesn't look as cool as it might in a movie where some off-screen stylist pops in to tweak the details between shots.

When she makes her way to the bar and thoughtlessly plunks herself down on a stool next to the stranger, more color becomes a little easier to catch: flecks of paint in both dark and vibrant shades caught in the creases of knuckles and under fingernails. "Still have the White Ghost on tap?" is answered in the affirmative from the bartender, already heading to pour even as she nods. Shamelessly, the redhead peeks at the paper Yule's reading, like it's there for her, too.

It's really just people watching that Yule has intended to do while enjoying his drink. At first, the medical examiner just peeks over the top of his paper when movement is caught, but what had meant to be a glance turns into a longer look that is just on the polite side of not staring given the vivid splash of color that makes up Sparrow. Those headlines? They are drab and dark, of the murders that still have the police baffled, coupled with the weather forecast that is no surprise: gray, miserable, and wet.

But that's not what Yule offers up as to what he sees, "Your horoscope says," One corner of his mouth tucks upwards into a smile towards the woman as he catches her peeking at those pages, "that the Halloween spirit of those around you is going to last longer than normal this year, and you'll benefit in your choice of drink." Hardly fortune telling, given the fact he caught the quick response of the bartender to her request.

Sparrow's black brows pitch promptly upward toward her red, red bangs at the mention of her horoscope. Did he mean hers? She means to find out! She turns a bright, interested smile toward Yule, quite suddenly the recipient of the full weight of her attention. And laughter, half-snorted and pleased. "I feel like I would really be missing a big opportunity if I didn't ask what it says about my love life while I--Oh." There's her beer, appropriately pale, attention straying thattaway. "Thanks!" And then back. "Find myself getting my fortune told by a handsome stranger on the other side of a newspaper, but." She sips her beer, eyes half-lidding for a second in approval. "The more pressing question is how you knew which sign to check." The way her eyes widen to feign being spooked? Yeah, she's not serious.

There is a rather interested look cast towards her choice, Yule the sort that is always on the look out for potential new drinks to try. It's that laughter that brings his focus back towards the woman, a charming smile cast her way. "Your love life? Why it says that you'll lose yourself and go over the top with something concerning a certain person, but not to overdo it." His thumb presses down on the weather section, and he has an answer at the ready for that mock question, "Elementary, my dear companion in booze. I just looked at the one that fit. You have no need to 'step outside your comfort zone of shyness', nor do I see any 'younger, vivacious people who might become your newest romance'. Simple." As simple as making it up out of thin air, that is.

Sparrow's teeth catch on her bottom lip--that color muted, painted a subtle red by comparison to the rest of the shades she wears--at the advice offered. Like she might already be guilty. Or will be very soon. No helping it. She draws out her, "Aaaand," until it spills into a brief chuckle. "I've got overdoing it written all over me. Fair." Again, her smile goes wide, though there seems a softness to it this time, maybe a touch of self-awareness now that the bullshitting's hit its mark so well. That expression mellows a little with the interruption of a bit more beer-sipping, with the interjection of some curiosity as she considers the man on the other side of the paper. Left eyebrow edging upward all on its lonesome, she wonders, "Don't suppose the stars have you on the look out for someone young and colorful?"

Warm laughter comes from Yule at that, his elbow proping up against the bar in a lazy lean as he gets more comfortable, showing he'll be settling into the conversation offered up. "You do. But you wear it well." It's the paper that is flipped over at her question, though he doesn't glance down at it, for those brown eyes are fixated upon the red head, his smile soft but still present none the less. "I make it a policy never to read my own horoscope. Let's you ignore the bits you don't want." But that isn't the end of it as his hand tilts, bringing the newspaper around to offer to her to take up. "If you want to try your luck in figuring out what my sign is." It's that tumbler of whiskey he finally reaches out for while he watches to see what she does, lifting it up to take a sip.

Sparrow's shoulders lift and twist in a cute little shrug in modest acceptance of the offered compliment, but a quietly chiding tsk follows for Yule's thoughts about reading one's own personal horoscopes. "Certainly easier to ignore what you're ignorant to, but kinda kills the thrill of defiance." Beat. "Or the excitement of leaning into the parts you do like." Yeah, she's got gemini written all over her. Why pick a side when you can be both? When the challenge is laid down, she straightens a little and shifts in her seat, turning on her stool to face the stranger more directly and properly look him over. Now that she's been given some sort of invitation. Her focus falls first on the whiskey, finger extending from her pint glass to point as she asks, "How did you order that?" with some degree of seriousness.

A soft 'mmm' comes from the man, that glass kept in hand but not swallowed from as he listens to her point of view. "I find the thrill in turning my stars over to someone else to read. But maybe that's just because I don't get a lot of social interaction in my job." There's a touch of morbid humor to the thought for whatever reason, but his focus soon turns to his own drink when she points it out. Up one dark brow arches, and there is a quirk of his mouth, a twitch that shows he has some humorous thought in retort, but he manages to swallow it. Just barely. Instead, he lets himself match that bit of seriousness, "Neat. Top shelf. Two fingers. The first thing I did when I arrived and came straight to the bar."

The left corner of Sparrow's lips edge up a little higher at that first line, even as her chin dips shallowly in subtle, silent concession. The remark about his job is met with curiosity, but the detail is filed away, a point to consider as she navigates the zodiac to find where Yule might fit. Just like that amusement and restraint. "And is it bourbon, rye, scotch or irish?" Like this might have some bearing on her investigation. Not that he's given opportunity to answer immediately as the interrogation all comes out together once the first question is met so well. "Are you afraid of death? Do you know when to stop, as a general rule? Philosophy or fucking? Aaaaand rate your own hotness, one to ten." Her gaze angles upward for a moment as she considers whether there ought to be anything more, but nothing follows, the star-speaker sufficiently satisfied that she cna return to her drink as she observes.

His head tips a bit as he watches her initial reaction, a touch of pleasure found when her concession, muted as it is, is given. A few strands of his hair fall from behind an ear, and that mouth opens, ready to answer her initial question, only to find it followed by so many more. Instead of speaking, it's another sip of his drink that he takes, but one can see those brown eyes checking off his answer, one after the other, until she's finished. "Scotch. No. Yes." The first three are ticked off in lazy succession, needing no more elaboration than that. "Both. A woman had better be able to hold interesting pillow conversation. Nine. I plan to age gracefully, so I have to leave myself some room to grow into." They all come easily enough to be sincere and believed, but so too is there mischief along with it, clearly amused with this particular line of questioning.

There is some kind of rule about going to your place of work to drink, which might be how Ash ends up at the Pourhouse instead of at TIBS. Maybe. Or she's looking for a change of pace.

Or she was just by the place.

No matter the actual reasons behind it, Ash wanders through the door with a grey cable knit sweater dress, leggings, and boots, a black backpack slung over her shoulder and her phone out in her hand. The phone seems to be very interesting, judging by the focus she's giving the little screen.

"I like you," precedes any feedback relevant to the actual inquiry, spoken rather matter-of-factly. It's a sufficiently significant finding by Sparrow's measure. "Confident. Willing to initiate. Insightful. Clever. Discerning. Opinionated." Her pint glass gets a little wobble as she considers the remaining list of descriptors running through her head and opts to leave them unvoiced, instead sharing her conclusion: "Aries." Her brows bump up, a little wiggle to demonstrate her own confidence. She's sure of it. Or good at making it look like she is. She sells it with a little feigned disinterest, gaze skirting towards the door as someone new enters. Except, well, that does catch her interest, grin growing as her head tips. She should probably say hi, shouldn't she? Nah, she just watches, certain she'll be easy enough to spot over at the bar with the (almost certainly correctly) self-described nine to whom her focus returns.

That litany of attributes she places upon him is listened to in good humor, and each one has that smile growing a bit more into its full self. "Good," comes his approval of her conclusion. "I appreciate the bold, the colorful, and the inquisitive, and you? Are all three." Those brown eyes don't immediately follow whatever has caught Sparrow's attention when she looks away, and it's only the blossom of her grin that finally draws his curiosity to focus upon Ash, studying the woman even as a a brief burst of laughter comes from him as his sign is pinned down. Up a hand lifts as if swearing an oath, "Guilty as charged. That still leaves the question about what the stars hold for me." His head swivels back, one dark brow arching upwards in pointed interest while he takes another sip of that whiskey.

Sparrow is hard to miss, but Ash isn't looking either. In fact, she stands there about three steps from the door, doing something on her phone for a little while. Probably pissing off anyone that wants to come and go through that spot in the room. Then she moves, unrooting herself from where she'd been standing and heading towards the bar, angling herself towards where Sparrow and Yule are sitting once she spots the very spotable Sparrow.

"Fuck if I know," Sparrow croons to that curiosity, that wide smile of hers seeming so smug in her denial. "I read cards, not stars." Nevermind her more-than-passing familiarity with the zodiac. Minor detail. Teeth catch on her lip again as she studies Yule, gears turning behind her bright brown eyes like she might be able to simply read him. But no, no. Instead, she flicks a quick look toward the approaching Ash then looks back to her drinking companion. "But how about we see what she--" Cue finger extended from glass again to point toward the leggy blonde. "--orders and I'll tell ya what I see." Her eyebrows express the question better than her tone, still lifted when she turns to Ash to call, "Heya, Legs. Fancy meeting you here," with a tip of her head toward the bar to express invitation. "I'd introduce you to my gorgeous friend, but I've been too busy getting to know him to ask his name." Which inspires a quieter offer of her own in an aside to Yule. "Sparrow. Charmed."

Up those eyes of the man roll as Sparrow casts his fate to the unknown winds, but it's his smile, momentarily deep, that offers the truth of his amusement to the bright red head. "And all I brought was my newspaper. I'll have to be better prepared, next time." It's the last of his scotch that is polished off, but rather than put it back down on the bar immediately for another, he keeps ahold of it. Sparrow's voicing recognition has his attention drawn back to Ash, and a dip of his head comes, though once a name is given? He leans over closer towards the inquisitive one to return the favor. "Yule. Intrigued." He considers the thought for a moment, and then it's to the blonde that he looks, that bemusement still settled easily on his relaxed features. "Sure. What is it you are drinking tonight?"

"You're supposed to get their names first, and ask who they are there for, before you get into the car with them." Ash points out cheerfully as she slides her backpack off her shoulder, tossing it onto the floor next to the empty stool, "Hi." She offers brightly to Yule, however, and skips the introductions part all on her own. "What am I drinking? Oh, well.." She takes a deep breath, then glances at Sparrow, her nose wrinkling upwards before she glances at Yule, "First question before I answer that, you buying?"

Sparrow's curiosity catches on that name, another odd one, drawing a touch of warmth to her expression just before her face scrunches up playfully in answer to Ash's teasing. "Always get that backwards," is muttered low enough to sound like a mental note to herself, but loud enough to assure that it isn't. She turns a bit on her stool to better engage with the both of 'em, but she neither explains the game nor speaks for Yule's wallet--such restraint--despite the opportunity to do so, instead enjoying her beer while she watches and waits.

"I refuse to answer that under the pretense it might well affect my daily fate." Comes Yule's quip to Ash when she asks if he's paying, a charming smile flashed her way. "You'll just have to order what you want, and see what happens." His own whiskey tumbler goes upside down as he plants it upon the bar, his elbow resting upon that smooth top while those brown eyes shift to Sparrow, catching that reaction to his name, and the timing of introductions. "Good thing you didn't, though. It may well have led you down the wrong path to the right sign."

"No can do, Mister Man. What I want and what I can afford are diametrically opposed, so..." Ash shrugs her shoulders a bit at Yule, then she reaches a hand out towards Sparrow to drop her hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze and a not-at-all-quietly murmured, "S'ok, sweetie. I'm here to look out for you now, you don't have to get into cars with strange men." Which is perfect timing considering the bartender rolls around and she leans forward onto the bar, forearms resting on it before she smiles, "So. I'll have a tequila honeysuckle and a spaten optimator, por favor." Once the order is placed she pays cash for the drinks right away, plus a tip, then glances back towards the other two, "So what're you two up to?"

"No," Sparrow counters confidently to Yule at that last remark, the pleased smile she'd been wearing for how invested he is in this bit of fortunetelling only growing for his guess. "I know fire when I see it." A reference to his cold name, pointedly ignoring the fact that sagittarius presses right up against winter solstice, fire in December. She tilts in toward Ash at that contact, lips parting to quip a response that she curbs when the bartender approaches. Brows arch high enough to nearly disappear beneath her bangs at that order, gaze going distant as thoughts turn inward.

When she refocuses, it's to set her beer down and hold up a single finger to beg a moment of Ash rather than answer the question. This may be a show-don't-tell moment. Focusing her attention on Yule, she points to his empty glass first. "Let's start with the familiar. Two fingers of scotch, tasting of the earth and colored like coins." One shoulder shrugs up as she tells him it means, "Sex," before moving onto her own. "The unfamiliar. Two cups in a pint, though this is more likely air, ephemeral, my tasty White Ghost." She flashes a crooked grin, appreciative. "Verbal connection to go with the carnal. Philosophy to go with the fucking." Is that a touch of arrogance creeping into her grin? Maybe just a little. But then her attention is turning to Ash whose beer comes up before her cocktail, the latter taking a minute to prepare. "The unknown. Too much to be minor. A mix of elements. We'll call her Temperance and--" She breathes a quiet laugh, head dipping with some suggestion of self-awareness. "--try not to overdo it."

Sparrow studies Yule for just a second or two then turns her crooked smile to Ash and explains, sort of, "He told me what the stars held for me. Just returning the favor." With a curious cant of her head, she wonders, "Did you, uhm, get that gift I sent you by any chance?"

"Guess I bought that bag of lime and shovel for nothing." Yule offers up with brief morbid humor as Ash comes to Sparrow's rescue, saving her from the grizzly fate she surely would have suffered in a car ride with him. There's no apology from Yule for that conflict of interests between want and means, though he does cast a careful ear to listen to that particular order. Yet he'd said intrigued when he'd introduced himself, and now? That is every bit the look that crosses his features, leaning in a touch as he listens to the fine threads of quick witted make believe that Sparrow spins so well.

It's another small burst of laughter that greets her at the end of it, his head just shaking back and fourth, his left hand lifting to drag through his hair to tug a few locks that had fallen further onto his face as he glances to Ash. "She always have an answer - and question - for everything?" Those brown eyes go back to Sparrow, the focus upon that brilliant red head, and just as his mouth parts with something that creates delight on his features? His phone dings, the buzz in his pants drawing his attention. Out that device is fished, and all it takes is a quick glance towards it for him to know precisely the source.

"Duty calls. And work? Always makes a stink if I avoid it." For whatever reason, that thought has that morbid sounding humor back to it, and whatever thought he had is refocused as he slides out of his stool. "Knowing my luck? My stars are speaking about my professional life, rather than my personal."

"Not sure I get what you're doing, but pretty sure everything I ordered had alcohol in it." Ash suddenly looks very concerned about it, too. Just to be sure that she actually didn't forget to get alcohol she reaches for the beer to take a sip from it, eyes glancing upwards as she thinks, swishing it around in her mouth before she nods, "Yep. Alcohol." She sets the beer back down on the bar before she turns around to lean her side against the bar, "But okay, I'll bite...what temperence and unknown and stuff are we talking about."

One hand reaches up to slide over her head, indicating that the reality is, everything that just happened flew right over her head. Except, "I like sex. Are we doing sex now?" When asked if Sparrow always has an answer, and a question, she wobbles the hand in the air, "Maybe. Sometimes. No. Always." She nods in agreement before she pauses, then glances at Sparrow, "What gift?"

Sparrow delights in Yule's laughter, her pride softened by the touch of color that's risen to her cheeks, a vestige of that earlier callout creeping into her own reading. She echoes Ash's, "Always," as if the other three words hadn't preceded it, following with a, "Soon," for the blonde, without any qualifier. Gift? Sex? Explanation? Who knows. With Mr. Might-Be-Murderer taking off for the night, his phone in hand, she tells him, "I'mma give you my number, and we're gonna do this again," with just enough of a rise at the end to suggest invitation rather than instruction.

Looking back to Ash, she explains, "You are the good sense I don't possess, gorgeous," the evening's Temperance. "And I'll make sure to call the delivery service and expedite. If you didn't get it yet." The unspecified gift, the question about its content as-yet-unanswered.

That phone is just about to be stowed away before Sparrow's words are spoken, and this has those brown eyes lifting up to study her. It's a gap of a couple of seconds before a soft snort of mirth comes from him. A couple presses of his thumb, and it's a new contact that is created, the device flipped around to let her take and enter into it. "You," He looks to Ash after Sparrow explains her role in this evenings reading. "have a very difficult job tonight." Of this, Yule is certain.

So to does his pull out his wallet, and first enough cash is pulled out to pay for his whiskey and a tip. Then? More bills are pulled out, and put in a pile closer towards the two women, enough to pay for their drinks and a tip, leaving it to them if they want to pocket it, or enjoy another round. "Bring your cards next time. And I swear, if it's a Christmas Card you bring?" It's a devious look he flashes to her, that grin etched on his features. "I'm going to change my answer about knowing when to stop."

And with that, he grabs his coat from the stool, tosses it on, and picks back his phone up, presumably with a number now safely stowed away into it. "Enjoy your night Sparrow, Legs. It's been," A beat of a pause. "Plesantly unexpected."

"I'm pretty sure that I'm the last person to keep someone from misbehaving, and she knows it." Ash points out with a shake of her head, one hand reaching over to pet at Sparrow's hair, "She's just setting us both up for a dramatic failure, which is fine. I'll forgive her because she's cute, and a good kisser."

Speaking of not being the best choice to keep people out of trouble, she just smiles brightly at Yule, "You should try sometime." Then she glances towards Sparrow, faux-whispering, "He's not bad for an old guy."

Sparrow murmurs a soft, "Thank you," to Yule as he complies, as she takes his phone and dutifully enters her name--Sparrow Jones--and number. Before handing the device back, she snaps a quick selfie, certain that wide-smiling, neon-haired mug of hers is more memorable that her fluttery name all on its own. Hand emptied, she crosses her heart--well, the center of her chest--in a solemn vow not to go with the easy joke, even if there had been an unhealthy twinge of curiosity at the threat of that switched up answer. She looks like she's going to say something, but the fingers in her hair rather happily distract her, eyes lulling shut as she tips toward that touch. It's almost certainly for the best. "Unexpectedly pleasant," is the safer answer. And honest, too!

Turning her dopey smile toward Ash, she agrees, "Not bad at all," though she's looking the blonde and her sweater dress over now. "Did our messenger really not catch up with you yet?" She sounds vaguely disappointed, her beer plucked up and sipped from in consolation.

"So who was he?" Ash wonders as she reaches for her beer, ceasing the hair petting so that she can proceed forward with her original plans of drinking the night away. "And what was the drink and card thing about?" Confusion, it is painfully clear on her face.

What doesn't seem to confuse her is when Sparrow mentions messenger, and she ooohs faintly, "Oh, no. I got that. Did you know that he got one of those firepit things in his back yard? Fenced it in himself, too. Very manly."

Sparrow's eyes happily half-lid at confirmed delivery. She doesn't press further for any details, satisfied with that much as she shakes her head at the news of backyard renovations. "We've been talking about Ruby. And Monica." That gets a little wobble of her beer, a suggestion that the Colombian hasn't taken up quite as much conversational real estate as the stray. "They went running today, all three of 'em." She doesn't understand it.

With a glance down at the cash Yule left behind, she explains, "Just met him right here. Told me my horoscope." She looks further to the folded newspaper he'd been reading then back to Ash. "Total bullshit, I'm sure of it, but damned fine job of it. So, I guessed his sign." She shrugs up one shoulder, like it was nothing. "And gave him some sort of fortune back. Translating symbolism from drink orders into tarot cards. Cuz if he can keep up with that esoteric nonsense?" Intrigued certainly seems the right word for it.

"Ruby?" Ash shakes her head a bit, "And Monica?" She shrugs her shoulders very faintly as she takes another pull from the beer, moving to set it down on the bar when the cocktail gets brought over, switching to it easily enough, "I'm totally sure they went running." By her tone, she clearly does not think that running was the actual objective. Nor does she seem to realize that Ruby is a different kind of stray.

"At least that was an upgrade on the 'what's your sign' pick up line. I hate that one." She takes a sip from the glass, pausing as she considers it before making an eh sound, then she offers it towards Sparrow for a sampling, "You got to watch out for those older guys though. They get funny ideas about you being either a side piece to their wife, or that they want you for trophy wife status."

"He's got a dog," Sparrow answers of Ruby, sounding a touch perplexed. "And I've got a goddess for a roommate?" That sounds more certain, despite the rise at the end trying to nudge Ash toward remembering. Of course, she was mostly mobile snot the morning after movie night when she might've crossed paths with the elusive fourth roommate, so maybe there's no memory there to snag. Or maybe paths didn't actually intersect. Really, the redhead's memory is not stellar. "And they totally went running. Cuz that's what Monica does. I'm told I'mma get the run down of the rules for stuff other than running over wine soon." That merits a drink.

And the advice on older guys merits another. From Ash's glass, eyes widening with approval. "Definitely thinking I might be developing an unexpected preference." For older guys or tequila honeysuckle. Who can tell! "Definitely not thinking too hard about it. And definitely not playing wifey." She blinks, then her eyes go wide and she asks, all deadpan, "What's your sign?" hiding any grin that might follow behind her glass as she drinks some more.

"Libra. You just missed missed my birthday." Ash shakes her head, "And no, I remember who Monica is...Corey hates her you said." Because that was Ash's entire take away from the morning after the snot monster pile and movies. "But rules? Who is starting to make up rules?"

While Sparrow samples the drink she reaches for her beer, looking mildly curious and a little irritated by all these rules that are suddenly croping up in things. Then there is a shake of her head, the beer drained quickly before she sets it down on the bar, pushing it away from her, "So what does my sign tell you about me?"

"Is this a ploy for more presents?" Sparrow teases, eyeing Ash slyly. Her gaze dips down along her sweater-clad form on the way to elsewhere, debating whether she wants another beer--or one of those cocktails--now that her pint's all but gone. "I make up rules all the time," she admits without a lick of shame, "but I think Monica might come with 'em out of the factory. Probably a whole operating manual." She finishes off her beer and slides the empty onto the bar, hand put over the top to deny any offer for more.

"I'm kinda shit at astrology--" Hence the tilting toward tarot. "--but." Turning toward Ash, she studies her a moment, answer preceded by a little head wobble and a soft sigh. "You care more than you appear to, and the appearance is important. There are times you wish you wanted nothing, but mostly you want everything. You are pretty much the most fun--and attractive--person at any given party. Aaaaand... you're more likely to fuck people up for fucking with your people than I am." Despite the empty threat she'd made that morning way back when when talking about her brother. With a shrug for all of that, she says, "Way better with my cards," as if it might be an invitation. For later.

"I don't come with rules. I actually don't like rules that risk fucking up my lack of rules." Ash sounds positively grumpy at the prospect, reading into and leaping to a few potentially wrong conclusions. Which, the irritation and the conclusion jumping seem mildly out of character for her, and she might just realize it because she drowns the cocktail, setting the glass down, "Long day." She explains, maybe for the whiff of a bad mood, maybe for the drinking that is only starting.

Because some people might be debating another drink, she just lifts a hand to wave down the bartender and point towards the cocktail in a demand for another one. "Not angling for another gift, though. You want the honest truth? Traditional gifts given at gift giving times bore me. If I needed a pair of socks, or the latest band t-shirt, I'd just get it myself. Always seem so....impersonal, you know?" She rests her elbow on the bar, head settling in her hand so that she can lean there, studying Sparrow, "You're not wrong about any of that, though. I'm amazing, and I've got a big squishy heart which probably leads into me kicking people for hurting my people. Or...siccing the Vikings and Ast onto them. Much more effective weaponry, there."

A flicker of concern--For herself? For Ash?--might cross Sparrow's features, but it doesn't linger too near to the surface when that two-word dismissal gives her an easy way out. When the bartender comes by, she points to the empty cocktail glass and chirps, "Me too?" for one of those. Cuz Sparrows do love tequila. Though there are a few openings for silliness and quips, she doesn't get those comments in, settling into some quiet as she nods agreement on the point of gift-giving. And again for Ash's amazingness. Her nearer knee swings out to gently bump against the blonde's leg, a bit of purposeful contact that doesn't linger long. "I'm sorry," sounds sincere and maybe out of nowhere. "About the rules. Rule. And that you had a shit day. If you wanna bitch about either..." Well, she can listen. Even if she can't do anything about any of it.

"What're you sorry for? I mean..." Ash frowns, realizing that while Sparrow literally just said what she was sorry for, there's another level to that what, or maybe it's a why. "Do you know what they are?" The question is at least a little more objectively curious before she reaches for her phone, looking like she might just unlock it, but instead she firmly shoves it into her pocket, "It was a day...I had this project due, and I worked my ass off to get it done, come to find out that some how I was a day off and it was due yesterday, before class, so that she could evaluate and give feed back today, in class. So..." She waves a hand in the air, "I got a big fat F on the project. She won't accept it late, or anything."

Sparrow might've lost track of which rules are upsetting Ash today at some point, dark brows drawing together at the plurality she's meant to puzzle out. No, she probably doesn't know what they are, but gods know she'll almost certainly open her mouth and just see what spills out. Even after giving herself away. But an explanation is forthcoming, the talk about the project listened to sympathetically. She feels the end coming before it gets there, wincing preemptively. "Shit," comes with a quiet gravity. "That's bullshit. I had a professor like that last year. One little fuck up six hours into an eight hour lab with no time to go back and redo it? Oh, well, fuck you, Miss Jones." She pauses to murmur a soft, "Thanks," to the bartender as the drinks are delivered--and the cash collected. She doesn't bother to sip at her own before continuing. "I've really been fighting hard lately to find the merit in any of it. All this effort and debt for what? Some miniscule sliver of a chance at some dumb dream that'll sour the minute I'm living it?" Not that she sounds angry about it. That nose-scrunch barely registers any genuine irritation, all of it rather nebulously annoying.

Which rules!? Ash probably has lost track of which rules, too. Or why it even really mattered. She shouldn't care, right?

Either way there is a shared misery through shit teachers, and she seems to be sympathetic to the cause of it all, shaking her head, "Teachers are really not cool sometimes." She turns back towards the bar, folding her arms across it before she leans forward to rest her forehead on her arms, "I wonder. I mean...sure, I can go and become what? A history teacher." She straightens back up, a hand rubbing at her forehead, "I get it. I wonder what might happen, too. But what else would I do with a history degree."

Sparrow's, "I dunno," seems honest, like she's taking that rhetorical question at the end there a bit too literally. "I legit do not know what you can do with a history degree." Of all the vast possibilities Miss Never-Settles considered? History was definitely not among them. She finishes her turn sideways to face Ash directly while the blonde leans on the bar, studying her as she sips at her cocktail, all that vague frustration gone as quickly as it had slipped in. But it's left behind an idea, at least, and she asks Ash, "What's the dream?"

"The dream?" Ash pushes herself upwards from where she's flopped, turning back around to face Sparrow, eyes sliding over her from bright red hair downwards, "Are we talking....?" It might be about obvious things, like life plans, job, where she wants to be in ten years, but it is painfully clear that Ash has not taken it that way, not initially at least. she reaches out one hand, the tip of her finger sliding across Sparrow's nose, from bridge to tip, then back again before she drops her hand, "Right, rules." She finally gets back around to the start of all the irritation. Well, one of the starts, right?

"What are like...the rules? Just no hooking up with the same girl, or...what?" Now let's see if Sparrow manages to figure out wtf Ash is talking about.

"Why bother," comes Sparrow's clarification, as if it clears up anything. But she's a very easily distracted bird, looking past the finger drawing down her nose to the lovely creature on the other side. And then pouting. Right. Rules. Yeah, no doubt the redhead's right there with her this time. Those rules. "Yeah, pretty much," glumly. She takes a bigger swig of her drink to find... oh, she went through that sweetened tequila awfully fast. Oops! "Never really had to hash out specifics because his taste is pretty universally not mine. But." Well. There's clearly at least one exception. "Think he said he doesn't wanna put his mouth anywhere his sister's pussy's been."

"What is his usual taste?" Because this is relevant how? Who knows. Ash knows. Ash logic tells her that this is somehow relevant enough that it is worth asking about. Ash is a bit slower in her drinking, this time, getting entirely too lost in the fact that she is getting wrapped up in her own terrible misery. Very terrible, much drama. "I really hate rules, you know. Like...hate them. Why do we have to have rules? I can respect them, you know, but I don't have to like them."

It's a grim sort of statement before she downs her own drink in one go, putting it down on the bar before she wonders, "Shots?"

"Boring." Is that helpful? No. Is it accurate? Who knows. Whatever it is that Corey's usually into, it just doesn't do it for Sparrow. For what it's worth, it definitely puts Ash in the Not Boring category. She's about to make some comment on rules when, instead, what comes out is confirmation of, "Shots," without so much as a second to think better of it. Figuring out how to get home is a problem for later. "Not all rules are awful. Liiiike..." She glances aside, as if whatever she's looking for might be out there among the Friday night crowd. It isn't. Still, she ventures, "If we were to decide that every shot comes with a confession?"

One hand is held up, and four fingers are wiggled in the direction of the bartender, "Four shots." She then pauses, adding. "Each." Just to be certain that they are making the most of the money that Yule left on the bar to cover their drinks, or just to make sure that they get really drunk. "See, that's not really rules in the same way. It's more just..." She ponders, resting her elbow on the bar, her head settling on her hand, "Those are just...regulatory guidelines for a game." She kicks at Sparrow's stool, then kicks it again, both light kicks, "Okay, so every shot comes with a confession. Just freely given, or in response to a question?"

Sparrow holds up her own four when the bartender looks her way, needlessly confirming that she's in. This is a terrible idea. No small wonder that she's smiling. Her eyes roll at the objection to the terminology. "Rules," comes out with a squeak at the kick to her stool, a giggle following for the second, still present in her tone as her protest continues. "You're gonna keep hating rules if you don't let the rules you like be rules too." But that's as much of a fight as she's willing to put up in the pro-rules camp, focused instead on defining this regulatory guideline a bit more clearly. "Figured freely given, but I'm good with questions." Obviously. "Would we both be answering the same one each time? Alternate the asking?"

"Questions. Same one. Alternate who asks." Ash might hate rules, but she's okay at defining them, it seems. Even if maybe that defining them might be all about this sort of thing and nothing more. But she waits until the shots are delivered before she lines them all up, turning towards Sparrow again, this time she doesn't kick the stool, instead she bumps her foot against Sparrow's leg, "Since this whole thing was your idea, you get to ask the first one. We both answer, and you only get to take the shot if you answer." Which is a sort of backwards situation, but the goal is to get drunk, right? Right.

"Have I ever not answered?" Sparrow croons back to Ash, eyes half lidded as she shifts just enough to bump one knee to another, denim against leggings. The first shot is plucked up, moving from the inside out, and hefted as she considers Ash, she she looks for which thread she might want to pull first. "Three things that make you really, truly, no joke happy." Is that a question? Eh. Alex Trebek might take issue with it, but the redhead is the one adjudicating her own rules her, and she moves right along to answering, "I like... clicking with someone new, getting an itch out of my head and into color and..." Oh gods, her smile goes all dopey soft as she finishes, "The way AJ smiles at me." And down that shot goes with only a little bit of nose-crinkling.

"No, so far you've always answered." So far. Dun, dun dun....Something. Ash listens to both the 'question' and the answers from Sparrow, a very faint smile curving the corners of her mouth upwards before she reaches for her own first shot, taking at really deep breath as she starts to answer, and she actually takes the whole thing seriously. Not just goofing off, not just offering throw away answers to the three things. But things that honestly, genuinely happy. "I like living with the brothers, because they walk around shirtless a lot, and it makes me happy to see them. Not just like, in the beefcake way, which obviously they are. But like, they are so...comfortable in who they are. Even Marius, who still can blush about things." Which is a whole lot for a one. "I like being with someone, and knowing that even if they are seeing other people, and I'm seeing other people, for that one moment in time....I'm the most special thing in someone's life." She assumes. "And...Astrid. Everything about Astrid. I love when she's happy, and I hate when she's sad, and I like our quiet times, and our loud times, and the way she smells and how good she hugs."

Sparrow's smile goes all soft while she listens, the empty shot glass still in her fingers. "You're magnificent," comes on the wake of those answers, soft-spoken and sincere. "And you are the only person in my world right now." That smile skews to the left, half-hopeful, as she sets one glass down to pluck up another. "So." The glass is lifted as her dark brows go up, a prompt for the next question while she basks in the warmth of the last.

"What is something that makes you sad, like...Not the terribleness of the world, or war or people starving. Not big world things. But something personal. What makes you the most sad about things?" Ash flips her empty glass over, setting it down on the bar in front of them before she reaches for the next in the line, picking it up so that she can tilt it to the side, watching the liquid shift against the glass before she answers her own question, "Love. Love makes me sad, and happy, too. But it makes me sad sometimes."

Sparrow's nose crinkles a little at the question. Definitely not one to dwell in the darkness, this one. When Ash provides her own answer, she wants to ask why, the question plainly read in the shift of her expression, how her interest is caught, how she doesn't seem to get it. But she doesn't ask. She hasn't answered yet. And she doesn't for several seconds, needing some time to actually think this over. "Choices I can't back out of," might be the most honest thing to have ever come out of her mouth. "Where there's no flexibility, no easy escape. Where I've gotta see it through, like it or not, no matter how long it takes or how much I might think I made the wrong choice or how there might not even be a right choice but it's probably not this and can't I just get a little time to figure it out, ya know? But." Shrug. "I hate it," serves as somber prelude to shot-taking. She's gonna need a minute before she finds another question.

"Yeah, that's a shitty one, too." Ash agrees before she knocks back her shot, having gotten too lost in her own thoughts for a moment to remember to actually drink. Then she adds the second glass to the upside down ones, lapsing into what is only a somber train of thought before she bites the bullet that Sparrow had avoided by instead answering the question. And although it's not her turn, and probably not going to get counted as one of the questions, she wonders, "You have a lot of choices you regret?"

"Just one," is probably not an entirely accurate count, but it seems sincere. Sparrow flashes a self-conscious smile at Ash that grows bolder as it lingers, a roll of her eyes dispelling the drear. "Four years is a lot of commitment." She looks down at her empty as if wondering how much more she might be able to milk at it, this gloom demanding more booze, but she swaps it out with the next. Two down, two to go. "Alright. Let's, uh. I dunno. Jump." Right over the edge while they're staring into the abyss. Why not. "What about love makes you sad?" she asks then notes, "I'mma need to think, so. You first."

"Lots of things about it." Ash replies with a shrug of her shoulders, and it almost seems like she's going to dodge the question, or quibble over the answer. But she doesn't, instead she picks up her glass and downs the shot before answering it. Because, honestly, this is one of those things that require a lot more alcohol than she's actually managed to consume. "What makes me sad is that...people are always like, you have to be with someone, and only that someone to love them. Or that if you love them, you just have to behave a certain way, do things a certain way. But I don't think you do, I think you should be able to love how you want, who you want...and not have to worry about if telling them is going to make the house of cards you're both standing in fall around you." she stacks the third glass on top of the two in front of her, "So I make light of it, and turn it into a joke, but I'm serious. You know? And it hurts, because like...it's not always said back."

"Fuck that," isn't for Ash, but for all those expectations, for the shoulds and supposed-tos that make love so toxic and strange. Without thinking, she settles a hand on the outside of Ash's leg, giving a light squeeze as she reasserts, "Fuck that," with a whole slew of seriousness. "All the baggage and bullshit that people put into it. All the expectations. The distinction between love and in love. The fairy tale nonsense that demands happily ever after when happily right fucking now is absolutely magical on its own. But it's not the love that's problematic. It's the word. It's the romcoms. It's every soap opera and sitcom that makes clingy jealous bullshit end in all the happiest endings, like we're supposed to be broken and bad to each other. It's terrible." Pout. "But love's not. Love's good. And honest on its own. And only complicated because everyone's got their own weird ideas about it and rarely takes it at face value. Which is what makes me sad about it." It doesn't sound like she's quite done? But she drinks, coughs, and sets her glass down. "Yeah."

"Probably right." Ash agrees with a nod, glancing down at the hand on her thigh before she reaches down to give it a quick squeeze in return, "So it's all the bullshit that people put on it." It seems like that might just be a concept that she can get behind, reaching for the last shot, picking it up as she prepares to figure out exactly what question she's going to ask next. Which is hard, considering how much they've already been drinking.

Sparrow's hand withdraws after that squeeze, slinking down to Ash's knee before retreating to her own. "All the expectations. All the tangled ideas about what it's supposed to mean instead of letting it just be wonderful and what it is." Her frown has a weight to it, magnified by the slump of her shoulders, disrupted by a deep breath, by the collection of the fourth glass. She regards Ash with curiosity, interested to see where this emotional journey will end.

It has been a terrible emotional journey, full of ups and downs, and mostly downs, really. Ash probably should end it on a high note, but she doesn't seem to be coming up with a question really fast. Instead she just sort of waits and thinks, staring into the tequila in her glass like it'll have the question waiting there, floating in the depths of things. Then finally, the only question she asks is, "Do you want to watch, sometime?"
So very clearly she expects that Sparrow will be right there on the same wave length and understand what she's referencing with that very obscure question.

There's no confusion, no curiosity. Sparrow's right there with Ash, knows exactly what she means. But no answer is forthcoming, this one given as much thought as the last one she was officially asked. "I don't know," is honest for as much as it sounds like evasion. "Yes," is incomplete, a prelude to more. "But I'm demanding, even at a distance. " Brows pitch upward in lieu of a shrug. "And no. Cuz I've got some messy feelings about it that I dunno how to resolve. So." She lifts her glass, as it toasting to that complication, and downs her fourth shot, easier than the third. When her glass joins the rest, she watches Ash expectantly, awaiting reciprocation.

Did we think this was the end to the emotional journey? Ash sure did, it seems, and the surprise that flashes briefly over her face at the answer(s) might be as surprising as the rest. But then she shrugs very faintly, "I do." Because she's supposed to be answering these things, too, right? Either way that last shot gets downed and she puts the glass down with the rest, reaching over to gather up Sparrow's empty ones so that she can start to build a glass shot glass pyramid. "What...messy feelings do you have a bout it?" She glances over at Sparrow, but the look doesn't linger for very long before she looks forward once again.

"Like how I know I'm not so good at doing what I'm supposed to when presented with what I want," is the easy part, the worry that she might break that terrible rule if given such immediate opportunity to indulge. With a little wobble of her head, she adds, "And like how I'm not sure he and I are on the same page." It looks like she's considering elaboration, but she doesn't. She just sinks an elbow onto the bar and leans thattaway.

Well, elaboration is going to have to happen. Ash looks like she's going to make that happen, because she leans over towards her, curiosity evident on her face, "What do you mean?"

Not about not doing what she's supposed to. Ash gets that one, hell, Ash clearly has a bit of difficulty with that herself. Which probably comes right back around to this entire dislike of things like rules. It's just the rest of what Sparrow said that she's not as sure about, and seeking that ever elusive clarity on.

Sparrow shrugs up one shoulder almost dismissively at the follow-up question. Still sitting, she's not feeling that liquor too keenly just yet, and so she asks the bartender for another pint, that berliner weisse unlikely to hit quite as hard as all the liquor. Right? "He's someone who believes there's a difference between love and in love." Is that what she meant? Probably not. But that's all she says until she's got her beer in hand, until she's taken a healthy swig. "Just worried I'mma hurt him. Sweet as he is, ya know? He keeps telling me he's not as..." What's the word she's looking for? How long is she going to take to look for it? It's gotta be at least four seconds before she gives up, shrugs, goes with, "Sweet as he seems, but I have yet to see it." Eyes widening, "And I'm not sure I wanna see, ya know? Just. I dunno. His heart just seems squooshy."

"Okay...but what's wrong with knowing there's a difference between being in love, and love?" Ash doesn't request more, which might be shocking for anyone that knows her. Either the conversation is serious enough she doesn't want to get herself too drunk, or she realizes that if she stands up already she might end up an Ashpuddle on the floor. "You don't think there's a difference between love and in love?" Which is more confusing, because she frowns, her brows furrowing just a bit, "And what does that have to do with you two being on the same pa..." She pauses, then shakes her head, "Nah. No." No, whatever. She doesn't elaborate on that, but something seems to have distracted her for a moment before she observes, "He's sweet, and romantic, and that is just some of the things that makes him...well, him."

Maybe this is not the best time to be having this conversation, while Sparrow's brain is all mushy and liquor-slogged. Her face scrunches weirdly at Ash, hardly an answer to any of the questions asked. "And I like him." That last bit's easiest to address, even if there's no easy follow-up. She sinks her head down sideways onto her arm where it lays against the bar, a puddle of red shoved up against her pint glass and beginning to cling to the condensation. "I shouldn't have said anything. I don't know what I'm feeling. That's what I meant. It's messy and unresolved. And I need to figure it out. That's all."

There is a whole lot of confusion that happens at once, then it dawns on Ash they were not even talking about the same him. "Oh. Garrett." She gets it now, it seems, and there is a frown before she turns her attention towards the bartender, lifting a hand up to get his attention to order herself not one single shot, but two doubles. There is a bit of an awkward silence before she glances over at Sparrow, that frown remaining, "Just so you know, I'm pretty sure he'd have been exclusive with you, but you made it clear you didn't want that...and..." She shrugs her shoulders a bit, pulling out money to pay for the two new shots before she picks up the first one, knocking it back, "I'll tell him I can't see him any more."

Wait. What? Sparrow blinks when Ash says that like it's a revelation. "Who..." Her head lifts, brows drawn down together as she tries to puzzle out the other half of the conversation they've been having, but it's pretty clear that she does not have enough functioning brain cells to get there right now. Or to worry too hard about it. Especially when the conversation gets way stranger. Her hands go to her face to hide it while it works through some stuff, scrubbing a bit before drawing away with a heavy exhale, a steadying breath. "Okay, first?" Look at this sober face? It is not a sober face. But, by gods, she is trying. "No. Like... no. That's not the problem. There isn't a problem. And if there were a problem, you, gorgeous, are definitely not it. Second? If anyone has any exclusivity claims on me, it's AJ, and that's in no small part because I know he'd never ask it. He gets me. We're good." With another shake of her head, "And third? Who did you think--" No, she's not gonna finish that thought...

"I thought you were talking about you and Corey being on the same page about your agreement." Ash can straighten this entire thing up right away, because she knows what she was thinking! But then the rest of it, like things with Sparrow and her feelings, those she can't answer. "Let's use names, okay?" She nods like this is a new revelation as well, names. Getting rid of pronoun ambiguity and confusion. "I don't understand what the problem is, if you like Garrett I'll back off. It's fine." Probably. "But what is the problem? Because I'm super confused, and I think that I need to have this explained to me really, really well so that I don't want up tomorrow feeling gross and awkward around everyone."

Assuming she can remember anything.

The face Sparrow pulls makes it clear that Corey would not have been an appropriate substitute for whatever it is she thought they were talking about. This is why you don't drink heavily and then have heavy conversations. With ambiguous pronouns. Yeah, she nods for the name-using. Way, way smarter to continue that way. "Did we not already go over how weird it is that other people think of love as weird and possessive? There is literally zero reason that my liking Garrett should mean that you back off. Okay?" Her hand pushes through her hair, doing it no favors, then drops back to her lap audibly. "And what I meant was that my feelings toward Garrett are weird and muddled right now. And that's not your problem to solve. And probably not even his. But it does mean that..." She shrugs. "I dunno. I'm alright being on the outside right now. Hot as the two of you are."

"And you're being weird." Ash points out before she knocks back the last and final shot, pushing her glass away from her, "Do you like me?" Liquid bravery does weird things to people, and Ash hasn't ever not spoken her mind when sober, there is zero reason to think that she wouldn't speak her mind now, either. "It's fine to like Garrett, it's fine to not like him, it's fine to just like fucking him, and being his friend. It's..." She hesitates a moment, lifting her shoulders, "It's fine being possessive and weird, and so what if it's weird and possessive, I mean...sometimes you just feel the way that you feel, and there's not anything you can do. Your feelings are valid, whatever messed up version of them there are. I...don't know what you're feeling, but I feel I've been there before. I don't...love everyone I've ever slept with, but enough."

"I'm being weird," Sparrow cops without hesitation. Just like the, "Yeah," that follows the second question. The rest, though? She just listens. She may well have forgotten about the beer given that it sits there, barely touched, ignored while she stares at Ash. "Okay," seems easier than trying to explain anything anymore. Except, "Everything's okay. As it is. I'm just being weird." She even lifts a hand to cross--somewhere sorta near--her heart.

"Did you know you're a terrible liar?" Or at least Ash is certain that she's lying about everything being okay. But she also realizes booze+deep conversations about feelings and things is a fundamentally bad idea. Belatedly. Pandora's box has already been opened, and as much as she might be trying to scoop it all back up, it won't help. She leans over towards Sparrow, pressing a kiss against her cheek, "But we can act like it is." Okay. "And if you want to like...change things, just tell me."

The sigh which follows that kiss to her cheek might suggest that Sparrow's not okay, but she promises, "It's really okay," in as reassuring a voice as she can muster while drunkenly trying not to think about the thing she can't change that continues to complicate things. Fingers brush against Ash's side like she might wanna tug her nearer, but the contact breaks before it gets that intentional, hand falling to her leg again. "Lemme walk you home." Head-wobble. "Or share an uber or whatever. Make-out in the backseat. And talk again sometime that is not now."

"I'm always a phone call away." Or next door. Sometimes upstairs in Sparrow's own house, too. However, the suggestion of an uber home has her nodding, and she slides off the stool, a hand gripping the edge of the bar so that she doesn't fall right over as soon as she gets to her feet. "We can share an Uber, I'm not sure I can walk the entire way home."

No, more like she's sure she can't. Either way she takes it upon herself to dig out her phone to call for one before she steps towards Sparrow's stool, wrapping her arms around her for a squeeze.

Sparrow makes sure her tab's all clear and a tip is left while the uber's called. When Ash comes in for that squeeze, the redhead lingers there for maybe longer than the blonde had meant, the hug reciprocated and held, nose buried in hair and closeness savored. Okayness, even. She smells like tequila and beer, sure, but this close, she also smells like plums and honey and doom. Well, something shadowed and smokey, anyway. Eventually, she pries herself away and takes a similar wobbling slip from her barstool with a few seconds of steadying stillness before aiming for the door. Back out into the night, into a car, off to bed.