2019-11-09 - A Long Drive to Nowhere

The car isn't right out in the front parking lot, requiring a small walk around the side of the strip mall to a spot that is less frequented by vehicles. "That," His pace isn't quick, leaving it to an easy stroll even as he reaches into his jean pockets to fish out keys, "is why while I have many things I might want to do on any given day? Plans are always flexible." All in regards to that particular ball of energy that is one of his younger brothers. It's actual, real, old school keys, none of those fobs with buttons, and the car they head towards? It's an old one. But a very nice old one, colored british racing green. The Aston Martin DB5 requires a manual key, and he undoes the passenger side first, popping it open to let her slide in.

Sparrow keeps easy pace, hands still comfortably situated in her pockets having had no need to withdraw either for door fiddling. "You don't need a reason," she tells him, having witnessed that reason first hand. "You did notice where my plans got me?" She doesn't know quite enough about cars to look properly impressed, but she does know pretty when she sees it. And precious. This is not a frivolous thing. She follows him around, bowing her head in gracious acceptance of what seems a gentlemanly gesture, even if it's necessitated by design. Once settled in, she takes a moment, to not just look around, but to feel, fingers running over surfaces curiously, taking in details with tactile fascination. She might even be caught doing so by the time Yule gets around to the driver's side, her hands drawing back just as he gets in. "Do we have an initial trajectory?"

That door is closed with a firm thud, for it'd just be improper to let your passenger tumble out the door on their first ride out into the middle of nowhere. Around he goes to the driver's seat, that process repeated. "Nope." He offers to the red head, before a sidelong glance is cast her way. "Somehow? I think your plans got you right where you wanted to be." Not that it's accusatory in nature, far more of a humorous observation. It's been neatly restored, a rich light brown leather interior to match the green exterior, with some of that color brought in to the dash, as well. "And before you can tell me which way to turn," The key goes into the center, and with a twist it starts off, and away they go. "you'll have to answer a question." A beat of a pause, "Each time."

"Usually do," Sparrow says of her plans, a crooked grin turned indirectly toward Yule. And then more directly when he reveals that she'll be playing navigator. "That hardly seems fair," she counters airily, her tone not conveying any sense of actual injustice. Already, she's considering their options for just getting out of the parking lot, which road to pick, which turn to make. Harder to be impartial this close to home. "Don't I get to ask you any questions? Make this ride into nowhere a little more collaborative?"

"Didn't say you couldn't ask questions. Just saying if you want to tell me where to go? You gotta pay my toll." And it's equally obvious that Yule isn't going to just sit around and let her negotiate for a better deal. Right they go out of the parking lot and onto the main drag through downtown. Those familiar side streets and turnoffs are ignored, "What was the first thing you thought when you saw me? At the bar, that is." Rather than the coffee shop and the whole interaction with family that had been there, the medical examiner experienced enough to know the devil is in the details in getting answers to what you are curious about. "Fiddle with the radio, if you want. Good luck," Comes a touch of humor with that invitation, while his eyes stay focused on the road.

Sparrow's tongue tips out against her lower lip thoughtfully, like maybe she might have a question of her own right out the gates, but a soft, amused sound escapes instead, and she nods. "Alright." She looks askance at Yule when the first question comes, studying him anew while thinking past through the fog of however much she drank with Ash after he left to get back to the beginning of the night. No way she missed the invitation to play with the radio, but neither does she pay it any mind right now. "Nothing," is honest, if incomplete. "Nothing specific. Opportunity. A button to push. A pretty button, but the button's the important part." Beat. "Left." When she finally looks to the radio, she wonders, "What do you usually listen to?"

True to his word, once that question has been answered and a direction given, the car slows, and the next left they can make they do. It equally requires his hands to keep busy, the left on the wheel, while the right works the manual gear shift that is between them. "If I'm on my way to work? News radio. Helps me focus, lets me know what might have leaked. Habit I developed while living in New York City. On my way home from work? Blues. Otherwise? 80s music. What I grew up with... bleeding into the early 90s." On they go, and their chosen path leads them away from downtown and into the residential sections south of the city. "What was the last thing you thought when I left the bar?"

Preferences revealed, Sparrow reaches to turn the radio on to see where Yule last left the dial, adjusting the volume to something unobtrusive if need be. However that experiment plays out, her answer is the same. "That I'd be seeing you again soon," is matter-of-fact, confident. "How much trouble I'mma get myself into. How much I'm looking forward to getting into it. How well you keep up. If I'm being honest?" As if honesty might not be what he's after, like she's looking for refusal as she studies his features in profile. "I'm not sure when I stopped thinking about you after you left the bar. The tequila made time a little fuzzy, but." Well, she reached out to him the next day rather quickly, didn't she? "Left." Again. "How often do you go out driving alone?"

It's the station playing music from the 80s and 90s that comes on, catching A-ha's Take On Me just a few seconds after it had started. With the faint static, it makes for fine white noise in the background with the volume lowered. Yule casts a glance out of the corner of his eye when she says she's being honest, and up his closest eyebrow ticks, honesty the clear expectation he has. "Often. Typically don't drive too far out, given I'm frequently on call. But you saw my little brother," There is fondness there, even a touch of protectiveness despite his words, "His twin is just as.. energetic. Live next door to them, so time to myself? Yeah." Once more the downshifting happens, and he gives a turn to the left. He's not out for speed, just a lazy drive to better focus on the conversation at hand. "Why did you pick that tarot deck? Yeah," His chin tucks down, flashing her a full and unapologetic look, "I asked for the picture to judge. Figured if it was one of those generic piece of shit decks, I wasn't going to bother."

"Makes me seem all nice and quiet," Sparrow croons of Ellis. It's not a bad thing, by her measure, as she neither minds the noise nor the break from needing to keep up cacophonous appearances. Her head absently bops to the music, the song not unfamiliar despite the distance between its popularity and her birth. Her subtler accompaniment is more difficult to catch the way her feet work in time with bass beat and cymbal, how her fingers tap at her thighs keeping imperfect time with the percussion, too distracted to spare any thought to getting it right. "My brother's quiet. And we're both so busy these days. Live with him, but see more of his food than I do of him. Meals left in the fridge. Keeps us all fed like it's his job. Which it's not."

But they're talking tarot again, and Sparrow laughs even as she objects. "Rider-Waite's got its place." It's not in her collection, but it's popular for a reason, right? "But I like Linestrider's colors. And how it strays from traditional symbolism and pushes me to think a little, stretch, rely on my intuition." One hand lifts from her lap to get a wobble as she admits, "But that's why I like it now. I got it cuz I wanted it. Pretty. Didn't think hard." She casts a glance out the window, not paying too much mind to where they are and guides, "Right," lest they end up back where they began. "What exactly is it that you do, Doc? Caught the exchange with the detective, and I'm guessing you deal with the dead, but." She's still trying to puzzle out where details like tarot fit in.

Down they come to slow, dipping to the right, and now? The turns are becoming less and less frequent as the bulk of the city is left behind, with more trees beginning to appear. Their current path will take them into the forest, closer towards Junction City than Hoquiam, not that it matters. There will, surely, be so many more turns to come. "Not his job, but I bet he feels it is his responsibility." The corner of Yule's mouth tucks down at this, not quite satisfied with his choice of word. "One of the way he shows he cares, I bet. Is he a good cook?"

The nomenclature of the decks doesn't seem to resonate with him, knowledgeable but not that much. "I appreciated the water color style. Gives the impression someone took the time to care about each card. Make it it's own. And if I'm going to have a pretty lady read my future? I'd rather it be with cards someone cared about." A breath is pushed out, bemused as the topic turns to his work, but he doesn't shy away from it. "Medical examiner. Figure out causes of death, and look for evidence on, and in, the body itself. Had a case that involved someone leaving behind a tarot card on the bodies, once. Not really my job to figure out the why, but I sure as fuck was curious." Turn about is fair play, and with those words of how stretched her time is, it is a natural question that comes next. "What is it that keeps you so busy?"

"Amazing," Sparrow says of her brother's culinary skill, a hint of potentially undue pride in her tone, in the particular curl of her grin, but she leaves it at that, providing no elaboration on her twin's talent. The deepening woods outside catch her interest as they turn, head tilting toward her window while she watches the world go by. "Someone, long ago, cared about the symbolism on those mass-printed cards and did so well with it that they became the standard." She might not have any idea what she's talking about. "Not that I don't prefer pretty." The greenery seems suddenly less interesting when Yule draws the connection between cards and corpses, brown-eyed attention resettling on the driver as he tells the beginning of a story and nothing else. "Tease," seems as much approving as accusatory.

"School. Second year chem major at WCU Hoquiam." That's surely the bulk of it, and definitely the part that's most likely to give away her age. Hell, it might make her sound younger than she is, but the bartender seemed comfortable enough serving her. She's probably at least of legal drinking age, if not much past that. "And a part time job. And a band. And a couple of art projects. Personal, not..." School or anything, not that she bothers to finish the thought. "Then, I mean, there's my penchant for going on half-planned adventures with gorgeous men..." The thought trails off as she considers her options, decides, "Left," a bit uncertainly, like she's not sure they'll find any of those any time soon. "What do you want to see in your future?"

"Nothing like home cooked meals. Not to say you do, but don't under appreciate those gestures. You could tell me it's none of my business," Not that it's going to stop Yule, obviously, and the small, smug smile on his features show he knows it. "but I've been told I'm opinionated, so good luck with that." Two right turns go by while he stays looking for a left, not swaying from the rules they've established for themselves. A tease? Yes, he is, and there is just a sweet smile flashed her way for it, not another word given to the subject of that case, because her question? Doesn't have anything to do with it, and she won't be getting freebies.

Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics comes on, faint in the background as they come upon a left finally, down a twisting, winding paved road that looks seldom used. "... that know how to deal with bodies, and that you give directions that take you into the middle of nowhere." He finishes that thought about her half-planned adventures. It's a bit slower he goes, his window rolled down so that he can enjoy the crisp autumn air, watch the trees as they go by without even the pane of glass between him and the view. "Yeah. All right, busy." Silence descends upon him for that question, the first one he doesn't have an easy answer to. "Ellis to straighten out, and not end up in jail permanently. More - but not too many - intriguing people," This earns a wry smile from the fellow, as he continues, "I'd like a boat. Not, like, a huge fucking yacht. Just a small sailboat. Always liked traveling, and the challenging. Learning something new that takes your mind off of..." Dead things. "What do you want to do after college?" It's in a similar avenue of thought, though cutting out the immediate future for longer term thinking.

"I do prefer that my gorgeous men know how to deal with bodies," Sparrow croons sweetly, seeing as he left off a significant descriptor. If she suspects it might've been intentional, she certainly doesn't object to the offered opening. She draws in a deep breath when the window goes down, though there seems no interest in doing the same on her side, the second-hand chill from the other side just enough for the moment. She sinks a little lower into her seat, relaxing further into the conversation as she drinks in that list, the 'not too many' comment earning the sort of dry, quiet laugh that suggests some familiarity with that particular problem. Her smile skews a bit sad at the question asked, visible for all of a second or two before her attention's turned to the window again. "I keep telling myself--and everyone who asks, which is... like. Everyone. I keep telling 'em that I want to go into psychedelic research. Psilocybin and LSD for depression and PTSD and whatever. And it's not untrue?" That thought hangs for several seconds before she looks back to Yule with a bright smile meant to banish whatever weight the dissatisfied tone of her answer had summoned up. "It's not entirely true either," like she's letting him in on a joke. Without providing the punchline.

"But everything's your business today," a belated answer to an earlier remark. "Open book. Even when we get to the chapters in which our protagonist struggles with the concept of commitment. But I promise I tell Corey how amazing he is all the time. As big sisters should." Didn't she say he was her twin? Someone's gotta be born first. "Right." Brows arching as the left corner of her lips nudge up, she wonders, "How far are you gonna let me go?" then adds, "That's not my question," in case he's keeping score, keeping even. "Where do you wanna go that you haven't been? Bonus points if it's not too far."

A small snort is exhaled by Yule in amusement at her twist on his comment, and he rises to the opportunity with his own retort. "Believe me, I know just where all the parts and pieces go." Without a direction provided, it is onwards they continue, not that there is a whole lot of options while they go down, and the ones they do see? It just ends up making all the choices smaller and more quaint. "Bullshit." Comes his response to her answer, head tipping to the side to fix her with a look, though those words aren't said in anger. "If it isn't entirely true? Then it isn't the full answer. Sounds like you are either holding back... or just don't know for sure. Which," A dip of his head comes in acknowledgement, "Either of those answers are perfectly acceptable. We can't always know everything, can we."

"Sorta funny," He murmurs to her real question, and he doesn't even give a look to that quasi-question, giving no insight into the thoughts he held back that might have been spoken as he glances out of the car on his side. "Turned eighteen. Got a scholarship to NYU. Left Gray Harbor for twenty years. Been back to visit, of course. Went all that way.. but around here? I've never been far." It takes him a moment, giving a touch of weight to it, "Vancouver. Haven't ever been out of the US. Close, but not too close. Go up and try poutine." This time? There is a moment of conflict in his expression, features scrunched up as he struggles with picking out which of two questions he wants to ask, before going for the one that might be more difficult. "So why the struggles with commitment? And be specific. When you say it, is it romance? Friendships? College majors? Everything?"

Sparrow cops to, "Both," holding back and not being sure when called out, making no apology for either. Her weight shifts to her left hip, her left shoulder. She can't really turn to face him, but that takes some of the strain off her neck as Yule holds her focus, the trees on his side earning occasional curiosity when she needs a break from just, ya know, staring. She solves the offered equation, simple as it is, adding '38+' to all the other details she's collected without so much as a batted lash. Without taking her turn to answer first, plowing right over his hesitation, all that scrunch-faced thought, she asks, "Would you be sad if I kidnapped you in my car instead of asking nicely to take yours?" with an impish glimmer in her eyes.

Which flickers and dims at the question he settles on. "You don't pull your punches," almost sounds sweet, all soft-spoken like that. She doesn't disapprove. Even if it isn't easy. "People are easy. You get back what you put in, and if you don't." Shrug. "You don't have to go back. But college isn't like that. I've put time and energy and money into this. I've gone into debt I'mma be working off forever for this, and turning around just isn't an option. And maybe that's not even what I want. I don't know. I just--" Her expression properly sours, turned toward the front to watch the road. "I want to not have to be anything yet, but I'm already whatever this is gonna make me. I'm already in this mold. Stuck. Waiting for it to set."

No follow-up questions this time. No commentary. Just the sounds of the wildlife going by outside and the faint crackle of some song she barely recognizes playing on the radio.

One dark brow arches upwards at that first question, weighing in his mind if he'll answer it, if it's /the/ question she wants to pose, but on it? She gets a pass. "Probably not. Long as you were smart and kidnapped me when I'm not on call. I'm assuming you have a drivers license," His tone is a flat out playful tease with that, a moment of pure mischief in that sweet, charming smile he flashes towards her, but it settles into a more serious expression as the road narrows further, and the topic shifts to the more weighty thoughts of commitment.

"That's a really shitty line of reasoning," He believes it, every bit of it, but he's not going to pull punches now either on his thoughts. "Yeah. Debt sucks. I grew up with five brothers and sisters in a trailer park. Being poor sucks. But it's just debt. And that's a shitty reason to be stuck in a mold that doesn't fit you, because that? Is how to have a miserable rest of your life." But then he's slowing down, for the road? It dead ends into a circlular parking lot, a place in the forest park where a trail head begins, an overlook is had. Not that he plans to stop. The working of the gear shifter is enough that if she has twisted enough, she'll have the back of his hand brushing against her knee. "Not that," It's a moment of softening on those thoughts, his eyes flickering over Sparrow as he considers the red head, "doubts are rare, when you are halfway through. Yeah. It's a commitment. Fear is fine. But there is a difference between worry, and knowing it's not the right mold. Why," It's a small smile, but one genuine and meant to show he's not just poking to be an asshole, but genuinely curious. "did you go to school in the first place? Choose your major? You really don't seem the sort to do so just cause it's what is expected."

The opening volley earns a faint smile from Sparrow even if she doesn't look Yule's way again, keeping her attention forward on the nowhere-left-to-go that they're approaching. Someone who can pick out the symbols in random drinks probably finds some significance in her choices leading here, but she doesn't comment, that thought expressed entirely in a wry purse of her lips. Cute, world. Real cute. She doesn't move when his hand brushes her knee, save to glance down at that contact, give it context, then follow his arm back up to the rest of him, taking the remainder of his critique directly again. "I'm good at it," is spoken without pride. Simple fact. "Chemistry. It just makes sense. And I like it. And when I don't think about in terms of what I want to do with it? I fucking love it. But there's no way to love it without the extrapolation, without the what next and why. And--" Her shoulders shrug up high. "--I dunno. Maybe I just wanna get into the LSD business and fund month long forays into my own head. Though, seriously, psilocybin analogs are where it's at right now. Great visuals, so tactile, and none of that--" She lifts a hand to itch a finger on the back of her jaw. Whatever that means.

When her hand drops back to her lap, she seems to realize she's gotten a bit off track, brows knitting shallowly as if to foreshadow an apology which never comes. "I thought it was what I wanted. And maybe it still is. I don't know. And I'm usually so good at leaning into not knowing, but this feels... different. Bigger." Her head shakes so shallowly that her hair barely shifts with the motion. "I'm really just not used to being scared."

Around they turn, but Yule doesn't immediately set off back down the road, pushing in the clutch to let the car idle while his head turns to face Sparrow fully. "Because it feels like the first big, permanent decision of your life. Twelve years of school for me. Talk about a commitment. And once I got done with my bachelors? I was full of fear. What if I wasn't going to cut it. What if I got deep into it and hated it. Felt like I had no other choice. I knew I loved the science, what I could do with what I was going to learn. But it was fucking scary, all the things that could go wrong. Midway through medical school, I realized something. I still had choices. I just had to remove the blinders. I swapped from wanting to be a surgeon to being a medical examiner. It resonated, you know?"

"Not gunna sit here and pretend to know what parts of it scare you the most. Or what will fix it, if it even needs fixing. But you clearly love the chemistry side of it. And you think on your feet. You'll figure out how to actually enjoy - most days - the application of it, whatever that is. Make your own fucking mold. Fine to be scared. Just have to figure out if you have the will to power through it, and do what's right for you." Out a breath comes, and then it's his turn to flash her an apologetic smile, a gently murmured, "Didn't mean to have /quite/ so weighty a question."

But there the car sits, idling, the driver waiting for directions. And with that, Yule focuses those brown eyes on Sparrow, one eyebrow arching upwards in a questioning look. "Forward?"

Sparrow keeps quiet through all of it, listening attentively, that smile at the end answered with an odd one of her own, too tangled up in weird feelings to form quite right. "Only direction I know," seems like a yes, but it's not until after she's scanned some bit of what they're leaving behind, the trail and its vista and whatever possibilities they might've presented abandoned, that she nods her full confirmation. "Yeah."

Several bars of Talking Heads' And She Was go by without so much as a mimicked cymbal tap before the redhead says anything more, letting all that emotion settle some, resolve into something recognizable. "I'm grateful. For the talk. Even the question. Shaking up this shadow that's been hanging around." Brows loft as her humor returns, as she admits, "Not sure how I'm feeling about highlighting the vast gap in our life experience after pushing one particular interpretation of the two of coins so hard, but." She shrugs. Whatcha gonna do. "And I'm not sure I can navigate away from this right now, so. Ask me something new, Nine. Tell me where you wanna go from here."

Once that final confirmation is given, Out the clutch comes, the car eased into gear, and onwards they go. It might be on purpose, or maybe he doesn't put any thought to it, or he just knows where he wants to go, now. But after a small bit of back tracking, and having to retread their path? He takes one of those side roads they passed, and once more they are in new territory. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll gladly let you tell me that I look much younger than my age." Comes his warm quip when she mentions that particular gap.

"Nothing wrong with a disparity in life experience, either. Or carnal thoughts," Yup, he remembers that interpretation of that first card, and there is a faint smile that curls to the corners of his mouth. Whatever his first thought is, he thinks twice as that road becomes a bit wider, looking more and more like something that will lead them out of the forest, eventually. "Two questions, now that you've let me take over," He's going to get every bit of worth out of it, though his voice is more relaxed, levity taking over rather than the probing, serious questions of before. "What is the most memorable carnal thought you had last night. And second... you eat?" Of course she does. But it's in a tone that implies there is more to it than that, if she recalls what was on his particular agenda for the day.

"Definitely would've guessed one less decade," Sparrow admits without any shame, untroubled at the revelation of Yule's age, even if it got a teensy bit strange in the context of that one particular segment of conversation. She barks an easy laugh at the first question, reveling in that greed and how graciously it's been used to lay out the safety net, to give the too-bold redhead some familiar territory to fall into. "Certainly different than the carnal thoughts I'm thinking now," she taunts, possible indication that she read something into that shift in his smile before any questions were asked. "But, uh. I recall hearing about this dive over in Hoquiam with killer burgers. If you're up for it." Like it was her idea in the first place. She shifts a little further, much as she can without either getting too uncomfortable or impeding Yule's ability to shift gears, as she runs some mental mathematics. Or dwells just a couple seconds longer in her current naughty thoughts. "Most memorable." That's the qualifier. "What I kept coming back to. What stuck. Really fucking simple thing." Which brings a bit of color to her cheeks. "Just... slipping off my stool and kissing you. Right there. Figured you're the type to grab a girl's ass when she kisses you like that, so." She studies him more carefully now than she had been before, gauging his reaction to that... rather tame admission.

A soft scoff comes from him as she says a whole decade, but his smile is amused and pleased. As the road turns into something that at least gives a springing hope for what will lead to civilization, he reaches over to roll that window back up. "Perfect. You read my mind, I was really craving a hamburger. You hadn't mentioned that in the cards," That draws a rather accusatory look from the man as he shifts, and those fingers brush once more against knees, not even trying to be careful about it if she gets too close. "Kissing is really underrated," This memory strikes a note of approval from the man, "You can tell a lot about a person by how they kiss. The approach. The method. What they do with the /rest/ of their body," Hands included in that thought, though where his would be? He leaves that up to ones imagination or to discover a different way. "And most especially? How they look in that split second once a kiss is done. Telling."

"The cards assume you aren't gonna starve yourself until you get their says so," Sparrow quips right back. "And that you're just as discerning about your burgers as you are about your booze." She doesn't move away when knuckles brush denim, but neither does she press in any further, not intending to interfere with his driving. She's just more interested in the driver than where he's taking her. "I do not underrate kissing," she makes plain, lest she be lumped in with the heathens who'd hurry past it on their way elsewhere. But that last note? She flashes a guilty smile and admits, "I'm the worst at that. Catching those details. Eyes closed kinda girl. Linger in the afterglow. Go in for more." Somewhere in there, her eyelids dipped low, and they linger at happily half-mast for a moment longer, dwelling in that possibility, partly hooded gaze decidedly directed at his lips. "What about you?" she asks, for the first time recycling one of his questions. "What were you thinking when you left?"

"Good to know," He murmurs about her preferences, and while his eyes flicker to her, watching out of the side of his vision as much as he can, he is very much focused on making certain they don't end up in one of those trees they've been admiring. "Not to stereotype people," Both sexes, no gender assumptions here to be had about intent. "of your age, but I was wondering if you were just looking to pick someone up for a fuck. I sure don't mind bullshitting, but I don't have time or energy for bullshit these days." As if somehow, those two things were absolutely, distinctly different. "Glad to see you break the mold, Sparrow." Is offered up in a quieter murmur, despite the turn he's taken the conversation in right back to those particular, vivid bits of imagery. Twisting and turning down those roads, things become clearer in contrast, more normal, until it's the highway that connects those towns they wind up on. For a long moment, but a moment comes where his eyes follow the suggestion of hers, dropping to her lips, and a different thought is dangled out there. "Now, my dreams on the other hand..."

A half-laughed hum answers that assessment, not at all disapproving of the callback despite how heavy the metaphor had been the first time around. "I definitely didn't go in there looking for anything more than a drink," Sparrow admits. "Definitely don't need anything more pulling at my time and attention. Just... definitely don't find people who can keep up like that, who can push like that, keep me on my toes like that. Like this." That soft-spoken sentiment leaves her smiling by the time he peeks over at her faintly painted lips, today's color a muted red with purple undertones. Her teeth catch for a second at that addendum, lip pinned in a pout before she reiterates her earlier praise, confirming Yule's status as, "Tease." But no, she doesn't ask. Yet. Fingers flex restlessly on her lap, curling into a loose fist indicative of restraint. "I, uhm. I'm not looking for anything exclusive either. I'm not good with casual, but. Not great at not going wherever I wanna go when I wanna go either."

"You are the sort to really appreciate and adore the concerned advice of your friends... and then promptly ignore it and do what you want. Which is why you are in a strangers car on a who knows how long ride," That has a playful smile touching the corners of his mouth as they go down the road, him peeling his eyes off just long enough to squarely look at her. "Ignoring both Leg's warning of stranger danger, and your own wisdom about not needing another time soak." Those brown eyes go back front in center, keeping them square on the highway as a sign ticks by, just four miles left to Hoquiam and the promise of burgers. A touch of laughter comes from him at those last words, but not at her, more the explanation of all the things she's not good at. "Yeah? Not exclusive. Not casual. Then how would you describe what you are good at?"

"She also told me to be wary of older men," Sparrow chirps helpfully, adding to the list of advice she's soundly ignored. Her smile widens and warms at his laughter, an, "Mhm," meeting his succinct assessment. Without even a heartbeat's hesitation, she answers, "Being here," as if that might be enough. It takes her a few seconds longer to muster a more telling explanation, her head tipping toward her shoulder while she talks. "Being here while I'm here. Paying attention and keeping up. Living in freefall for as long as I can." On a breath of laughter, "Honesty and self-assessment? Saying what I mean. Knowing what I want. Even if I only want it for a heartbeat." Shoulder lifts toward cheek in a nonchalant shrug as she adds, "Kissing," oh so casually. Then, more boldly, "Holding your interest." She draws in a deep breath, like it was all spent in picking through that list, then pushes right back, asking, "What do you want?" and leaving it wiiiide open.

A soft snort comes from him at that, his smile sliding to a sly thing for a heartbeat. "Just think what she'd have told you if she knew how old." Not a peep comes from him as she goes through her list of assets she confidently claims, though the mention of kissing draws up one dark brow. "To be engaged, challenged, appreciated. To have understanding that work? Interrupts at the worst fucking times. And certainly to be left intrigued." There is a lull of a pause, before he adds in an offhanded, but so certain comment, "Kissing, too."

"Look, I'm not going to make any presumptions about what happens. And I've been through the girlfriend routine enough times to know that's another dumpster fire waiting to happen between work coming first, and what might be described as," That tone says it all, that there were far worse words he was called, even as his eyes roll upwards in good humor, "a challenging personality to live with. So I tell you what, Cards." Back and fourth those brown eyes go, from the road to her, gauging her own reaction to it all. "You reach out when you want, you keep me intrigued? What happens happens. You get bored, your wants change, I get selective memory and run off and elope with someone?" Yeah, right. "It's fine. No hard feelings."

Sparrow's expression goes Very Serious at that addendum to Yule's list, nodding in curt, confident agreement. She can't help the laugh which follows when he starts with 'look,' but she does listen, wide smile lingering all the while, even as her brows arch at how he describes himself. As if challenging were a bad thing. "As long as you reach out, too?" seems like it might be her only feedback on those terms and conditions, such as they are. "I don't mind chasing what's worth chasing, but a little reciprocation now and then is good for the ego, and mine does like to be fed." Fingers unfurl from her lap to finally, well, reach out, acting on a thought that's been kept on pause for far too long. She goes right for skin, seeking the knuckles that have brushed over her knee, palm settling loose and light over the back of his hand. "Kinda wanna ask all sortsa questions about past disasters, but kinda gotta good sense of how that's gonna turn out for me if I do, so." She flicks a look toward the changing scenery, growing ever more civilized and familiar. "Why'd ya come back?"

"I dunno that my car is big enough to fit us and your ego in it if it's fed anymore." Comes his retort back, but it doesn't preclude the agreement of her own slight change to those terms, such as they are. "Course. I don't mind doing a bit of chasing too. Just as long as we don't end chasing around in circles." The touch has his gaze flickering down, watching for a second to see if it stays put. Once it does, his fingers sprawl a bit wider so hers can fit between, like the real reason she'd put it there was to help shift. Totally innocent. "Christ. Think those questions should wait until at least the third car ride to the middle of nowhere, and have shared about a quarter of a bottle of scotch between us." The question, though. That's easy. "Family. Came back a year ago. Just felt like time. Saw something I hadn't realized I was missing. Started figuring out all the logistics, and finally got all settled a month ago."

"That's why I'm kidnapping you in my car," Sparrow chirps confidently, as if that had been the consideration all along. All the trunkspace. For her ego. And his. Her fingers sink between his without thought as soon as the opportunity presents, curling in just enough keep comfortable hold. She sputters a laugh at his reaction to her unpursued curiosity, agreeing, "At least," rather airily. And then admitting, "I prefer rye." Given how she watches for response? It might be an experimental prod to see how heavily he leans into his own preference. But family? That's something she gets. "I was gone for barely a year, and I couldn't stand it. I mean, don't get me wrong. I had fun. I loved it. So much. But I missed my brother, my Dovey. Dad being dorky, mom always checking in on me. I like getting out, ya know? Away. I've seen more of this country than most, and want more still. But I can't imagine not coming back, not being here. Awful as it is." Where'd her smile go? "I love it."

As the scenery of nature gives way to the beginnings of the town, the sign proclaiming they've arrived in Hoquiam coming and going, down the car slows to match the speed limit. This requires a shift down, and his fingers can be felt squeezing against hers as he grabs onto the knob more firmly. From right to left the shifting goes, requiring a touch more stretch of her arm or a lean in closer towards his side. "You've sure put a lot of thought and planning into this idea," He points out with a tone of amusement, one corner of his mouth tugging up to match the sounds. "Yeah?" Comes the thought about her own preference and she is graced with one of those charming looks he can muster up. "Drink scotch with me." It's not a request, nor a command, somewhere in between as a suggestion, with the emphasis on the 'me' to imply that he is the missing ingredient to why she's yet to prefer scotch. But all of those features go softer when that conversation turns towards family, and her ability to relate with it. "Lost both of our parents by the time I'd left for college. It was rough, leaving, but, it would have been worse if I stayed. Another mouth to feed. I was the oldest, but Nat? She was the one who understood their business, who they left it to." Not an ounce of disappointment in that, despite the fact he was the oldest out of all of those siblings. "I mean, fuck. I moved into a trailer to be right next door to them," His chin tucks down, flashing her a look as if that should speak volumes, but his smile is present, easy.

Sparrow leans, comfortably, a little more than necessary so that her arm can relax. That little bit nearer, the notes of her perfume which had been vague background details easily ascribed to their surroundings, to the fresh air, come into clearer focus: a sweet touch of plum balanced with a hint of lilac and a spattering of herbs, set against the low notes of leather so well-suited to the well-kept interior of the Aston Martin. She doesn't point out that she's a quick-thinker, not while her ego is already showcased, but instead just cocks an eyebrow and grins slyly, that expression softening just a shade when she allows, "I'll drink scotch with you," as if it might be unacceptable under any other circumstances. Fingers squeeze against his at the mention of his parents' death, sympathy swiftly replacing humor, until he turns that smile back to her, encouraging her own to return. "I get it. I mean..." She's quiet a few seconds, gaze sinking low while she thinks. "Zelie's only, like, a five minute drive, but I never see enough of her. At least with Corey, I know he's right there." Drawing a sharp breath, she banishes that squishiness, bright brown eyes lifted to focus on Yule again as she tells him, "But! You can always come visit me if you need a bit of luxury. Best bathtub in all of Gray Harbor. Cross my heart." She even crosses her heart. Sort of. Near it. Poor girl might wanna work on her anatomy.

There is a pleased expression when all she needs offer is that look of slyness to his thoughts of her potential plans, and it is clear to see that those brown eyes would far prefer to rest on her rather than the road. But necessity dictates especially now they have to be forward, more turns taken as they converse. "Good. And a bathtub," It is a long pause, his brow furrowing, and he really has to give it a bit of thought. "I don't even remember the last time I had a bath. Years." He finally concludes, head just shaking a touch at that because he caught that close, but slightly misplaced cross over her... well, almost heart. "Do I need to get a sharpie and draw all your parts on you?" It's not judgy, but it holds a tone of interested promise, brown eyes flickering down to where her heart really is at. It is one final turn, not down a road, but into a parking lot. At a place that really looks like it has seen better days, but there is a sign that serves up a bit of promise. 'Burger Stand'. Original, right? But then, the best places have simple names, cause they know it's all about the food. "Good choice," He says, as if she'd been guiding all along when they coast into a parking spot, and her hand is used to help guide the car into first before their paired digits lift, twisting the key to turn the vehicle off.

"Sounds like fun," Sparrow chirps of the inked anatomy lesson. "And like a good excuse for a bath." Such a cheesy brow-waggle! Such shamelessness for that cheese! "Can't promise it'll be relaxing, what, with all the scrubbing you're gonna have to do to get me clean..." But they're slowing down and pulling in, and she's tilting to get a better look at the place. Briefly. When he keeps their hands tangled right up through turning the key, she goes back to watching Yule, studying him and this first moment of stillness that they've had since getting into the car what seems so long ago now. "Kiss me," has a ring of invitation to it, just enough lift at the end to distinguish desire from demand.

When the woman ties the two together so seamlessly, a small snort of amusement comes, those eyes rolling up momentarily. "Scrubbing makes it sound so difficult," Her hand isn't released, but it's pulled down and closer as he leans in, leaving those paired fingers as the middle ground between their separate seats. Between their mutual shifts, it turns it into a more intimate pose, less distance. "The right tools make all the difference in getting just what you need... like a touch of rubbing alcohol on a thin cloth that lets fingers get to every last bit that has been marked. Save rough for something more... spontaneous." 'Rough' is spoken in layers, but then his smile blossoms at those two words that come in crisp invitation.

His free hand lifts, sweeping along a few of those brilliant red strands of her hair, tucking them behind an ear. And that's how those digits curl behind her jaw, one finger creating leverage to tip her chin, tilt her head in just the way he wants. The kiss that comes is soft, exploratory, but in no way tentative or testing. Lips form into a full pressing, with the cast of heads coming together to let the sides of noses brush to add another point of contact. The digits of their conjoined hands squeeze lightly, the thumb sweeping out to brush along the skin of her hand where it can, while the connection against the back of her head turns from one finger to a tangle in her hair.

Sparrow's eyes brighten at 'spontaneous' and the suggestive sentiment that goes with it, but that brown-eyed brilliance isn't on display long. True to her word, she's an eye-closer, lashes already beginning to dip low when his fingers sweep her hair back, as she tilts ever so slightly into that touch, still watching through those little shifts and adjustments right up until lips meet. A contented sigh flutters against that point of connection as she answers in kind... mostly. What softness and patience she demonstrates is edged with eagerness and appreciation that urge her to press just a little too hard, to go just a little too fast, the way her lips part, how teeth catch, how the fingers which had so patiently worked their way to the side of his neck to settle in place now curl and pull. Were it not for the counterbalance of the digits delving into her hair, encouraging her to tilt back in that direction just a bit, she might not pull up at all. If the kiss is going to break--and, surely, it must--Yule's gonna have to be the one to break it.

There is a small noise of approval and appreciation for that impatience she displays, the balance to his own far more patient offering. And so it brings a small reward as his mouth parts, just enough to let the tip of his tongue to come out and trail along her lower, savoring the taste and texture that it possesses. His own scent, this close, is likely from soap rather than cologne, a subtle mixture of vanilla, amber, rosewood and white pine. It's only when she begins to push harder that he looks to find the moment to both having offered more than he intended, while still leaving her wanting yet. Teeth barely brush against the very outer shell of that lower lip as the kiss is broken, and true to his word? Those brown eyes are open and watching, judging to see her reaction in that heartbeat of time in the conclusion of the kiss. It's the hands that stay, a small lean in against hers on his neck, the way thumb and finger capture a lock of that red hair to caress against that lingers still.

Sparrow tastes like the ghost of coffee, a distant bitterness lingering even hours after her last cup, her perfume lending it a sweetness and depth it otherwise wouldn't possess this far past its natural half-life. She answers the tease of his tongue with her own, momentarily playful in that first flicker of excitement before she melts back into the steadier affection, only to be drawn back up when teeth catch on her lip. She draws in a breath, held even as her teeth replace his, pinning that lip until her smile goes too wide to hold it, breath finally expelled in the same second. Her hand loosens then, too, that firm hold softening as her arm goes slack. The color on her cheeks deepens in the moment before her eyes open, as thought rushes back in the wake of sensation. "We should, uhm," is nearly a whisper, so quiet while they're this close, "do that again sometime." Later. Nevermind the way her gaze flicks to his lips for half-a-heartbeat. She can wait. Digits drift from neck down toward sternum, hand planting there for just a beat before she begins to withdraw on a soft-spoken, "Thank you."

Those brown eyes soak in her expression, finally having the time to just study without the demands of driving placed on him. Her words have a flicker of a smile that graces his lips when she looks down, but his remain focused on her own lovely gaze. "Yeah?" He murmurs, and then a single allowance is given, what well may be the first words he is spoken that is directly flirtatious and knowingly a hint of that same cheesiness, an even more true reward than anything else he might have done, and the coy smile etched on his features shows he knows it. "You are really good at this chemistry thing, Cards." The last syllable comes with a gentle tug of that thumb and finger against the strand of her hand he's captured, and then he's sliding away, fingers released upon both of their respective places as he opens his door. "Come on. I'm hungry." Down his eyes then flicker to her lips, but out he goes from the car, clicking the manual lock before he shuts the door.

The smug satisfaction at that openly flirtatious comment, at that intentional feeding of a reportedly greedy ego, has just enough time to manifest in a left-skewing grin before startling into something sharper, hungrier at that parting tug to her too-red hair. Her breath hitches, and so do her thoughts, caught on something other than the world into which he's exiting, but she doesn't stay stuck there long, sinking more properly into her seat with a murmur of, "Me too," as his door closes to briefly run her hands through her hair and follow, mindful to lock the door when she goes. Respect, sure, but also a guarantee that he'll have to play gentleman again to let her back in. Once on her feet, Sparrow stretches, hands hooked above her head and pressed skyward. It might be mistaken for an intentional display if she weren't making such a thoughtlessly dopey face while doing it, if she didn't twist to follow some tired muscle or another before dropping her limbs back down and moving toward the Burger Stand.

On he goes towards the door, and the glance that her stretch earns is only a quick look over his shoulder, making certain she's following behind. He opens the door, letting her pass through first unobstructed, revealing that the place? It's just as stuck inside as on the outside. It clearly hasn't changed since Yule must have visited it in the 90s, and even then the decor would have been dated with the red pleather booths, the creaky wooden tables, and a sign that requires the little letters to be slide onto it to spell out what's available and the price.

The smell, however, more than makes up for it. It's all fresh, and it has to be some deal the old owner manning the cook station has with the local butcher to get just the best ground beef that goes into it. And the options. Blue cheese. Mushrooms. Fried onion rings. Barbeque sauce. A1. And more. But it doesn't end there, because there are fries. Duck fat fries. White truffle fries. It's a good thing they are late enough to have missed the lunch crowd, only a handful of patrons still lingering around in the small dining space. "My treat," He offers up, confirming what the red head surely already assumed. "Favorite music?" But of course it comes with a question, even if it is a softball one, and if need be? Yule will give a gentle little push to the small of her back, making certain she orders first, whenever she is ready.

Sparrow taps her fingers lightly--and exceedingly briefly--against the outside of Yule's leg as she goes by, maybe a mark of gratitude, more likely just a greedy theft of a little more contact in passing. The way her chest swells with a deeply drawn breath as her eyes flutter upon entering is telling, confirmation that she enjoys good food and probably does appreciate her brother's talent just as much as she said she does. She doesn't really need that nudge up to the counter, but she might reel in some of her inherent enthusiasm to slow enough to prolong the contact. But maybe it's coincidental seeing as she turns a wry look toward him and declares that question, "Too broad," not finding it softball at all. Still, she holds up a single finger to beg a moment, to pause either further critique or answer of that question as she instead sidles up to the counter and requests, "The double with aged cheddar and sundried tomato with the tomato jam fries please. And, uh. Just a water, thanks."

She takes just a few seconds while Yule's ordering to divert some attention to her phone, quickly reading through missed messages and replying to one or two, the gadget already on its way back by the time he's done, by the time she's looking his way again to elaborate on her earlier objection. "Are we talking genre? Artist? Album? What I prefer playing? What I like to listen to? What I think you should listen to? I listen to a lot, Nine. I need a little context if you want an answer that doesn't require flowcharts."

That short order is taken, and Yule's focus is on the red head, both watching her interactions and the items that she orders. It's because he already knows precisely what he wants, "Blue cheese burger. Truffle fries. Water." That contact hadn't just been prolonged, it didn't ever stop while they both had been detailing out their particular food wants. The touch went from the small of her back to tucking his thumb into the waistline of her pants, letting the weight of his hand just drape there. His other pulls out his wallet, and only then does necessity dictate the touch stops so he can fish out cash, sliding it across.

It's not a plcae that believes in lean fat, healthy food. One can hear the sizzle of the grease on the stove top. He doesn't even wait a second when she asks for clarification, spinning up into full on hustle mode to think of whatever comes top of mind. "Favorite song to play, complete with a recording you send to me the first chance you get. Top three songs to listen to in the bathtub. What genre you are going to turn the radio to on our way back to Gray Harbor." That brief but charming smile is flashed her way, even as he picks up the old school sign with a number, heading off towards one of the booths.

Sparrow proves perfectly at ease with where his hand perches while they handle their burger business, like she barely notices, like she won't be thinking all night about how easily a little flex of his arm could have drawn her in against him right here in the middle of a burger joint for another of those slow, smoldering kisses. Nope. Not thinking about that at all. Cool as a cucumber. Nevermind the way her hips tilt toward him as his digits depart. When he's got answers instead of objections for her objection in lieu of answers, she grins. And follows. "Not sure I've been paying much mind to the radio, but I like the new wave that's gotten us this far. Anything else? I might wanna listen to it louder." And who would want that?

She slips off her jacket just before slipping into the booth, folding it in half and setting it on the seat beside her, just enough muffled noise to suggest something solid but not really hard is hanging against her phone, along with her keys. "Bathtub soundtrack is gonna depend on my mood, but more likely to be floaty either way, so. Mm." Her eyes roll up a little as she thinks. "MØ's Purple Like the Summer Rain when I'm in a good mood, Purity Ring's Repetition when I'm swinging down aaaaaand, mm, the Creep remix of MNDR's Feed Me Diamonds for more, uh..." She doesn't find the word she's looking for, instead grinning a little as she quietly croons, "C'mon, dismantle me. Do it slowly," picking right up in the middle of a lyric, an incomplete thought which still speaks volumes. And demonstrates quite a capable voice, though the charisma with which she sells it might heavily outweigh any technical skill.

A cocky smile follows, rendered slightly less arrogant by the damned near shy way she looks to the window as she goes on to answer the last--first?--question. "But, uh. Been playing a lot of Wolf Parade's C'Est La Vie Way lately. It's a pretty mellow song, but it's got these relentless drums--" She looks back to Yule now that she's safely back into babbling. "--that change up just enough to keep it interesting, especially toward the end--" And she stops, as she catches herself about to get technical, her hands having lifted like she's holding her drumsticks a few words ago, now falling to the table. "You know, you're welcome to come by and get a live show any time. Can't really carry the kit with me wherever, and most neighborhoods don't much care for a percussive serenade, so." He'll have to come to her. Which almost certainly how she likes it.

With that sweater, and no jacket, it frees Yule to just slip in down into that little table with a single - maybe double, if one gets really crammed in - booth on each side. He takes the opposite she does, setting down their number on the edge of that platform that will serve as their dining space. "Good." It's his response to her answer to the first question she picks out to give him, his arms settling into an easy laze on their tabletop.

It's all a matter of incidental timing, surely. They've just settled, she's just given that shy look away, and then she can feel the foot that loops behind her ankle, tugging one of those legs closer to his side to let them rest together. It's the only indication there might be more going on in that head than just casual conversation, but it's meaningful. Demanding, even. "Floaty," There is something about that word he just enjoys, and it draws a warm smile to his features. There isn't a bit of recognition to those bands and songs she lists off, far enough out of his own wheel house and what he has time for, but it's all filed away to look up and listen to later. "Ought to be careful about serenading a medical examiner to encourage him dismantling you," Down those eyes drop, the gaze both clinical and appreciative. He might be thinking about bathtub. He might also be thinking about how she'd look opened up. "Drums," He puts two and two together on what she does in that band she'd mentioned before, "Might," He says uncommitally about that live performance, "If I like what you send me." A sly smile curls to his mouth, but it is that line of thought he pursues. "So a band. How many in it? You guys play any gigs locally, or is it just an itch to scratch you all enjoy."

"Oughta be careful about a lot of things," Sparrow reminds, the words a bit more softly spoken than she'd meant, but that little ankle-capture has her thoughts half-elsewhere, further evidenced in the blush dusting her cheeks. At least her grin stays sharp, her gaze steady and attentive with a sense that she's not gonna be looking away again anytime soon. Her booted toe tilts and shifts, brushing the back of his calf before she sinks more comfortably into her seat, into that extension of her leg over to his side of the booth. "You will." She has no doubt. Her left hand comes up with three fingers to indicate the number of band members, total. "We're working on the gig thing maybe, but mostly scratching itches. Feels good to play together, ya know? Jaime, our guitarist and defacto vocalist? He does some stuff on his own now and then, but we haven't made our public debut yet." Flashing that crooked grin, she ventures, "Think you'd like us. Expect what we do's more to your tastes than the weird pop nonsense I tend toward on my own. Very, uh. I dunno. Bluesy rock? Like the Black Keys or Arctic Monkeys or whatever." One hand falls to her jacket as she tells him, "I could talk about music forever, and I am really glad to, but. I did bring my cards." As requested. "If you wanted to meet 'em."

A warm, brief burst of laughter comes from the man at her first words, head dipping into a small nod to accede the point towards her without a hint of protest. Even as he listens, those brown eyes focused on her own, his foot flexes against hers, momentarily trapping that ankle tightly as he can before the muscles relax. "Yeah. Sometimes good just to do something to do it. No need to make a deal out of it," He murmurs about the scratching of itches, her sentiments understood when it comes to just playing. Now those two bands draw a hint of recognition to him, one dark brow arching upwards in interest. More than interest. Intrigued, even. "Favorite color." He asks, but Yule is already drawing his arms back to give her more of the table when she mentions the cards, the silent acknowledgement that yes, she should draw them out. "You can tell me if the rest of my day is going to go as I planned it out. That's my question." The thought laid out there, making it clear that he doesn't want to just see the pretty pictures, but see how she uses them, too.

Does Sparrow feel trapped? She sure doesn't look it. Enthralled. Captivated. Rapt. But not trapped, not even when she's held for those few seconds and couldn't easily leave if she wanted to. The not wanting to makes all the difference. A hint of pride creeps into her grin, her posture, the way she holds her head when her guess proves correct. Not like he hadn't already clued her in, but they're just getting into specifics now. "Red." The easy answer. The start of a list which continues as she reaches down to pull up her jacket and fetch the cards from her pocket. They're kept in a small pouch in a vibrant watercolor pattern, entirely abstract; it looks handmade and shows some age, a little dirty at the corners, the drawstring frayed at the edges. "Orange and aquamarine. Grey more than black. Warm kinda golden sunshiny yellow." It sounds like she could go on, but she chooses to just flash an amused grin and restrain herself. "Yours?"

When the cards come out, they've got a sort of Rorschach pattern on the back with bilateral symmetry in muted blue, the deck worked in her hand for a quick shuffle before she offers them over to Yule with a nod. "Shuffle. Let 'em get to know ya."

There isn't any surprise on Yule's features when, after that pause, there are more colors to come, each one considered in turn by the man. Out those hands come the moment the cards are offered out, and with a practiced hand he sets about shuffling them not just once, but four times. Each filing of those cards together is slow so he can feel the edges, let fingertips brush against those patterned backs in appreciation. "Green." Comes his singular answer to the question. But there is always more context, a bit of history to go with his favorite, "Used to be red. When I was a little boy. But fuck, what boy doesn't like red. Associated too much with work now, though. Fell in love with green - and that particular green - with the car." Once he's satsified, and the deck is neatly stacked back up, over it is slid to her, hands collapsing together. He puts on an ever so calm demeanor above, and only the small sway of that foot below, drawing her leg slightly side to side, gives an indication of anticipation.

"I'mma try not to take that as a slight," Sparrow teases, her grin giving away that she didn't think it was but isn't against using the potential that it could've been against him, "and remind that some of us are just sanguine by nature." As if that color atop her head is anywhere near natural. She steals a quick look through the window to get a look at the car in the near-empty lot, committing that color to memory in this new context before taking back the cards. "Now." She cuts the cards while she talks, splitting it between one hand and another and reversing the order. "You asked a yes or no question which really only needs one card to answer it, so we're gonna start with that and see where we wanna go from there." Or how much longer it takes their food to arrive. Either way, it seems Yule gets no say in this despite the suggestion of inquiry in her arched eyebrows. She's already flipping over a card.

And it's a familiar one. The Six of Swords again. Sparrow can't help but laugh, bright and delighted, at the way that played out, the ambiguity it presents. Before she says anything, she takes a moment to watch Yule across the table, to see what he thinks, to give a little squeeze of her foot against his leg as she smiles so wide and satisfied. "Tricky, isn't it? On the one hand, it tells us that everything's going to plan. We're on step two of three, not yet at our destination. On the other?" The left corner of her mouth quirks up a little sharper. "It's not just travel. It's departure. Change. Leaving something behind to move onto something..." Her fingers wave, a quick gesture. "Farther. Better? New." After a moment of curious study, she asks him, "How would you rather read it?" That wording is surely intentional.

"You can take it however you want," He states with every bit of belief she'd do so anyway, his smile faint and coy, and as Yule continues that thought he twists the choice of interpretation of that chosen word. "Yeah. You are down right buoyant," It isn't cynical, but held with a touch of affection, admiration, and it becomes so much more fitting as the card flipped over? Is the one that has the watercolored painting of a boat. "We," He picked up on that slight change of intention, from his to theirs, embracing it regardless if she meant it intentionally or not. "could take it quite literally as a physical departure. But that's too plain. Boring. Expected."

"Better. New." Those words roll out with confidence and ego attached to them as his focus sharpens on her eyes, holding them even as he asks the question, "Isn't that what you see?" Not the card. Him. Her. "An inner journey. A departure of expectations and stereotypes. Unknown where the boat is going, but that's fine."

It's a brief pause as the food arrives, but Yule takes the plates and puts them on his side of the table, all to make sure those cards don't get anything on them. They aren't done, not yet. Out a finger extends, pointing her way. "Your turn." to see where the line of questions to discover goes from here.

Sparrow offers no direct and obvious agreement with Yule's interpretation of the card, but there's a lot to be read into the warmth with which she watches him, the way her eyes hold steady with his despite their happy half-hooding, the way she smiles so contentedly. It's that comfortable declaration of 'that's fine' which first earns a nod, though it'll be up to him to judge how much that gesture covers. She chirps a semi-apologetic, "Thanks!" to the server for the card in the way of proper plate placement, but she knows the questions aren't quite over with. Even if the smell of those burgers and fries tempt mightily.

"Mine?" She refocuses on the task at hand with a quiet breath of laughter. "Alright." No question voiced, she flips the top card onto the Six, only partially overlapping, the Knight of Cups presenting an armored, mounted figure overlayed by an upward-facing fish, pointed toward Yule as she lays it, with a ring of blue catching the heads of all three figures within its edges. What starts as a soft smile for the obvious read--romantic pursuit, a charming man in her immediate future--her expression grows more thoughtful as she looks to the details. Again, without word, she flips a third on top of that, this the Nine of Wands, a fox-faced figure with a bandage on its head staring out. Her smile twitches up again as she breathes a barely noticeable laugh, just before she looks across the table to Yule again. "I'll drink scotch with you," she tells him quietly but with certainty, as if it were set in stone, written in the cards, and not simply her decision. With that, she seems ready to collect the cards and pack them up, no detailed observations, these thoughts kept to herself, though there is a slowness to her movement, a deliberation that suggests she might be expecting objection and inquiry.

The first reaction from Yule isn't about trying to interpret the cards. Both of these are new, and there is a faint smile for the craftsmanship that went into making the deck, at least the original one used as the template. He keeps quiet, even when those cards begin to pack up. "Yeah, you will." It's spoken with airy confidence like that was already a forgone conclusion, his foot curling in tighter against hers and even pulling though it has little room or leverage to actually drag her out of her seat. No other direct interpretation comes from him, for he didn't know the question, and he seems uninclined to ask.

"Think it goes well with your horoscope today. I checked before I left the coffee shop," There is that easy, charming smile, the food almost forgotten, save for the delicious smell that comes, unable to be ignored as he leans forward a bit. "Unexpected events are likely to pop up and cause a stir in your emotions. You should make sure to give yourself time to deal with them. And while you should have your internal jumble of thoughts settled before you get tangled up in others' affairs? Your reckless impulses mean you likely won't." A beat of a pause as Yule slides her plate in front of her, now that the table is clear, "All right. I might have made up that last line." Yeah, right. Just the last one. Promise, says the amused look, even as his eyes shift to a half lidded state to watch her for a few seconds, and savoring every bit of that sight.

The three cards go on top of the deck. Chances are, they'll get shuffled back in carelessly whenever Sparrow takes it out again, but there's a suggestion in that act of preserving that history for at least some short while, letting that trio of answers persist for a little bit. That firmer tug to her ankle inspires a deeper breath, almost audible, and a flicker of keen curiosity cast across the table even as her fingers work at tying off the bag, dropping it to rest atop her jacket at her hip. But he gives her an out, a distraction.

"Oh yeah?" is amused at the thought that he might've been checking her horoscope again, bright eyes widening with interest that only deepens when he leans in. She nods to the first point, rolls her eyes to the second, then barks a laugh for the conclusion, for the only part that Yule admits to making up. "Sounds like every Gemini horoscope I've ever read," she croons across to him as she straightens, the angle of her caught leg below the table changing without actually withdrawing. With a lifted fry pointed at him, she confirms, "Right down to that last bit," as if she might not believe he made any of it up. Her eyes roll back happily at that sweet, tart, savory, strange combination of tomato jam, diced fried pickles and fries, a quiet sound of approval escaping before she gets back on point. "Maybe I should listen to the stars," she proposes without looking up. "Go home and get my thoughts in order. Get distracted with classes. Forget about whatever got me all tangled up." When she looks up, grin edging to the left, she wonders, "Do you need some time to catch your breath, Nine?"

There isn't even a hint of shame when she points out that horoscope sounds like any other she might of read, his smile lazy as he starts first with a couple of fries. This is what gets him to close his eyes, a brief look of bliss and nostalgia mixed together as he chews. He listens without opening, only to have her question shot his way answered with another of those small but bright bursts of laughter. Does he answer? Of course not, not directly. "You know how some people say they grow on you? Like a fungus? And next thing you know, you just find yourself liking them." He's clearly not drawing any parallels to either of them as his brown eyes open, watching her even as his fingers wrap around his burger, gingerly finding just the best way to keep it squished together in the vain hope of not making a mess.

"I'm like a fine scotch, the more time you spend with me. I age gracefully. You'll be calling me Ten before long." And so he ties it back to the start of questions the previous night as he brings up his lunch, but he doesn't stop there. "We'll head back to Gray Harbor. I'll drop you off somewhere," Not that he elaborates if he'll give her a say in the where, or if that is his choice. "I'm doing my run. Skipping the bookstore. Then I'm enjoying my drink." The slow bob of his foot stops, and once more that squeeze of his foot comes, with the toe of his boot riding up against her calf. "With you." And there he takes his first bite, his peace said, sinking teeth into his burger while he waits for her reaction.

Sparrow revels in that laughter, brief as it is, her grin skewing proud like she might be making some mental mark on her side of an entirely imaginary scoreboard. The analogy he sets out for comparison earns a snort, but any comment she might have on what one ought to do with things that growing on them goes unspoken, lest she interrupt that line of thought. She, too, sets into her burger as she listens, hunched forward a bit without any self-consciousness as she goes in with gusto, though her position is certainly an attempt to assure none of the juices or tomato bits end up on her white tee. Stooped like that, he might miss the eyeroll for his prediction, but it's a fond thing either way, no actual objection issued. She peeks up as dropping her off--who cares where--ends up high on his list, like maybe that's an answer to her question. And, even when he draws her back into his evening plans, maybe it is. A little bit of time to collect her thoughts. "With me," she agrees, even and certain, if a little weighty with meaning. Her foot shifts, flexing her calf against him, a subtle deepening of that contact. "Could bring over a little something to listen to maybe?" With a curious cant of her head, red hair brushing cotton-clad shoulder, she wonders, "What do you usually think about while you're enjoying your drink?"

It's several bites into his lunch that Yule gets before he answers, though despite his obvious hunger, she still has his mental focus, those eyes watching her as she works through that set of responses to what he's offered up. He takes his time to finish chewing, his glass of water picked up and a drink taken to clear out his mouth before he murmurs, "That's a pretty heavy question." And it is, given the seriousness that he places on it. "While I might prefer not to, depending on work? It might be that. Thinking of the what ifs of a life cut too short. Of their family. Other nights? I'll read a book. Normally something light. Fiction. Make believe. And every once in a while, I'll be lucky and remember a pleasant distraction," His fingers curl around fries, but there is a sudden frown upon his features as he pulls them up, soon explained by his words. "Nah. Fuck distraction. It's too fleeting and implies too little. A bright spot. One of those things that catches your eyes, your mind, reminds you there is still a lot of interesting things to experience." In go those fries, and he chews, a bob of his head coming in agreement to the thought of music, "All right. Scotch at my place, then. USB connection required for the speakers I have. No 80s mix tapes or 90s CDs.. and I'm still deciding how fast I'll be driving when I let you out if you mention anything older than tapes." It's the barest of smiles, a momentarily lightening of those features into mischief after the more weighty words from before to draw his own humor back.

Sparrow makes a mess. It's a well-contained mess, but a mess all the same, juices slipping through fingers, down her palms, to her plate. She doesn't bother with her napkin between one bite and then next while the quiet's set in, cleaning what catches at the corner of her mouth with a curl of her tongue instead. When the question's heft is noted, she snags a napkin to wipe her mouth, still rubbing it within her fingers, trying to get them a little cleaner, as she points out, "You're allowed to say no." Not that she thinks he will, but it does feel like a worthwhile groundrule to make plain after their earlier diversion into darker territory when his inquiries plunged into unexpected depths. She takes another bite before setting what's left of her burger down and setting to properly cleaning up her hands as she listens, focus almost entirely on Yule, save for the occasional spot check.

Whatever she makes of his answers--which may be plain enough given the restrained curiosity at odds with sympathy and sentiment in her expression--she's lead easily back into the talk of music and its media, brows knitting with increasing concern as he goes backwards in technology. "Nine, darling." The concern she wears is wholly insincere, but she sells it well, the way she leans in like that, how her features soften. "Have you... never heard of bluetooth?" A grin cracks quickly, and she assures, "I'll bring a cord if I need to," without worries. Her foot tilts to tap his leg, a more casual gesture than most of what's been expressed under the table, a mark of growing comfort. As she starts nomming on her fries, she wonders, "What are you reading now?"

He isn't much better, despite his attempts to do so, though everything is kept on his place. He doesn't quite manage to eat all of the thing, but he also knows when to stop, putting it down to brush his fingers against one another. "It's a fad," He says with far too straight a face when she mentions bluetooth. Yule dips in for some more fries, plucking them up to chew on, but these too he abandons, finally giving in to a napkin to clean up. "I just finished rereading Douglas Adam's Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency. Love the writing style he had, the sense of humor."

Back he leans into his side of the booth, and this time the squeeze his foot gives is softer, more gentle at her tap that comes. "Just picked up A Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers. So far so good. Science Fiction is hit or miss for me, but it focuses far more on the characters, the interactions instead of worrying too much about an elaborate, large setting and the technology behind it."

"That's been around since before I was born," Sparrow quips back of that 'fad,' almost certainly saying something about her potential age range. Unless she's just talking out her ass. Which is certainly possible. When Yule reveals his reading material, her eyes light up like she's just uncovered something unexpected or valuable, something delightful. "You're a nerd," as if it were a revelation, a piece that just clicked into place. "I don't know why that surprises me. All that education, researching things you don't have to just because you get an itch." Though she falls quiet, it's not impossible to guess that she's connecting other pieces, little details that support her theory. There's a quiet, happy, "Huh," before she pops more fries past her lips, reaching for her napkin to clean up, like she might be done, too. "I wanna know the nerdiest thing you've ever done, Nine."

His mouth parts with some quip back about how long it's been around, but he thinks twice, instead just giving her foot beneath the table a larger bump to send it bouncing against his own. "Dungeons and Dragons, back in high school. Yeah. I was a total nerd back then." This is offered up without hesitation or embarrassment, one dark brow arching upwards as if to see how much further that challenges her initial assumptions about the man. "Come on, Cards." He says once she's put that napkin down, interpreting it as the sign she's decided to wrap up on her side too. "How about you. Nerdiest thing you've done. And, what do you plan to do while we drink scotch tonight." It's an even more specific question than hers had been as Yule slips out of the booth.

Sparrow laughs. Hell, it might be more accurate to call it giggling, all that delighted nonsense that spills out of her at Yule's answer. She really could not be more pleased with that revelation, her smile damned near ear to ear. She snags a swig of her water after she's caught her breath, before she picks up her cards and her starry coat and starts sliding out of the booth. "I'm a nerd, gorgeous," crooned without an ounce of shame. She slips on her jacket and shoves her cards away as she falls into step beside him, as she tips her cheek toward his shoulder, making brief contact as she eyes him past her bright red bangs. "I'm a chemistry major who works at the local game store and still raids regularly with her World of Warcraft guild. My brother and I hosting a board game night at our house in a couple of weeks. I won a costume contest at the local comic shop and spent my winnings on some seriously cerebral comic books, and I'm reading Richard Feynman for fun. So." Her smile warms as she assures, "You're in good company, Nine."

Surely, that list is long enough to see them back out into the afternoon air, crisp and cool and sadly bereft of burger fat, a deep breath drawn as she starts toward the car. "And I plan to keep pulling threads until you come utterly undone." With a flirtatious look shot in his direction, she offers, "But I'm open to alternatives."

Out the door they go, and her laughter - giggling, really! - doesn't phase him in the least as he holds it open for her. She's led off towards that vehicle, Yule fishing out the keys once more. It is slid into the lock on her side, and what should be a step back to pop it open doesn't see that door budge at all. That's because he's left the keys there, his left hand sweeping up to slide behind her, pressing against her shoulders. In she is brought even as he pivots her around, drawn in close with that gesture. His mouth seeks out hers in a kiss that is just as hungry as he'd been for their lunch, warm and expressive in that burst of energy and passion, parting so that he can taste of her lips with the heat and hardness he delivers it.

Her bottom is planted lightly against the side of the car, and his right hand? It slides in just before it happens, curling to, yes, grab against her ass. That moment is allowed seconds to itself, time for her to respond, to feel how much more is there, wanting, waiting. And then it's broken with a succulent little sound.

"Continue to keep you on your toes, till you finally topple over." It's a whisper, causing his lips to brush against hers as he offers up his own plans, the small but warm smile that touches to his lips felt rather than seen. Pop goes the door handle as he opens it, taking the requisite step back so she has room to slip in, if she can.

Sparrow gasps, lips already parted when he claims them, a hand planted against his chest to brace herself. Eyes wide with surprise waste no time closing, tense muscles melting into the unexpected affection. Startled though she may have been, she has no problem leaning into the shifting situation, giving herself over to the moment. The fingers at his chest curl pointlessly while her other hand sets low on his hip, fingertips just barely crossing a boundary he more boldly ignores, curves caught in his hand or crushed to his chest. Just as she begins to regain her balance and reciprocate, he withdraws just enough so she can catch her breath, so she can giggle again, so quiet this time. Delicate. His lips brush hers, and she presses forward only for that intention to be answered with distance.

This is not a Sparrow most get to see, entirely caught off-guard and then left exposed, standing there against the car, beside that open door, with her head dipped, cheeks flushed, smile soft and fingers curled into empty, restless fists. She doesn't look up at Yule until after she's murmured, "What makes you think I'm not already falling?" Her gaze catches his for a second, nothing at all flustered in those warm brown eyes. And then she slips into the car, leaning back against the headrest with her eyes closed as she tries to quiet everything that's racing far too fast through her head and heart and everywhere else.

Her only answer is a coy smile, a are look through half lowered eyes, and in contrast to the sudden impulse of before, those lines so blatantly crossed, he acts the part of gentleman to close her door, tucking her into that car safe and sound. Fingers pull out the keys and then around he goes to his side. It's while he is putting in the keys to his side, and his upper half is hidden due to the low nature of the car that he takes in a deep breath and looks skyward. "Holy fuck." Is all he mutters to himself where it can't be heard, but it isn't a tone of complaint, remorse or shame. Just disbelief. And then his door is opened, he's slipped into the seat.

The car starts, reversed out, and then off they go. It's his hand on that gear knob she might notice, his fingers spreading wider so that they have just the perfect space for her own in a silent, expectant invitation.

Sparrow exhales when Yule's door opens, carefully letting go of deep breath she'd been holding. By the time he slips in, she looks more relaxed, though the color of her complexion hasn't quite normalized yet. When she notices the positioning of his fingers upon the gear shift, she hesitates, only briefly, and only because she gets a little stuck in her own thoughts. Fingers slide over the back of his hand then between his digits, squeezing a little then holding steady. On the radio, Annie Lennox sings about how, 'Love is a stranger in an open car, to tempt you in and drive you far away,' but who knows if she even notices, lost in her own head and keeping mighty quiet as they head away from Hoquiam and back toward home.