2019-11-17 - Once, In Spanish

It had been as he walked into the Pourhouse that Yule's phone was slid out, a couple of texts shot off before he heads towards the bar. His dark gray knit sweater has a soft, folded over collar to give a touch of extra warmth to the neck, with that neckline shallow, letting one only catch glimpses of the red t-shirt he wears beneath it. A pair of faded gray jeans and black ankle high boots completes his well put together attire.

Once settled on his stool, his order is made, and a whiskey glass with a quite fine scotch is slid towards him. He's in no rush to enjoy that drink, though his fingers are wrapped about it, while his focus is for the next few moments riveted on his phone, flicking through webpages.

Sparrow is in no rush either. There's a noncommittal answer for the text she receives and then a whole lot of nothing after. Maybe twenty minutes or so later, the why behind that silence is easy enough to understand, the care taken to put herself together and answer that undoubtedly indirect invitation walking through the front door to the Pourhouse. Of course, she might sell that whole composed cuteness thing a little bit better if she invested in an umbrella, but who wants to busy their hands with that? It leaves her red hair a little sagging and soggy, fingers pushed up through that damp mess to shake it out a little, even if the mussing isn't as adorable as it feels. It'll surely frizz out however it wants in a few minutes anyway.

Tonight, she's dressed in muted hues, her cozy knit sweater a v-neck in evergreen with a partially unbuttoned white dress shirt below it, decidedly a bit too large for her for how the cuffs are folded up over the sweater's, for how the ends peek out over her hips past her sweater, draped on denim, tonight's jeans only minimally ripped. Her boots are black, worn, not the high gloss things she wore the other night. Even her make-up's a little more low-key, muted neutrals accenting her ever-present cateye, her lips a matte shade of rather dark red. And those lips spread wide when she spies Yule at the bar, just a second spent taking him in before she heads on over. And, just like last time, takes a seat on the barstool beside him. And, if his phone isn't already tucked away, takes a shameless interest in his current reading material without so much as a hello.

The medical examiner seems truly invested in what he is looking at, though surely he has caught a glimpse of that bright, red hair from the corner of his gaze. But it means that Yule's phone is all for the viewing when she gets up. Maybe it speaks to how the man knows so many random facts, or it could be about work. Either way, it's archives of the local newspaper online he is going through, focused mostly on murders. So too is there another couple of pages he swaps back and fourth between on local bulletins around the black market for organs in the Pacific Northwest.

Not a word comes until Yule has leaned over, offering a soft, chaste kiss right against to Sparrow's cheek. "Guy's gotta have a hobby," He explains in that casual, off handed morbid humor tone of his before the phone is flipped upside down. A twist in his stool has him facing her, his side resting to the bar before he lifts his glass up. "What are you drinking tonight?" A beat of a pause, and there is that faint but warm smile that touches his lips. "And what does that tell me about my future?"

"Side hustle?" Sparrow teases a little more sweetly than is probably appropriate when making a joke about black market organ sales, but Yule's entirely to blame for that. It's that kiss which softens her tone, which sets dark lashes to dipping. Close like that, he might catch only the faintest hints of citrus, the white musk redoubled, mingled with apples and apple blossoms instead, with hyacinth and dragon's blood, an addendum to a dimming memory. The look she levels him is still low-lidded when he turns to face her--when she probably entirely intentionally knocks her knee against his so lightly and casually that it might be mistaken for incidentally--but it's rife with scrutiny, scheming. "Two questions." Bright brown eyes lift to find his as she lays them out. "First, is that your Highland 18? Second, how far are you willing to stray from safety?"

"Yeah. Look, if you ever figure you don't want one of those two kidneys you have," Such a charming invitation to give up something she doesn't really, truly need. "I'll only take a small cut." Of the profits. And her body. In a deep breath comes to memorize that scent, and how it blends together, with his own matching with that familiar blend of white musk, lime, lilac and citron. "It is." He offers as he straightens up, his glass lifted up to taken a small sip from that very amber liquid of which they speak. "Far," Comes the answer to her second inquiry, though it comes with a certain, coy smile. "But I know when to stop."

A rather damp Maggi enters into the building, shaking her mane like an alpine mastiff. She sports a leather jacket. Considering the usually dreary weather she ponders the fact that she really should consider something with a hood at some point...but not tonight. Tonight was for beer. She takes a grateful inhale of the smokey aroma, a calm washing over her. Maggi walks purposefully to the bar ordering a draft porter, taking a few savored sips. The most colorful thing in the place was definitely Sparrow's red hair. She found her eyes continually drawn to the technicolor woman before realizing what she was doing could be taken as staring, her eyes moving to the floor.

"I mean." Sparrow's eyes go wide with wholly imagined innocence. "I trust you, doctor." Blinkblink. The ruse--not precisely a lie--dies with a crooked little grin which lingers as she takes in those answers. The last one, that addendum, earns something softer, warmer, as she nods, conceding, "You do," without reservation. Like maybe it's a good thing. She studies Yule for a moment longer before looking to the beer list and considering where she wants to start. "Two Errant whispers," she asks of the bartender, noting, "The gentleman's tab," without bothering to check with him first. It's a golden pour, served in six ounce snifters rather than pint glasses, mellow head. Fruity scent, peach translating directly to its flavor, fresh and luscious. It's beer, sure, with a hint of bitterness in the background, but it's a bright belgian sour with minimal hoppiness.

While they wait for those drinks, she issues a challenge, asking the decidedly older man, "What's your favorite album of 2019?" with an impish glimmer in her eyes. Her gaze strays toward the unfamiliar woman in leather just in time to make that one little flicker of awkward eye contact before Maggi looks away. "It's alright," she calls over cheerfully. "That's what it's there for."

"I promise to return you." Though he doesn't add on the, 'in one piece' that the line so often concludes with. It's a coy smile Yule flashes her way, though his moment is focused on what the bartender pulls out. "You have a bottle of it I can see back there?" Comes his inquiry of the man, for presentation and information is just as compelling as the drink itself. His scotch is momentarily abandoned in favor of this new glass, assuming that yes, one is for himself rather than Sparrow intending to drink both without even bothering to ask. "It is," Comes his reassuring commitment towards Maggi, "We had a long, philosophical discussion on the merits of red directing peoples eyes to look where they should."

Those brown eyes watch the golden haired new arrival as he smells of that belgian sour, letting the scent be savored before he commits to a drink. "Kenny Wayne Sheperd. The Traveler. Listen to, 'Woman Like You' when you get a chance." It's a smooth offer without a moment of thought to have to think about it, and there is something ever so promising in his voice about that song. "Yours?"

Maggi's usually aggravated expression lifts at the comments, as do her penetrating eyes. Casually, she moves toward the pair easily, a smirk settling on dark lips. She could swear she had seen those brilliant locks before...somewhere. She replies excitedly without thinking, a symptom of too many hours spent absorbing academic material. "That hair has the possibility to get anyone who views it intoxicated more quickly. Studies show red increases blood pressure and metabolism." Realizing that she had started fact vomiting, Maggi places the deep chocolaty pint to her lips before she came across as weird, again. First the waffle place, now here. Perhaps, going out was a bad idea. A certain amount of self doubt just came with the territory of returning to ones home town she supposed.

None of this was readable from her expression, a tough exterior remaining composed. For the time being listening and learning may be her saving grace. Maggi had never much cared for philosophy, though it was an indication of some depth existing in the other patrons.

No bottles, the bartender informs Yule. They've only got this beer on tap. The brewery, Tin Dog, is mentioned, though, in case he wants to get some more or check it out later or whatever.

Sparrow considers the abandoned scotch like she might want to steal it. Surely, she hasn't developed some taste for the stuff overnight, has she? Couldn't be. See how she reaches for her beer instead? She chirps a simple, "Truth," in regards to that discussion--or maybe his phrasing--before she takes her first sip. And then another. Oh, that's yummy! And still, the redhead looks a smidge disappointed when she draws her glass down, pouting playfully at the ME's ability to answer what she expected to be a more difficult question. Nevermind the glint in her eyes that suggests she's impressed. "I will," she promises before drawing a deep, thoughtful breath.

Blessedly, she's got some distraction to put off answering that quick counter while she looks to the stranger. With a shameless, conspiratorial wink to Maggi, she confirms, "You're onto me," as if expedited intoxication had been her plan all along, and she is guilty as charged. Without, ya know, actually expressing any guilt. "Sparrow," comes with a pat of her hand to her chest before those digits tip over to gesture to, "Yule. Is your expertise color theory, medical miscellany or getting drunk quickly?" Dark brows get a playful lift before her attention returns to Yule.

"Lotta good pop," she muses absently, maybe still stalling. "Lotta albums with multiple songs I like." No, she did not have a ready answer handy. "But maybe only three I listen to end to end regularly." And, to judge by the empty hand going up to start counting with her fingers, she's gonna give him all three. Cuz decisions are hard. First finger up, "Think I'd go with Lucky Daye's Painted if I were just looking to entice you. Think you'd like that one best even if it's not your usual thing." Second, "But MØ's Forever Neverland might be a little more honest. It's been my go to since this summer. But!" Third, "GRiZ's Ride Waves is possibly more insight into me. And what you should listen to. Especially Cruise Control." With a delighted little grin, she adds, "If you keep up tonight, I'll maybe even tell ya why."

"Though it varies by culture," Cue up Yule, the man of random trivia, picking up that factual conversation without a beat of hesitation. "The Buddhist flag has red in it, because in their culture? It inspires feelings if wisdom, virtue, fortune and dignity. We in the States are conditioned to see red as an agressive thing. Go figure." Not that he isn't paying attention to the bartender as well, that note filed away with an impassive, hard to read calmness about his thoughts on this.

Finally his beer is lifted up, and he doesn't drink, but just takes a small sip that is rolled around on his tongue, lingering before it is finally swallowed. It's treated with equal casual ease, still giving no further insight into his thoughts. Those albums are listened to, and it is, of course, the very last one that gets him intrigued, the mental note made to look it up when he gets home. "My favorite song from the album, however," Giving insight the first one listed was completely spur of the moment to intice the red head. "Is 'Take It On Home'. When I think of why I came back, and what I was missing. It is the feeling in that song, rather than the pure literal interpretation of the lyrics. It just moves me in a way that soothes. Home." Laughter comes from him, a short, sharp snort of it for her last, and that smile turns downright sly. "Yeah? I think you have to catch up first." It's delivered with a brief flicker down to his scotch, having caught her own look towards it, and then back up in a silent, expressive thought as to what he might be thinking about.

Maggi eyes the pair in a calculating fashion, placing a mental bet on Sparrow winning the unspoken beverage custody from Yule in all eventuality. A toothy grin is revealed, decidedly impressed, and a bit more at ease. Shoulder's relax. Looking unabashedly at Sparrow now, she sets her cloudy pint on the nearest surface. "It's more a public service you are performing than anything, coming to a bar." This of course leads to a string of internal dialogue on the topic of policies on dyed hair in work places needing to be lifted to evoke what a business was trying to achieve.
Pushing these thoughts to the side she, processes Yule's response. That was something she could use in her next analysis of cultural exploration. Reaching a slender hand out to each of them formally, she concludes they are worthy of returned courtesy. "Maggi." She returns the glass to her now purposeless grasp. Tuning in to the topic at hand, only a few of the mentioned anthems were met with any form of recollection, a downside of a primarily limited musical taste. In the back of her mind, an ongoing annoyance was to be had on where she could not quite place Sparrow from.

Red? Aggressive? No. Couldn't be. Sparrow just sips at her beer like she hasn't any possible idea what Yule might mean. Nothing but wisdom, virtue and dignity over here, thanks! If only they could see the halo that belongs above those neon bright tresses. Black brows pitch up toward red bangs as she looks from Maggi to Yule then back again to note to the medical examiner, "I like her. Already knows how to weaponize me." Commercialize? Whatever. She's not picky. Neither does she seem to be observant, that itch at the back of Maggi's head not something she's caught onto yet. But she's lived here her whole life and spent most of her adolescence with brightly colored hair, most often red. Sometimes, years ago, as the drummer of local pop-punk band--of passing quality for some kids in high school--Helgrind. They did a few public shows at Kelly's Gym, right?

Sparrow's features soften a bit for the additional exploration of Yule's chosen album, at the balance in the two songs picked out, one almost certainly outward-facing, the other inward. But she doesn't comment, caught in that short laugh, pleased. "I mean." She sets her beer down and draws his scotch closer, sniffing it to try and gauge how strange it might be on the wake of the luscious peach flavor of the sour. She ventures a cautious sip, the scrunch of her nose suggesting it wasn't entirely pleasant, but the scotch will coat her tongue soon enough and minimize that clash. "Is it cheating to call the two of coins again?" she wonders, sounding sincere. "Back to the beginning. Compatibility, adaptability." Sex. She doesn't say it this time, though it will be up to Yule to discern if that's because it no longer fits or it simply isn't necessary. "And onto the Empress." With a tip of her scotch--he surrendered it, point to Maggi--toward his beer. "Fruitful." Her grin shows no shame for that pun. "Efforts answered in abundance. What's born of the earth--" The tumbler is drawn up, nearly to her lips. "--proving generous, plentiful." The second sip isn't so bad.

"Weaponize?" Yule sounds dubious that this is the complete, proper term for it, and a beat of a pause later he expands on that thought. "That is like walking into a room full of gunpowder and lighting a match. She just has the insight to set off what is already there." His beer glass is shifted to his left hand, the right patted upon the side of his pants to remove a touch of condensation before he reaches out to claim Maggi's. "Nice to meet you." Up that sour is lifted in a salute towards the woman, before it's brought to his lips and savored.

It might be hard to miss if one isn't looking, the sharp glint in thsoe brown eyes. Yes, his scotch is taken, and without an ounce of protest. But that moment of sheer pleasure shows that he feels while that battle might be lost? It has won him some unspoken war. "Accomplishment," He adds on to the Empress, "Patience in letting things grow your way." But that touch of seriousness is tempered by the huff of a bit of laughter, those eyes rolling upwards as her commentary on the two of coins truly sinks in. "Think that is quickly becoming your favorite. Not that I can blame you." Another sip, longer this time, that comes from the man, the unspoken testament that yes, the red head picked well in what she found for him to try.

It seemed that some sort of code had been invoked by the two of them, another language being spoken...that's when the connection hit. Sparrow might have been in a lecture Maggi had assisted for during her sophomore year of graduate education at WSU. Not generally a helpful person, the unofficial requirement to impress faculty had grated on her. If she was one the right thought train, a paper Sparrow had written had made allegory to the cards previously. Not sure if this should be voiced (one could always be wrong placing a face, or rather head, at such a large school), Maggi toys with the thought of ordering a stronger drink herself. She enjoyed the company enough to stay a while, and if Sparrow was in fact a student they were both indulging post testing round one.

Maggi was enjoying the Porter and wished to keep it's fellowship for a short time longer. She had roughly researched tarot at one point, but didn't recall enough to sense the nuance of the code, simply offering, "Cards?"

"Some people certainly have a knack for that," Sparrow quips to Yule of that metaphorical ignition. Another sip? Yeah, she might be toasting him. Her smile goes all soft again as he expounds upon her enigmatic reading, head dipping in concession, particularly on that point of patience. Maybe she misreads his next comment because she tells him, "Got a lot to do with the company," before she downs that last little bit of her stolen scotch, like maybe she's referring to the drink instead of the (entirely absent) card, but aren't they one and the same? She gives the empty glass a little swish and tilt to see if there's anything salvageable left at the bottom before setting it down to take up her beer again.

Her attention lingers on the medical examiner for a few extra seconds after Maggi asks about their odd conversation, a slight delay in returning her attention to the woman. "Drinks," she answers, clarifying nothing. "Yule here is very superstitious, you see--" Blatant lie. Probably. "--and I've gotta guide him through the symbolism of his drink choices so that he doesn't, like. I dunno. Do a couple lemondrops and fall in love with some bitter blonde that's not at all his type or something." Really, she's the hero here. But author, she is not. Not even for college papers that don't involve chemistry. Last year's electives focused on ethics and philosophy. This year's? Kickboxing. This bullshit she's spewing is purely recreational. With a curious pitch of her brows, she wonders of the woman, "Do you read?"

Yeah, it was probably about closing time. Probably. The entry sweeps open with the effort of a small woman, eyes snapping around the sights and sounds of the bar briefly as the door falls closed behind her. Wearing a large, funky sweater, some jeans, and some calf-high boots, Abitha looked like she was wearing just a shade less than needed for the cold outside, and the hike of her shoulder and slight shiver as she readjusted to being inside only confirmed it. Well, just another of the perks of your shop and home being on the same street as a bar. Don't really need a jacket to pop over. Stepping carefully to the bar, Sparrow gets noticed quickly, quirking a brow, a curious, but understandingly distant wave given if meeting her eyes. The red-head looked popular. Understandable. Abitha really has to get up onto a stool, booted feet standing on the rings of it as she leans across the bar unbidden to grab a menu, finding a sour and ordering.

"You forgot the bottle dyed part of the blonde," Yule adds on with casual ease about Sparrow's thoughts on who he has to be careful with. "The really bad sort. All frizzy and shit." Up his eyes lift to the heavens, a low, swooning breath released before he takes a longer drink from his beer. "Yeah. The company. Speaking of? That last question. I have an addendum to make to it. Further research was had." It's only when she drains off the scotch that that satisfaction takes full root, only to have his gaze detour a moment when another enters the place.

Tarot? He lets Sparrow field that one, to ask the question that comes to her mind even as he leans over, that voice dropping into a softer whisper. When it is all said and done, he straightens, that now empty glass that had contained his sour put upon the counter. "My limit," He murmurs with a ghost of a smile towards those about him, "I'm on call." Always is, just about, it seems. But that doesn't stop him from fishing into his back pocket, wallet pulled out to free some cash. And Sparrow? Surely she knows the costs of the sours, which might make it eye opening the number of bills he puts down to account for the scotch. That, or he just tips far, far too generously.

Maggi grimaces at the concept, she read but, nothing fun. If she were to attempt placement of the last time she had enjoyed a book, or had time for one recreationally, no the concept was almost depressive. "I do know how." Is her response. It was like someone bringing up an old friend to the sudden realization that while once incredibly close, the two of you had barely spoken in years. "I'm a master's student at WSU" she indicates a bit more directly.

The under-dressed thin figure is noticed gravitating toward the odd huddle. Home had so many unfamiliar faces these days. Akin to her choice of drink, Maggi was officially the darkest personality in a sea of sour sipping bodies. While always enjoying being a little different, the human need to fit had her questioning her choices. Having dried out she watches the newcomer shiver. Slipping her thin arms from the jacket, the holds it out toward the sweater clad woman. "Here" she states, holding it out gingerly, a flag swaying in the breeze.

"Awesome!" Are Sparrow and Maggi talking about the same thing? Nope. Was Sparrow clear in her inquiry? Nope. Is that gonna stop her from suggesting that, "You should read for me sometime?" Apparently not! "Second year chem," she answers in terms of WSU attendance. "Full nerd. Hi." Her mouth opens like she might mean to greet the latest addition to the evening's drinkers, but she stops short when Yule leans in, fielding not one damned thing as she listens to whatever it is he's got to say. Though her lips quirk to the side a little--amused?--her only answer is a nod and a sip of her beer. Agreeable. Until Yule notes he's done. That earns a wry purse of her lips and a far too affectionate, "Tease," that has a whole volume of thoughts behind it that she doesn't find time to voice. The familiar chimes of a ridiculous song--Doja Cat's Juicy--rise from her person, muffled by pocket, and she puts her critique of his earlier question-answering on hold. One look at the who--Dovey, for the medical examiner close enough to catch it--has her smiling and slipping from her stool. "Sorry, Nine. Don't disappear without me, yeah?" She winks to Maggi as she heads off somewhere unobtrusive, a wave clipped to, "Mac the Knife," cheerfully. Given how happily she answers the call, how animated she is while she talks? She might be a while.

There's a confused blink as Maggi holds the coat out, a socially reflexive notion having Abitha's hand lifting slightly, then oh-so-awkwardly playing it off to pick up her delivered drink. She tries not to look too ungrateful, brows lifted, "Oh, uh, no. Thanks. I'll be fine... I just live across the street. So didn't bring a jacket." Abitha makes an over exaggerated tap of her own head, self deprecatingly implying she was dumb for doing so. Yeah, it was a polite gesture, if anxiety inducing at the thought of wearing someone else's clothes, "Looks better on you, anyways. I, uh... Can't pull off badass biker." A smile that doesnt quite match the nervous wideness of her eyes attempts to seem socially acceptable.

Yule can't him but look with a fascinated glance between Maggi and Sparrow as she goes all out in prying for a reading at some point, and oh to be a fly on the wall to hear how they all interpret things. That faint smile is cast towards Abitha as he catches tidbits of that conversation, "As a Doctor," Yes, it's just that casual, light playful banter he gives so idly. "I can assure you that going without a jacket across the street? Perfectly safe in this weather." Then Sparrow is slipping off with those words, and it draw a light snort of amusement with him, "That depends on you, not me Cards. I'll wave when I'm heading out." Because Yule? He isn't the sort to just stand around and wait forever, though he hasn't moved away just yet. "What are you getting your graduate degree in?" This comes to Maggi, one dark brow arched in interest.

Maggi shrugs, setting the jacket onto the nearest seat. "Your discomfort." Maggi was irritated by all forms of rejection as a general rule, no more kindnesses today, she decides internally. She gives a head tilt to the disappearing Sparrow, quizzically considering the disconnect. Her blue eyes are directed by Yule's comment. "Uh, those beyond normal human limitations, and the science behind it." This was the answer she gave to most people when pressed, like she was studying to be a doctor or something. It had worked on her parents to this point anyway.

Abitha's hand goes to the front of her sweater as Yule makes his remark, holding the fuzzy fabric between two fingers as she heaves a small sigh, shoulders sagging in defeat, "Well damn, you're saying I have to actually make an effort. Stupid easily-avoidable death..." She sips her sour and leans on the bar in a dejected manner seeming to really have to give that some thought. Then Maggi's answer has her full on spitting her drink in surprise, a spray misting the air, she immediately folds over and turns slightly away from the conversation, bringing her hands to her mouth in embarrassment and honestly a little apprehension. She's frozen in her spot for a moment, then gingerly reaches across the bar for some cocktail napkins and tries to cover her shame.

"Which means you are either in the Elon Musk School of Cybernetic Engineering program," Yule's casual quip doesn't miss a beat as he comments, "Or some form of psychology." Up a hand lifts to give a wave to the redhead that is off chatting away on the phone, but does Yule wait? Nope. "The key there? Should be /spectacularly/ stupid death. Do something that makes sure I have to work to figure out what gets you in the end, yeah?" That's said to Abitha before he begins to head towards the door. And if they are looking, they will surely see the flash of head start through the crowd, angling to follow after the departing medical examiner.

"You're gonna love it, Dovey," Sparrow coos into her phone as she slips out into the rainy night after Yule, the ambient noise level suddenly dropping... along with the temperature. She keeps close to the door, under whatever awning or overhang might be there to keep her dry, as she closes up her call. "Yes. Yes! Just pack pajamas, alright?" Her eyeroll can be heard, affectionate but present. "Dovey, I gotta go." Her face scrunches up so cutely at whatever answers on the other side before she admits, "Yes," and then quickly, "No. Nuh uh." Beat. "Maybe. Alright. I love you, Zed." Kisskiss! "See you soon." Her smile could light up the whole street when she clicks to end the call, when she shoves her phone in her pocket and looks around for her quarry, intent on hurrying her pursuit.

There is little doubt that Yule is aware of her presence, for both that voice and hair is impossible to miss. He neither slows up to wait for her to finish, but nor does he speed up to try and rush her. It's that same easy, rolling gait that has him heading around the corner, because of course he parked off in the back of the lot where no one else does. It means she has plenty of time to catch up just as that green car looms, his keys already fished out. "Interesting pair," He comments idly, a brief glance given back to the bar. But that's all the more thought he gives to it as he goes to the passenger side, unlocking it first to let Sparrow get in out of the rain quicker if she so desires. "Everything all right? Need me to drop you off somewhere?" No real concern or worry in that voice, but it's surely generated from the fact that for him? Calls seldom come without changes of evening itineraries with his line of work.

Sparrow's hurried footfalls splash through puddles as she races to catch up, as she moves to adjust when Yule heads around to the other side of the car for her. Slipping close, one hand moves to still his before it can get to the handle while the other reaches up to catch his jaw, to offer some small warning before she presses in for a quick, happy kiss, barely more than a peck. Were it not for the way she shallowly catches his lower lip between her own, it might almost seem chaste. "Your place?" is her bold suggestion of where he could leave her as she slips her fingers from his so that he can open the door if he'd like. "Unless you're off to work." Did he get a call in? She didn't notice. "In which case I can see myself home." Maybe she'll tell him about her call later, or chat about that pair, when they're not standing in the rain.

A tip of his head comes, just to change the angle slightly of that kiss, but not to deepen it. There is the barest of smiles that glimmer with warmth, a slight dip of those eyelids that show his appreciation for both the affection and the bold suggestion that comes with it. "Yeah? You come back to my place, and I'm going to deliberately pick apart every last detail of what I told you." Pop goes the door as he opens it, and the look he gives her speaks volumes that it? Isn't just a tease of words he is thinking about. "You chose well by the way, Cards. Think you might almost be onto what my taste is." Once she's in, the door is closed, and around he goes with that same calm, casual pace to the drivers side, unlocking his door to slip within and escape the rainfall. It's a lean in towards her, just a touch, enough to bump shoulders even though it isn't necessary, but the key? It does go in the center of the dashboard rather than closer to the stem of the steering wheel. "And even if I was off to work? I wouldn't make you see yourself home, especially not in this weather." Quite the gentlemanly reply, before he casts a sidelong look to her to add on, "Mostly because I'll take the extra few minutes with you that I can get. Selfish like that, at times."

"Iunno," Sparrow drawls all light and lazy as she slips into the car. "Teases gonna tease." And she is not the tease in this instance. That, Nine, is an accusation. Affectionate, to be sure, but pointed. By the time he makes it around to his side, she's run her fingers through her hair a couple of times, a futile attempt to bring some life back into those drenched tresses half-plastered to her cheeks. She leans after that little shoulder-bump, ready to lay her hand atop his even before it's found the gear shift, a ritual already established. "First," always with the lists, "I drove. I am leaving my car behind here to come home with you." A choice, definitely. And a pragmatic mention as he'll need to bring her back here later so she can pick it up. "Second, my choice in beers was entirely selfish. You want me to drink what you like, you can try what I like." Her cocky smile softens a shade as she adds, "But, yeah, I'm glad you like it." Her eyes widen with amusement as she moves onto, "Third? Pretty sure my red hair renders you invisible. Definitely a superpower."

With a twist of the key, the car springs to life, and that hand drifts to the gear shifter, fingers spread in that ritual they have created. Her litany of points is listened to, and a small snort of laughter comes from him. "Yeah. They? And the first in particular? Really into you." Not a bit of jealousy about that, given as a clear statement of fact. He doesn't yet put the car in gear, foot in on the clutch to let it idle as his head tilts closer towards her own. "Are you fit for driving?" It's his own pragmatic response back, after not just a sour, but the scotch as well, one dark brow lifting upwards. "As an upstanding member of the community, I feel it is my civic duty to make certain you'd be fit to drive." Closer comes his head, a nuzzle of noses, encouraging her tip to towards him in kind, as if his own superpower is to judge her state of being by a kiss alone. "And lastly, that story? Really was true." He murmurs with soft affection, those lips beginning to mold together.

bbzzztt ding! bbzzztt

And at that? Yule just closes his eyes, every bit of his body tensing up a bit before slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches into his pocket. Out his phone is fished, and all it takes is one glance towards the screen and the message that is popped up, complete with an address. "Fuck."

"And the second was my boss," Sparrow notes, gliding right on past the thing where the pretty blonde was paying kinda intense attention her way. Touching the index finger of her free hand to her nose, she promises, "Fit as a fiddle," in a quiet way meant to actually reassure. Good thing about sours? Typically low ABV. And she got barely a single finger of that scotch. Really, she's alright. The hand which had drawn up for that demonstration pushes through Yule's damp hair to draw him closer, to pull herself nearer, nevermind the inconvenience of the center panel and their interlocked hands. She barely gets the first phoneme of, "Good," past her lips before they meet his, eyes closed and breath held and...

She laughs, airy and inelegant, and the hand in his hair falls away. A good-humored, "Yeah," follows his profanity, her cheeks red for what's running through her head. "At least you know what I'll be thinking about tonight." Her fingers squeeze his, and she lets go, breaking the remaining contact. "I'm glad you made it out for a little while. Even if you mislead me a little bit in your answers earlier. I'mma sharpen up my toolkit for next time, Nine." A half-hearted threat, bravado to hide some little heartache. "Make sure next time's soon, alright?"

That first little bit of information draws a look of intrigue, but he's far too focused on what is right in front of him to bother following that line of inquiry. Another night, another set of questions. He looks up from his phone, a faint smile curling to the corners of his mouth. Any hint of apology, even in that look? Not a single bit. "Yeah? Then I'll do the same. Have a feeling you'll do your work in getting a razor's edge." And it might all end there, before his mouth parts. Maybe it's her last words, or a sense of that false bravado, but Yule offers up, "Tengo hambre de tu boca, de tu voz, de tu pelo."

His chin tucks down, and those words? They roll from his tongue with such a sensual, heated tone. Desire. Want. It takes a breath before he manages to compose himself enough to explain. "Don't cheat by looking on the internet. Find someone - or an old fashioned book - to help you translate it. And then?" Yes, a detailed process, one that seems so much more complex than it needs to be. "Go to the library. Tell them the translation, and 'Soneto Once'," The Spanish words roll far differently from the tongue than the same written words would in English. "I bet they'll be able to show you what you seek. And know," Here it is. The reason, meaning put behind it as he watches her with those brown eyes. "You'll be reading it from the same book I did back when I first found it in high school. Touching the same pages I touched. Eyes on the same words mine were. Like we experienced it together." There isn't, however, an air of expectation she'll be rushing right out to do it, just that dangling bait of something to keep a part of her mind occupied with him above and beyond what will already be on her mind.

Sparrow might not hear those syllables for how she listens to their sound, the suggestion wrapped in those unfamiliar words. That low-lidded grin says very, very plainly that she has no idea what he said, but she could listen all damned night. But then there are instructions, and she's running it back. Even as she rolls her eyes and counters, "Using the tools available to you isn't cheating." But she doesn't need google. Not after he says soneto. That one's easy enough to translate. Yule might catch that shift in her expression from amused to aware, from interest in the game to investment in the moment. This one, right here, not some hypothetical one he's describing in the future. She straightens in her seat, her gaze settled on the dashboard, lips parted.

When she looks at him, her brow is furrowed, suddenly so very serious out of nowhere. Why are her eyes glassy? It's not hurt, not sorrow. This is revelation. Serendipity. "Silent and starving," so quiet, so certain, "I prowl through the streets." Could she recite the whole thing? Who knows. She just nods shallowly and smiles at him. And nods some more. And blinks back some tears. "Alright." The door clicks beside her and, unless stopped, she gets out, still smiling that odd, weighty smile.

This is so very different than the reaction he had expected, that look of pure seriousness. So rare is it to be seen so openly that it takes Yule by surprise. Tears? Is that the glint in the light of the outdoor lamps, or just a reflection of her eyes as they should be. It's enough that it has him leaning across the seat, realizing that she hadn't even leaned in for one last parting kiss. "Hey," That single word has a touch of concern in it.

bzzzzt. Ding! bzzzzt

The fuck this time is silent in his head, for all sorts of different reasons. "Text me when you get home, yeah?" It is, without a doubt, one of the least thought out things the man has said. It's only the fact his hand brushes against hers as she steps out, one last seeking of skin to skin contact that speaks far more than anything more. He waits for that door to close, and then thuds his head back into the headrest of his seat. "Fuck." And then it's off to the job, taking ever so little comfort that the person he is going to see? Has had a stranger, weirder night than he just had, and it ended even more unfortunately for them.