2019-11-21 - Basements And Brothers

(TXT to Sparrow) Yule : Hey. On my way in to the office. You at home?

(TXT to Yule) Sparrow : Yeah.

(TXT to Sparrow) Yule : Check your porch? Something out there I know you really want. Apparently it was just left out there rather than handed over to someone. Don't want some random stranger coming by and picking it up.

When the front door opens, there is one Yule on the front porch, leaning against one of those pillars that holds it all up. A pair of black slacks, those familiar ankle high black boots, and a blue button up shirt completes his attire, save for the gray, woolen coat that hangs open to help keep a touch of the autumn chill off of him. "You know those delivery people. Always think they gotta be cute. Oh, I also brought," As if /he/ were the package that she really wanted, and was in danger of being swept off by someone else. His left hand draws up, and held there is a bottle of a familiar scent. His, that one she'd requested, wrapped with a tiny red bow. "this for you."

Sparrow was not ready for a visitor. She's not looking her usual perfectly put together self, and neither does she have that rain-bedraggled charm that fit the emotional urgency of the other night. She's not at all dressed for the weather, barefoot and wearing what might be very short cut-off jean shorts beneath an oversized white tanktop with paint spatters and smears on it, aquamarine bra visible past the over-sized armholes. She's still got her make-up on from earlier in the day, a dusting of shimmery aqua on her darkly lined eyes, a muted purplish hue on her lips. The dried colors smudging her hands, her arms, her bare legs are telling: she's been painting.

Even caught like this, unaware and off-guard, she can't help but smile. Not quite her high-energy, cheerful standard, but it's warm, genuinely glad. "Some are cuter than others," she remarks dryly as she steps aside to invite him in, ready to pluck up that bowed bottle on his way past. The place itself is... huge. Multiple rooms, more than a few college kids who aren't running a frat really need, but it's open and bright with a weird mishmash of furnishings, most of which is second-hand, some gifted and some bought at thrift shops. The most notable decorations are the... very unusual lamps, from a porcelain Jesus painted like a raver to a taxidermied duck with an adjustable light where its head should be to plastic figures with bulbs for tits or genitals. Where the hell did they even find these things? At the moment, the place is quiet. If there are roommates home, they're in hiding.

"Yeah?" Comes that common refrain, a faint smile flickering to life. "Guess you got lucky." He pushes up and off of that post he'd been leaning against, a couple of steps forward when that door rests in open invitation. Fingers lift that bottle up for her to pluck from him, "I am on my way in to work, actually. Not a scene. Just research on medical records for an autopsy tomorrow." The joys of the things they don't show on those crime scene dramas that has to get done. And while his head pokes in to let those brown eyes sweep about the interior? He doesn't take a step further than it takes to bring him right up against Sparrow.

"After the texts? I just needed to see you, even if it was briefly." That direct admission comes with an arm that loops about the red heads waist, constricting gently until she's drawn up to her tiptoes in a lazy press of her body against his own. It is, of course, deliberate, the way his head dips down, giving a heartbeat of a pause before lips meet so she realizes what is happening, a second of anticipation before that soft, warm bit of affection is placed squarely upon her mouth. It deepens only a touch, savored for a few tantalizing seconds before he breaks it, murmuring. "Better."

Sparrow gives the bottle a quick look once it's in hand, but then it's swiftly shoved into a pocket and out of sight without so much as a thank you. Not that she's not grateful, but she is distracted. Even if it sounds like Yule might not be staying long, she closes the door to keep the cool, damp evening out while things get a little bit warmer in here. Though she's rather easily swept into that embrace, her expression flashes with amused worry when he draws her in close like that, and the nearest she comes to reciprocating that contact is the barest brush of fingertips along one arm. Carefully. In case the paint on her hands, on her shirt, hasn't all fully dried. Not that she bothers to voice any warning that might preclude that kiss, selfish creature that she is, pressing just a touch gingerly into that affection. "Definitely," she breathes in quiet agreement before sinking back to her toes and edging away a touch, just far enough to look down his body for signs of any amber or aqua that might've marred his work clothes. Is she disappointed to find no excuse for him to take off his clothes and stay a while? Maybe just a little, but she doesn't let it show. Instead, she meets his gaze and asks, "Got enough time to have that talk? I dunno that it's gotta be all that lengthy to start. Just..." She looks toward the back of the house then back to him.

His brown gaze follows hers to the back of the house, two and two put together, though his attention does linger for a bit on the choices of decor. "How much if this is yours, and how much is the roommates?" That casual, calm voice makes it hard to tell his own thoughts upon it, even as Yule's hand slackens from her waist, reaching down to purposefully twine his fingers against her own, even if it means a bit of paint smudging his fingers. "Yeah. Not a rush on the records. Just have to get it done before autopsy tomorrow. "You'll breath better once we have the discussion, yeah?" Up one eyebrow arches with expectation as he takes a step further in, a gentle nudge if necessary to encourage her on towards the back of the house, where one presumes that basement must be. "Come on. Show me."

"My name's on the lease," Sparrow says of the place, the left corner of her lips twitching upward just a smidge. Is that what he was asking? Her fingers hold firm to his, squeezing a little as leads him down the short hall beside the stairs to round on the basement door behind them. Back here, there's a... second living room? Next to the breakfast nook, the kitchen, with windows looking out over a very nice deck and backyard obscured by the evening gloom. On the kitchen counter, in plain sight, the loose bouquet of flowers is doing fairly well, starting to droop but with a few days yet left in them. Off to the left, a door at an angle has a sign on it reading QUIET ROOM, which is currently FREE. "The dining room set was a gift from family. Old. Used to be my aunt's. Grandmom's?" It's probably changed hands a few times over the years. "All the kitchen shit is Corey's. The rest has been a communal effort. Including the lamps. I brought home Rave Jesus, and roommates took it as a challenge." And she could not possibly be prouder.

But it's time to head downstairs, right? When she opens the door, the light is already on, a possible indication that this is where she'd been before going to see what was on the porch. The mural is eye-catching, even past her redhair, all golden yellow and that big blue Welcome to Gray Harbor right at the bottom of the stairs. Her hold on his hand loosens as they descend so that he can take it all in at his own pace. And, for the moment, there's nothing at all said.

"Yeah? Lot's of space," It might seem an idle observation, but it's spoken with an air of one who seems in a foreign land, one he's not used to. "You sound uncertain that it exists," Yule notes with a touch of mischief at that raised question at the end of the description of the living room. Yes, those eyes catch the flowers, but the only sign he does is a small dip closer, a gentle brush of his shoulder against her own. "Good to know they were up to the challenge." A soft snort of laughter comes from him, some unspoken memories that flicker by, but his focus is put squarely back onto the way they are going. Down he goes, but just a few steps, and while she might try to let go? His holds on, though his hand does shift behind him, to his back, so he can take the lead.

Minutes. It's several of them that goes by just standing on the stairs, soaking it all in. But of it all? It's the tagline that has his eyes constantly drawn back, even from the colors, the details, the offering of everything else that mural has. "Yeah." He murmurs in agreement, more to himself than for her sake. "You do all of this?" A gentle nudge of his fingers to hers is had to let her know he's ready to move, descending the stairs, only letting go if she isn't yet prepared herself. He doesn't stop to truly look until he gets into the center of that large, mostly empty space, a spot where it will be far easier to soak everything in.

When there are so many rooms, you run out of words for them. At least, without getting pretentious. There might be a den somewhere, but she doesn't mention it. Maybe later, he can get the full tour. For now? Basement. Cuz that's where one takes one's medical examiner when he comes over to visit for the first time. It's fitting.

"Yeah," she did all this. "Weeks," to clarify. Not an overnight thing. "I'm still not satisfied. It's not done. But I don't think it's gonna be done for a while." She follows wheresoever he cares to drift, letting Yule take the lead now that she's brought him this far, letting him taken in all that golden cloud-captured light in the mural, all the water, the free-standing door rising up from the sand... and that tagline and its double-meaning. Where Dreams Come True. "But this is enough for now. What it needs to be. What I need it to be. Think... I dunno. Think I might add pieces, references. What matters to me. Rocket pops and--" Where there should me more, there's just quiet, the thought cutting off as she falls into thought and seemingly just forgets to pick back up.

"You ever satisfied?" A beat of a pause, before he adds on in detail, "with your art, that is. What you paint." Once more it is a quiet of a few minutes as he focuses on what she is showing him. Here, he doesn't seem to linger on anything in particular, letting everything have it's time in the sun, so to speak, for his observations. As he turns, those fingers connected to Sparrow pull her along with, slowly taking them in a partial circle. "Yeah. Weeks. Always admired art. The creation. Never had the talent myself. You got a lot of different flavors in NYC. For me? It was always two types. The pieces that were one and done, yeah? A moment in time captured. Then you had these things," His lips purse, head turning to look back towards her, "that felt living. Breathing. Dynamic. What was right today, might have to change tomorrow with the art. And that is what made it so compelling."

Finally satisfied, it's a turn to fully face Sparrow, watching the woman now rather than the mural that has been so painstakingly cared for and created. "Thanks for showing it, yeah? There more you want me to know?"

There is the sound of movement on the floor above. The thump of feet hopping down from the bottom stair onto the ground floor, and the strident call of the student chef heading towards his domain. "PHIL? MON? ALFIE? I'ma make dinner, you guys in?" He's got no idea if they're in or out, or if they want feeding, so yelling loud enough for the neighbours to hear is the best way to go.

"I am." Simple and direct. Sparrow doesn't need to put any thought into that. She knows when her work is done, but this one... It's complicated, huge, tangled, strange. She follows without question, though not quite keeping pace, not consistently, letting their arms stretch out between them until Yule stills again and she steps in close, her eyes still on him, waiting when he looks her way again. She's already smiling, a far more subdued thing than most of her mirth. Pleased. He gets it, the way art works, the distinction between the rest of her projects and this.

Before she can answer any questions, there's noise upstairs, and a voice calling... who? Her? Did Yule file that 'Phil' she'd mentioned all of once away? She asks the ME, "Wanna stay for dinner? You will not be disappointed," before calling back up, "Alfie's at work! No sign of Monica! Just me and Mr. Romance!" By which she means the guy who sent her those flowers that are still on the kitchen counter... albeit nearing the end of their days, just beginning to dim in their brilliance.

Softer, she tells Yule, "Definitely more to this conversation," but the squeeze of her hand in his assures it's nothing that can't wait. At least a little bit.

Up a hand comes, Yule's fingers twining into a lock of that red hair, just behind her ear, nail touching behind her jaw. A touch closer, and then? Those words. Whatever he'd been thinking is stopped in it's tracks, but not with frustration. Instead, it's a small snort of laughter that comes from him for the timing. "Yeah? For home cooked meals, I can be swayed to change my name to Mr. Bromance, however." Yule's own voice picks up without a hint of worry at stating this for the person whom he has yet to meet.

"Can't stay for a whole dinner. I'd be up forever at the office. But? I can go up with you and stay a while as it is all prepared." Insist. Demand, is more like it, for he's already starting to walk, those fingers kept twined around her own to make sure she follows along. "I'd ask for a to-go container, but I feel like the first meal someone makes for you? Has to be enjoyed in their presence."

A pause, and then the sound of feet coming towards the basement, and Corey asks, "Safe to come down, Mena? Don't wanna look if it ain't finished." On the assumption that she confirms, he heads down the stairs and through, pausing. Blinking at the billboard-style lettering and the sunset/sunrise background. "Huh. Pretty awesome, Mena." He flashes a smile at his twin, then turns his blue eyes on the stranger. "You got any food allergies or strong preferences?" No greeting, no how are you, no evident censure for holding his sister's hand. Just a question relating to dinner.

Sparrow proves reluctant to separate, tipping into Yule's hand even as it draws away, as he steps around to tug her back toward the stairs even as her brother makes his way down. "Dude!" she calls up to that question of whether it's safe or not. C'mon. She left the door open! It's Corey she's looking toward when she tells her guest, "Pretty sure Corey's gonna send food off with you whether you sit down with us or not and would be utterly heartbroken if you declined." When she continues, she's actually addressing her twin, notable in the shift in both tone and topic. "Finally feeling happy with it. Like it might do its job."

Looking to the man beside her, she might seem inclined to set right into explanations about what that job is, but instead, she goes with introductions. "Corey's my little brother." Nevermind that he's the same age and definitely taller. "My other half. And, uh." A shallow grin rises as she tries to decide on how to offer the second half of this exchange. "Yule's keeping me on my toes. Hoping he sticks around a bit." Her tone? Yeah, this is not flighty, flirty Phil. This sounds serious.

It's such a fluid thing, how Yule picks up to make that greeting while Corey focuses on the questions at hand about food, following along in the wake of Sparrow's own mentions of each of them. "Yule," Out his hand extends, the right one, in an offering to shake. "Sparrow's told me how wonderful your food is, and how appreciative she is for it. As for me?" That casual, easy smile, small in it's depth, but it works wonders in offering a charming, sincere look for the man. "No allergies. And I have a lot of strong preferences," This garners a brief, sharp look back towards Sparrow at that.

"I like to see what the Chef creates the first time, yeah? Speaks a lot about the person." It's his left hand that curls in to bring Sparrow closer to the both of them, letting his hand conjoined with hers tuck behind the small of her back. "Yeah?" He murmurs with a touch of amusement when she offers up that hope he'll be around, "Pretty sure your horoscope said you can expect difficulty in getting rid of something. You might well be in luck, there."

Clasping Yule's hand in a firm but friendly grip, Corey shakes once and confirms, "It is pretty wonderful, but she could stand to show more appreciation." His tone is teasing rather than serious, a sly smile directed at his twin when he gets a feel for her mood, gaze then tracking back to the stranger, expression briefly thoughtful as he hears Yule's horoscope comment. Hmmn.

"Come on up and keep me company while I cook?" he then suggests, turning to head back up the stairs and towards the kitchen whether they agree or not, the man just as happy chopping away on his own as he is with friends.

"She could stand to get more panna cotta," Sparrow counters without missing a beat, dark brows pitching up high, expectant. Playful. All of it is a little muted today. All that warmth and seriousness toward Yule, all that easy banter with Corey, it's all a bit more low-key than usual, and her twin surely recognizes the signs of a downswing. But hey! She clearly spent time painting today, is keeping company, isn't just hiding and playing video games or binging Netflix. She's getting through it okay!

Though she nods to her brother when he starts up, she squeezes the hand behind her back and holds it there, keeping Yule down in the basement for just a minute longer to give him a very brief rundown of what this space is about. "Something bad happened here. Took the joy from the space for me. Where I play my drums, suddenly all dark and shitty. Because of a dream. Because of the way this place is. So I painted it all yellow to banish the black. And then made that yellow into something more. Mine. And I know you're gonna have more questions, and it's okay to talk about this stuff in front of Corey. However much you want. But that's the answer you wanted."

With that, her hold loosens enough that the intention of pinning him here dissipates and, if he doesn't take the lead to head up and join Corey in the kitchen, she will, dragging him along. "Whatcha making tonight, C?"

"Tuna steak marinated in Moroccan spices, tomato and cucumber relish and baby pearl potatoes," Corey responds as he reaches the kitchen, heading for the sink to give his hands a scrub. "The potatoes, tomato and cucumber are from the garden," he adds, sounding proud. There may be some chest-puffing.

"You good with that?" The question seems to be both for Sparrow and her beau. Hand-washing done, he then goes about fetching the pans and knives and chopping boards he'll be using, setting them out and likewise fetching the ingredients.

"That sounds amazing," so far as Sparrow is concerned. Does she eat like this all the time? Between that and the big house and that as-yet-unseen bathtub that she brags about? Girl really is living in the lap of luxury, no joke. Nevermind the kitschy lamps. She doesn't follow all the way to the kitchen, valuing both life and limb too much to enter Corey's territory, especially while he's got his knives out, instead pulling up a seat at what might be their breakfast nook, the table here almost certainly seeing more use than that in the 'formal' dining room. "Soooooo," she drags out, singsonging, "How was Seattle?"

A long pause comes as they are kept down below, he and the red head, those soft words listened to. As crazy as it all might sound? There is a look of understanding, recognition, even if there are so many questions that she already knows he has. "Yeah. It is. And... I'll keep my questions. Later, yeah? Appreciate he knows, but I'd rather spend the time learning about him rather than discussing," It's a brief flicker around the space. So many thoughts, but it is all capped off with the man leaning in to brush a gentle kiss to her cheek.

"Sounds phenomenal," Yule says without an ounce of hesitation, "Cucumber relish? What all else is added into that?" Curiosity, rather than anything else. It's the mention of a garden that draws a brow upwards, a look of approval that is seen but not voiced for the care taken to seeing to those ingredients. Up he ascends the stairs, and Yule? He doesn't seem to get the message, or maybe he really just is that brave, fingers falling away from Sparrow so he can set foot into that sacred kitchen. He does not, however, touch. Something had caught his interest, but for the moment he keeps it to himself, something in that long, drawn out 'sooo' of the Sparrow far more intriguing to watch the interplay between the two.

"Pretty awesome," Corey calls back over his shoulder, selecting a knife and beginning to make very easy work of the tomatoes and cucumbers, dicing them down with regular, swift motions that speak of a looooot of practice. That done, he adds water to a pot along with the pearl potatoes, setting them on to warm, and then setting a flat-bottomed pan to heat as well, with a generous amount of oil.

"We went to a French restaurant. The food was good; I wouldn't say their Magret de Canard Aux Airelles was to die for, but it was close. Unfortunately I only got a taste because that's what Ash had; my Poule Naine Forestiere was nice, though." Surely, Sparrow is looking for other details, but of course he's talking about the food. The French names fall from his lips easily, his chosen career ensuring he's more than capable of pronnouncing them flawlessly.

Yule's question about what goes into the relish gets an approving look from the chef, who doesn't seem to object to him stepping into the kitchen as long as, indeed, there is no touching. "Salt, allspice, mustard seeds and a bit of balsamic."

"You went with chicken over duck?" Sparrow replies dryly as Corey goes through the details, sufficiently skilled with French to at least get what he's saying. "You set yourself up for disappointment and have only yourself to blame." Did he sound disappointed? Nah, but neither did he sound particularly enthused. And, clearly, she's pinpointed why. Though she keeps her eyes on Yule while he ventures into the chef's territory, she offers no warnings, letting him explore his limits and get some time with her twin. Meanwhile, she pulls that little bottle from her pocket, plucking off that tiny red bow to stick it to her shoulder, a bright flash of spiky red against the white fabric. "And, ya know, glad as I am that the food was nice," as if nice meant mediocre, "did you guys have fun? Go anywhere else? Make any emotional confessions?"

Yule's eyes are all on the chef, or more specifically, on the process he goes through. "Yeah? Is it brown mustard seeds to give the relish a bit more of a kick?" There's a momentary smile there, his shoulders lifting up into a, 'I can't help' it expression that he won't apologize for. "Curious. I haven't a fiber in me that can cook, but the science behind it is fascinating, yeah? And it sometimes comes in handy for work." But that's all the mention of his particular profession given in the interest of not ruining a fantastic dinner. It's the litany of questions she fires off that has his head tipping back, watching her with a moment of rapt fascination. Out his tongue dips, touching just upon his lower lip as he gives a purposeful, approving look to that little bow now stuck upon her, and then it's back to the chef he focuses on.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Corey acknowledges to Sparrow's duck vs chicken comment, not challenging the truth of it. He checks his pans before beginning to mix up the tomato and cucumber chunks with the other things he mentioned - and if one is looking closely, yes the packet confirms brown mustard seeds. "The science behind it is why I cook," he notes to Yule, smiling briefly. "I want to work in a research and development kitchen."

Letting the relish sit for a bit to soak, he heads to the fridge, drawing out a few ziplock bags which contain tuna steaks that have been marinating; six in total. Four for the house, and two for whoever happens to be visiting, obviously. "Straight there and back. No confessions, though we possibly scandalised the uber driver," Corey notes to Sparrow with a lazy smile as he glances her way. "Did you expect there to be emotional confessions?"

"Just gotta figure out how to turn cooking into science," says the chemist, smiling so very proudly at her brother's answer. Damned near adoring, really. Sparrow tells Yule, "He's a genius. Works down at that fancy patiserrie. Which means he is a technically exceptional genius." Cuz those little treats at that place, Pātisserie Vydal? Goddamned exquisite. Surely, Corey's gotta be real detail-oriented to excel there. She can't help but snort for the poor uber driver's scandalization, amusement lingering as she puts that little bottle back away, into her pocket once more. "I expected you to bring me back dessert," she lies, not the least little bit sincere about that--though gods know she wouldn't have said no either--then explains, "But I like her. The more I get to know her, the more I like her."

"I brought back some entremets from work today," Corey remarks as Sparrow mentions dessert. "Ash wanted to try one, so I snagged half a dozen." Well, bought half a dozen. They're fancy and expensive, but he's clearly all about sharing the food experiences. "Yeah, she's great," he then affirms as Sparrow mentions liking her. The other comments, about him being a genius? Yes, a bit more chest-puffing. Proud chef is proud.

"I have the reverse problem. Have to take the end product and work backwards." He murmurs to Corey, those brown eyes sharply watching. Only once Corey is to the fridge, the tuna pulled out, does he slip out his phone to cast a glance to the time. "How long do you think it'll take to make?" A warm smile is flashed towards the cook, a silent offering of thanks for letting him walk, but he's heading back out of the kitchen, and towards where SParrow has propped herself up. "Yeah? I've been there a few times, the pastiserrie, never stopped in. I'll have to, now."

That gets Sparrow on her feet and into the kitchen. Fingers brush lightly along Yule's hip as they cross paths on her way to the fridge in search of these fancy treats. Why, yes, she is a dessert before dinner sort of girl. They're not difficult to spot once the door's opened, six gorgeous dark chocolate-glazed domes topped with a spattering of sea salt and lime zest. "Fuck, they're gorgeous, C." She sets to snagging one, sliding it onto a little plate probably meant for tea cups then collecting a fork. "You mind if I call dibs on a second one to take over to the warlock down the street? Thinking I might wanna pay him a visit tomorrow." Moving back towards the table as she cuts into the magnificently layered entremet--its insides separated into distinct layers of chocolate genoise, lime mousse, pineapple gelatin, chopped hazelnuts and yuzu kosho custard--she takes the first bite for herself then, while delightedly enjoying that, offers up the second to Yule, wholly intent on watching his reaction.

"What is it you do?" is Corey's obvious question to Yule as he mentions unwinding an end product, glancing curiously towards the older guy before taking up his tongs and using them to extract the tuna steaks and set them into the flat-bottomed pan; the oil comes halfway up the side of the steaks, taking on the flavour of the marinade too. "About another twenty?" he muses with regards to how long the food will take, after checking on the state of the potatoes.

Glancing over to Sparrow and the entremets, he grins. "I can't take credit, these are Vyv's creations, and hot damn is he good at them," he acknowledges. "There's a reason he's the Maītre Pātissier and I'm the lowly apprentice. Amazing, aren't they?"

There is a moment, then Corey asks, "Warlock down the street?"

The examiner doesn't reverse course once Sparrow passes by, only leaning in to give a gentle bump of his shoulder against hers as they go in their opposite directions. He doesn't sit, instead leans against that table, and takes the opportunity to look through the house, observing the little things that might have escaped his attention before. "Medical Examiner. I'm from around here, originally. Left to go to school in NYC... been gone twenty years. Just returned and fully settled back in a month ago." Sparrow's arrival has him leaning in, teeth forming around that tasty treat in a way wholly unabashed, even threatening fingertips if she isn't careful. Slowly he chews, in no rush to hurry the flavorful explosion in his mouth, before a low rumbling 'mmm' comes from. "That's good."

"Good," Sparrow echoes, unimpressed with Yule's critique. She shakes her head with disapproval. Even if she's still grinning from that flash of teeth, from that hum that expressed so much more than the actual words he used. "It's exquisite. The bitter chocolate, the sharp citrus. Fuck." Somebody really, really likes her desserts. And, ya know, it's way, way easier to focus on the desserts than the whole 'gone for twenty years' comment that Yule just dropped in front of her twenty-one-year old twin brother. Let's not focus on that, right?

"Elias Weber." Yes, let's talk about the warlock! "I am certain he will appreciate this. Did you see him at the party?" Oh, how dreamy that smile, how her eyes half-lid and her lips curl wide. "Showed up entirely unexpectedly in this, uh, skirt I bought him on whim. Gorgeous. Bold. Not at all subtle." Just her sort of person. With a more pointed look toward her brother, she notes, "And he knows things. He's got words for things that I don't, and I wanna pick his brain. Figure one of these is fair exchange." She goes in for her own second bite.

Keeping half an eye on the potatoes and tuna steaks, Corey nods thoughtfully. "Then sure, you can. As long as you share whatever answers you get from him," he affirms, before grinning at Yule. "Sounds interesting, though definitely not something I could do. How long before you need to head off?" he then asks. "I can box something up for you if you can't stay to eat." Yes, he heard the twenty years gone comment, but then again it's not much of a surprise. Not like the age difference isn't visible.

Up Yule's eyes roll for Sparrow's enthusiasm on the pastry, but there is that lazy, pleased smile for her response back. "It makes my mouth water with delight in a way I haven't known since the last time I tasted something to go along with my scotch." Comes the man's profuse prose for that decadent dessert. So to is it delivered with a dash of innocence cast Sparrow's way, eyes dropping to watch as she goes in for that second bite. It may, well, be in danger of being stolen, but his hand keeps to himself, and away from being potentially bitten off.

A snort of laughter, amused at Sparrow's dreamy look for the brave, skirt wearing warlock comes from him, before those brown eyes slide back over towards Corey. "Long, hard road to manage it. Not just the schooling, but the stomach for it. And soon," There is an apologetic smile from the man, but a promise of, "I'll make sure I tell Sparrow what I think, yeah? Spent way too much time with takeout in NYC, so this? Is appreciated."

"Better," Sparrow murmurs of that correction to the praise for the pastry. Her happily half-lidded look sharpens as she catches that interest from Yule. When she turns the fork toward him, briefly, it is not in offering, but to remind him that it has pointy bits at its business end. Once the bite's taken and she's reveling in those flavors and textures again? Well, then she cuts him off another bite, this one rather generous, and holds it up... but not so much out. No, he'll need to edge in a bit closer if he wants another taste.

"Promise," she tells Corey on information-sharing. "Though, mm. Garrett's got a friend who I'm given to understand is pretty knowledgable too. Pretty, blonde, keeps good company. I haven't met her yet? But I hear she's looking for someone to take her out, no commitment, have some fun." Beat. "If you're interested."

"Inasmuch as I approve of food-based flirting, if you could tone down the gooey eyes I'd really appreciate it," Corey remarks, teasing rather than serious, turning away then to flip the tuna steaks. "Please. Feedback is the goal. Can't get better without it after all," he affirms to Yule, fetching out four clip-top food containers and two plates, for when the cooking is finished.

The comment from Sparrow gets a curious look back at her. "Yeah?" He sounds moderately interested; if nothing else, it'll be a fun evening. "This friend of his got a name?"

"She started it." Yule offers up with a look of innocence to Corey, as if the twin brother was the eldest here. But that treat? Yes, he takes it, though he proceeds by lifting a hand to curl around her wrist, seeking to guide the fork closer to him. Only once his teeth catch it does he lean towards her, going even further than he would have had the treat stayed precisely where she put it. The gentle ting of the fork tines can be heard as his teeth slip off of it, another low, approving sound given before he releases the red head.

"I give direct feedback," He promises, head dipping towards the brother. "And if you are up for it? Might reach out to you now and again if I have questions on work related things. Infrequently, and wouldn't require seeing. But every now and again? You'll find food you can track back to a certain restaurant, a specific meal or type of dish or the like. Sure a consulting fee could be arranged. Always just good to have people who know the ins and outs of things I don't, yeah?"

Sparrow offers no commentary whatsoever on her food-based flirtations or where the blame should lie. She does, however, savor this last little exchange, watching Yule so very intently, smiling all the while. Another, "Better," is whispered so very low that it might not carry the short distance to the kitchen. Taking her fork and her dessert, she steps back a bit, toward safety, out of respect for her twin, and confirms, "He does," of Yule's directness. Which she realizes after might be entirely misconstrued. But clarifying will only make it worse. Best to move on. "Kelsey," she provides. "She's got a dog." This might be the only detail she remembers after asking about dating material requirements a few days back. "I can pass on your number or vice versa." But, for now, she's gonna quietly finish off this entremet while she looks between the ME and her brother, seeing how that offer of collaboration is received.

A brow is quirked at Sparrow; Corey holds her gaze from a long moment before grinning at her confirmation of Yule's direct nature. Then he's looking back to the food, draining the potatoes and lifting the tuna steaks out into tubs and onto plates, adding a generous spoonful of relish to the top of each and then serving the potatoes beside. Ta-da! Three boxes have their lids set at a slight angle to cool, while the fourth is snapped shut and offered out to the ME. "Sure, as long as I don't have to look at any partially-digested things. Descriptions are fine."

Yule stands his ground as Sparrow retreats, not trailing off after her. There is, however, the faintest of smiles, a dip of his lids and head in agreement at that softly whispered word, but when he looks back up? It's to Corey, instead. "Sounds good. In the mean time? Thanks for this. It'd have meant thai delivery to the office, otherwise." Only then does he move forward to take the one that is snapped shut and offered to him, "Good to meet you, Corey." Those brown eyes shift towards Sparrow, flashing her a brief shrug and a knowing smile. "Duty calls, Cards. You let me know when to show up for the band thing."

"And you let me know about the seventh," Sparrow counters, brows pitched expectantly upward at Yule. She sets her plate and fork down on the table and tilts her head back toward the front of the house, meaning to walk the man to the door. There's a brief look to Corey which promises she won't be long, that she does entirely mean to be right back to eat dinner with him, but not until after she's seen her guest out. On the way, she keeps close enough to, once, brush her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm glad you came by, Nine." There might be a few seconds of murmuring in front of the door, maybe a little bit of silence. But the door does open and close, and Sparrow does make it back to the kitchen, smiling just a teensy bit dopily as she asks Corey, "What're we drinking with dinner?"