2019-11-23 - Just Right

Sparrow does not rush into the afternoon despite any professed desire to skip to the ending. She takes her time washing her face and touching up her make-up, packing up her backpack again and making sure that crisp white shirt of which she's grown so very fond peeks out past her sweater just so, cuffs folded up over the ends of knit black sleeves. She's looking a lot more like her usual self by the time she's ready to go, mostly because her wide smile's holding steady again, the world looking a good bit less gloomy now that they've pulled at some threads and shaken a couple things loose.

Dreary as November afternoons in Gray Harbor might be, there's still a glimmer of golden sunlight glinting through the clouds when the pair finally set off into the rest of their day, heading west as requested. Sparrow doesn't fuck with the radio once it's on, leaving it on its usual station where Berlin's Take My Breath Away plays at an unobtrusive volume, a faintly staticky backdrop to the beginning of their trip. Without any thought given to it, her fingers settle in with Yule's upon the gear shift, that ritual so comfortable now, so effortless. "Are there any rules to today's game?" she wonders.

That flow of preparation is given no encouragement from Yule, letting things evolve organically, at the time she needs to get ready to go. It simply fits into his own process. A cup of espresso, a quick glance through the paper he'd brought back with him. And then he grabs a small day pack, a few things slipped into that bag while she's busy with other things.

His hand doesn't even need to find that particular spot, the splay of fingers already had when it grips the knob, rather than readjusting. Off they go out of the trailer park, heading roughly westward in their quest for the coast. A small snort of laughter comes from him for that question as it finds a note of humor in his thoughts. "Wondering that myself. Sometimes with you? I have to make new rules, cause the old ones just don't work." And that doesn't sound like a bad thing at all, by his estimation, given the flicker of a smile, and glance her way. "Tell me about the coast. You head out here often? A particular destination in mind already, or are you making it up as we go along?"

"Good," Sparrow chirps for that answer, smile going wide and prideful, sufficiently softened by some warm amusement that goes unvoiced as she watches him from the corner of her eyes. Her rules have already been broken, bent and reworked a few times; seems only fair that he's gotta do similar work to keep up. She chooses to spin it a little differently, telling Yule, "That's the way I like it. Gotta keep you on your toes." Her thumb strokes idly along the side of his hand as she shakes her head. "No plan. I just..." She can't help the laugh which follows, quiet though it is, arriving with a roll of her eyes. "Always feels like I can breathe a little easier out there, ya know? Clean salt air. Wide open horizon." Softer, "It's been a while."

Barely on the road a few minutes, and she already shifts in her seat, turning ever so slightly toward the driver, knee where it'll get caught by knuckles. "Couple of months? My Dovey wanted to go to a show down in Cali, so I stole away with her and Alfie for a few days, driving down along the coast. Spent a whole afternoon out on the beach then the night in a theatre running a John Hughes double feature." Smiling to herself at the memories, she murmurs, "It was nice. Real nice. Haven't had a chance to really see my sister much since, but she's coming by tomorrow, gonna stay the night." Quiet for a moment, her smile says everything else left in her head, how much she needs that time, how much she's looking forward to it. When she refocuses, fingers squeezing his, she asks, "How do you usually decide where to go on these drives? Without some magical mystic redhead to dictate directions?"

It's the reappearance of that more normal, confident side that has remerged from the red head that has a satisfied smile on his features for her quip back, those fingers giving a gentle squeeze back in return. "That in preparation for Thanksgiving, or will she be by to visit then, too?" He asks about Dovey, even as he considers those thoughts on the coast. "Environments can fit the mood, yeah? Always liked the ocean. But the forest, too. Ocean just has a more boundless potential. Makes me reflect outwards. Forest? It's," Yule pauses a second, that ghost of a smile settling on his mouth. "intimate. Inwards. Can't just look out for miles on the coastline."

One of those small, bright notes of laughter come from Yule as she describes that navigation system in the passenger side next to him, "Random, yeah? Sometimes it'll be a feeling. Ocean or forest. From there? It's roads I haven't traveled. Just... whatever catches on when I'm going by. Driving is usually about thinking. Processing. Escaping, too. Every now and again? I'll get a moment of nostalgia, something from childhood I remember, and I'll take stop by whatever place had triggered the memory."

"Board games," Sparrow says of tomorrow. "And probably not the kind you're thinking of, so no Monopoly jokes, alright? Play your cards right--" Such cheese! She should be ashamed. She isn't. "--and maybe I'll teach ya a new game or two sometime." For all that it's not a traditional avenue of flirtation, she certainly sells it like it could be, what with those dark lashes dipped low and her smile skewing all suggestive like that. But they were talking about something else, right? "But yeah. She'll be by Thanksgiving, too. Then I'll see her as much as I can over break. Until she's so very sick of me that she has to go to school out of state--" And away from all the strangeness and murder here. "--just to get away."

Yule's thoughts on picking the right place to fit the mood earns a, "Yeah," like he gets it, what she was trying to say. "I like lots of places. Natural and manmade. All of it. I've seen a lot of it, too. State parks and roadside attractions and all the greasy diners you could want." With a slow nod, head bowing low for a moment, she agrees, "All about going where you wanna go at the moment. Not thinking too hard." She falls quiet for a few seconds, studying the driver in contrast to the world passing by on the other side of his window. "Where's the last place you stopped at whim, cuz it tugged at something?"

"Monopoly?" Comes his echo of that suggested boardgame and jokes he might make, and then those brown eyes cut over towards her. It's a coy smile as he utters a word he's never spoken before, "Sorry." Waiting to see if that particular pun is recognized for what he really means. "Yeah? I'll teach you tricks to the games you already know in exchange. Experience lets you figure out all the best strategies." Those fingers give a gentle squeeze, but all of that brief, flickering flirtation fades out when she mentions that desire for her sister to get away. "Yeah." He murmurs, that single word offered in understanding.

"New York was mostly manmade. Just easier to walk in that city. Didn't have a car for a long time. My last couple years though, got out more. Actual country side of the state. Further into New England, too. Sorta like that here?" His head tips, watching the road ahead as he considers it, "you have to make a concious effort to get there. Sure, navigating the concrete jungle could be a challenge at times. But NYC? You just go around a corner, and there is something to see. Wonderful and... lackluster, all at once." That last question though. It is met with silence for a moment, having to think about it. "A whim," He repeats, as if that is the important part that takes some sorting through. "State Park. One by Junction City. Campgrounds there."

Sparrow wants to groan. That'd be the appropriate response to that one-word board game joke he turns her way. Instead, she sputters a laugh, bright and pleased, even as her face scrunches up to express all the distaste that her mirth does not. "You are a planner," she notes approvingly of that strategic mind, like she may well be looking forward to the lessons. Like she might not be thinking about dice and meeples anymore. Her arm shifts enough for her elbow to nudge his unevenly, indirectly, their positioning not lending itself well to that affection, but the gesture is well-intentioned all the same, an expression of understanding for that shared sibling-worry getting in the way of their flirtation.

"Guess I like my city boys," she croons as he speaks about NYC. "Alfie spent some time in Seattle. Not the same person he was when he left." And that doesn't sound like a bad thing by her measure, not in the least. "Wonder if there's something about all those hard lines and contradictory corner-turns that sharpen someone, shape 'em a little differently than all the fresh air and trees and strip malls out here." Her expression goes suddenly thoughtful for a second, fingers tightening among his. "I'mma let you go for a bit," she warns. "You think you're alright to manage this without me?" As if she was doing anything at all with the shifting. "Tell me why you stopped at the campgrounds, what you did there." Cuz as long as he's leaving space for her to press him with questions, she's gonna take advantage of it.

"I am." Those brown eyes slide her way, and then purposefully down to linger on that neck, those wrists of all places. She's opened her own little pandora's box if that look expresses anything about what is already in the back of his head being thought about, but it's her thoughts that has his head shaking a touch. "Nah. Can't be just that. Doesn't explain you, does it? Unless you count the time you stayed in New Orleans. Maybe it just doesn't take long. You ever think about it? Moving to a larger city to live? Yeah, I get it, the family. Not meaning you'd act on it. But doesn't mean the thought may not cross your mind."

It's a gentle brush back, knuckles to her leg when that elbow touches, and Yule is at the ready to confirm he'll be fine. "If I'm not? I know you'll tell me," He points out, even while offering the counter point, "And as always? I'll give you no opportunity to do so." It's as the city fadesa way, and nature takes over that his sight lines shift, watching that change take place with more interest. "It was the place of my first time. Back in high school. Tell the parents a few of us guys were gunna go camping for the weekend. Girls meet us there. Not knowing a damn thing about what we were doing. Just walked around the grounds a bit. More about the memories, yeah? And not even about /it/. More just thinking about those things that shaped you, back then."

Sparrow does not fluster easily, and yet all it takes to bring some color to her cheeks is that look that trails from one spot to another. She even looks away, glancing to the side... which only serves to bring that pretty pink shade more readily into view. "It's not the same. New Orleans is a soft city." Who knows how she's measuring. "All color and light and beads and booze." Her eyes go wide as she looks to Yule again and flat out lies, "I used to wear a lot of beige," as if NOLA is to credit for all her colorfulness. It isn't. Not by a long shot. "But I, uh." Her hand drifts from his, and she twists in her seat, reaching back to fish in her back for something, talking all the while despite her half ass-up position. "I think about elsewhere all the time. Lots of places. I think about hitting the road with AJ and just never settling anywhere ever except when it feels right for a while."

When she plops back down with a bit of a wriggle, she sinks low enough that she can bring her knees up against the dash to make a makeshift desk for her sketchpad which she flips open to a blank spread and folds over. "I try not to think too hard about possibilities that might make me happy when I've got things right here that are making me happy, ya know? Too easy to get caught up in the grass being greener when I know how damned green my grass right here already is." Which ends with an almost apologetic smile turned Yule's way. "Which is to say, yeah, sometimes, and I let it go." Beat. "For now."

Pencil sets to page, and she starts to sketch, still talking as she does. "Feel like I should call you on the way you say back then, but I'mma ask you this instead." Brows pitch up as she looks his way, just a glance, maybe to make a point, maybe to check a reference for her sketch. "Why spend time thinking about back then while you've got now? Same damned thing as thinking about other lives I could be living. Future-looking then. Now's good, Nine. Why wallow?"

A soft snort comes from the man in disbelief at her ever having worn anything that might even closely resemble muted, and out his tongue comes to wet against his lower lip. "That's just the veneer. Real people? They know how to look past the color, and light, and beads, and booze. That's the show put on for the tourists, yeah? And you don't strike me as the sort to not go digging in past the surface. Besides," Down his head tucks, giving her a knowing look, as if she already knows it, even if what she meant by 'soft' was in a far different avenue. "Nothing soft about those people. Strong enough to rebuild, yeah? That puts edges on. The right sort."

Does he cast a glance her way while that ass is wiggling in the air? Of course, and he doesn't bother to hide it, either. Nor does it linger, keeping most of his focus to the road ahead so there aren't any booty induced vehicular homicides that happen this day. "Not about the grass being greener. Yeah, sure, it could be. If that's how you choose to look at it. It's about being different. Just like the people in your life, yeah? You don't go looking cause you think something better is out there. It's because it's different. Touches a different part of you. And there is nothing wrong with thinking about the /future/... it's different if your dreams are what you should be doing /now/. Yeah, not being happy with where you are now? That's not good."

Up one brow arches when she says she should call him out, "Yeah? You can. Really wanna go down that rabbit hole though?" His easy, faint smile shows there isn't an ounce of concern on his side, but her last words have a tsk coming from him. "Never said wallow. I don't dwell on it. And this? Is probably one of those age things. I've spent twenty years away. Yeah, visits back for my family. And taking those small trips? It's not about the past being better, or horrible, or whatever. It's nice to think about how I've changed. To remember then? Isn't now. It helps to make the now feel more real to me. Might not make any sense, but there you have it."

"I really want you to meet Alfie," is the first thing from Sparrow's lips, a soft-spoken response to his thoughts on time away and personal growth. "Think he probably would've called me on that, too." A quiet concession, acknowledgement that she might've got it wrong. "Just, uh. Looked different from here, for a minute. Like that twenty years significantly altered the experience, but you sounded a whole lot like him right then. To remember that then isn't now. To give now weight." Her hand hasn't moved in a bit, paused on the paper without any contributions while she thinks on that similarity. There's definitely more to her type, what's drawn her to these two men in particular, than the city lives they lead without her. Her free hand drops to brush against his, thumb running over knuckles as fingers curl around his wrist for just a second, a quick squeeze. "I like who you are now. I know I didn't know any other you, but I really like this one a whole lot."

Then it's back to her sketching, a few seconds spent staring while she tries to catch a thought that had wandered off while her attention was elsehwere. "But you got me wrong, too," doesn't sound like rebuke. "It's not like I go looking. Not for better, not for different, not for anything. I've never had to." When she turns a look toward Yule, one eyebrow is arched pointedly, her grin crooked. "I certainly wasn't looking for any complications like you, Nine." Then it's back to the book again with a quiet scritch of pencil to page. "But I know what I want when I see it." Whatever her thoughts about the people of New Orleans or the city itself, she doesn't circle back that way, letting his point stand without objection. Instead, she hooks on something else he said and, at risk of contradicting herself, asks, "What do you want in your future? What are you planning for and working toward?" Beat. "What do you want?"

"Sometime. Once he's rematerialized enough, and you've had your time with him." That's all Yule says on the subject of Alfie, though in that firm certainty that it'll happen? There is a touch of approval, both for the woman and the man he's never met just through that description she paints. "I think I'm pretty fantastic too," Comes his initial response, mirth in that voice, the ego not just for show but genuinely satisfied with the good and bad and what it's shaped him into. On the highway, it's easy to let go of that gear shifter for a moment, so his fingers can catch hers, brushing along their length. "Thanks." That word, spoken so simply, holds affection.

"Looking was the wrong word," He concedes, his head tipping into a small of agreement for her points upon how she is. Now and then, those brown eyes spare a glance towards her sketchpad, though both the amount of time he can spend on looking and the angle make it fleeting, at best. "Told you about the boat. I'd like to sail, someday. I want to make sure the family is taken care of. And I'd like to know more about what is going on in Gray Harbor." There are weight to those words, that tug back to those conversations and offers of the past.

It doesn't help that the sketch, such as it is, seems to be shaping into a few different sketches, each of them rough, like she's running through ideas, considering various angles. Sparrow definitely isn't trying to capture Yule accurately at the moment, and there isn't likely to be any pretty picture at the end to offer over. Not unless she steps up her game between here and now.

"I'll letcha know what I learn from the warlock down the street," she assures him all too casually on the subject of What Is Going on in Gray Harbor, making some assumptions about what he might mean. Hell, he could just mean the abnormally high murder rate. That's certainly concerning, too! "And you've still got a thread to pull, if you wanna know more about my story." She glances over, but it's a fleeting look, most of her focus on her sketchbook. Something seems to have clicked, and she's working on a larger figure in the center of the page, the lines still loose. "But we can go sailing now, ya know. Nothing at all stopping us from renting a boat and taking it out for a bit. Cept maybe the dreary weather, but I'd argue that some scotch and a couple blankets and we won't much care about that, right?" Another quick look, a flash of a grin. "Let's say I understand what you meant when you said looking," shifts the conversation back thattaway. "I didn't think beyond that moment, beyond wanting to see you again. More." After a thoughtful pause, she allows, "Maybe it's different now."

"From anyone else? Telling me you are going to talk to the warlock down the street would give me a few moments of pause. Only you, Cards." Comes his bemused response to that, but his head dips into a meaningful nod, those brown eyes sharpening on her a moment to see if she gets it. That? Is one of those threads he'll remember to tug at even if she doesn't offer them. But those other words? Oh, she's given him such free rein, and now he will take advantage of it all. "Yeah? So tell me more about the mural. The story behind it, that thread you mentioned. Had to have been hard, and something... well. Whatever, to make it feel no longer like your space." That part of it seems to strike a note of his own thoughtfulness, eyes flickering off to the side out the window, both unable to relate to that experience, and momentarily distracted as to how he'd handle it.

"We could, sure. I plan to sign up for a class come spring. Fuck if I know how I'll manage with my schedule, exactly. But I'll work something out. Nice to know what you are supposed to do out there. Though if I were to get stranded in the middle of the ocean?" A deep breath comes, chin tipping up and to the side so he can better watch her. "You, blankets, and scotch. Can't think of a better way to be stranded than that." It's that shift she offers that has one little bit of that standing out in particular, and it is one he can't help himself on. "Maybe? And what about it is different? How? You looking beyond the moment, and seeing what?"

"More." It's a little tease, easy, echoing that word she'd already used in this more pointed context. Sparrow doesn't even bother to look up as she smiles contentedly to herself at how very tasty that low-hanging fruit was. She only lets a few seconds pass before she poses, "We're already talking spring, aren't we?" Only then does she reciprocate that look she'd caught out of the corner of her eye, brow cocked and grin steady. "More time I spend with you, Nine? More time I wanna spend with you." Grin sharpening, she confirms, "You warned me," before he can remind her, not sounding one little bit like she regrets disregarding that threat.

She says nothing more about the warlock down the street, content to let that thread--bright orange and aquamarine, if only he could see its brilliance--dangle, ready for him to pull whensoever he sees fit. He's tugged at something else now. Setting her drawing hand as flat as she can with her pencil still tucked beneath a finger, she turns her full attention to Yule, reaching over with her free hand to keep contact, to twine her fingers with his, one way or another. "I dreamt I was in my bathtub, sketching. And I couldn't get it right, whatever I was working on. An itch that just wouldn't come out of my head. I was listening to music. Something floaty. I dunno. I don't remember it. But Alfie came in." She falls quiet for a few seconds, lips parting once or twice as she figures out how to tell this next bit. "I don't really remember what we talked about. It felt mismatched, like our metaphors just weren't aligned. I was on about Pandora's Box? But I think I got it wrong? And he just..."

Her fingers curl on the sketchbook, holding the pencil tight. "He took up one of my earbuds and just... Everything changed all at once. The floor opened up and swallowed him, this blackness just..." Her breathing is quicker now, her gaze unfocused. "I banged on the floor until I woke, in my bed, bathroom light on for no fucking reason. And I rushed to Alfie's room, but he wasn't there. And." Refocusing on Yule, she shakes her head. "I dunno. I just. I knew something was wrong, that he was gone. But Corey and Monica were there and told me he was fine, probably working or crashed somewhere else for the night. Fed me pancakes then went about their day. And when they left, I found his phone, still by his bed, charging." Her jaw tightens as she holds a couple more seconds. "I searched the house. Down. I knew he'd fallen down. Found him in the basement, in the dark, curled up on the floor. Something happened after he fell through my dream. He went somewhere else and it fucked with him and it left a stain of that hurt all over my space and." She bites back the anger, voice softer when she tells him, "The door's story isn't really mine to tell. But it's there for a reason. The rest? That's my sunshine to say fuck you to the black. The color of a sacred wind, he says. Clean that fucker out."

Yule says, "Did I? Felt like it was more of a promise than a warning." Comes his reply back to her, but that isn't yet a thread he is pulling against, offering up, "I'm talking about spring. Just one question then, yeah? What's the furthest ahead you've thought of, when it comes to us?" Outside, the road begins to turn, sweeping out to start following the coastline as it comes into view. It's a couple of turns taken, just to get on the road that runs closest towards the beach, something more scenic but slower in pace.

Even with those pauses she offers up, he gives no interjections to the story, listening until she has no more words to offer. It's only when he can sense that quickening of her breath, those small signs that his hand leaves the gear shifter, coming instead to perch upon her knee with a gentle squeeze, staying there as long as it can. "Fuck, Sparrow." Comes the first breath out with sympathy, his head offering a small nod of understanding when it comes to that mural. "Yeah. Give the middle finger to ... whatever it is that causes this shit." Those fingers offer another gentle squeeze against that knee, and those brown eyes shift to focus upon the red head. "Has it helped? You?" That last word tacked on, the implication that at some point, he'll ask Alfie the same, if he's willing to share that story in some point in the future. "

Sparrow's heart flutters a bit at that distinction drawn between warning and promise, the color returning to her cheeks the only evidence thereof. "Spring," doesn't sound like a complete answer to his question, a lift at the end implying more that doesn't yet come. One thread at a time, Nines. Her free hand holds atop his for as long as it rests on her knee, keeping that comfort close without any sense of bravado, that anger not sharp enough to deny her compassion when it's offered. "It has, yeah," quiet and certain. "I dunno if it actually does anything. But it's why I painted the porch posts--" All of 'em brilliant rainbows. "--too. Different sort of horror, but I'm not gonna give myself over to a tepid monochrome pleasantness either. It's what I've got right now, putting my mark on my world to ward off the awful." Fingers flexing again, stretching across the page once more, she adds, "S'why I prefer to sleep at home, with Alfie. I dunno if it makes any difference, keeps him safer, but I'd rather be there with him than not. I worry less. About his dreams. About whether he's trying to pull an all-nighter without me and drifting through the next day like a zombie."

With a pointed look Yule's way, before he gets any ideas about what she might be saying, that there might be any sorta regrets anywhere, she clarifies, "I know he's fine on his own. I know it. He knows it. My nights away aren't breaking him. Nothing's stolen him up and shoved him back into the black while I've been away. It's just... easier when I'm there, ya know?" Which only serves to emphasize how much each night away is a very deliberate choice. "I like my nights with you, Nine. When we understand this a bit better? It'll be a little easier to say yes. Because I do very much mean to keep saying yes. When I, uhm."

Her brow furrows a bit, and she shifts in her seat, knees adjusting against the dash. "Shit," comes on a rough, quiet laugh. "There's a weight to this, Nine. Like it's gonna be a while. I can't give you more than abstract, more than yes, more than I know that even now, this early, and I know it's early, I would feel something missing if there wasn't more. That's how far ahead I've thought." With another soft laugh, she mutters, "I hadn't meant to make everything all weighty again," which isn't precisely an apology, more an assurance that she hasn't sunk back down despite all the gravity.

"If it helps? It does something. Have to show it you aren't going to go without a fight. Whatever that looks like." It's those words about Alfie that has his head nodding slowly, those fingers giving a gently squeeze to her knee, nudging against that hand that rests against his own in a motion of understanding. "I know you wouldn't," And that 'but' he doesn't speak is one that says some things still need to be said. "don't feel like you are expected to stay over, yeah? I get it. It doesn't matter if it doesn't break him. Or you. Shit, it doesn't matter, just like those posts, if it actually protects him. But it keeps you - both - sane."

"Can't fall without gravity, Cards." It's her own words he offers back to her, and for a moment his head tips so those brown eyes can watch. It was a southernly turn, putting the coast on her side of the car rather than his, "I knew full well the implications of the answers I'd get when I asked the question. Besides. I like knowing you are breaking your rules," It comes with a touch of tease for how the conversation in the car had kicked off, but then, a bit softer after it? "It really means something. To me."

"Can't fall without gravity," Sparrow echoes without thinking, as if it were the only fitting answer to hearing those words turned back on her. And, "Good," comes as easily now as it has every time prior, pleased with the state of things, with that equity, though she's quick to add, "Not that I do it just for you," since that seems a concern. Sketchbook all but forgotten, ocean views ignored, she watches Yule as if there were nothing else at all worth looking at, as if there were no golden light breaking through the afternoon clouds to promise at least a little bit of afternoon sunshine. "Pretty sure we wouldn't get on as well as we do if I felt like you ever expected anything from me." Dark lashes dip as her grin edges left. "Except the things you very clearly do, and I'm pretty sure we're agreed on those parts." Her sketchpad slips a little as she tilts her hand indicatively, thoughtlessly, then plants it audibly against the surface of the book to catch it again with a giggle. "Sorry." Ahem. "I mean. I'm here, right? Your expectation. Obliged. Because it's what I want. To see this through." And even that much was negotiated, haggled. Agreed upon freely by both parties. When her attention returns to the road, it comes with the entirely off-topic question of, "Still up for ice cream?"

A dip of his head towards her comes at that clarification about whom all those broken rules are done for, a touch of a smile gracing his mouth, higher upon her side so that she can better see. It's only when she goes on to clarify, and reclarify, that those brown eyes slip further towards her. "You going to go all mushy on me now, Cards? Cause if so," That pregnant pause hangs in the air, and then his hand gives a gentle squeeze to her knee, reassuring, "I'll have to pull over to be mushy back. I don't expect anything because what you give? Is just right. Although maybe I push your boundaries, now and then." That's the reference he'll offer to those negotiations they went through, and then those eyes focus back forward, as if to see what, if anything, might have peeked her sudden spark of interest in ice cream. "Sure. But it's up to you to figure out where to get it from, cause fuck if I've been on this road in a long time."

Sparrow meets that gaze directly, the arch of her brows communicating a 'Really?' that she doesn't actually voice, waiting instead to see how he plans to finish that. Her resolve wavers just the littlest bit when he meets that challenge so very well, another pale blush brightening her cheeks. "You're gonna wanna turn right up here," comes with a little gesture toward an intersection that's still a little bit in the distance, a moment's distraction from the heft of the conversation, from the counter-challenge she's still considering. It's a few seconds more--with staring at Yule once more resumed--before she actually answers what might've been teasing, pure rhetoric. "Pretty sure I've been getting mushy at you for a while here, Nine, and I'm considering taking some mild offense that maybe you haven't noticed, but if you really need me to be explicit?"

Letting that question hang a second, she shifts in her seat, drawing her knees down from the dash so she can face him just a little bit more directly. "I want you. In every sense of the word I can think of right now. I want your time, attention, affection. Your questions. Your kisses. Your quiet. Your breath. I want you close to me. I want exactly this. And more. Whatever it becomes. You excite me. You intrigue me. You--" The thought hitches, leaving her expression slightly more serious when she continues. "You give me space to be myself and still push my limits. In more ways than one. My life is better with you in it even with the difficult decisions you sometimes present. I want you in my life, Yule. For however long we can make this work." Let's hope there were no more immediate turns she needed to guide him down.

There is a satisfied look to those features when that bit of a blush comes, but then those brown eyes of the driver are cast forward when she tells the direction to follow. It draws the hand from her knee to the shifter as he slows, bodily focused on that process rather than looking at her as she begins, though each and every word is heard. "You know me. I like explicit. Direct." Comes his murmured response in sincere honesty, as if she were just baiting him with a tease.

And then she starts. The turn is taken, but by the time she is at the end of her words? He pushes on the brakes, bringing them to a whole and complete stop. While the car idles, Yule turns in his seat, all the better to face the red head with, to see the aftermath of her features. Silence hangs in the air for a few moments, and the most telling thing? Is the slow, steadying breath that he exhales, before another is brought back in to replace it. "I'm in your life. Which is exactly where I want to be, and you in mine. And I'm not going to pretend to have answers about where the hell this is going. Or how it might work in," No. He doesn't even give a time frame, letting those thoughts of college, or jobs, or so many other things that Could Happen be known but unsaid. "But I also know that if anyone can figure it out, for as long as possible? It's us. And that's what I plan to do."

Sparrow's curiosity flickers to their surroundings as they pull to a stop, but it's just a moment's distraction before her attention is right back on Yule. Smiling. Amused and easy and wholly comfortable with everything she just said. Not the least bit worried about how he might reply. She meets his gaze easily and waits, one brow arched with a hint of expectation. Or, more likely, challenge. She nods to his first point, snorting a laugh for that unspecified amount of time, that silence where something could've been. And when it comes time to lean in to kiss him? When he's done reciprocating all that mush? Her grin grows just a smidge, and she presses directly: "Tell me what you think of love."

"It is amazing, wonderful, scary, takes on many sizes and shapes." Comes Yule's first response to love, and then? Yule is turning, reaching back for his bag, this time, just as she'd done for his. The car rolls, just a smidge given he's put it in neutral to let up off the clutch, and a bit of rummaging is had until he finally snags what he is looking for. "I thought about just having this delivered on Thanksgiving. But I brought it with. Wanted to give it to you in person," It's such an odd turn to the conversation. "People can forget what it's about, you know? But I always try and remember. And this year? It was easy. I knew exactly what. And how." It's a protector, one of those thick - but quite nicely, leather covered ones - set of cardboard sleeves that protect something precious inside of it. "I want to see what you think." Of it? Of love? He doesn't specify, nor does he look down, just keeping his gaze focused.

And inside? Should she look? It's a painstakingly illustrated tarot card. The two of coins. The background is a deep, midnight blue. While many faint stars are depicted, there are a handful of bright ones, and they have been connected as the constellations as they are. On the left is a bird. On the right is a log. Sparrow and Yule. A deeper, brilliant band of stardust, a nebulous cast of faint colors beyond just white with faint reds and greens can be seen in those depths, creating the infinity symbol so often seen around the two coins in the card, this time around those two constellations. Beneath is the figure, only drawn in silhoutte, the young man who gazes up at those stars.

Really? Sparrow is not letting Yule off with that crappy answer, but the sudden drifting stills her objection just long enough--as she peeks forward to make sure they're not gonna hit anything--that he's talking again before she gets the chance to protest. "Feels like you're stalling," is called back all the same even as she considers the lines of his body and how likely it is that she might distract him into an accident while the car isn't properly in park. It's almost certainly a good thing that he finds what he was looking for sooner rather than later. Sketchbook and pencil tucked down against her thigh to free up both hands, she eyes the sleeve curiously. Then eyes him curiously.

Taking the sleeve, she's very careful in drawing the card from within, her smile inconsistent as she sees more and more of it, until she has to draw one hand to her mouth as she hides some blushing, stifles some giggling, hides her eyes. It's hard to see her bright smile around that hand, except for how her cheeks are lifted, except for one corner of her lips, stretched nearly to her ear. "You're ridiculous," comes from behind her hand, hardly a complaint. After drawing a deep breath, she brings her hand down, back to the sleeve and the tarot card it holds, revealing glossy eyes and bright red cheeks.

"First? That's a shit answer. Tells me nothing about what sort of expectations you might tie to it before I go saying it and you think all these things I might not mean by it." Beat. "Not that I think you will. I just." Whatever. She leaves it there awkwardly. "Second. It's gorgeous. You're gorgeous. And terrible. Making me cry again. I know I'm gonna, and it's your fault." She hasn't yet, but those eyes are definitely wet. "And third?" She looks to her sketchbook. "I just figured mine out. It's gonna be a couple days, alright?" And still, she's smiling bright and dopey and happy.

"Yeah?" Comes his standard response to that call out on her first point, "It was. An absolute punt of an answer to make you distracted on how shitty it was." There is that lazy smile, easy and ready, content that it did exactly what he had wanted it to do while he studies her reaction, reveling in it all. It's her words, of just how ridiculous, and terrible, and gorgeous, and everything else he is that the man basks in. This? This is why he didn't want it delivered, so he could see that blush, and smile, and even those tears once they do eventually fall.

"Love? It is different with different people. But it has somethings that are always true. And it's the connection. Something that makes you better for being around it, that fills in a part you hadn't realized you were missing. It isn't about labels. Or expectations. And look," A small snort of air comes out, a bemused touch of noise as his head just shakes a bit. "This part? It's where I suck at words, Sparrow. Never could get them just right. To say what I want to say. Which is why," Down. His eyes look down to the card, and then back up to her, meaningfully, seeing of she gets it. "I try and find other ways to express it."

"And lastly," Down his gaze comes to her sketchpad, so super curious, but oddly enough? He doesn't peek long. "I want to be surprised." He murmurs, head dipping into a small nod. "Take whatever time you need, yeah? Know it can't be rushed, and whatever it is? More important you are happy with it than making some arbitrary date."

Sparrow slips the card back in its case while Yule makes good on the answer. It's pretty clear he hits the right note early on. And then just keeps getting it right. She even has to tuck a knuckle up into the corner of her eye to carefully handle the tear there trying to fall and mess up her make-up before she can tuck the sleep down in against her sketchpad. What can be seen of the larger figure is... minimal, really, but there are two circles, one high and one low, and a bit of erasing and reworking where the arms are positioned. "First," comes with a little sniffle and a roll of her eyes to push those tears back. "The itch has resolved. Just a matter of getting it down. And getting the details right. Might ask to take shirtless pictures of you later." She could assure that it's just for reference, but she doesn't, leaving open the possibility that it might be at least a little bit just cuz she wants 'em.

"Second?" She studies Yule for a couple of seconds before just leaning in. It's a little awkward, small as the car is, much as they've got between them, but she doesn't much care, fingers curling along his jaw as she kisses him firmly for a few contented seconds. When she pulls back, it's clear a tear has escaped, wending down her left cheek, bringing a little smudge of black mascara with it. "And third?" Her gaze dips to his lips again as if she might just lean in and kiss him some more. That might be easier. "Seems we're on the same page. Connection. Makes your life better. No expectations. You got them right, Nine. Just right. Exactly. That's how I love you."

His head offers a small dip at her thoughts around where she is in that process. "What. You didn't wake up in the middle of the night to take a few pictures of me while I slept?" It's a warm and playful voice, without a note of complaint about the request she makes. "Preferably inside?" Is his only professed hope when it comes to those shirtless pictures. But then her point two is being made, and this draws Yule in towards her. Awkward in the car without a doubt, but he helps to close the gap, to make it easier as mouths meld into that kiss for a few seconds, giving as much as she takes in that exchange. Only when it begins to break does his forehead tip forward, offering a gentle nudge of his forehead towards her own.

A deep breath comes in when she says those last words, but his brown eyes don't waver, don't shy away, just watching her closely. "It's how I love you too." Is offered up, without reservation, after those handful of seconds of steadying her. Out a hand comes, regardless of whatever her hand might otherwise be holding to curl around it, guiding it back towards the gear shift. A squeeze is given to those digits before they release, allowing her to retrieve it to return to the sketchpad. It's a repetition of her own curve into the original question, a flicker of a smile. "Still want ice cream?"

Sparrow's head might wobble a little before that kiss, like she'll maybe consider that preference for not undressing in the cold November afternoon, but it's not at all at the front of her mind in the wake of that kiss, during that exchange of words. Hardly seems that heavy, really, for how effortlessly she smiles. "Good." When her fingers are caught, her curiosity follows, weight shifting to make that position with her hand upon that gear just a little bit more comfortable. Though her digits lift, it's only to adjust, to more comfortably settle atop his as she nods. "Always want ice cream." Plainly an exaggeration. He knows better. He's witnessed firsthand her ice cream apathy in certain situations. Still, it's likely more true than not. Especially right now as she leans forward and points. "See the pink and blue sign?" Huge and hard to miss, even at a distance. A place down by the beach, almost certainly keeping limited hours while the weather's so cold. But it's a Saturday afternoon, so maybe they'll get lucky.