2019-12-07 - The Ice Ball, Prelude

Arrangements had been made, the tickets bought, and a reminder to pack compactly, given that Yule's car? Isn't exactly huge on trunk space. And so it is that the now familiar sight of the british racing green car pulls up to the curb in front of the house on Oak Street, with Yule stepping out of, dressed in that blue button down shirt whose folded back cuffs have that red and black pattern. Dark gray slacks and his always worn black boots finish it, with his coat having been slipped into the back seat. Also in the back? Is one of those thin cases meant specifically for carrying a suit - or a tuxedo - folded over to make getting it in there all that much easier. The stairs are ascended, a few steps taken across the porch, and then a finger extends out to ring the doorbell.

It's only a handful of seconds before the doorbell is answered, Sparrow's brightly smiling face chirping out an excited, "Hi!" before she dips to grab the bags--yes, plural--that were waiting by the door. Her hair and make-up are already done, though both are likely to require touch-ups whenever they get to Seattle, the color palette today possibly providing some insight into the chosen dress, her lips a vibrant high-gloss red, her eyes dusted crimson and gold and lined in perfect black. She wears his dress shirt without anything over it today, over a pair of black leggings, with red socks peeking out of her black boots. She slings her backpack over one shoulder while carrying her garment bag, also folded in half with the bottom hook looped around the top to keep it secure. Once she slips out and closes the door behind her, she sinks in close and murmurs a softer, "Hey," before stealing a quick kiss.

Those brown eyes sweep over the red head with a flicker of emotions that express delight, and in Yule comes to offer himself up all the more readily for that kiss to be stolen. "Hey. You already look stunning," It's an ever so careful thing, that closeness he keeps, hinting at underlying desire, but careful not to mess up what she's already managed to accomplish with hair and makeup. "Let me give you a hand," Out one of his comes to steal one of those bags from her, and then it's on he leads, his other wrapping loosely about her waist. This time? It isn't to the passenger door he immediately goes, but to the back and the small trunk, which will be just enough to stow away those things she's brought with her. It's necessity that has that arm drawing away, fishing in to grab the keys and popping open the trunk. "Had a chance to watch the first video you sent. Not the rest. Yet." Yes, it's clear approval and intrigue for what she'd sent him most recently, something filed away to continue on with later on.

"Habit," Sparrow says of how damned good she looks already. "Can't help it." She's all too glad to offer over the garment bag, freeing up one hand to mirror his, to sling low about his body to keep needlessly close. Once the trunk is open, she's careful to make sure the garment bag is laid in correctly, as flat as can be, before setting her backpack atop it. And trying not to worry about things getting squished or wrinkled. It'll be fine. "Yeah?" comes half-distracted before she looks up with a curious, amused grin. "Whatcha think?" Nice and open-ended.

A small burst of laughter comes from the man, his head just shaking a touch with adoration and amusement at that retort, waiting until everything has been put in just so before he closes the trunk, walking the red head around to her side of the car. "A lot of things." Comes his answer, and given that she left it so open ended? He's only too happy to pick only one of those things out. "I want to read the book. Interesting take," But the rest of his thoughts will have to wait as she is seen in, the door closed, and around Yule goes to get in on his side in the tried and true ritual. Key into the center of the dash. The engine started. Hand on the shifter with fingers spread just so perfectly right in invitation. And only once they have pulled out, set on down the road, does he pick that thought back up. "Back in NYC? I'd get it now and again, yeah? People super attracted to death, wanting to question me about my job. The details. The philosophy. All for a variety of reasons. I'm sure, if I'd given a look around, I could have even found a club or three dedicated to the thought."

"I want Stoya to read the book to me," Sparrow replies in a low aside as she gets into the car and settles in comfortably. There might be a few seconds of looking herself over while Yule works his way around to the other side, making sure her hair's still perfect, that the partially unbuttoned shirt is falling just so to offer the barest glimpse of the black bra below. By the time he's settling in, she looks entirely comfortable, like there'd been no fussing at all, her nearer hand ready to take up its rightful position atop his, digits intertwined. "There are a lot of ways to be attracted to death," she ventures. "Some of which are super-creepy, and some of which are more metaphorical, metaphysical. One of the ways we can come to terms with our mortality is by accepting it, by sitting with the idea of our own death and letting it be a welcomed friend. Or a lover, I guess." Brows knit as she follows that thought further into stranger places. It's probably best she stops there.

"Yeah. Now and then you'd get the creeps who wanted to be left alone with the corpses," Up his eyes roll at that, clearly finding no appeal whatsoever for those sorts. "And then you had the people who were... it's like therapy in a way, yeah? Personal trauma, and by getting to know death, in that sense of the way, it would help them find peace. Suppose, for some, there is something to be said about the constant of death. It will never leave you, and you know it will be there to greet you at the very end. A certain comfort in knowing someone - something? - will be there that accepts you, loves you, up to the very last breath." As always, Yule's focus is primarily upon the road, and he lets that conversation unravel slowly, pauses offered up whenever turns are required until they are on the highway out of town. Only then does he circle back to that almost forgotten tidbit she spoke at the beginning. "Yeah? I figured I'd read the book to you. In Spanish. I just haven't figured out yet if I will need to tie you down so you can't move, or if you'll be able to resist all on your own will power."

"Makes it easier to inhabit a body, too," Sparrow continues quietly on the wake of Yule's exploration of comfort in death. "To know this is all temporary. Makes it easier to not get hung up on ideas of permanence or perfection, to just enjoy it more while you've got it." Should someone her age be this comfortable with mortality rather than still living in the expected immortality of youth? Might be a side effect of having very spiritually minded parents. Who knows.

As they hit the highway, their journey toward Seattle now started in earnest, she squeezes his hand with a hint of excitement, like leaving Gray Harbor behind makes it all the more real. The offer to read to her, in Spanish, has her smile skewing all sideways and sly, not half so predatory as she may have meant when softened with a rising blush, with the humor glinting in her low-lashed eyes. "I mean, that's an easy problem to solve, isn't it?" Her brows pitch upward as if she might be waiting for him to pick out the particular solution she's got in mind from the myriad possible ways this could play out. "Just gotta keep the restraints handy. Just in case. Not that they'll see any use." She flashes a wider grin before flicking a look out at the road. "Wanna know a secret?"

"For some. Others respond to that temporal state of being by wanting to leave their mark on the world long after they are gone. Drives them to heights of ambition that are sometimes good... sometimes not." It's an idle thought, rather than one felt with strong, personal convictions from the M.E., though the red head does get a sidelong look for her own additions to the conversation, that comfort and thoughts upon death. "Sorta makes you wonder if it is temporary, though. Given everything in Gray Harbor, yeah? What happens if you die the wrong way."

"Yeah? I could think of a few solutions." Without hinting at a single one, given she hadn't directly asked. But given the small bit of laughter that comes from him at the one she does paint out, it's clear it was in mind on his side as well, that smile deepening for a moment in warmth. "Always. What secret will you tell me this time?" Comes the first question, a lingering pause before he muses, "Does it have to do with you asking Alexander all about me? Trying to find out all the marvelous stories he might remember, from way back when?" The second comes with mirth, a low rumbling note of approval for at least what little he'd been told about that particular run in.

"The wrong way?" Sparrow doesn't particularly want to get hung up on that thought right now when there are far, far more pleasant things to discuss, but it's decidedly the sort of thing that's gonna stick around whether she wants it to or not. Sure, there are lots of awful ways to die that might qualify as wrong, but when put in the context of Gray Harbor's strange? She frowns as she holds Yule's hand a little tighter for a few seconds, trying to shove that tangle to the back of her mind to pick at later. Right now? There are less concerning problems to solve.

"I'm open to alternatives," she notes airily of the other options that might've crossed his mind. When her secret-sharing is preempted with those two extra questions, she snorts a laugh and shakes her head. "Nah. I was just... connecting dots, ya know? He seems smart, interesting. Particular. Kinda clicked as we were talking that he might've been the Alexander you meant." Brows arched, she wonders, "I take it he got in touch?" Was there a secret she was gonna share? Seems someone's sufficiently distracted to have forgotten all about it.

It's that question, and the squeeze from her hand that has his lifting up, drawing hers with it. It's a touch of a stretch in that small car, but it's brought over so he can first place a kiss up the back of her hand, and then catch a single digit between his teeth, all to give her mind something else to momentarily skip towards rather than those lurking, dark thoughts of death in the harbor. "Sounds like I'll have to find a few books to read you, then." Comes the only reasonable conclusion to her offer of being open to alternatives.

"Sharp guy. Knows about things. Yeah, he's the one. He swung by on something unrelated," But what? Yule doesn't go into that, drawing his hand back down to settle it on the gear shift where it belongs. "He brought it up then. Concerned you were stalking me. Think I mentioned to you he's a bit on the paranoid side... always has been." Not that around here, it's all that unreasonable. Those brown eyes shift to the side, flashing a brief, amused smile to the red head as he fills in that last dot for her, "Don't worry. I assured him you absolutely were stalking me."

Sparrow leans in when her hand is lifted, maybe to alleviate that minimal strain on her extended limb, but more likely just to keep that little bit closer while all of her attention rests rather soundly on Yule and what he's doing with her fingers, with his mouth. Her breath catches, such a quiet response that it might go unheard over any greater distance than this, at least until the happy hum comes on exhale. "Funny you should say that," she breathes without immediate elaboration. When his hand goes back down, hers obviously follows, even if at least one digit is a bit damp as it files in beside his. Assured that she is, by all reports, actually stalking him, her smile goes wide even as she clucks her tongue with feigned disappointment. "If you're aware of my stalking, least you could do is invite me in next time you catch me peeking through your windows."

Brows that had arched judgmentally at that suggestion of impoliteness sink back down as her expression softens as she finally works her way back around to the confession she avoided sharing earlier. "So. Secret." She breathes a barely there laugh. "Our last drive. When I told you there was something I wanted you to do for me when we got back? Before we got so very thoroughly distracted and I forgot?" She spends just a moment dwelling on that distraction, deep breath drawn as eyes close and smile bows wide and happy. It might be a long moment. Mm. "I, uhm. I wanted you to read to me. Whatever you had handy. Maybe even in Spanish. Recite Neruda at me all night..." She manages not to squirm, but she can't quite help the slight tightening of her fingers within his.

A squeeze of digits come once they are settled back into their proper place, and his head tips down and to the side, flashing her a look. "Is that what you really want? Here I figured you just enjoyed the show. Though I suppose I /could/ leave the door unlocked, so you can creep in quietly for a closer, less obstructed point of view." Always thinking of the red head's comforts, isn't he! A warm ripple of laughter follows suit, those eyes flashing as she finally gets to that want she had, so many days ago, "Fuck. Here I thought you were just going to keep me waiting until I finally cracked and forced it out of you, rather than it just having slipped your mind that night." And the following. But really, who is counting!

He inhales a deep breath, and that idea? It truly strikes home, something found ever so appealing about it. "Have him on my kindle, you know. Only so many physical books I can keep in the trailer, which I do enjoy." It's a Thing now, something he has filed away for one of those colder nights as winter takes over from autumn. "Leeré hasta que estés sin aliento, vacío de todo lo demás, excepto mis afectos."

"Or give me a key," Sparrow counters quietly for the suggestion of leaving the door unlocked, a serious request casually slipped in amid all that teasing. A laugh follows, bright and brief, at the suggestion that her willpower had simply lasted that long. The bright blush flooding her cheeks might give insight into the truth, that she'd simply forgotten. Maybe not until now, but not while in his presence, while so happily distracted by his mouth doing other wonderful things. Still, she tells him, "I was, but." How casual that shrug, trying to sell that idea. "Felt relevant." Totally not at all because the conversation reminded her. Ahem.

She doesn't point out how well their ideas overlap, knowing full well that some significant details might vary. Instead, she just tilts in a little closer, until her chin is nearly upon his shoulder, those red, red lips so close to his blue shirt. It never stains his lips; surely, it won't stain his clothes either, right? It remains untested for the moment as she listens, expectantly, waiting for more after receiving that much. When nothing more comes, she just nods, agreeing blindly with whatever he said. "Je pense que nous devrions peut-être rester à l'intérieur tout l'hiver..."

That countered request, quiet as it is, goes without comment on for a long moment as he lets the conversation ebb and flow, considering the other softly spoken thoughts she has. 'Mmmhmm,' comes from him when she says it's relevant, knowing all too well the distractions he can often cause her to suffer from. "Sounds like you'll be getting what you want, without even needing to ask." A small concession for all of that built up teasing she'd been put through on that particular day, perhaps, or the promise of more intriguing, interesting moments to come given the means he might use during that recitation of poetry.

Just a touch closer, willing to risk that potential threat of lipstick to shirt, the fabric resting lightly against her mouth as he tips in to hear those words even more closely. He hasn't a clue what they are, and his counter? One may not know the translation because of understanding the spoken language, but his tone, that look, the softness that creeps across every bit of his features speaks a whole different language to her that she may well understand, no translation needed. "Te quiero." Those words fill the silence that comes for a few seconds, before it is that slipped in request that his attention turns to, having spent those precious moments mulling it over. "What does having a key mean to you?" Might seem an odd question, but it comes in all seriousness, letting any pretense of a tease fall away.

"So generous," Sparrow croons in answer to that observation, as if this were entirely his choice and not a brilliant coincidence of intersecting interests. "Figured you might make me beg." It almost sounds like an offer, like she would. For him. Lips brush his shoulder as he tilts closer, a soft tease of motion against fabric before deepening into a proper press, a firm and lingering kiss as she breathes him in. Nevermind that the scent he wears is the same she has on today, that she knows this aroma inside and out; it's different on his skin than hers, with his chemistry, when drawn in with such sweetly spoken words. "Je t'aime," is little more than whispered, preceding a press of her cheek to his shoulder where she'd just kissed.

Eyes forward, watching the road, she mulls over that question in comfortable silence as she drinks in this not-quite-comfortable closeness, the separation of their seats making maintaining this snuggling for more than a few minutes difficult. But for now? Nowhere she'd rather be than just this close, her hand twined with his, the highway before them. "Access," comes eventually. "A practical parallel to the emotional access you already allow me." It sounds like it might be an incomplete thought, but enough silence follows that it's not difficult to guess there isn't anything more coming just yet. Especially when she peeks up at Yule curiously.

It's a brief moment, given the slight contortion that it requires, the complexity of driving and resting, but Yule's head tips to the side, letting his rest against hers for a few long moments. "I'm not going to make you beg me to read to you." There is such a delightful, unspoken 'but' in there, something else she might find herself pleading for in the midst of that poetry recital that she'll find herself in the midst of one steamy winters night. But that conversation takes a turn, to something more intimate, at least as far as Yule is concerned, something deeper despite the casual askance and explanation that has been brought on so far.

His head straightens as the road stretches on, the gentle curves easy enough to take as they wind their way towards Seattle proper. "Yeah? I don't give a key out lightly, just like I don't give out emotional access lightly." It isn't critical, and it certainly doesn't sound like a 'no', simply a thought process spoken out loud, more glimmers of insight into the man. "Is it important to you? A key is something that's a little less fleeting. A touch more solid. Real." He doesn't sound like he expects her to balk at any of it, given the way he leans in a touch more to her, those fingers twined with her own giving a squeeze. "Yeah. I'd be happy to give you a key."

The quiet hum that answers that initial promise implies understanding of at least some of what she might be begging for, particularly given the provocative seed which initiated this conversation. Something to look forward to as the nights keep getting longer and colder. Sparrow looks like she might protest that note about emotional access, the way her head tilts one way before drawing back the other to instead press another kiss to his arm. "It's important coming from you," she answers, as if other keys, other access might not carry quite so much weight. "Though, mm. Think I'mma have to disagree with you on the point of emotional access. You opened up to me pretty freely. You gotta open up to connect with people, and you like connecting with people. And maybe there are different degrees of access if you wanna get nitpicky, but it wasn't hard to get in." Her fingers tighten around his as she peeks up and clarifies, "Not that I'm making light of it. Just... I dunno. You seem really open to me."

With that, she straightens a touch, far hand lifting to smooth over her hair even if it means crossing her face with that limb, that awkwardness worth suffering through if it means keeping her hand twined with his. "I promise not to abuse my access, emotional or otherwise. I won't come over unannounced, not without cause. And probaby not while you're there." That comes with an impish grin, flashed his way as her hand drops back to her lap. "I won't take anything without letting you know. But I might leave things for you to find. Maybe. If you're nice."

"Connecting momentarily is easy. And most of that? Is all about showing interest in the other person, not letting them inside. Though, a crack of that particular door does help, yeah." It's not exactly a disagreement with her own point of view, merely clarifying those thoughts. "Most people just peek inside. Once they get to the chain lock, they are content. You just kicked the fucking door down." As if that's why she's found it so easy, a humorous smile fleeting across his features, accompanied by a dip of his head to squeeze against her own. "Not to say I'm closed off. But yeah... layers. Degrees. Whatever you want to call it."

Her criteria is listened to, and already there is a touch of ease there, a bit of relaxation at the offer that is now cemented when she explains how she will and won't use it. "That... means a lot. All of it. And I'm always nice," Those words hold a touch of faux hurt to them, with the small bit of laughter that comes spilling out ruining whatever light attempt he'd made to try and make it sound halfway sincere. "I'm good with it. Only thing off limit? Case files. You'll know them when you see them. Otherwise, I don't think there is anything in there that you couldn't snoop through. Not that there is all that much to begin with."

Pride flashes across Sparrow's features at the indication that she just plowed past Yule's locks, nearer shoulder lifting in some helpless expression of not-quite-apology. She's not apologizing for anything. She is, however, objecting to the suggestion that he's always nice, her eyes going wide with prompt protest that never finds voice when his laughter assures he's aware of how inaccurate that statement was. "I started snooping the minute you let me in," she admits without one little lick of shame. He can decide whether she means just the trailer or not. She's not clarifying. "And I know the difference between you and your job. I'm very, very interested in one and not at all in the other."

Her weight shifts again, bringing her back to a slightly more normal sitting position, eyes mostly forward as her thumb runs over his nearest knuckle idly. Seattle's a long way out yet, and she's already restless, excitement pent up and building with the unexpected directions the conversation has taken. With a flicker of curiosity turned his way, she wonders, "Is this the sort of thing I should reciprocate?"

A soft snort of amusement comes from him at her admission of what she did the second she let him in, having expected nothing else on any of the possible meanings one could take that has. It's a turn before she slips away, one to plant a kiss atop her head before comfort takes over, fully understanding the need for that with how the car is built. "I always enjoy the ritual, yeah? Knocking on the door. Having you come to greet me... or having one of your roommates do the same, getting the chance to see their reaction when they notice it's me. The question or two I can ask before things go back to normal in the house." It's an open expression of thought, his voice murmuring, "Different with a big house than a trailer where it's just me, of course."

Which isn't an answer, and Yule knows it, though he equally seems certain it isn't his question to answer. "Think that depends on you. What it means, what you want me to do with it. If it's just a gesture because you feel like it has to be reciprocated? Nah. Not much point. But if you feel better with me having one? Gives you some sense of comfort? It'd be nice knowing I have it, just in case I needed it."

"Never been much for has to," Sparrow notes, the easiest part of this question to deal with. That wasn't what she was asking. Or why. She's quiet for a long while thereafter, watching the road pass, watching the occasional looks from other drivers taking interest in this fine car passing by on the highway. Idle distraction while she gives thought to her answer, her feelings. "I like the symbolism of it," comes eventually. "The practicalities get complicated and will remain complicated until after you've met Alfie, and that's something I'm still trying to resolve. Wanting you close all the time while wanting him close all the time, too. To have those parts of my world readily intersect and overlap and just fall neatly into place together." Which might've been more honest and direct than she'd meant to be if the color which comes to her cheeks means anything, gaze averted out her window. Quietly, she murmurs, "Wish I'd brought my sketchbook," before picking up. "It feels like an incomplete gift right now, like it comes with qualifiers. An everything-but. And that's not what I want to give you." Which leaves her where she started, uncertain, neither a yes nor a no.

Yule sinks into that silence, focusing on the road ahead, giving no gesture to push for her thoughts until they are ready to come. It's the small bobbing of his head here or there, the squeeze of fingers to her own in reassurance that comes that shows he is listening, even if it takes a while longer before he is ready to reply. "I don't think meeting Alfie will resolve the complications, Sparrow. I do think that - short of something completely out of character of myself or what I know of him - it will help relieve a lot of your potential stress, if I'm reading you right. But in the end, it's still two separate parts of your lives. Parts that will almost certainly get along well. But it still leaves things with it's own complications and feelings. Just like work makes things complicated for me. Or potentially my detective." Not a bit of hesitation there in his thoughts as he works through them, but it all seems to build to agreement with an understanding on the very last thing she spoke about. "But your place? Isn't just your place, yeah? It's Alfie's too. Think it's important to work through that, make sure it goes as well as you hope it does. Suppose that's the practical complication you were talking about. In which case? I don't think you can reciprocate it yet. And I both love you for the thought of wanting to give me everything, but equally that you want to make sure it's the right time, the right way."

"It's all like waves, like water, the way it plays out in my head," Sparrow counters quietly for Yule's note that her complications aren't going to just magically resolve for that one meeting, no matter how well they get along. She watches the world through her window while she listens, expression reflected in the glass, details difficult to make out at a glance. "I'm still trying to figure this all out," she admits. "Before Alfie..." She just shakes her head. Her eyes find Yule before she turns to face him again, chin to her own shoulder while she watches him. "I used to be okay with casual. I used to not want much at all. But once I let myself fall in love with him? It was like some breaker got flipped, and now I want more from everyone, hold everyone to a higher standard." Small smile bowing her lips, she notes, "I definitely wasn't expecting anyone else to keep up. Not while I was still in this figuring things out place." Drawing a deep breath, she concludes, "Which is my long-winded way of saying that I don't always know how to express this stuff yet, so we might end up in these weird corners every now and again, and I'm not exactly sorry about it? But I know it's awkward. So." How about a redirect? Without anything more than a little beat between one thought and the next. "Things getting serious with your detective?"

"Yeah. After you've had a taste of it? You /get/ it, what it can be? How it was for me. Med school. Hadn't ever really thought much about relationships, or the long term. Still had so much schooling to go, no light at the end of the tunnel. And then? Wasn't looking for it. Just found me. And losing it is really damn hard." But there is no apology in there either, not a hint of regrets for having gone through those experiences, something savored about it all, even the loss. "Just lost it's taste. Took a while to find /it/ again each time." Yule's voice pauses there, one of those rare moments of complete hesitation before those fingers give a more firm squeeze against her own fingers. "I know you won't, but... I feel better saying it. Don't figure things out with the intent of making it all work. What you have now in this moment. Fuck, I'd keep it forever if I could," And each of those words are meant, a look cast her way. "But. Hopefully you know what I'm saying, yeah? And I'll be along for the ride, weird corners and all, for however long it lasts."

It's that change, that small nudge that he finally responds to after his own offering, not content until he's had his say in it before letting the conversation veer. "I don't do anything not serious," Is his first offering, a flicker of a smile at the playful banter before he murmurs, "It's good. Different, you know? She's so carefully guarded with her feelings and emotions. Kinda let the job rule her life for a long while... which happens to people. A lot. She's still figuring out how she got tangled up with me."

Sparrow doesn't look away again, not now that she's put her awkwardness out there, her brown eyes right there for his to find when he looks her way. There's an earnestness in her expression that lingers even as she clips a quick, "Bullshit," for his last words, finding that point far easier to focus on than all the ones which preceded it. "You aren't someone that accidentally happens to people. You cracked the door open, and she made a choice. I'm the chaos in this car, Nine, not you." She flashes a faint grin, but it doesn't really reach a proper level to suggest teasing. She's too busy studying him, considering the crossroads that she's at. Rather than circling back to echo any assurance of however long it lasts or an explanation of what exactly it is that she's trying to figure out, she picks a potentially dicier path forward and wonders, "Am I gonna get to meet her?" with a curious cock of one brow.

A warm, echoing rumble of laughter comes from him for her first response, and that sly, sidelong glance that comes with it speaks to the very fact she is absolutely, dead on right. "Yeah. Might made it hard to say no to me tagging along on a few things in the case. Though, I /didn't/ have to bait her to get her to invite me out to dinner at the Thai place." There isn't any shying away from that question, the pause given to truly consider the possibilities, and how it might play out. The first question? It's easy enough. "You want to meet her?" The second part is the dicier path, at least in some particulars, as he murmurs, "She knows. Up front about things with her. Think she's still trying to make heads and tails of her feelings." That might sound a touch familiar to the red head, after all, "But once she's there, if she wants to as well? Yeah. I have no problem with that. Besides. You'd love hearing about her tattoo. Involves knitting and threads."

"Maybe not before I meet your sisters?" Sparrow quips in answer to that question, this grin a little easier than the last. She gives his hand a squeeze, fingers loosening enough thereafter that it feels like she might draw away. For all of a heartbeat, before those flexing digits curl right back into place. "Trying to ignore the reflexive apprehension at the implied possibility that keeping me as some shadowy spectre in a corner of your life she never gets to see might be the preferable option." She makes a face at Yule, nose all cutely scrunched, clearly meant to express her awareness of the weirdness of that worry, how she's not hanging onto it, letting it slip right on past now that it's been acknowledged. "In addition to my hope for a world in which psychedelics are used responsibly and recreationally and for the betterment of humanity? I also want a world in which all the people I love are chill with each other, and all their people are okay with me and each other, and we're all just decent to each other and make-out and, I dunno. Dance and eat good food and travel and do the things that make us happy and make each other happy." Yeah, someone was definitely raised by hippies. "I feel like I'm doing an alright job of it so far."

"Don't be silly. You'd be a very colorful spectre, not shadowy." Comes the retort back to her for that thought, his fingers giving a squeeze back against her own fingers once they settle back in. "Pretty sure she'll get there, don't worry. And honestly, if she doesn't?" It's a touch of a sad smile, but there is a certainty there, and he murmurs, "Then sometimes, it isn't meant to be. But I don't think that'll be the case with her." It's where he trails off, listening to that simple want from the woman of how she'd like life to be, and one brow tucks upwards, "Christ. If the world was like that? I'd be out of a job. Not a bad thing, though, is it. And from what I can tell? Haven't met everyone, obviously. But yeah, you seem to be doing pretty good with it. And you will certainly be meeting my sisters. Promise." Once they can be found, that is, from all the busy things that seem to make everyones conflicting schedules impossible to accommodate. "Maybe Nicole needs to hold a hair dying party. Snow would love it."

Sparrow mutters, "I can be shadowy," just to be contrary, lower lip sticking out in a brief pout. Her thumb answers his squeeze, brushing softly along the side of his hand to assure that heavier point is heard. What follows, though? That gets a roll of her eyes. "It's not like people are going to stop dying. Or that there won't still be bad people or weird accidents or... ya know. Gray Harbor. We can all get along without you being out of a job entirely. Just, ya know, maybe less of it. So I can have more of you. It's really not all that much to ask." She bats her dark lashes at him playfully as if Yule were the one she'd need to butter up to make the world that little bit more laidback and not, like, everyone else and then some. Brows arch curiously at the prospect of a hair-dying party, and she notes, "Met this cute redhead Wednesday night who could prolly use that," which begs the question, "Will it be weird if I flirt with other people in front of your sisters? Cuz I dunno if I can turn all this charm off..."

"I'm pretty solidly convinced you can't." Comes Yule's first comment, directed to her very last thought, and that? Doesn't seem to bother him in the least. "Won't be weird to me. Or to you. To them? Suppose it depends on which one. Nat might give you A Look. Wait," Yes, it's just a brief lull for a playful tease, as he murmurs, "You did say flirt in front of my sisters, and not flirt /with/ them, right? Cause that would be weird." Regardless, her actual, correctly worded question? Doesn't draw a single note of protest from him about it. "I mean, I suppose," He postulates, thinking through that potential what if world, "I didn't have to worry about the routine, mundane stabbings of jealousy, I'd get to focus more on the weird stuff." Good or bad? That's for her to decide, before a small snort of amusement comes from him, his focus turned back onto the road. "Yeah? How'd things go with the cute redhead?"

Sparrow answers that first assurance with an exaggerated shrug. Nothing to be done about it! When that 'wait' comes around, her eyes go wide, and she waits, hooked, to see where he goes with it, nose promptly scrunching in distaste as her free hand goes up. "Definitely weird. No flirting with my siblings either. Or my parents, alright?" He earned that jab. That gets a swing of her elbow, nudging against his arm, before she moves on. A pin is put in 'weird' as she answers, "Fiiiine," of the redhead. "Gave her my number. She gave me a ride home. Kept her hands to herself." Which, from the sound of it, is how she meant for it to go. "Can't tell if she wants to paddle or be paddled, but." She knows how she means for that to go, too. "Got the number of this really fucking lovely guy I've run into a few times, too." With a shrug, like it's nothing, "It was a good night." Leveling Yule with a curious look, eyes playfully narrowed, she nudges, "Define weird stuff."

"Yeah. Just can't help yourself." He concludes about her charm as she lists out just how her night went, head shaking back and fourth a touch with amusement... which turns into a sudden 'oof' from the man, a bit more than it should be, when her elbow reaches over. "All right. We will draw the lines at any family relations," He assures, the hand twined with her own giving a sudden, small tug to sway her his way again, if but briefly. "Thought you weren't interested in my work," Come his first point, one eyebrow arching upwards, not that it stops him. She did ask, after all. "You already said it. It is Gray Harbor. Weird things happen, and unfortunately that leads to deaths." But it's her comment on paddling that has those brown eyes cutting across to her, a twitch of amusement as he murmurs, "Yeah? Sometimes you can't be too sure, can you. And next thing you know you'll find yourself tied up. Or being paddled. Or both."

Sparrow giggles as she's tugged back in, following through farther than that little pull should've permitted, until her shoulder bumps his. Her lips find his shoulder again, another smudge-free kiss pressed there. And lingering as she listens. Chin replaces lips and eyes go wide as she asks, "Are you suggesting that I need to throw relationship drama at you to keep you from delving too deep into our local brand of small town strange? Cuz I'm pretty sure I can manufacture some petty bullshit if it's gonna keep you safe." She sinks a little lower again, lips to shoulder once more, muttering right against him, "Not that I don't trust you," to assure she probably won't be throwing any mostly made-up tantrums just to keep him safe. As she draws away, she assures him, "Only two people--" Pause, reconsider. "--three people in all this world who get to see that side of me and, cute as this redhead might be?" The shake of her head assures that she's not one of 'em. Probably. Almost certainly. Look, who knows what'll happen in the moment!

"Bet you thought the exact same thing about me after the first night we met." Comes Yule's all too helpful response, a brief flicker of a smile illuminating those brown eyes as he leans back in against her shoulder. It's small, just so barely present if she's paying attention, the content little sigh, a pleasurable little sound that comes quietly from him. "No drama needed, thank you much. I'm too old for that shit," It's a mixture of seriousness and amusement, his head shaking just a touch before he lets his full focus go back on the road. It's a few long minutes of silence he lets settle in, all before he picks up a separate thread of thought, "Decorated the trailer. Cutest little tree ever. You guys going to be doing anything around your house? What is the Jones family traditions, when it comes to the Christmas holiday?"

"I mean," Sparrow murmurs in answer to that first point, grin going a little dopey. "You did follow directions well." Can't really blame her if she thought maybe the dynamics would've played out entirely differently. The only evidence that she catches that soft sound is the faint tensing of her fingers within his as she draws a deeper breath of her own, like she might just pull that happiness right into her lungs and hold it there for a little bit. "Good," matches his tone on the note of no drama, half-playful and half-nobody-needs-that. "Cuz that sounds like work."

When the silence stretches on, she separates their hands for a little bit so that she can fuss with the radio, pulling up more of the metro stations the closer they get to Seattle. What she stops on is unlike their previous trips, a little closer to her own tastes, except that it's all in French. For the first track anyway. Indie station playing indie pop from around the world. "Can't wait to see," she croons happily for the mention of the tiny tree. "Think family's still debating whether we're all gathering at my parents', my mom's parents' or the vinyard upstate. I know which I prefer, but." Shrug. "Corey's bringing Ash. Uh, Legs. Ash. Meeting the parents. They're making... something official. I dunno. They're going away immediately thereafter. Monica's gonna be down with her dad." She's quiet a second, a brief hitch, and then goes on. "Pretty sure our house is gonna be quiet as fuck."

A low chuckle comes from him at her first words, but his own thoughts are kept silent, just leaning into that touch until she straightens to start fussing with the radio. It's only a quick glance down to the station when she ends up on that particular one, a dark eyebrow arching upwards in humor. "Which do you prefer?" It's like an open field for Yule's mind, already churning through the questions he has without an ounce of reservation in asking each and everyone that springs to life, "And where does your mom's parents live?" It's the mention of Corey and Ash that has a dip of his head coming, filing away that little nugget, "Yeah? You should a bit surprised? Or just don't know what they are making official? Not... pregnant, is she?"

That thought is more of a a little tease than a true thought about what it could be about, a soft 'mm' as he ponders that. "Going away immediately.. to her parents?" His tongue dips out, touching against his lower lip, because those very last words? They are the ones that really make him think, mulling it over, a low breath pushed out before he asks, "How does that make you feel? If it is?"

Sparrow's mouth opens so that she can start to answer, but then the questions keep coming, and she just spills into giggles and leans in close again, soaking up that curiosity as if she didn't already have enough of her own. The brighter burst of laughter at the pregnancy question might be answer enough on its own, but she doesn't say specifically one way or another. Not until it seems like Yule might actually be out of inquiries for the moment, as evidenced by the long, expectant silence that follows when he falls quiet. "You're wonderful," comes first, a preface offered before she tackles the rest.

"First," always. "I prefer not my grandmom's because she won't let anyone else in her kitchen, and Corey is happiest when he's got a kitchen to be in. And she always uses too much clove in her ham. I like when we go up to the winery. It's got room enough for all of us. Plus the wine. And all the cats. And last time? Which was a couple of years ago. We had room enough to spread out and make our own ornaments out of corks and gemstones and whatever other nonsense we could find, and--" Her smile goes a little silly. "I dunno. It was really nice."

It takes her a moment to pull out of that memory and redirect back to the rest of the questions. "So, uhm. Second? Closer to Bellevue. Fourth, cuz we're saving third for last, they're going up to Canada, she tells me. I dunno. Corey loves it up there. Just getting away for a few days. Fifth?" She draws a deeper breath, some of her good humor dimming. "I'm not sure. Relieved? Sad? Both at once? I need the quiet, but I miss the fanfare." It's an honest thought, punctuated with the sort of shrug that says she's not really sure what to do with that feeling yet. But there are other things to discuss. "Now. Back to my brother and his love life?" Snort. "No, she's not pregnant. But he's taking that not-just-casual plunge for the first time. Big year for the Jones twins, lemme tell ya. She told him she loves him. And he didn't run. He invited her to meet our parents. Which I guess kinda tracks as roughly equivalent?"

Yule's head tips down and towards her, flashing her a warm, 'I know' smile to those words, all before he dips in to steal away a faint little kiss before he straightens to put his eyes back where they belong, on the road. Fingers squeeze against her won as he soaks in the answers, more thoughts formulated. "How do you think your parents will take it? She's great, yeah. Not about that. But will they be surprised he's bringing someone around for the holidays... and then heading off to Canada so quickly?" It's a flicker of something when she mentions it being the first time for him, a nostalgic memory, lost in whatever is in his head before the appearance of the outskirts of Seattle loom in the distance, a reminder of that closing distance to their destination.

"I sorta hope there is a big snowstorm that blows through before we hit the road on this family trip... assuming we are still going, given how busy everyone is." He doesn't expand up why, not just yet, and it is one thing in there all that tugs at his thoughts, "Cats, yeah? Just like seeing them all, or thinking of becoming a pet owner at some point in time soon?"

Sparrow basks in that quick kiss, eyes happily low-lidded as she listens to the next round of questions, delights in each and every one. She doesn't even notice the Emerald City on the horizon for how focuses she is on Yule in the moment. "Definitely a first for Corey," which makes it sound like it wouldn't be a first for her. "Might be a little surprising? But I dunno. My parents never made much of a fuss over whoever I brought home. Which was mostly Bax. And Bax loves 'em. But still. Can't imagine they'll get too weird about it." Beat. "And I don't know that I know what you're reading into heading off to Canada so quickly. It's just a weekend trip between the holidays. Is that weird?" It seems a sincere question, for how she holds a moment to hear his answer before launching into, "No pets for me. I'd feel bad about neglecting it all the time. Though if I did get a pet, it'd be a cat. The winery cats are all kinda secretly cuddly? They'll be all standoffish until they've got you alone, and then they'll snuggle like mad, until you're covered in fur and initiated into the colony." Beat. "Cats have colonies." She takes a moment, cheek pressed to his shoulder and gaze finally turned forward to catch a glimpse of the city skyline--which earns an excited squeeze of his hand--as she goes through his questions to make sure she didn't miss any. "Why're you wishing for a blizzard?"

"You bring someone home to your parents," Yule explains, working through the thought process out loud, "For the very first time. Over the holidays," Yes. Christmas Is Important says that tone, as if that makes it extra meaningful. "and then immediately head out? Maybe," Yeah. It's back into one of those weird places, and he suddenly knows it, letting the thought fall off. A low 'mmm' comes from him, and so he lets the flow of the conversation head off into something more comfortable and easy. "Colonies? That sounds like it requires a lot of cats to make it an official colony." Closer they come, the more those hands have to start working as traffic patterns change, "First," Yes, just as she does, this is one of those times that requires counting. "I really like the thought of Christmas with them here. And in snow. Second," She'll get the whole list, the ups and downs, "I like visiting mom's grave on Christmas." And then lastly, "Third. If your house is quiet over your break? Means I can pretend to be a wine cat, get you alone and then be all cuddly."

"We haven't auditioned any Cher impersonators yet," Sparrow tells Yule, potentially nonsensically, in an attempt to assure him that there's no impending elopement. She's the twin. She'd know. "But--" Ah, a concession! "--I do think it's his way of letting her know that he feels the same way even if love is still a big, scary word." Softer, she reminds, "I already told you I was comfortable with you meeting 'em, so." Make of that what you will, Nine! She's moving on. "There are definitely a lot of cats. I've lost count. I think they lost count." Which means they might not all be indoor cats, but she doesn't elaborate. She's busy tilting to look at the city springing up around them, excitement creeping in. The second point he makes in answer to her own question draws a look, but that's a thread she still hasn't tugged at yet. And one she's easily distracted from now, smiling all too broadly at the last point. "Make a mess of me," she adds in a quiet croon. "Yeah. I like the sound of that."