2019-12-21 - Ambiguities

It's mid morning, getting on towards noon when the doorbell rings at 7 oak. Standing outside, propped up against that post? Is one Yule, a long, heavier navy blue wool coat wrapped around him and buttoned up, mostly concealing the white dress shirt and black slacks worn beneath it. A woolen stocking cap, the same color as his coat rests atop his head, pulled down to cover the majority of his ears, his hands stuffed into his pockets. And his ride? Is nowhere to be seen, leaving it up to a guess as to how he got here today. It's there that the man will wait patiently, in no rush to leave the porch even if a long amount of time is taken for someone to answer the door.

His patience is put to the test. Several seconds pass before even the barest signs of life stir within the house, a distant sound of footsteps starting and then stilling. A couple seconds later, someone can be heard coming down the stairs. A flash of neon red hair in the window beside the door gives Sparrow away as she peeks to see who, if anyone, is out there. And then another few seconds pass after she straightens before the door opens.

She doesn't look like she's done much with her day yet, still in her pajamas, swimming in a too-large grey tee shirt paired with dark purple pajama pants spattered in colorful stars. Her hair's a bit of a mess, and she hasn't put any make-up on yet. Or a smile. The arch of her brows expresses her curiosity before she manages any words. "Need something?"

Yule's head tilts to rest against the post once the red haired woman makes her appearance in the doorway, no stirring upon his part to assume he'll be coming inside. "Yeah," Comes his firm, calm response towards that singular inquiry, those brown eyes unwavering as they focus upon her, watching those features, the reaction given to his answer. "You."

Slowly he sraightens, but doesn't approach, and he lets that thought linger for a moment, to make it clear that's all he /needs/. "So you tell me what you want. If you need more time to not be angry, or to hear I love you, or to tell me to fuck off? But whatever it is, I want to hear it. Not read it." His stance widens just a touch to settle in comfortably, and despite those words his gaze never wavers, remaining upon her own eyes.

Sparrow's dark brows maintain their expectant arch after that first syllable, scarcely a reaction at all. Not even the second seems to have an impact, like maybe she's expecting more. Her brown-eyed attention flicks down over his form as he straightens, finding his eyes again as further explanation follows. A visible puff of breath huffed in answer to the suggestion that she's angry--as if that silence and stillness weren't immensely telling--serves as the first noticeable answer to anything he says. Seconds tick past in silence when he falls quiet, until she finally moves, stepping to the side as she opens the door wider in wordless invitation.

With that peace said, Yule doesn't seem to be in a rush for words from Sparrow, nor impatient to either leave or enter, waiting until that door is opened wider. At that puff of breath, his features remain just as calm, and finally he stirs from that motionless grace, stepping forward out of the cold and into the house itself. It's just a handful of steps he takes to give her room to close the door behind them and have the freedom of movement to go where she might wish. Hands remain stuffed into pockets, keeping his coat clung tightly against his frame.

Sparrow remains patient and silent until Yule's through the door, closed and locked behind him. Even so, the chill lingers for a few seconds, a bit of that bitterness trapped at the threshold. She doesn't look up at him again, doesn't look deeper into the house. For a few seconds, she seems mostly to just stare at some point between them and the floor. And then she steps forward, closer, hands aiming to wedge between his arms and his body so that she can wrap Yule up in a hug, so that she can bring her body agains his, downturned head pressed to his shoulder.

Once the door closes, Yule turns to face her, neither taking steps away or towards. One might well get the correct impression he'd stand there for a very long time while he waits only to be confronted with that hug. It may well trigger the thought that hugs? Weren't something Yule had truly given out. The embrace of an arm wrapped about her while they sat. Hand holding. Cuddling even. But a hug? Seems to be something that takes a few seconds for him to process, but once he does, out those arms come, wrapping about her. Slowly, at first, but once her head finds his shoulder, it deepens into a more constricting hold that crosses those arms behind her. His own head tips down, mouth placed to the top of her head in a soft kiss. No words. Not a single syllable, only the cool press of his coat, still chilled from the sudden winter storm, and the heat of his body beneath.

Sparrow holds right there for a good while, the house so still and quiet around them with only the occasional creak of the architecture settling interrupting that wordless moment. The longer they stand there, the firmer her embrace. She pulls herself closer and closer until she's squeezed tight against him, until all it takes is a small tip of her head beneath his to bring her nose nuzzling against his neck. The, "I'm sorry," which flutters warm and soft against his collar might be as rare for her as hugs are for him. No explanation, no qualification. Just the apology on its own before she moves on to ask, "Are you staying?" without any loosening of her limbs to suggest she's willing to accept a no any time soon.

Out a low breath comes when those barest of words are heard, his mouth forming to press a kiss against her hair before his head buries in against it further. She might feel the tiniest bit of dampness upon her hair and scalp, his own arms not giving any indication that he'll be letting go anytime soon. "Yeah," Comes his murmured tone against those bright, red strands before his head finally begins to pull up, "At least for a bit. It's coming down pretty good out there. Rather not have to walk back in the dark, and no clue if ubers will even be picking up." A soft scuff comes at that, head shaking just a touch.

Only when Yule begins to move does Sparrow follow, her head lifting without drawing back. Her nose tucks against his jaw, nuzzling there for a moment, while he talks. By the time he scoffs at the thought of taking an uber, her lips are already on their way to finding his, catching first at the corner of his mouth before hungrily hitting their proper target, eyes clenched tight as she claims that affection. A hint of coffee on her lips tells of earlier excursions from her room, that this isn't the first even if she'd retreated back there before he showed up on her doorstep. And it's what she references when the kiss breaks, when she finally loosens her hold, asking, "You want some coffee or something?" with some uncertainty, not sure where to go from here.

That affection is returned, his head dipping down to nuzzle against her in return, and only once her mouth finds his does his own heat truly come out, a low note of pleasure captured in the back of his throat. Nails dig in ever so slightly against her back where her arms is wrapped about her, and only once that liplock is broken does his grip slacken, as if remembering that to squeeze more would likely be to pull her properly off of her feet. "Are you allowed in the kitchen to make coffee?" Comes his first question, a flicker of playfulness creasing his features before his voice murmurs, "Yeah. That'd be good. I need to warm up. Also? Thanks," A beat of a pause. It's for far more than what he draws attention to, but it's an easy enough thought to focus on for a second, "for the pillow. It's perfect."

Even tall as she is, the intensity of that embrace, of that kiss, has Sparrow pressed to her toes, only finding her flat feet again when Yule relaxes his hold. With a roll of her eyes and a lazy smirk, she quips right back, "Like I ever worry about what I'm allowed to do." Nevermind that she's certainly permitted in the kitchen and, gasp, sometimes even cooks. That's certainly not the most important point to make here. Fingers slip down to catch his as she steps away, the gratitude accepted with a shallow nod, a seriousness in her expression that might imply something remains as-yet-unresolved despite direct effort made to move forward. Onward to the kitchen, she answers an, "I know," for the perfection of the pillow. "Not sure how I'm feeling about the rest at the moment," comes with some hesitation, enough thought before speaking to indicate she actually considered self-censorship before deciding against it. "But guess it doesn't matter much if we're not getting away, so."

Fingers thread in with Sparrows, and after a moment of letting those arms stretch just a bit, he begins tocome along with, lengthening his stride to settle in at her side. A small snort of laughter comes from him at the words of not being worried, eyes rolling skyward in sheer adoration for an amusement, fingers giving a firmer squeeze momentarily. "I thought about being selfish and keeping it in the bed," Not that one couldn't just stare down the trailer and see it from just about anywhere. "But it has a spot out on the couch, where anyone can see it... and where I like to sit to have my morning," Or evening, or middle of the night, depending upon his work schedule. "espresso." A low breath is pushed out at the snow and its implications, a side long glance given her way at those last words. "Doesn't matter much? In what way?" A beat of a pause, lips pursing in consideration, "Did it depend on us getting away?"

Sparrow's hold is loose enough that those fingers could slip away while arms stretch between them if Yule weren't so quick to close the distance again. "Little worried I gotta tell you how pillows work, too." Her humor is muted, low-key, easy but lacking her usual energy. She doesn't follow through and finish the joke, leaving how how pillows don't require a fixed location, how they can be picked up and moved. Once they hit the kitchen, her hand does withdraw from his, though that's a matter of necessity, so that she can start fussing with the coffee machine. It's nice enough, sure, but unlikely to produce any espresso. "Doesn't depend on it, nah, just." She's quiet a moment while she gets the machine percolating, not finishing the thought until she turns to rest against the counter, hands curled about the edge to either side of her hips. "Was a fitting context, I guess?" With a shake of her head, she redirects. "So what are the family plans now?"

"Look, everything needs its proper place," Quips Yule back, and given how functional and deliberate the few things that are in the trailer are placed? No doubt there was proper consideration for what that proper place should be. Moving pillows? Nonsense! His fingers let go, and both arms come to rest upon the counter, leaving the M.E. bent over as he considers. "We will do a Christmas dinner. Gift giving over at their trailer. Noelle is probably putting chains on her Vespa as we speak, and who knows when I'll have to go dig that thing out of a ditch assuming it even has enough power to move tires with chains." Up his eyes lift once more, this time with a resigned look towards his fate. "We can still figure out something, if you want. After New Years, head up to the mountains still. And? We will still have time to go driving around the city to see Christmas lights, once the streets are plowed." A beat of a pause as the man considers, his voice lowering just a touch, "How about you? What will you be doing for Christmas now?"

Sparrow's nose scrunches at the prospect of rescheduling, that reaction getting away from her before she catches it. When she does? She turns her head, looking away still as she answers, "I dunno," for their Christmas plans. "Hold and wait for the moment. We'll go wherever family tells us we're going, but it's looking like it might not be the winery." When she looks back, there's a little shrug that suggests she's not disappointed. Really, it's hard to tell one way or another at the moment. Behind her, the coffee machine begins to make telltale sounds of percolation. "Lights'll probably be down by the time the roads are clear enough for a leisurely drive," probably isn't accurate and certainly seems to contradict her thoughts on snow from the night prior. With a tilt of her head toward the fridge, she notes, "Think we've got some tarts or something..." in what might be an offer.

It's that scrunch of her features followed by her glance away that has him leaning across the counter, arms stretching out to capture her hands unless she pulls back. With a gentle tug she's drawn closer, or at least those arms, even as Yule leans further across on his side. "What? Tell me what you'd like?" It even comes with that inflection to make it a question rather than his typical demand, and any thought of food is brushed aside, one dark brow arching upwards. "I'll go sweet talk the plow driver into plowing a straight line to the highway, where hopefully the county has their shit together at least, and we can still go. Or? You can come over for Christmas Eve. Meet the family. Or whatever else would help with the context." Those brown eyes watch her, head tilting to the side before he murmurs, "Maybe they will. Maybe they won't." About the lights, tongue dipping out to wet against his lower lip.

Sparrow doesn't follow as her hands are tugged across the counter, instead watching that movement. Lips part then close again at the question, the left corner of her mouth tugging downward in a wry sort of way. With a breath of laughter and a slight widening of her eyes, she tells him, "Family would not help with the context," which might offer some insight into the nature of the gift. When her eyes lift to find his again, she just stares for a few seconds, sorting through the flurry of words in her head before letting any of them come out. She starts with, "I'm glad you're here," with a squeeze of his hands, but the incoming 'but' is easy to read even before it's spoken. "But I don't know how I'm feeling. Want you, but still kinda--" She tries to pull her hands back, to step away from the counter, though not at all hard should he offer even the lightest squeeze to try and keep her. "Ready to fucking throw down over nothing, so." What's there to do with that.

Those hands are hung onto for a few moments, all to make certain that it is understood that his words? Are sincere. "Then we'll wait, yeah? Until you feel it is right. Not a rush to hand them over." Only then do his digits slacken, allowing her to do as she wants, though it is still an open invitation to keep held if she wants the contact. No more suggestions are offered up for what might be done, his head tipping instead to look out the kitchen windows at the flurry of snow flakes that come down. His mouth parts, some thought flickering to life, though whatever it was is stuffed back down, head just shaking a touch.

"They stop being Christmas gifts, don't they?" Sparrow counters with an arch of dark brows. A shoulder lifts as she adds, "And maybe I don't get back to the point where I'm comfortable giving them anyway." As soon as those words are out of her mouth, her face scrunches up with irritation, like maybe it didn't come out right. A hand comes up to preempt any response just yet. She needs a minute to think, forehead furrowing with the effort. When those digits drop, arms wrapping about her ribs, drawing the oversized tee taut in places, she says, "Alright. So. What I want? Need? Whatever? You tell me what you think happened last night. Talk it through with me, yeah? Cuz I read back through and. I'll cop to being petty, to reading too much into the disconnect when it was clear we weren't having the same conversation, but some of the things you said..." Sounds like they stung a bit.

"Does a gift opened far in advance of Christmas count as Christmas gifts? It doesn't matter what they are called." Yule's own reply comes to the first thought, and his mouth starts to open to continue his thought before her hand comes up. He settles down, those eyes watching her as her arms wrap about in that closed off offering, and it draws the faintest of frowns to his features. Only once she has spoken, and it's clear she's ready to listen, does he finally let his voice pick back up. "I overreacted to what I felt was you telling me your only concern was that my flirting game was off," A beat of a pause to let that soak in, the point where he has chosen to pick up that walk through, "It was just an off night for communication up until that point, I think. Two different places our respective heads were at. After that? It went down hill pretty quickly," An ever so astute observation.

"First fight, yeah? I want to air it all out immediately. You wanted to be done, and I should have let you be done and talked about it later. And then," There is a long pause here, those brown eyes watching her, teeth gritted fora moment as he considers the last bits of the exchange. "You didn't want to believe me when I told you I hadn't meant it that way. I can deal with a lot of things. Can certainly be abrasive, and push when I shouldn't. But I don't say what I don't mean. Ever. And I'll always want to help someone I love, no matter how mad I might be. Always." Up his shoulder lifts into a faint shrug, "So if you aren't sure about that right then," repeating those words from the text, "Or at any point? I don't know what to tell you."

Sparrow's shoulders sink with what might be relief at the admission of overreacting, like maybe that's all she needed to unknot whatever's all tangled up inside her, keeping her contentment with his company from settling. But then he goes on, the understatement earning a grimly amused roll of her eyes. "Yeah," she interjects, talking right over him after he says she didn't want to believe him. "Teeth bared, knuckles up." Despite that earlier admission that there's a part of her still ready to fight, it doesn't find any expression even when he calls her on her callousness, her fickleness. To the contrary, she nods, accepting that observation. "It's not that I didn't believe you. Cuz I did. I do. Uh." Her forehead crinkles as she continues. "It's that I find the carelessness even worse. You say you mean what you say, but you said some shitty things. Things you didn't mean that way. Right? You hear that, yeah? You meant it, but not like that?" She gives him a look, one brow arched dubiously as her lips press flat. "I'm not fucking crazy, but the surety with which you say this shit makes me wonder if I'm hearing you right."

There is a long moment of contemplation for the point raised. "There is a difference between a direct statement of carelessness, and misunderstanding the meaning someone puts into it. Looking back at them?" He doesn't try to sugar coat it, his head wobbling back one way and then another, "I still see what you wrote asking me, in essence, what was up, and how it sounded like your concern was my inability to flirt. That's a my interpretation issue, not a you clearly, undeniably stating it, yeah? That's my fault for jumping to that assumption. You stating, unequivocially, that you aren't sure if I mean what I've stated clearly? To me, at least, that's different. Vastly." Slowly he straightens back up from where he had been lounging, only leaving his fingertips to rest against the counter. "Yeah. Absolutely. Some of the things I said were way too sharply said. So were some of the things you said. Intention wasn't to hurt you. But I don't mind the teeth, or the knuckles," A faint smile flickers at that, "it's all part of venting it out. And," Yeah. He's wordy with this, a faint grimace coming to him as he catches that touch of rambling, but it doesn't stop him. "I also get there is a difference between telling me you aren't getting the right feels from what I'm saying, versus just telling me you don't believe me. The first? I can work with. I can improve."

That desire to fight bubbles right up to the surface as Yule goes on, tension in her shoulders, challenge in her eyes. She holds up a finger before she says anything, though, and reaches into a pocket--best PJ pants ever, obviously--for her phone. Navigating with her thumb, she flicks through the conversation, looking for whatever it is she wants to quote...

And then smiling. It's a rather sudden thing, the amusement which replaces all the anger on her features, the way her head bows as her eyes close, a little sputter of laughter all that she lets out of the humor she bites back down. After drawning and expelling a deep breath, she looks up with a rather contrite look and tells him, "We're talking about two different things again." Holding up her phone, she quotes, "'You care. And want to help. So certainly didn't mean it that way.'" When her eyes shift back to him, they glint with a very weird sort of mischief. "I never doubted what you meant, Yule. I doubted my capacity to want to help make the situation any better in that moment. So, uh. Let's be angry at me for being an ambiguous dick, not for not believing you."

It's that reaction that draws a furrow of his brow at first, uncertaint when that laughter bubbles up. His head dips at first in agreement that this is the particular text they are talking about, and it's only when those next words come that a look of relief comes over his features, the unrealized tension in his body melting away. "All right, except?" One corner of his mouth tucks upwards in a hopeful look as he leans back down, elbows upon the counter as he watches the red head drummer. "Knowing that? Think I'm done with the whole being angry at you thing. If you need to stay mad for a while longer? I get it. I'll wait until you are ready to let me know." Those eyes flicker out to the window again, considering the fall of those white flakes outside before the dark eyes fall squarely upon her. "I love you."

"I'm good," Sparrow confirms easily as she shoves her phone away again. And, really, she looks it. For the first time since he arrived, she smiles without thinking about it, an easy thing that happens naturally. "Though, uh. Next time we wanna fight while not face to face?" She lifts her hand with thumb and pinky extended, drawn up to her ear. "Maybe call me?" Her gaze finally follows his out toward the snowfalling, but she shakes her head. "I'm still in my pajamas, and that's not changing yet." Maybe later, but he's gonna have to wait if he wants her to go out and play in the snow with him. And who knows how deep it'll be by then. She catches the 'I love you,' and it lands well, answered with a warm twitch of her smile, but she doesn't reciprocate. Turning back to the coffee machine, she prepares two cups, her own light and sweet, his far less adulterated. "You wanna talk about what had you all concerned last night or..?" When she brings the mugs over, she circles around to his side, stepping in close as she holds his up, if not precisely out.

While he listens to those words, it's her features, and more so that smile that has him reassured, and it is a soft snort that comes from him. "Yeah. Easier, that way." Though he doesn't specify if it's the fighting that will be easier, or the understanding. Either way. Not a note of concern or a crease of his features when those words aren't returned, instead reaching out to pluck up his coffee cup once it is offered up, his arm stretching out a touch to make certain it is secure. "Culmination of really weird shit, mostly. Some work related. Others," His lips purse in consideration, but after all Sparrow had shared with him to get him started on that lexicon, he returns the favor, as dark and dreary as it is. "You know there is an asylum, Over There?" As in not on their world, "People disappear. Go there. Or parents send them to the asylum. No one really remembers their time there, very well. A lot of people never come back. A lot of experiments they do to people there, apparently. Just such a sudden storm, /right/ on the first day of winter. Irrational concerns, yeah? About you. Or Noelle out on her fucking scooter in the middle of the night doing delivers. Or a dozen other scenarios."

There's no reason that the pair of them need to stand here with their coffee when there are plenty of places to sit, some of which are wonderfully comfy, but Sparrow doesn't move once they're talking without that angst still hanging over them. Taking up her mug--a plain, pale robin's egg blue, mismatched with 'Carpe Diem!' sunshiny mug she passed off to Yule--between both hands, she stands comfortably close as she listens. Though her surprise at the mention of an asylum is easily read, the sudden spike of panic below that goes unobserved, kept well-contained. She straightens a bit, drawing her coffee a little closer as she listens, though the concern for her earns an eyeroll, a resurgence of her smile. "Your sister and I have both been doing alright right here for years, yeah? No reason to worry that some big Veil monster is gonna eat us up overnight. And if you need me to send you some information about climate change?" That, at least, is an itentional tease, an impish glimmer in her eyes. "I get the concern, Nine, but. Mm. Better to focus on what you can do than worrying about what you can't. So." Shrug. "Check in with her more. Come kiss me more. Build a bonfire on your lot or spill blood on the snow. Find a ritual that works for you." After a sip, she reminds, "I paint."

"Yeah. Need I remind you that the last gale of a storm that came through in fall resulted in two dead bodies in the mortuary getting up?" Comes his counter towards that, an expectant look creasing his features, but it is the small smile that creeps to life that softens the thought, easing into his amusement. "I'd love to see /that/ article on climate change." His mug is lifted after a brief glance down towards his mug just to read it before a long sip is taken. "However. Like I said. Irrational. Sometimes," It's a brief pause, voice catching, before a rueful smile creases those features, and he slips in a touch closer, "it just helps to know you are out there, is all. And my hobby is /driving/, which," A look out to the window, features scrunching up momentarily.

"Not sure that hit the whole town," Sparrow points out in a low tone, like it's at all remotely normal to suggest that localized supernatural storms are an entirely plausible scenario separate from nice, natural blizzards like the one all of Gray Harbor is currently blanketed in. When he edges closer, her weight shifts, hips tilting toward him while her mug keeps close to her chest. "Sounds like you need another hobby," she quips, teasing on that point, though her expression sinks toward seriousness a heartbeat later. "And maybe to understand that I'm not talking hobby, not talking distraction. I said ritual, and I meant ritual." That gets a pointed look, a hint of a grin. "When the world tries to be something you don't want it to be? Fight back. I do that with color. I don't know what'll work for you."

It's those last words that he seems to consider with weight, head tipping to the side as he considers it. For a moment, those brown eyes seem to unfocus, lost in other thoughts. When he stirs, drawing back to attention, his response is a dip of his head, leaning in closer to steal a way a slow, simmering kiss, one that speaks of a certain comfort, desire, and appreciation. With a succulent little sound it is broken, and up his mug comes so he can sip from coffee. "Yeah. That makes sense. I'll spend my snowed in days thinking of something. And really, I don't need another hobby. I just need a second car. You know," A flutter of a smile, "Like one of those tracked, huge cab things you see them using up in the artic. Parking might be problematic, however."

Sparrow's mug-warmed hand lifts to Yule's cheek as he leans in, fingertips catching just behind his jaw and drawing him in, closer. She even holds her coffee out to the side so that she can take a half-step in, leaving only the most negligible distance between them. When he starts to withdraw, her fingers tighten for a heartbeat, for just long enough to express a desire to just kinda hang out there in that kiss for a while. But the kiss breaks, and she lingers there for a moment, eyes still closed, sucking on her own lower lip as if the second-hand taste of his coffee might be better than anything from her own mug. But when his cup comes up, her hand comes down, and she gives him back a little bit of his personal space. "I mean," comes with a lazy grin. "You can drive mine. Handles alright in the snow. You'll hate it, but." She shrugs unevenly, adding, "I can't wait to see how you manage as a passenger."

It's that closeness he resides in, leaving less space than what they had before as those brown eyes drift to a half lidded state. "Probably not well," He confesses, though there is a touch of amusement to that voice, "You will leave me with nothing else to concentrate on but asking you questions. I might need to bring my kindle with me, just to save your sanity, Sparrow." Fingers warmed, his mouth flavored with that coffee, his mug is placed down onto the counter and slid closer towards the middle as Yule stepped in to leave their bodies brushing against one another. "But, I'll manage, either way. Hey," It's a moment of consideration, his head tipping to the side, "The one that won the band gig. Kass, yeah? She reach out to you yet?"

"Oh, no no no," Sparrow corrects very promptly in regards to Yule bringing along his kindle whensoever she might steal him away. "If you wanna, uh. Mm." His movement interrupts her objection, for just a second, that nearness inspiring a sudden disinterest in her own drink, set down beside his own to leave her fingers free to fuss with his coat-clad form. "If you wanna save both our lives? Maybe don't read to me while I'm driving." Beat. "Not in Spanish, anyway." Because not understanding a thing he's saying will almost certainly be worse. Brows arch at the mention of Kass, and she gives her head a little shake. "Not yet. Why?"

A small, brief bit of delighted laughter comes from him, though once she is free from her drink, his fingers lift to undo the buttons of his coat. It isn't removed, but it does allow her hands to slip inside of it if she desires, even as one of Yule's hands lift to her shoulders, fingers curling in to work against the muscles that curve upwards into her neck. "I'll just have to read silently to myself, then, save for when you pull over for a break." It's not an ounce of promise to behave himself, that smile innocent, almost believable, before it slips away at her question. "Had a chance to talk with her more, the other day," He murmurs, head tilting to the side, "She'll tell you herself, which is the only reason I feel fine mentioning it. But she was one of those sent to the asylum. Spent ten years over there, roughly. A bit of a struggle in fitting back in, given she missed her whole teenage years, more or less."

Sparrow doesn't wait for any official invitation. Once the coat is open, both of her hands slip right in, sliding over his ribs and up his back as she croons, "And I'll just play my music really, really loud." As if it were the entirely sensible companion activity to silent reading. It's a peculiar juxtaposition, how nice it feels to be close to him with all the thoughts that proximity summons up... set against the strangeness of the conversation about a woman neither of them know terribly well and the horror of a place that shouldn't exist. She should be forgiven if her arms fall slack. "Okay," comes tentatively, like she's not sure what to do with this information. "Why is this what we're talking about now, Nine?"

A warm bit of laughter comes at her counter, a mmph coming as her hands slide into place, and his head tilts to the side as he watches her. "The full reason? The whole thing with Thewlis at the Jello thing is still tugging on my mind. Which made me think of you in that bikini, in the jello," This earns a hapless look, a clear, 'Can you blame me?' expression from his features, "Which made me think of when you came over, and Kass was there. And that, in turn, made me recall she had said she appreciated you talking with her there." It's those fingers upon her shoulder that caress and rub, kneading into the muscle as his head leans down to rest against her own. "The short of it?" Now she'll get the abbreviated, concise part, a twitch of a smile flickering to life, "Lot of shit still rambling in my head. Helps to speak it out loud to process it. Feel free to shut me up."

However lost Sparrow might be out the gates, she doesn't let any more show than was already there, lingering uncertainty--and well-hidden discomfort--about the return to the Asylum talk. She nods for each point, from Thewlis to bikini to greeting and appreciation, though those gestures grow shallower at each new step as she tilts back into his touch, up to nuzzle her nose against his. "Sounds like, yeah," is easy and airy, like there's nothing at all weird about how those dots connect. "And much as I enjoy shutting you up? Don't want you to think you can't ramble at me about this shit, alright?" When she presses up to steal a kiss, it's brief, a sweet tease that isn't likely to keep him quiet for long, even with surprise on her side. "How about I give you those presents now. Unless you wanna wait."

It's a sharpening of his gaze momentarily, but whatever prodding of those layers to peel back he has in his mind, it's all kept to himself, forgotten as that brief kiss is stolen. Down his gaze drifts to latch upon her lips as she talks, as if considering the best means to attack. "I want them as soon as you feel good giving them to me." Comes Yule's firm conclusion, the first show of that inner war between anticipation and patience that duels within his mind about the gifts. "And yeah. I'll just preface it with I need to ramble about shit, so you know I don't need you to do anything with it. Fair enough?"

"Not gonna offer if I don't wanna, Nine," Sparrow reminds as her hands slip from his back and exit his coat, catching on the lapels. "What I'm asking is if you think we're gonna get a better time. Like a couple days snowed in somewhere with nothing else to do but unwrap things." She tries to keep that grin low-key, but doesn't quite succeed, a touch of smugness creeping on in. The promise of fair warning earns a nod and nothing more, those terms entirely agreeable. Her head's elsewhere, though, focused on the prospect of shutting him up. Taking a step or two backward, toward the rest of the house, she tells him, "If you want your coffee, you should maybe grab it now," cuz she very much means to lead him off now.

"Well, only if you plan on coming with me back to my trailer now, before it dumps another several inches of snow. Cause your road?" He points out, in this ever so nice neighborhood, especially compared to his own part of the city, "is going to get plowed well before the trailer park. Which means trapped for an extra day or two." He leaves that prospect wide open, given she has time to consider it as he starts to head further into the house with her, shoulder bumping against her pajama clad self. "But maybe we can just hope to get snowed in here, too." Either way it goes, the pair head towards the stairs while the snow flurries pick up outside, leaving them to their devices.