2020-02-03 - Let's Not Talk about That

Just after dawn on Monday found Detective Esme Wilkinson scrolling through Amazon on her phone at the Waffle Shoppe. There was a barely started plate of waffles in front of her and a half-finished mug of coffee. The waffles looked rather...fun. Piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles and chocolate chips. Her hair was pulled back and her woolen coat was hung over the back of the chair leaving her in just a pair of gray dress slacks and a dark blue button down. Her gun and badge holstered on her hip though she doesn't seem to be in a rush to do much of anything so maybe she just got off work!

Sparrow gives her hair a little ruffle when she makes her way in, shaking free some of the slushy precipitation falling outside. The neon redhead--with dark roots just starting to show--isn't quite as bundled up as she should be for how cold it is outside, though she wears a heavy black hoodie with vertical rainbow stripes down the front that's just large enough on her to suggest a little extra warmth and comfort. Hints of orange peek out past the tears in her blue jeans, contrasting with the sparkly blue laces of her sneakers. She slides her backpack off her shoulder as she takes up a spot at the counter near Esme's table, nodding to the waffles on her way as she chirps, "Good choice." Not that she follows suit once she settles, asking for, "Coffee. And the, uh. Number one. Over-easy. Sausage links. Thanks."

Esme lifts her head, a little startled when she's spoken to and then exhales in a chuckle. She takes a moment to evaluate the younger woman's appearance and give a touch of a grin. "Well. Seeing as how I forgot my own birthday I figure I owe it to myself eat a sugar attack waiting to happen." She sat up a little more in her seat. "I kind of love that whole look you have going on. Especially the hair. I could never pull it off." Not that she could even really try to what with her position. She never got to play dressup anymore now that she wasn't part of undercover ops much at all anymore.

Sparrow swivels in her seat with the heel of a booted foot shoved up against the bottom of her backpack. She's not so much afraid of stealing it as maintaining her own mental inventory, the contact a constant reminder of Do Not Forget This Exists. Batting her lashes at the compliment makes plain the pop of color there, the aqua blue dusting above a black cateye. Though her lips, a matte shade not too much darker than her natural color, flash a wide smile, she addresses the last thought rather than the appreciation turned her way. "You could," is spoken with certainty. "Pretty easy to do it temporarily, too. Little color pop for a few days. Know just the person to ask if you're looking for a change." Beat. "Which I am, really. Thinking about going blonde for a bit. Fuck with expectations, ya know?"

"Blonde's a good color. All colors are good really. You think so?" To the pulling off of color. "One time, when I was undercover, my hair was cut in like, this short bob and dyed purple. I loved it. The color - not so much the cut." Esme mused, finally taking another bite of waffles as her stomach reminded her she needed to eat. Swallow, "I don't know if my higher ups would appreciate a drastic color change but," She picked up a few strands of escaped hair. "I should do a little something. It's been awhile since I've gotten anything more than a trim. I like to run myself ragged with work and all that. Glutton for punishment and sleep deprivation."

"Sounds hot," comes with just enough dip in those black lashes to suggest flirtation. Before Sparrow can follow-up, the server comes by with her coffee, earning a grateful murmur of, "Thank you," as she turns to start the doctoring process. A couple creamers, a little sugar. No shame. She takes her caffeine light and sweet. As the spoon clatters about her mug, she looks back to Esme with black brows arched toward bright red bangs. "All the more reason for a bit of fun, right? I work hella hard. I gotta get my fun in somewhere, so." Nevermind the partying she sinks into at every opportunity. That's entirely besides the point. She tips her spoon toward her hair before she pops it past her lips to clean it, tapping the bowl to a pop of orange at her knee before the utensil's dropped back on the counter. "You work with Detective Quintanilla?"

Esme chuckled softly at the slight flirtation, taking a sip of her own coffee. "Fair. Having fun is important, though I often forget that. Then again...my idea of fun is probably a little different from other's ." A slight shrug of her shoulders and then nodded. "Yeah. We're partnered actually. Kind of. I'm a terrible partner." Esme admitted and then a beat of pause before, "Detective Esme Wilkinson, at your service." Doing a little bit of a mock bow from her seat and flashing another smile. "You friends with Gabe?"

"You say that like it matters," Sparrow quips back dryly on the point of fun that skews from the norm. "You have whatever kinda fun you want," sounds like an order, like she expects Esme to follow through and do just that. On the confirmation that the detective not only knows Gabe, but is partnered with him, her smile brightens considerably. "Yeah. We're neighbors." Cuz that nice street the other detective lives on makes sense for a college kid. Is she still living with her parents or something? "Real good guy." She only remembers her own introduction after her food's been brought by, a quick, "Thanks," over her shoulder preceding, "Phil," as she splays her hand against her rainbow-flagged chest. "Sparrow for short. Nice to meetcha Detective Esme Wilkinson."

"You're right, it doesn't." Esme grinned again and then quirked a brow. "You live on Oak? Funny. So do I." Presumably at some point or other in her conversations with Gabe she's at least learned they live on the same street. "For now at least. I'm moving into one of those apartments on Broadleaf. And yeah, he is a good guy." Esme confirms as they shake hands. Her handshake is confident but there's an odd sort of expression that flickers over her features as Sparrow's name is given. Whatever's run through her mind, she supresses it and smiles again. "It's nice to meet you too Sparrow. That's a pretty name. Is it a nickname or?"

"I've got too many roommates to move into an apartment," Sparrow jokes, surely not needing to drag all of 'em with her should she ever choose to move. As the handshake breaks, she looks between her food and Esme's table, opting to pluck up her plate and her backpack. Without so much as asking if it's okay, she slides the backpack onto the seat opposite the detective, drops her plate down then goes back for her coffee before settling in herself, all the while explaining, "Middle name. Philomena Sparrow Jones. Which, really, is a little less strange than my sister's name and a whole lot less normal than my brother's. By his own report." That little uptick of her eyebrows implies there's more that he's not saying, but she doesn't give away the full truth of it. "Figure we've got it better than the Duchannes with their relentlessly festive names."

Esme doesn't mind Sparrow joining her at all, moving so she can focus on the woman, snagging another bite of waffle as she listens. "People come up with all kinds of names these days. " There's an amused look about the Duchannes names. "Right. I grew up here, knowing of them. Hung out some with Winter. One of the younger Duchannes. I think. Sometimes it boggles me that all of them have names in the theme. That's real commitment. " She took another draw of coffee. "I'm an only child so my parents had it easy I guess. And they still went with Esme. " a grin was given. "So what do you do Sparrow?"

"Bat guy, right?" Sparrow doesn't quite wonder of Winter. She sounds confident in that guess despite the question at the end. A little snort answers the joke about the detective's own name, her hand hiding her mouth as she finishes swallowing that last bite of eggs. "I like Esme. Named after the most badass witch in all of Discworld by any chance?" If that didn't give her nerdiness away, what follows surely will. "Chem major," comes with a head-tip toward her backpack. "Drummer. Game slinger, painter, panna cotta aficionado, kiss collector, Inquisitor, tarot reader, keeper of Gray Harbor's Most Important Jawline of 2018 aaaaand. Apprentice warlock." Flashing a little grin, she adds, "I like to keep busy, too." Beat. "So. What's your kinda fun, Esme?"

"I don't think either of my parents read any Terry Prachett. Honestly I haven't either though I've heard Discworld is an amazing series." Esme admits. "One day I'll gt around to it." She listens with a sort of rapt fascination as Sparrow lists of all the kinds of things she does and her major. No wonder she captured Yule's fancy. "That's a lot of things! I'm nearly jealous." Esme teased. "I don't know if I could keep up with all that."

Esme thinks over her own type of fun, snagging another bite of waffle to buy a few extra seconds. "Well," She says finally. "Not nearly as many things as that. I think I'm an old lady at heart. I love looking into cold cases and watching those unsolved mystery shows. Knitting too, is my favorite past time. I've even got a tattoo about it on my back." She admits. "Dancing is fun, though I'm not great at it and don't get to go very often. Reading too. Always nice to curl up with a good book, especially in this weather, in front of a fire."

Eyes going wide, Sparrow notes, "That's a lot to get around to," of the Discworld series, though she does seem pleased that the reference was caught all the same. Even if Esme might not know anything about Granny Weatherwax. Tilting forward a little over her plate with another of those low-lashed looks, she croons quietly, "If ever you wanna branch out," into any of her odd hobbies, well. The invitation is certainly implied. While the detective eats, so does she, making pretty quick work of the sausage, eggs and hash browns, all of it swirled about in the runny yolk before making its way to her mouth.

Her expression changes as she listens to Esme's list, details clicking into place. Sure, she didn't get a name, but there's been enough mention of the detective's interests--and this is a small enough town--that she's finally figured it out. Sinking back in her seat, she nods. Nevermind that pensive nose-scrunch, the way her lips purse after a tongue-swipe to clear 'em of yolk. Rather than go into all of that potential awkwardness, she moves right along, with a point of her fork in the detective's direction, and says, "The secret to dancing is that it's meant to be fun. Only has to be pretty if you're getting judged on it. Like. By an official panel of judges and not just some assholes at the bar too chickenshit to get out on the floor themselves." Again, those dark brows pitch upward, and she offers, "You ever need a dance partner..."

Esme notes the looks on Sparrow's features and knows now that she knows. But she is fine to not broach that topic - likely for wholly different reasons. Since she is still unaware of the changes in status. So she doesn't comment anything and instead is happy to keep the conversation geared towards dancing. "Fair enough I suppose." Esme chuckled. "And I'm certainly not entering any competitions any time soon." She tilts her head ever so slightly, "I'll definitely hit you up. I really need to be more social anyhow and you, my dear, seem like an extremely social person." Esme grinned again. "You said you were a drummer? Is it just for fun or are you in a band?"

Sparrow sets her fork down and reaches for a front pouch of her backpack as she murmurs, "Pretty sure if I ever slowdown I'mma just stop forever, so." From the pocket, she pulls a rainbow-colored pad of tiny sticky notes, perfect for tacking onto the edges of pages as temporary bookmarks, and a pen, jotting down her name and number then sticking it to the table nearer Esme's plate. "Lowered Expectations," she answers. "We played at Winterfest. Opened, I guess." Which comes with a mixture of pride and amusement as she tucks her supplies away again to set back into the breakfasting. "Not that we're angling for any record deals or anything. Just wanna play, ya know? Keep meaning to nail down something more regular..." Her expression dims for a minute, and one might be able to visualize the mental rearranging taking place as she files that item back into her To Do List. "What kinda music do you like?"

Esme looked down at the sticky note, lifting it and pressing it to the side of her phone case so she was sure to not forget it. The detective studied the young woman with a mild interest as she went though her mental rearranging. "That's pretty neat," the opening for Winterfest. "I thought I heard Two if by Sea was looking for live music. Heck, maybe when the weather's warmer there could be some kind of...concert in the park deal. I know they had some stuf like that in Spokane. Evey friday night there'd be a band playing in one of the local parks."

She pondered on that for a moment. "Me? Well I'll listen to anything once, you know? Though I tend to be partial to older rock like Journy, Led Zeplin and the like. Some swing music too since my parents enjoyed that so I grew up around it. What kind of music do you guys play?"

"Yeah, it was alright," sounds a bit pleased, like 'alright' might not have an especially mild meaning in Sparrow's head. There's another little scrunch of face at the mention of Two if by Sea. "Yeeeeah. Been meaning to talk to Easton, guy who runs the place, but." Well, the detective heard the list of all the half-made-up nonsense the redhead gets up to. "Soon. But we've definitely got a few good bands in town. And more musicians beside. Could do with more regular open mic nights." Around another bite, she issues an, "Mm!" but it's not until she swallows that she follows up with, "You should check out karaoke night at the Pourhouse. Journey goes over real well." Which doesn't explain why her smile goes all soft and crooked like that. "But the band tends towards, uh. Blues rock sorta stuff. Like The Black Keys and Arctic Monkeys and stuff." Beat. "You try any electroswing? Like... Parov Stelar or Caravan Palace?"

"Sounds like you guys need a manager! Make the appointments, line up some potential gigs for you to pick and choose from." Esme mused. "Are there? Huh. Well, then again I guess I'm not really up to date on the GH music scene." There's a tint of red to Esme's cheeks when Sparrow suggests Pourhouse karaoke. "Oh lord, I don't know about that." She breathed out in a laugh. "Maybe...I think the last time I did karaoke I was probably closer to your age. Could be fun to at least sit and watch though." She finished off her last few bites of waffle. "Bluesy rock sounds like fun. I'll have to try and catch you guys next time you're playing." Her brow raises at 'electroswing' "...I don't even think I know what that is. But now I'll have to check it out. It sounds like it'd be great dance music."

"You volunteering?" comes with a crooked grin and an arch of one dark eyebrow. And just enough pause to make the invitation to take up the mantle of Unpaid Band Manager for a small time small town band seem sincere. "There's the, uh. Cabaret crew." Sparrow's gaze goes a little unfocused as she searches her memory for the band name. "My brain keeps wanting to call them Virtual Self, but that's Porter Robinson's project. But it's, uh." Something like that? Right. Refocusing on Esme with a smile, she offers, "Augmented Reality. Most notable, if you ask me, for the addition of their delicious mandoleer." That's not a word, is it? She doesn't so much as bat a lash. Or offer an explanation. "And then, I mean. Amulet." Like everybody knows about Amulet. Right? "But yeah. Eeeeryone's gonna know when we've got another gig." Beat. "And the next karaoke night? Valentine's theme. Bring a date. Sing a duet. I'll sponsor the liquid courage if I gotta."

Esme looks genuinely interested as Sparrow lists off all the local bands. She is familiar with 0 of them bit regardless, "Sounds like I've got a couple new things on my list for refamiliarizing myself with town. " there's an instinctive look to her phone at the mention of valentine's day and then back to Sparrow. "Christ I guess it is already February. " mulling over that thought and giving a wry smile. "A date AND a duet? I'm not sure if I can handle all that." It's a tease though, as her smile turns more amused. "Baby it's cold outside is the only duet I think I know. If I'm off duty I'll at least poke my head in."

"That--" Sparrow points at Esme with her fork as her eyebrows arch sternly. "--is a lie." Not that she seems sincerely troubled by it, that intent expression readily dissipating. "Everybody knows more duets than they think they do. It's just hard to pull 'em out of your head when you want 'em. Like, uh." Her eyes roll up as she croons, "I don't know much! But I know I love yooo-ooo-oooou. That may be! All I need to knooooow," with a fair degree of competence and a snort of laughter at the end. "Not sure I'mma be able to top my last duet. My bassist and me doing Paul Westerberg and Joan Jett's cover of Let's Do It from Tank Girl. Shit." She shakes her head, not one lick of modesty when she assures, "It was so good. So fun!" Refocus, birdy. "But. Yeah. I'll keep an eye out."

Esme's brow rose with Sparrow's stern accusasation and then stated laughing again. "Ohh Ain't No Mountain High Enough is one too! Just had to jog the old memory some. You're right." Grinning as the other woman crooned. "Maybe I'll wrangle you for a duet. Listen to you." A touch of amusement sparkling in her eyes. "That sounds like a fun one. I'll bet it was awesome to see." A little yawn is stifled and then Esme picked up her phone and the sticky note. She tapped a few things, and then Sparrow would receive a text message saying 'Esme' not long after. "There we go. All set. If I get the itch to dance I'll hit you up."

"For now though? I should probably start on home before I end up faceplanting into my leftover whipped cream." Esme chuckled, pulling out her wallet so she could put a few bills down. "But, it was pretty great meeting you Sparrow."

Sparrow beams brightly across the table and confirms, "Deal," for the threat of being snagged for a duet, decidedly up for that challenge. She sets to picking at the last of her hashbrowns while Esme pokes at her phone, the muted chirp from somewhere on her person assuring the text was received. With a heavy sigh, shoulders sinking, she breathes, "Yeeeeeah. And I gotta get to class. Was good meeting you, too, Esme. Looking forward to seeing what kinda fun we can get up to." But, for now, she's pulling out her phone to check the time, check her messages, get the rest of her day situated in her head while she finishes up her breakfast.