2020-02-10 - Wave of Mutilation

Wave of Mutilation isn't quite the same without the guitar and bass, but it's pretty recognizable all the same as Sparrow bangs out the rhythm a bit too aggressively on her drums down in the basement, belting out with none of the grace of Black Francis, "You'll think I'm dead, but I sail awaaaa-aa-aa-a-ay... on a wave of mutilation, a wave of mutilation, wave of mutilation!" The song has hardly begun before it stops in an angry clash and the quiet clatter of a drumstick launched across the room without even hitting a wall, just skidding down onto the floor in a pathetic spin that stops after a couple slow rotations.

The blonde behind the drum set--who was still a redhead the last time her brother saw her face to face, though social media has likely given her away in the interim, with posts from the psychedelics conference she attended in Arizona over the weekend showing off the new do--slumps back in her seat heavily, arms hanging loose at her side, looking very much like she might just succumb to gravity and malaise and puddle right there on the tile floor.

They've both been busy - Sparrow at a conference, Corey working his ass off in class and in the patisserie - and so yes, it's been a while since boytwin saw girltwin. He's been pottering out in the back yard, jeans and a surprisingly plain t-shirt his wardrobe of choice, making his way indoors just in time to hear the aborted flurry of aggressive drums - ah! Sparrow is home.

Pausing in the kitchen to wash his hands and grab a couple bottles of water, he meanders on down the stairs to the basement. "Phil. How was the thing?" Presumably meaning her psychadelic weekend, the younger and better-looking twin blinking briefly as he sees an unexpected shade of blonde. And then, an unexpected shade of melancholy too. "You okay, Mena?"

Even Sparrow might have to concede Corey's superior looks at the moment. She does not wear mopiness well, her usually bright smile downturned, her eyes naked, lacking any decoration. Someone is plainly not planning on leaving the house at all today. "It was amazing," almost sounds like a complaint. She peeks up at her twin only after, as she elaborates, "I'm pretty sure I secured invitations to at least two retreats and one festival over the summer as well as some contacts for internships and, like. That's good right? It's good. This is good. I'm good." She fakes her fakest smile and assures, "I'm just tired," only half-convincingly as an arm reaches out for one of those water bottles, expecting delivery.

Coming around the drumkit to where Sparrow is sat, Corey presses one of those cold bottles briefly against her neck, before letting it drop into her hand. This close, she can probably smell rain and soil on him faintly. "Can't bullshit a bullshitter," he comments, before backing out of arm's reach and settling down cross-legged on the floor nearby, facing her. "What's on your mind?" Piercing blue eyes fix on her face.

Sparrow squawked at the cold against her skin and swatted at Corey before taking the bottle and taking a light swing at him with it in retaliation. Sure, that smile she's wearing might read 'jerk,' but it's a smile all the same. Cracking open the bottle, she drinks deep, though it's hard to tell if she's actually thirsty or just buying time before getting to the question she knows is coming before he even asks it.

"I dunno," is a lie, expressing the difficulty in picking out specifics while everything's feeling this big. "I just. I don't have time for this." She doesn't put a name to it, giving her twin a look which she hopes says enough. A chemical crash. A downswing in her cycle. Depression hitting hard for who knows how long. "And it's got me thinking about meds again, but last year--" When her disorder was medically treated and her moods were all muted to a fairly normal, predictable range. "--was balls, and I don't wanna do that again, but maybe it's better than this. Except I know it isn't, cuz if I get rid of this, I get rid of that and if I get rid of that then who the fuck am I and how much of what I have am I gonna have to drop and maybe I shouldn't have taken this much on in the first place, like." Breathe, Phil. "I don't even know how things lasted as long with Yule as they did. And now I'm just waiting for the rest to blow up too. Which they definitely will if I can't get my head together."

Not bothering to even try to dodge being bopped with that water bottle, Corey grins briefly at Sparrow, letting her gather her thoughts and then listening as they come pouring out of her a few moments later, that rambling sort of desperation something he's familiar with. He says nothing to begin with, not wanting to interrupt her mid-flow now that she's talking, lips pressed together in thought before he nods slowly.

"Want me to listen, comfort, solutionise or distract?" he asks openly - a common response when any of his female family members come to him with a need to vent. He's not psychic, but he is pretty good about following whatever directive is chosen. "Also, what happened with Yule? You guys fall out?"

Sparrow finally gives in to gravity, sliding from her chair in a clumsy manner that leaves it skidding backwards somewhat noisily. She's fine, seated with her legs folded while facing her brother, even if the chair felt the need to protest. Shoulders slump as she holds the water bottle with both hands, set between her legs, the smiling suns on her pajama pants decidedly at odds with her current mood. "We just," she starts and stops. "We couldn't talk anymore. Felt like everything I said was wrong all the time. And I know that some of it was." Imagine that. Philomena Jones lacking in tact! "But it felt like we were having the same conversations over and over again, and I got bored with it and walked. Like. Literally. Got up and just walked out. And then he got hurt and I tried to reach out kinda but. It's just weird now so. Whatever." Disregard all the heartache heard in that otherwise dismissive word please.

With only one of the questions answered, she stares at her brother for a long moment, trying to piece together what it is she needs right now which can be so hard to do when nothing feels right. "Distraction isn't working, and I don't think there's anything to solve." That gets a pause, a lift of the water bottle to give it a little wobble. "What happens if this sticks around for a bit and I drop all my plates and lose all my people and crash my grades?"

"Whatever." Corey echoes that word, scooting around so he can loop an arm about Phil's back, for a semi-awkwardly positioned but nonetheless brotherly hug. "Not whatever, I don't think. Let yourself feel it, Mena," he suggests quietly, though probably not helpfully. On the topic of distraction he suggests, "You could help me out in the kitchen for a bit." GASP is he offering to share the kitchen?! It must be bad. "Or we could play MarioKart, or something."

He takes a swig from his bottle of water then decides, "So what if that happens? You can always retake, or drop out. Your people, if they're decent, will still be your people. And spinning plates is a stupid hobby anyway."

It might be awkward, but Sparrow leans into it all the same, her head falling to Corey's shoulder where it promptly shakes in disagreement with the advice that she should let herself feel what she's feeling. "I don't have the energy to feel angry anymore, and I don't like feeling the hurt, so." She can just opt out of all of that, right? That's how emotions work? On the topic of plate-spinning, she peeks up and points out, "I'm good at it," but she doesn't linger there long. Drawing farther up, her brows lift, eyes wide, as she asks, "And what if they're not decent? What if I've just got shit taste in people and just fall for anyone who seems the least little bit interesting in the moment? What if that's all they see in me? That--" She just stops there, falling quiet, falling short, shoulders slumping. "Can we make cookies?"

There's a brief mwah as Corey kisses Sparrow's hair, squeezing firmly and musing, "It'll just fester, Phil. You know that as well as I do." Because apparently she's actually Dr. Phil, and he's been listening. "If they're not decent? Fuck 'em." He nods at the question about cookies. "We can," he confirms, beginning to push up to his feet, a hand offered down to haul her up too if she wants it. "In fact, we can make cookie cups, and I'll fill 'em with panna cotta." Putting himself firmly in the lead for the title of 'best brother ever', obviously.

Sparrow makes a face at the Very Sound Advice from her brother, like a kid facing down a spoonful of medicine that does not taste like cherry despite its dark red color and whatever the bottle might've said. That distaste skews toward amusement at the way Corey phrases the next bit of advice, still enough of her in the beneath the gloom to find the humor there. The arch of one brow, the tilt of her head? Yeah, she says it without saying it. That maybe the 'fuck 'em' mentality is what got her into this mess. Water bottle in one hand, she accepts his with the other, drawing up to her feet beside the Best Brother in the World. "Yeah," she breathes quietly, nodding. "That'll help."

"I did not mean actually fuck them, Sparrow," Corey responds, his tone dry, teasing rather than serious. Drawing her up, he then heads for the stairs, still keeping hold of her hand. "If you're worried about your grades, I'll come with you to the student support office. See if we can get some extensions on things," he suggests, dragging his sister along if she's not careful.

"It's either that or plate-spinning," Sparrow quips back just as dryly. She might be down in the dumps, but she can still joke about her promiscuity without it sounding too terribly self-deprecating. She doesn't precisely require dragging, but she does take the stairs slowly, letting their arms draw out between them as she follows. "Yeah," isn't quite agreement so much as acknowledgement. "I figure I can make a pitch for providing a report on the conference for some extra credit for one of my classes. It's just the labs..." The 'ugh' can be heard in her voice. Where is she going to find the time and the energy for that right now? "How are your classes going? I never see you anymore..."

"We'll see what they can do to help," Corey affirms. At the top of the stairs, he takes another swig of water before heading for the kitchen at a more casual pace, letting go of Sparrow's hand but making sure she's following. "My classes are going fine. Shit-tons of work, both there and at the patisserie, but. It's a good busy." She knows he enjoys the hectic pace of kitchen work, at least. "So. Choc-chip, or sugar cookies, or something fancier?"

Sparrow doesn't point out that her busy felt like a good busy, too, until. Well. Now. That's always the case. Has been for years. The shorter twin happily, capably taking on way too much until it all catches up with her and... Yeah. Maybe one day she'll learn moderation, but it's clearly not yet. She follows behind, quiet, seconds spent considering the question when usually she'd have a quickfire opinion or seven. "I dunno. Everything sounds good," is a little lie, an inversion of the truth that nothing sounds particularly interesting. "Anything you're itching to try?"