2020-05-29 - More than Micro

The text from Cristobal asking about dropping by was answered with a note that We're out back! and the sounds which greet him upon arriving at 7 Oak certainly seem to confirm that. Music comes from the back of the house where the door onto the deck sits open, the bluetooth speakers playing in the kitchen. There isn't actually a we out back, though, unless Sparrow's taken to referring to herself in the royal third person. Given the angle of one of the other chairs around the table and the abandoned coffee mug nearby, it's a reasonable guess that someone else was out here until recently, but it's just a purple-haired bird right now, happily singing along, "I'm tryna have some before I die, so..." She's dressed for a warmer day than what she's been given, barefoot and in cut-off jean shorts that show off her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, but she's at least got her favorite creepy-eye hoodie on over her pink Care Bear tee shirt in some concession to the spring chill. All in all, the mood is definitely chill and cheerful at the Jones house today.

Traditionally, if she wanted the atmosphere to remain chill and cheerful, she should not invite one Cristobal Ybarra Cruz to come over as he tends to travel with his own personal storm cloud. Thankfully, he's in a decent enough mood tonight as he comes up behind her chair and gives the back of her hair a little yank when he leans over to kiss her forehead, greeting with a simple, "Paji." Before he goes to claim the chair her feet are in, going to lift them out of his way by the ankle even he means to redeposit them in his lap as he sits.

Sparrow squeaks mid-lyric at the tug to her hair, pulled from her own thoughts back into the present. Wide-eyed surprise swiftly melts into half-lidded happiness at the forehead kiss, dopey smile lingering as her feet are repositioned. "Heya, gorgeous. You just missed--" She looks over at the half-eaten cinnamon roll on the table, thinking. "Brunch?" She doesn't sound entirely certain of the time of day. Nor does she sound particularly worried about that. Or likely to name whoever had been sharing might-be-brunch with her. When she looks his way again, smile just as wide but eyes a little more open, it's easier to see that her pupils are slightly dilated, a bit wider than even this overcast day calls for. "But there's always more. Corey cooks for a small army. Or, well. For picking. Banking on leftovers. There's always more."

Cris grins widely as he starts rubbing one of her feet, pressing his thumbs into the arch and sliding them towards her toes. "Someone. Is more baked than the baked goods," Amusement but not judgment in his voice. "I take it you had a good birthday...week." He rumbles softly, his head tilting to the side with a slight uptick of his eyebrows.

Sparrow looks, for a moment, like she could maybe get lost in that contact, how her eyes unfocus, the way she sinks a little lower in her seat until her knees are slightly bent. "Toasty," comes with a lift of her left hand to hold forefinger and thumb half-a-centimeter apart. "More-than-micro but not by much." There's more to that thought, a hitch in her delivery leaving an empty space where the rest would be before she reroutes, refocuses, resmiles at Cris like seeing him for the first time again. "But yeah. Good week. I mean." Her expression goes flat. "If you ignore finals pretty fucking consistently coinciding with my birthday, but." She eyerolls at the world at large, at time operating the way it does. "I aced 'em. So." No, grades probably have not come in yet. "One more year down. A little closer to buying into my own dream, which." Her eyes go wide, brows pitching upward toward purple bangs. "Mm. Right. So." She's gonna need a minute.

"Mm." Cristobal makes that sort of noncommittal sound deep in his throat, happy to keep rubbing her feet and giving her that sort of physical anchor even if it relaxes her into a chair puddle. "So this is a celebration of the end of Sparrow's College year. Are you taking the summer off? Plan on floating your way more than microdosing through it? Going to find another job until the game shop becomes steady again, or...tell me, little bird. What are your plans, short term and dream wise?" He lifts her foot to his lips, kissing her toes before briefly parting a hand from her to reach aside and grab up that abandoned mug to investigate the contents.

Sparrow's toes stretch and wiggle as her foot is lifted, the left-behind leg expressing that same tension for a second. The coffee in the abandoned mug is cooling but not yet cold, the cup still warm to the touch. To gauge by smell, it might be spiked with something. Whiskey? A hint of kahlua? It's sweet, either way. "Dream-wise," is where she begins, that phrase clicking most readily with whatever's running through her head. "I've got a lot of work to do. Unless you meant. Like. Hopes-and. Which." A hand lifts from her lap for an absent flutter. That's a some-other-time conversation. Hell, it might even be a later-in-this-conversation conversation, but not right now. Right now, it's, "I'mma be running some experiments soon. That's the summer project. Can capital-D dreams. Ya know. The fucked up ones which are way too real and sometimes shared?" Brows arch. Does he know? "Can those dreams be affected by oneirogenic substances. So, I mean. Yeah. More-than-microdosing too." She can't help that grin from spreading. "With friends. If you're interested."

Cristobal sniffs again before taking an experimental sip of the coffee for taste before deciding it's probably? safe for consumption and he takes a bigger gulp, things like cooties apparently not on his radar. "Is that so." He says simply before shifting his hips, digging a pack of smokes out his pocket without jostling her feet too much so she won't think he wants them out of her lap. "Sounds thrilling, and dangerous, and just the sort of shit I should try taking you out of instead of joining in league with." Yet, "Of course I'm in." The last mumbled around a filter as he pulls one out of the pack with his lips.

Some part of Sparrow's awareness might take in that lack of concern for cooties and file the detail away somewhere, but there's no outward response, no concern whatsoever over his sipping of someone else's kahlua'ed coffee. "Chemistry is always exciting," she agrees when he chooses the word thrilling, but it sounds like there's a but right around the corner. Like right now. "But. I'mma try and keep this as safe as possible. I have no desire to go drawing attention or. Meeting up with malicious woodchippers or anything. Gonna take it slow and safe. As best we can. Cuz much as I like charging headlong into whatever?" Her smile isn't as bright as it had been, expression briefly gloomy. "This isn't whatever." A frown forms before she can catch it, and she looks over her shoulder, back at the house, as if she'd caught some sound or movement, but no. It's just the music from the kitchen still. Doesn't look like anyone else is home.

"And I'll be right there with you as much as I can to make sure that whatever this whatever turns out to be doesn't become that sort of whatever." Is Cris even following that sober? It doesn't really matter, the sentiment is the same. His cigarette is lit with brief dip of his head, before he's canting his lips skyward and exhaling. "So who was my Pajarillo entertaining before I got here, hmm?" He pats his thigh, in case she'd like to bridge the gap between them with more than a span of her legs.

Sparrow is brought back to the present with that reassurance, answered with a happy sound that's only slightly incongruent with wherever her thoughts seemed to be heading. The lap-pat is answered promptly, without the barest hestiation, feet drawn down so she can stand. But then she starts patting at her pockets in search of something, starting with the right side of her jean shorts. "AJ," she answers while she searches. "Was hoping he'd be able to stick around so you could maybe actually meet him, but." She shrugs. "Some appointment on campus. Did you want some?" No segue. Little explanation. "I've got plenty. It's like. Shrooms sorta? Decent visuals. Nice and touchy feely floaty?"

There is the barest shake of his head in the negative. "Not today, sweet cheeks. I just wanna sit here with you and enjoy you enjoying yourself, how about that?" Cristobal holds his lit cigarette out to the side, allowing her a wide berth to park her sweet cheeks in his lap. "'sides, I gotta work later. Don't want to be coming down when I'm supposed to be ramping up. Busy days ahead, with the new Casino opening."

Sparrow doesn't find what she's looking for as the search is abandoned when Cris declines her offer. Surely, it's gotta be in one of the, like, six pockets she's got on right now. She'll worry about it later. Right now, he worries about taking up that invitation, settling in sideways with her knees draped over the arm of the wicker chair as it creaks beneath the additional weight. "You working there? Did you make it to the opening?" Did she? To judge by the slight brightening in her expression, one might guess that maybe she did.

Cristobal's off hand helps her settle, his gaze twisting to the side and looking over the edge of the chair as it makes that noise of protest, as if that simple glance alone will tell him if it's sound or if they're going to end up in a heap on the ground. Satisfied, he leans back straightward and looks to her face and more importantly her hair, constantly enthralled by the ever changing rainbow it seems to undergo. "No no, my job is still security at the Platinum. But Dante asked me to consult and opine," He says the word as if it's painful in his mouth, and no doubt from Dante's vocabulary directly and not one he would often use, "About the restaurant he's opening there, the Sitka. And you know..if you still need a job, I have it on good authority he's hiring."

Sparrow echoes, "Opine," with clear amusement, obvious pleasure, drawing the word out unnecessarily. That humor quickly dissipates with a crinkle of her nose at the mention of job, her body sinking sideways against his a bit more heavily as if under the weight of that thought. "Maybe," she chirps grudgingly. "If we don't find someone to take Monica's room soon. Kinda really looking forward to having the summer to just. Do. Ya know? Just go. I've got people to kidnap and concerts to see and." Her fingers splay against his chest, lifting for just a moment to wiggle, dismissing whatever was supposed to come next. But then she continues anyway, grin tugging at the left corner of her lips as she concludes, "Winnings to cash in."