2020-07-25 - Shirts & Skins

Today was the day. Mac had of course let Sparrow know she’d be taking the room, and the extra week her mother had let her stay in the AirBnB meant the first disbursement of insurance money had come in, so Mac had already gotten Sparrow the money digitally. She’d also asked super-nicely if it was alright for some packages to be shipped to the house that may be a day or two earlier than her move-in.

Mac had arrived in an Uber, as she usually eschewed driving herself, but didn’t feel like lugging her belongings, meager as they were, across town on foot. Two duffel bags worth of loaned clothing, and a cheap laundry basket containing any of the leftover snacks and cleaned out containers from Sparrow’s care drop-off, the Caulking/Duck quilt thrown over the top to keep things generally inside of it. She unloads the car and gives the driver a tired thumbs-up, letting him pull off as Mac starts to lug her load toward the front door.

The front door to 7 Oak hangs open. Sure, there's a whole lotta awful coming through town of late, but that hasn't scared Sparrow into any proper sense about keeping the place locked up. At least, not while she's home in the middle of broad daylight. It's too nice a day for all the curtains to be drawn and doors closed. And the neighborhood clearly needs to hear the music filtering out into the afternoon. Whether they asked for it or not.

The closer Mac gets to the front door, the easier it is to hear Sparrow singing along--imperfectly, clearly not familiar with all the words--from the back, where she's cleaning the kitchen while she waits for the (potentially temporary) tenant to arrive. The boxes which preceded Abitha are all stacked up in the room to the left of the entrance, space which looks like it hardly sees any use. The house is, as advertised, huge. There's a living room to the right. And then another toward the back, past the stairs. And what might be a semi-formal dining room. And a few doors which look like they might lead to something bigger than bathrooms or closets. And stairs heading up to a landing looking out over the foyer. It's nice. Real nice. Nicer than a few college kids should probably be rocking. But the acoustics are nice, the sound carrying well as Sparrow croons, "One two things on my mind," to no one in particular.

Now it was Mac’s turn to wonder about possible government or illicit connections as she sees the house. Just a couple college kids? In this place? Mac had streaming, commissions, and a store, and she’d be hard pressed to afford a place like this. She tops the front stoop, but she pauses awkwardly at the front door. Peering beyond the threshold for a long moment, wondering if she should just go in or ring the doorbell to be polite. The door was open, what was decorum? How was she even going to manage that with both her hands full.

The slight gamer was clad in faded blue jean shorts, a rare sight that she actually had bare legs today, the heat and well... ashes for a wardrobe a likely explanation. Likewise strange was the bright, almost neon orange shirt she was wearing, Applejack displayed on the front of it, courtesy of Sparrow.

Crippling social anxiety dictated she stood there for at least longer than normal, contemplating her options.

And then there's Jens.

He spots her from over on the porch next door and waves, "ABITHA!" oh god, he's not even wearing a shirt. At over six feet tall and muscle-lean, Jens hops over the fence separating the properties and wanders over in a pair of bright flamingo pink flip-flops and a pair of lime-green board shorts. What even is he? His shirt, or what seems like one, hangs behind him, tucked into the back of his shorts like mangled assortment of kitsune tails.

"Oh, man, you're loaded, huh!?" He picks up the pace. "Here, lemme help." Hands outstretched, so she can off-load some of her stuff.

Sparrow, oblivious to anyone on her doorstep just yet, belts out, "What we gonna do when I see to you tonight?" rolling through the *ooh*s without the least little hint of shame. Not even when she hears voices out front. Sure, the "Oh!" which comes from the back of the house is a bit startled, but it's followed promptly by a, "Hey! Sec!" And then, after remembering that the door is totally open which is why she can hear them at all, "Come on in!" It takes her a few seconds to finish whatever it is she's doing, the sound of running water suggesting something is getting rinsed off. Maybe her hands. Yeah, probably her hands to judge by the way she's rubbing them over the hips of her own rainbow-dyed jean shorts as she steps into view with a bright smile. And a pirate tee shirt, dark grey with a white skull and crossed cutlasses on the front. Spotting a shirtless Jens coming to Mac's rescue earns another, "Hey," that sounds pleasantly surprised. Appreciative, perhaps. Like the obnoxious colors only serve to draw attention to all that bare skin. "Need a hand?" It's unclear who she's asking.

’What even is he?’ could not have stated better what Mac’s reaction to him was, her eyes widening as her head snaps in his direction. Contrary to the reaction Jens was likely to elicit with his current state, the color seemed so drain out of Mac’s face as she regards him. At least when she was in her own shop, she could say ’No Shirt, No Shoes, Get the Fuck Out!’ Reflex, however, dictated she replied “Mac!”

Sparrow’s following greeting then pulls her attention inward, wide green eyes flicking quickly to the face of her former employee turned now roommate, willing the other woman to give her an explanation or at least save her, though stopping short of actual mental powers. Mac was now stuck with two offers, and has to wade between both.

“Uh, thank you,” she directs to the shirtless man, no less harried as she does, looking to Sparrow and hefting the basket, “Most of this stuff is yours, though, or is headed to the kitchen anyways, I’d guess, so uh...” She makes a motion like she were moving it back and forth, like Jens could carry it if Sparrow let him, or... She didn’t fucking know, holy shit, this may have been a poor decision.

Jens smiles brightly. "Mac! Right!" He doesn't seem sheepish at having gotten it 'wrong', but he does seem readily willing and able to switch without a second thought. Like Klingons accepting an old friend having changed names or pronouns. He reaches for the heaviest things Mac has, long arms wrapping under and over and pulling them towards his longer torso.

Jens winks at Mac and then leans over to smooch Sparrow's head. "Hey, birb." And then he goes inside.

Sparrow's expression demonstrates not the least little bit of sympathy--or awareness that Mac might be in need of some--when that basket gets waggled to and fro, her smile bright as ever. She manages a single step before Jens gets to grabbing the laundry basket with the very weird quilt on top of it--is that Macaulay Culkin's face flanked by ducks?--which might be lighter than the duffel bags, but it's certainly a good deal more awkward. When he steps in to deliver that kiss, she croons a quiet, "Princess," in answer and lets her fingers shamelessly drift across bare belly. If he's gonna get that close, she may as well take advantage!

When the contact breaks, that same hand points toward the back of the house as she indicates, "Kitchen," as the right place for that piece before focusing her attention on Mac. "Wanna see the empty room down here--" for her streaming "--first or..?" She points upwards, presumably towards a bedrooms.

One song gives way to the next, leading with Oh-oh! You think I'm nothing but another fool...

Jens tosses his head, whipping his scrunchied hair. "Yes ma'am!" He ambles off, pausing just for a second when the song starts to give a little dancing dip. Awyiss. He takes the basket to the back and... puts it where he can best guess Sparrow wants it put. He has good intuition about that stuff! Historically speaking.

He disappears into the house, singing: "It doesn't matter I'm ugly; keep tellin' me you don't love me! Nothin' in my pocket, but I'm still okay; all I really know is how I feel today..." He's... all right. No one is going to die from hearing him.

“Yeah, uhh...” Mac vaguely answers as she stares stupified after Jens until he is out of sight... for the moment anyhow. Her eyes wheel on Sparrow, finding sense enough to venture an inquiry, “Friendly, lightly-clothed neighbors, huh?” Really, how else would she react? “He, uh... happen by often?” Again, one would think this a favorable reaction unless they had any idea about Mac’s tastes. Which most didn’t.

Mac shakes her head to banish the confusion and answers in actuality this time, “Upstairs first, lemme drop off this stuff.” She hefts the straps to the heavy duffles held over her shoulders, “I can move the boxes into the downstairs room after and start setting up.”

Sparrow's smile only broadens for the singing, even if she doesn't look back, tempting as that prospect might be. "If I'm lucky," she answers of the frequency of Jens' visits. "His brother's less prone to random wander-ins, but just as frequently shirtless. Corey's, uh. Girlfriend? I guess? Lives with 'em, too. Less incident of toplessness, but. Fantastic legs." Her eyebrows waggle playfully as she starts toward the stairs. "Don't worry. Everybody's pretty good about respecting boundaries. Just draw your lines, and you'll be fine." With a glance toward one of the bags, she offers, "Want me to grab one of those?"

There was a brief moment as Mac takes in all this information that her look goes a little further and glassy. This was her life now. At least for now. Regardless, she was quick to unshoulder at least one burden, Abitha sways out from under one strap to hand it off for Sparrow, offering thanks and moving to follow her upstairs, “Is it ok if my boundary is ’I’m gonna be in my room a lot’?” Mac wonders a little jokingly, a lot not jokingly. “‘Cause I’m just gonna be in my room a lot.”

Sparrow takes up the burden with an effortless smile despite the bit of wrangling she need to do to get the bag over her shoulder without whacking Mac with it. "That is totally okay," she promises as they head up to the landing. All in all, there are a half-dozen doors on the second floor, the layout open. The space on the far away would make a great sitting area, but they still haven't gotten around to actually bringing up any furniture, a few stray boxes and a hamper hanging out there.

"Honestly? We really don't see much of each other. AJ--" She points to the first door on the left. "--has a really intense schedule and spends a lot of the rest of his time, like. Actually relaxing cuz." Well, the intense schedule. If Mac's paying attention, she might notice a sincere frown creep in, some genuine disappointment that Sparrow's quick to move past. "And Corey--" She points to the first door on the right. "--is up at the crack of dawn for his job most days. When he is home? Prolly cooking or gardening." Pointing to the second door from the right, she notes, "That's me, if you need anything." Then the folding doors just around the corner from that. "Laundry." Then the door on the other side of the eventual sitting area. "Linens." Around the corner again. "You." And the door beside it. "Bathroom. Which you'll only be sharing with AJ. In theory. He uses mine a lot. So."

Opening the door to Mac's new bedroom, the place is clean. And nearly empty. There's a bed with mismatched bedding, neatly made, and a second-hand nightstand with a weird lamp by one side. But that's it. Whoever else had stayed here, all their stuff is gone, the closet empty. They've clearly been looking for a tenant rather than using it as a guest room. Chances are, they really need the help with rent.

Seeming to calm as things became less about state of dress and more about living situations that seemed to involve not seeing their roommates often, Mac tops the stairs and listens, following after Sparrow. There’s a moment, a look, as she finds out about the bathroom sharing, but it passes. Just something she’d have to deal with. Hopefully there was a good lock. Or AJ would be good at dodging lightning. Either would suffice.

Mac was trying to pay attention, but Sparrow’s frown could mean very little to the gamer. There’s a flat-lipped frown in mirror to Sparrow, a confirmation she saw there was emotion there, but letting it pass silently if the other didn’t want to dwell.

As they enter the room, Mac has her own bout with emotion, stepping in far enough to struggle out from under the strap of her carried duffle and plop it on the bed. There’s a wistful, almost resigned look as she peers about the space. It would serve, it could be “home”. For now. She looks back to Sparrow after a moment, realizing the feeling was... ungrateful.

“Thank you. Again. I um... I don’t know what I would have done without your help... and offer... and food.” Her eyes drift downward, an avoidance of eye contact before realizing that meant bright ass colors offered one more reminder, “And clothes, question mark?” There’s a hint of a sardonic smirk. Sure, Mac hated super bright clothing, but it was almost an outward sign of gratitude that she wore them anyways. At least to her.

When the first duffel goes down, the second joins it, the bed barely squeaking beneath the combined weight. Sparrow doesn't linger on any one thought for very long, whatever complicated feelings she might have about AJ's situation already long past by her measure. No, the pensive look she's wearing now is about how damned barren the room is, but she doesn't get caught on that for too long easily guided back to the present moment by the voiced gratitude, snorting a laugh where it turns uncertain. "Hey. Not many people can pull off orange." But that high pitch of her dark brows suggests that Mac is doing just that. "And, really, it's not like you haven't been taking care of me for the last severanl months, so. Ya know. Do whatcha can while you can, right?"

Pointing a finger around the empty space, she says, "If you need anything, we can pick something up at a thrift store or the pawn shop or whatever. We don't really have any rules except respecting everybody's personal space. And that includes the quiet room downstairs. It's soundproofed? But it's also got a couple windows, so. Try to not be too obnoxious if somebody's studying. Or meditating, or. Whatever."

“Oh god, am I trapped now?” Mac says as she looks down, hands going to the bottom hem of the shirt and tugging on it in faux trepidation. There’s a smirk as she looks up again. So she did still have some humor. Mac shakes her head, though doesn’t go so far as to roll her eyes. “I gave you a job, and you’re pretty great at it. Were. Um...” The mirth deflates a little, but she soldiers on, distracted briefly by needing to give a little squint at the Whatever. With all the unclothed people, Mac wasn’t sure if that meant other things happened in the quiet room.

“But yeah, uh... Not seeing that I’ll do that... Well... Hmm...” She appends under serious thought, eyes lifted to the ceiling, “I’ll post a schedule of when I stream. Give people my number so they can text when they’re in there. I don’t wanna go beast-mode and upset that.”

Sparrow answers that smirk with a sympathetic purse of her lips and a high shrug, the combined effect definitely offering helpless sympathy for the fact that Mac's the sorta girl who wears orange now, like it or not. Whatever counterpoint she had loaded up on the point of employment dies a quiet yet visible death when Mac shifts tenses, humor shifting toward some genuine empathy for a second. If there's anything untoward about whatever else might happen in the quiet room, though? That doesn't register on her features at all, like it doesn't even occur to her.

"Should be fine," she assures. "I mean. We're still a good month out from the semester starting back up, and we can get some soundproofing in the, uh. Other room. By then." She squints a little. "Studio? SHould we call it a studio?" The shake of her head suggests she doesn't really care enough to wait for an answer. "I can show you that now, if you'd like, or. Just let you settle in?" Her forehead furrows like there might be something else, but she hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder where she can still hear Jens singing somewhere downstairs instead.

“We can head down in a second,” Mac affirms, though through a large breath of a sigh, “But I got one more weird request.” Her hand was idly on one of the duffle, fiddling idly with a zipper before she speaks. “With everything that’s going on, I know people that live here are going to know, but... can we keep it a little quiet where I am?” There’s an apologetic look, guilty. “You’re helping me a whole ton, and like, you said your friends are tied up in whatever the heck is going on too. I don’t want to bring more things down on you if more happens...” Which probably would, given Mac’s current decision and direction. “I’m meeting with your cop friend. August set it up for me. I just...” She looks down, “I don’t want to be the reason something else shitty happens to you.”

It probably made sense now that the packages had arrived marked just ‘M’, and the address.

"First," comes with a mixture of sternly arched eyebrows and an otherwise gentle expression, "yes, obviously, of course. Nobody else has to know. I'll make sure Jens knows you're just laying low. Don't gotta get into why. Privacy's private, right?" Sparrow holds up two fingers as she moves on to, "Second? Yeah. I've got..." Her gaze skirts off to the side as she heaves a quiet sigh. "More tangled up in this than I thought, so." That hangs somberly for a second before she musters a small smirk and refocuses. "It won't be your fault if anything happens to me, alright? It won't be anybody's except the assholes that are pulling all this crap in our town. They're the bad guys. Not you. Not anyone else. Just them." She holds that stern expression for a second then moves on. "Third?" She's quieter as she continues, that adamance no longer needed for the rest. "I'm glad you're talking to the right people. Though, I, uh. I'm curious. Do you know who those guys were trying to get info on?"

“Alright, alright...” Abitha holds up her hands after the third reason, palms out, making it clear Sparrow was in charge and she surrendered to her wishes on the matter. The final bit gets a bit of a backward sway of her posture, moving her weight to a heel as she talks, “That’s the weirdest thing about it. All they showed me was a picture, no name, no info other than he bought a PS4 the week before. He didn’t look like anyone I know, nothing special. Like, I’ve got the image in my mind, but good luck getting it on paper...”

Then she slips into a long pause, eyes starting to do that brief flitting back and forth in thought. Her hand was going to her back pocket, as if she intended to reach for her phone, “But... Why didn’t I actually look into that? Shit...” She pauses going for her phone, looking up at Sparrow. “I need to get my computer put together, I’ve got some research to do. I know we don’t sell whole systems as often, and if I can time my camera data with the sales, we should be able to find out!” Purpose. Direction. Mac’s mood instantly seems to lift into eagerness. Then there’s another pause, brief concern, “Wait, what’s your internet like here? I guess I should have asked sooner...”

"Any chance you could...?" Sparrow lifts a hand to give her fingers a spooky wiggle near her own temple as her eyes go wide. Who needs to use words when there's charades! When Mac falls quiet, she does too, letting those pieces click into place... without any commentary once a plan has been voiced. Just a crooked smile, pleased. The question is met with a scrunched face that reads what kind of heathens do you think we are as she answers, "Fiber. Obviously." Good side of town like this? They actually get that option. She pulls her phone from her pocket and takes several seconds to pull up some info and then text it over to Mac, the wifi password sent without context. "Network is League of Evil Exes. Should be able to hardwire downstairs, but." Sounds like wifi is the best option upstairs.

The bit about finger wavies at her head would actually confuse Mac, where she not in go-time mode. Communicating mentally wasn't something she really did. Communicating normally wasn't something she really did, so you can see why there was a disconnect. She probably thinks Sparrow was referring to the ephemeral thing everyone seems to think 'the cloud' is. Which was where Mac's head was at currently. The news about fiber has Mac's hand settling over her throat and chest, as if feeling the relief of a nearly passed heart attack, her other hand lifted palmward to the air, "Praise be."

The Wi-Fi name and text has Mac popping out her phone to start to connect with that, briefly muttering a complimentary, "Oh nice, Scott Pilgrim."

She tucks the phone back away again in a butt pocket, "Alright, lead on to the Studio...." Pause. "War room?" She tests, "Dojo?" She looks to Sparrow for commentary.

This is why words are better, Sparrow. She'll get comfortable with it eventually. Maybe even by the time they get back downstairs. For now, though, she snorts a laugh at the offered suggestions and counters, "Pretty sure war room suggests we're all gonna gather and plan our attack strategy, so. That'd be the dining room. I'll prepare the maps." She's joking, right? "But dojo works. Room's been sitting empty since we moved in." She turns to the right down the stairs, past the still-open door and the boxes beside it toward a door set on a wall at a 45-degree angle from the rest of the architecture. It matches another toward the back of the house, but that one has a sign on it which declares it the QUIET ROOM (and currently indicates that it's empty). "Not that it's all dusty or anything. I gave it a scrub down yesterday, so."

When she opens the door to let Abitha in, she leans against the wood, hand on the handle, and circles back to the earlier topic. "Any chance your spooky-fu lets you send information telepathically? It's not my area of expertise, but I can manage, like. Emotions sometimes?"

Mac follows and watches, taking stock of each place they pass, "I was mostly joking. I think you were most right the first time, studio is the most descriptive. It's what most others call their spaces." As Mac steps into the space, Sparrow can see her sort of pace once, and her eyes beginning to dart from corner to corner, mentally taking stock of where she would want a desk, if there was a window that would need to be taken into account or blacked out, where the outlets were. Her hand moves, finger identifying the wall plates, then flattens as she imagines the first spot and steps more into position to look at it straight on, then steos into where it would be and crouches to see what the viewing angle of her camera would be.

"Dunno," comes the slightly distracted sounded reply. "Like, I've sent what I could see at the moment before, and words, in a Dream once. Haven't ever tried like... getting too deep into it." More movement, trying a second spot, then the viewing angle again, "It's weird. Found out I could move things not long ago. August says that means I can open doors. And I can summon a squitten when I'm Dreaming too."

The room has two windows, one on each external wall, both of which will need covered. So much wonderful sunlight just streaming on in right now! It leaves Mac well-lit as Sparrow watches the planning process without comment. Not until there's an answer to her own weird question. She straightens a little bit at that mention of opening doors, hand tightening on the door-handle she's currently holding, but she opts not to ask about that. Not right now. Kinda like how she skips past squitten despite some definite curiosity. Instead, she just ventures, "If you felt like trying? I mean. If I recognize the person, it might save some time, right?"

Mac was distracted enough that Sparrow’s negative reactions went unnoticed, though the other question is enough to bring her out of it. “I mean... If it’s a snapshot, I’ve done that... Hmm...”

Mac’s eyes lift to the ceiling in thought, then slide closed as she tries to pull the image to the fore. Her lips quirk for a moment, then she digs out her phone again. There’s some tapping, sliding, then she flips the phone into portrait mode, watching some video on it. It’s a feed of the night the cops visited, and she seemed mostly business-like while looking at it, using it as a foci for her memory. She lets her eyes shut one more time, then her aura comes to life. A single tendril of otherness reaches gently out to Sparrow, a gentle knock protocol before the pulse of a few moments of an image comes across, first one angle, then the next, the two times she looked at the photo.

Flashback 4848: (Pretty blurry, but it’s a heavier set man that she might remember coming in. Didn’t seem to know (or care) a whole lot about gaming. Pretty obviously had other purposes for the console.)

A by-product of the link, Sparrow can feel Mac’s apprehension in that momentary memory, the feeling of being intimidated. Outside the memory, regardless of her outward appearance, Mac was still hurting as she had looked at that feed, loss, an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

But the picture was clear enough. Mac retracts her mind and reopens her eyes, observing Sparrow for reaction.

Sparrow leans a little more heavily against the door as she feels that first hint of not-her creeping into her head. Her gaze dips down toward the floor, at nothing in particular, absent while her thoughts turn inward, focused on the image resolving in her head. She doesn't even notice as her body tenses further in answer to those transmitted emotions, as her features sink toward something somber. Neither does she quite catch the moment of withdraw, lost in her own thoughts for a few seconds, the house not entirely silent. The pop playlist continues without interference, its oddly upbeat serenade of 'Saaaave me from my personal hell' at odds with the weight of the moment.

Eventually, Sparrow shakes her head and looks up. "I don't... I don't think I recognize him." She flashes an apologetic smile as she murmurs, "Sorry." Brightening slightly, she notes, "But, uh. If you're gonna see Javier? Uh. De la Vega? He can, uh." She lifts her free hand, index finger extended, and shifts it to point between her temple and Mac a few times. "Though I'd ask first. Lotsa teeth."

Jens comes back around, now. Eventually, Jens always comes back around! He had to go to the bathroom! People do that! It's realistic. His hands smell nice because he washed them. "Hi, again!"

Mac just lifts both shoulders for a moment, unknowing in general, and letting the body language express so. Her eyes briefly widen at the warning of teeth. “Oh, sorry! I should have asked, my bad, I thought you were asking, so...” Mac grimaces a little, then is startled by Jens’ reappearance. eyes still wide and face pulled taut, it almost looks like they were caught doing something, or maybe it was just more panic to BIG SHIRTLESS MAN... but then, her expression flattens a bit, “Oh, right, he’s got some too.”

She does clearly avert her eyes, though, which makes the next action of getting past him to go get some of the boxes a little awkward and halting. “Sorry... Lemme... grab some stuff.”

"No, I--" Sparrow straightens, releasing the door handle which sets the door to swinging backwards. Both her hands lift, palms out in a gesture meant to be calming that might, instead, read as defensive. Especially given how she holds that pose for a moment when Jens reemerges with those fresh-smelling hands. Like blackberries and champagne! She flashes a smile his way then drops her hands, refocusing on Mac as she assures, "I was asking. One hundred percent. Just saying don't take my encouragement as permission where other people are concerned. Not that I think you would. Just that. I dunno. I get overzealous sometimes, so." Yeah. She might've made a mistake or two with this stuff in the past. With Mac stepping away to go collecting some of her stuff, the purple-haired punk falls quiet, angling a big awkward smile toward Jens as her shoulders creep up in a slow shrug.

Jens smiles at Mac and Sparrow, looking between them, and then Mac gets all awkward again! Jens isn't the most perceptive, really, but he's not blind. He looks at Sparrow and when she shrugs he mouths, Did I do something? Is it me? Do I smell? And then he sniffs at his armpits and scrunches his nose. Yeeesh. Why didn't you tell me? No. He doesn't smell.

Mac returns to start piling the first pair of boxes inside, smaller ones, likely peripherals or internals the way she gently sets them in a corner. She misses three body language subtext, yaknow since she's trying so hard to ignore his body entirely.

"Probably going to need some blackout curtains. Not that it's always that sunny..." Inane observations and conversation attempted. Briefest glance to Jens. See? She was trying. "Lighter subjects. Console or PC?"

Sparrow tilts in toward Jens to whisper not-entirely-quietly, "It's your tits." Which she then takes a couple seconds to admire, like maybe checking out the eye-candy will help pull her head back from whatever weird and awkward places it had stumbled down. And, wonder of wonders, it does. So says the much easier smile she wears when Mac wanders back over to start setting up. Though it does take a second for her to turn that sunshine toward Abitha, noting, "We've got, like, a million extra quilts, too, so," in case she was looking for a cheaper hack to get through the temporary situation. When the attempt at casual conversation is made, her face scrunches up with some minor offense. "Uh. Trick question?" But then it occurs to her that she might be trying to get to know the unfamiliar guy over here, and she shuts it. For now. She's got opinions.

"OH." Jens looks down at himself. "Well, shit, it ain't my house, you shouldda just said something," he tells Mac, yanking his shirt from behind him and sliding it on easy-peasy. It's white with words in pink and limegreen. In front: I'M THE ONLY ONE OF ME' and in back 'BABY, THAT'S THE FUN OF ME'. Someone likes Taylor Swift, also, does he get these custom made? Jesus. "PC for MOBAs and shit like that, anything that's easier with a mouse. Console for anything else."

Mac does give Sparrow a squint as she pipes in quite correctly to know that was absolutely a trick question, but smirks as her former employee gets where she was going with it and shuts up. As Jens puts a shirt on, the motion catches Mac’s eyes, and there’s visible relief in her posture. “Yeah, sorry, weird hang ups.” Is all the explanation she gives. The look is actually slightly appreciative when he makes a well-balanced answer to her query.

“Legit.” Green eyes sweep to Sparrow, another smirk offered. “Oh you’re right. We should start with that one you brought me. You got any more gems like that? I’m gonna fucking die when my channel see them.”

"You're fine," Sparrow assures Mac. "Just, ya know. We can't respect lines we don't know are there, so." Jens already covered the say something, so she doesn't go out of her way to explicitly repeat it. Spying the absolutely magnificent shirt that he pulls on, she murmurs, "I have so gotta introduce you to Rhys." She even looks up when she adds, "We did that--" With a gesture toward his chest. "--at, uh. Oh." Suddenly, her cheeks are pink and her smile is brighter. "Nope. Nevermind. We did not." She turns that wide-eyed look back toward Mac to refocus on the conversation at hand instead of wherever her thoughts have veered off to, nodding emphatically as she promises, "YES," in regards to the weird quilts. "Dad makes 'em. And then sends 'em over en masse when the first snowflake falls. I'll bring some down."

Jens tilts his head at Sparrow and then rolls his eyes. "I'll get it out of you later," he teases, not really meaning it, clearly. He grins at Mac and then says, snapping his fingers, "I gotta go to the store, where I was going before I came here!" He smacks his forehead. "We're outta OJ." He leans over and smooches Sparrow's head again. "I'll see you later, and you more often," he tells her and Mac, respectively, before heading for the door.

“Yeah, probs. Later,” Mac calls after Jens’ retreating back, before giving Sparrow another sort of squinty look. Seeing there was a subject that made even Sparrow blush was territory Mac was sure she did not want to even approach. Instead she at least tries to mitigate. “Yeah, but also, like... people have a right to do what they want. It feels silly or selfish to be like ’wear clothes to make me comfortable.’” Mac was retrieving another box, likely able to continue conversation as she was lugging one in, this a little bulkier. She uses the side of a nail to pop some of the tape and peek inside, exposing the side of a monitor box when she gets it completely open.

Sparrow kisses near Jens, not quite making contact, though the sound carries easily enough and, with it, the intention to reciprocate that friendly affection. "Hey!" she calls after him. "I want more often, too!" There's even a brief, bratty jut of her tongue before she refocuses her attention on Mac in full. "Right, but like. You aren't laying down rules or anything. You aren't telling anyone they have to do anything. You're just giving people information so that we can make our own choices." Her eyebrows go all high and stern again as she adds, "And it gives you an opportunity to learn if somebody's a twat or not, so." She shrugs. According to Sparrow, it's a win-win.

She tracks Mac's box-toting progress as she brings those packages which were delivered earlier in the week toward the empty room in the front corner of the house, designated as the new tenant's streaming studio for as long as she needs it, and finally wonders, "Do you want some help with those? Are they all heading thisaway?" With the front door open--and Jens just exiting that direction--pop music spills out into the neighborhood uninvited, as cheerful and upbeat as the bright day outside.

Having just finished work, Corey is heading back home, wearing board shorts and sneakers and enjoying the sun, his vest shirt currently stuffed into his bag. He slows his roll as he sees Jens exiting, lifting his hand in a vague wave to the neighbour. Then it's up onto the porch and in, pausing abruptly when he sees a stranger stood with Sparrow. "Uh.. 'sup?"

"Sure and yes. This should be all the stuff to get online. The streaming stuff was the easiest resolved claim. Smaller, specific, all records online." Mac tries hefting one of the larger, longer boxes, struggling with it, the size making it likely a desk surface or something similar. The voice has her turning to look, then freezing, immediately swinging her eyes down to the super interesting box she was attempting to lift. "Uh, hi!" She manages without looking, turning a brief wide-eyed look at Sparrow. Did she move into some sort of LA Muscle Beach retreat home?

Sparrow starts toward one of the solitary boxes when she notices Mac struggling with a bigger one. It's an easy redirect, stepping in to pick up one end of the heavier load. "Good! Glad you didn't have to wait long." Even if everything else is likely to be a great deal more complicated. When saved from that potential awkwardness by another, she cheerfully smiles up at her twin with an easy, "Hey, C! We're shirts-on today please." One hand parts briefly from the box she's helping to heft to gesture at the stranger before deciding that was a bad idea and going right back to where it was with a slap.

"This is Mac." Former boss, owner of the recently burned down Control Pad where Sparrow worked. Surely a name Corey's heard if not a person he's actually met. The person they cooked a ton of food for a week or so ago. "Mac, this is Corey. My baby brother." Who looks like he couldn't possibly be more than a few minutes younger than her. The word she's looking for might be 'twin.' "He is responsible for most of the amazing cooking in this household. And our amazing garden. And the random desserts that show up in the fridge. Hope you're ready to be spoiled." And maybe to put on a few pounds. Or up her workout game.

"But Phiiiil, it's hot," Corey complains, though unshoulders his bag and drags his 'This chef is a whisk-taker' vest shirt out, pulling it on even as he's whinging. "Oh hey. Hope you liked the food," he then chirps as Sparrow gives Mac's name. "Need a hand with the boxes?" Despite the heat he's apparently happy to help out, because if nothing else, he's helpful. Mostly.

“Oh!” Mac takes it all in, again, seeming at ease once a shirt was in place. She cranes her neck around the box to look at Sparrow and makes a cocking motion to indicate to get this one in first. Once it was set down, she would likely return to stand in front of Corey and offer a hand in earnest.

“Thank you, specifically. Your food was delicious.” Her voice is sort of froggy for a moment before she clears her throat. Maybe emotion felt based on how greatly it had affected her. She might even hug him if the indication was made it was alright, which said a lot about it. She’d quickly take a large step, back though. No walls were harmed in the making of this indiscretion, “You had no reason to help me, but you did, and I really appreciate it.”

Greetings made, she’d nod about the help. “There’s a couple big ones left, I think that’s my chair, and one more monitor.” She says helpfully, while pointing.

Sparrow's eyes roll in answer to Corey's objection, a definite affection in that dismissiveness as is so often the case between siblings. Then the pair are off, lugging the desk-heavy box into the previously unused room, working with Mac to carefully set it down. She follows her back out toward the stack of boxes, a few steps behind, smiling proudly past Mac toward her brother as gratitude is exchanged. The no-reason-to-help gets an I don't get it either kinda shrug before she steps up to snag one of the easier to wrangle boxes to tote it off to the other room. "She's a streamer," she explains as she goes. "Taking over the front room. And encasing it in dad's quilts."

Walls? What are those? Corey has no walls, and accepts a hug with great gusto. Possibly slightly sweaty gusto given he's been out in the blazing sunshine, but hey. "You're very welcome - though to be honest I'll cook at the drop of a hat, so it really wasn't an imposition." The description of what remains gets a nod. "Sure, I'll grab those. Mina, have you offered our new bestie a drink?" he then asks of his twin, almost chidingly, before grabbing the chair and heading off into the front room. "Awesome. Not like we're short of those."

The remark about ‘encasing’ the room in wild as fuck quilts has Mac clenching her teeth and squeezing through a raspy, “Yessss.” in favor of the plan. She grabs up a few of the smaller boxes, inspecting a label, breaking into a grin, “Oh thank fuck, glasses.” That box gets set aside nearer the door, as she notices the pile dwindle under two helpers.

Guessing all that was left was to unpack, she starts with the box she’d found before, popping it open and digging out a case. “Bee Are Bee.” she says, slipping upstairs to her room briefly to retrieve the cheap contact case and fluid and finally take the damn things out of her eyes. Shell return in a few wearing a pair of fresh new pair of brown rimmed glasses.

Sparrow adopts a guilty expression when Corey rightfully questions her hostessing capabilities, but it isn't until Mac dashes off toward the stairs with glasses-case in hand that she actually addresses that oversight. "We've been a bit pre-occupied. Showed her to her room upstairs. Where the bathroom and linens are. Laundry. Then, uh." She gestures toward all the boxes which have been moved haphazardly from over there to into here. "It's a lot to take in. But we'll get her settled. And fed. And allathat. But, uh. She did ask that we keep her presence her kinda hush hush. Trying to just lay low. Which, I mean. Given the weirdness of the situation..."

Which she doesn't get around to elaborating on given the steps heading back down the stairs, the smile turned toward the returning Mac. "I'll bring some quilts down later. You need anything to drink or anything? Kitchen's right--" She points to the opposite corner of the house, which won't be difficult to run into given the fairly open layout of the place. "Just stick your name on anything you don't want people pilfering. Otherwise, we're pretty communal."

"Kitchen rules. Please don't use my knives or pans, and if you use the last of any ingredients, let me know," Corey requests forthrightly. "Also any meals or pies or cakes or whatever in the fridge are open game, so eat what you want." That done, he begins drifting in the direction of the kitchen. "Drinks? Also I'ma make some crepes. You guys want some?"

Mac nods dutifully along with the rules, because she understood the importance of the tools of ones trade, “Sounds Dop-eh,” The last syllable was a joking pop of emphasis, grinning, she was about to start rebuilding right here, and her eagerness was getting away with her, she starts to rip into the desk box first, though her head snaps up and she looks to Sparrow, hope bursting onto her face, “Did he says crepes?” Neck crane, louder voice, “Did you say crepes?” She repeats, calling happily after, “YES!” Then in a home appropriate volume says, “Gonna stick to water while I set things up. Clear head, blah blah.”

And left to her own devices, she’d start unpacking and setting up, though with a strange mix of careful, almost obsessive settling and organization of parts and furniture, but haphazard, gremlin-like destruction of packaging. Mac was a little weird.

"Uh. Only always," Sparrow answers Corey's question. He totally should have already known that answer. Does it matter what kind of crepes he's making? Nope. Not one teensy little bit! "I'mma go grab you some quilts. And maybe some tools?" And maybe a bottle of water, too, given that she heads toward the kitchen--and, incidentally, the basement door, behind which most of the house's collection of assorted tools might be found--first despite the quilt collection being upstairs in a couple different spare closets. For the time being, Mac's given her space to start settling in and adjusting. See? It's not all guys without shirts and making small talk!