2020-07-29 - Milkshakes & Moirology

It's not late, but it's not really early either. It's that weird time of night between post-dinner chill and getting-kinda-late that most people use for going out or kicking back. Sparrow had been working on some nice combination of the two, but that didn't go so well. Her arrival at 9 Oak is preceded by a text to Jens asking if he's home just a few minutes before she's knock-knock-knocking on the front door. The sky still has a little bit of light to it, muted by the storm slowly approaching in the distance. It suits her current look: black boots, galaxy-dyed black jean shorts, loose black tank with a crescent moon on the front, fabric thin enough to easily see the purple bra below. Purple-tinted lips have given up on maintaining a proper smile, but at least she doesn't look like she's about to stab anyone just now. It's progress.

Jens's response was a friendly 'sure am!' and now he opens the door in those same lime green boardshorts and pink flip-flops from the other day, with a very faded and much paint-stained cobalt-blue tank top that kind of hangs over him a bit too big, which shows muscle just by virtue of the holes on the sides, rather than being a tight fit. He leans against the frame of the door. "Hey, birb."

Sparrow's shoulders sink when she sets eyes on Jens, releasing tension she had to know she'd been carrying. The smile which rises reflexively isn't her biggest and brightest, but it's certainly earnest, natural. "Hey." Reaching out with one hand, she plucks at the loose tank top, drawing the fabric away from his body as she steps in closer. And, yeah, considers what of the body below she can see from here. When her eyes work their way back up to his, they stop briefly on his lips, just long enough to transmit a particular thought. "You wanna do something? I wanna do something."

Jens looks down at her when she steps in and looks down his shirt, raising a brow. He lifts the hand that isn't near the doorframe and puts it on her head, scritching the back of her neck gently. "I could do a thing, I think, yeah. You okay?" He leans his head down and bumps his forehead against her head softly. "Or you not okay and not wanna talk about it?"

Sparrow's head tips back at the scritching, leaving her head perfectly angled for that forehead bump when he leans on in. Eyes drift closed as her smile widens. Even as she admits, "Nah," in regards to her okayness. She releases his shirt so that same hand can slip to his side, thumb brushing lightly over the muscles below that blue fabric. "Mostly just wanna be around someone I like who likes me back."

Jens drops his elbow lightly on her shoulder and then wraps his other arm around her waist, pulling her in closer and squeezing her just a little bit. He kisses the top of her head and smiles. "Well, ya came to the right place. Where ya wanna go from here? Mini golf? Burgers? Wanton vandalism?"

If body language is anything to go on, there's a very good chance that Sparrow might be okay with just this given how happily she sinks in against Jens, wholly ignoring the fact that they're loitering at the threshold to his house. "Mm," makes it sound like there's some thought going on, but the, "Rough sex?" that she tosses out first might imply she had something in mind before she even got here. She peeks up at him with a bit of a brow-waggle then continues right on. "Mini golf. Margaritas. Maybe a motel room somewhere down the coast for a couple of days?" All so casually spoken, if one ignores the pain that briefly flashes in her eyes like maybe she needs the escape.

Jens lifts both brows at the 'rough sex' bit, and not in a bad way, but he isn't that dumb. He leans his head back when she goes on and then scrunches his nose. "I think I'm okay for a couple days, yeah. Let me leave a note and grab my stuff. I gotta take my laptop so I can finish some digital comissions, though." He smooches her head again.

Sparrow can't really afford this sorta trip, were she to give, oh, any thought to the next month or so, but she's got the cash on hand now, a big ol' desire to GTFO and a willing accomplice. She'll worry about next month next month. For now, she lets out an intrigued little, "Ooh!" at that last little detail. "I am way too curious to see what people pay you to make." There's a good chance her head is already filling up with wild possibilities as she pulls away. Her head tips to the side to indicate her own house, where she's gonna need to go grab some things of her own. And leave a note, obviously. "Meetcha in the car?"

"S'mostly what you imagine, I bet. Yup." He lowers his hand to squeeze her butt and then turns around to head upstairs.

Five minutes later, he's out by her car, duffel bag in one hand, backpack hanging off his shoulder. He's in the same clothes, but ostensibly has a change in the duffel bag in case they wanna go do something that requires other types of dress.

Sparrow doesn't take a whole lot longer than that, the slight delay almost certainly explained by the call of, "See you in a few days," sent back over her shoulder as she heads out. Her backpack bulges enough to suggest more than one change of clothes within. Or maybe snacks. There's always a possibility of snacks. The mystery's not gonna be revealed now, though. Now, she leans in close to Jens to steal a quick kiss then circles around the car, a telltale click-click unlocking all the Kia's doors. She tosses her bag in the back, sinks down in front... and then fusses with the stereo and her phone, syncing them to get a playlist going as she asks her passenger, "You eat yet? Kinda wanna milkshake for the drive. Or a lemonade. Prolly lemonade."

Jens tosses his own stuff in the back of the car, except the backpack, which he puts there gently --laptops are expensive-- and then slides into the passenger seat of the Kia, rolling down the window and sliding on his seatbelt. "I could go for a milkshake. Like, like a pineapple one, maybe." He lifts his arm and slides it across the back of her seat.

"See," Sparrow begins as the music starts up, dropped down to a nice background volume with a quick adjustment. "I was just wondering if I could get a lemonade milkshake. Or something like it." Head canted, she gives this puzzle a little bit of thought then searches for something in Google Maps. "Bit of a drive, but." They're disappearing for a while anyway, aren't they? A feminine voice interrupts the song to guide them out onto Oak Avenue, in case anyone was unclear about the first step of the journey. The effortless smile turned toward Jens as they set off into the evening says there's not one little thing wrong with the world, the troubles she'd brought to his doorstep dropped without hesitation.

"You're the one picking the destination, birb," Jens tells her with a laugh. "I'm not going to complain about detours or stops along the way. But if we're getting milkshakes, I want a pineapple one. And I want some chips. To dip in it." It's so deliciously disgusting. He winks at her. "You look better already."

"Weirdo," Sparrow casually declares of the chips-and-milkshake craving, but there's little disgust in her tone and maybe a hint of curiosity in her expression. She's definitely a don't knock it til you try it kinda girl, and they're about an hour out from a chance to give it a go. Her head tilts toward the arm draped on the back of her seat, brief contact made as she confirms, "Yeah. I am. And I'm pretty sure I'mma feel a whole lot better yet when we get some miles behind us." She pulls a faintly unpleasant face as she glances aside at Jens. "Everything's been kinda shit lately."

"I get that, yeah. What with the game shop burning down and everything." Jens frowns a bit. "I'm real glad you weren't in there, by the way. I wouldda had a heart-attack until I saw you were all right." He takes breath, hand resting light fingers on top of her head to scritch softly.

Sparrow makes a quiet psh sound to dismiss that worry even as she tilts toward the scritching. "You know I'm invincible," sounds like she might almost believe it. She slides another look toward Jens as she slows at a light, nearing the edge of town and the beginning of adventure. The little up-down of that attention suggests she might be sizing him up, trying to see if she can picture that potential panic. "Maybe I should write out a will. Just in case. Make sure you get all my paintings and porn and toys. Like. Before my parents get to any of it, so. Ya know. Not a will." With maybe-feigned seriousness, she tells him, "You have your instructions."

"I see." Jen s considers her right back and then says, "So what you're saying is if something were to happen to you, I should swallow all my immediate grief, sneak into your house, steal all your art, porn, and toys, and then make a pile out of them and cry on it. Okay." He does the A-OK gesture with his hand. "Got it."

"I mean." Sparrow's wide eyes imply she might be reconsidering this approach. "You could build a proper shrine or something. It doesn't gotta be a pile." She only means to grin a little bit, but that first upward tug just leads to more, a proper smile settling in as she drops a hand from the steering wheel to nudge at one neon-clad thigh. "Whatever happened to keeping it casual? Heart attacks are definitely not casual."

"Once you're dead, it doesn't matter if it's casual or not anymore," Jens points out. Don't poke the morbid bear if you're not ready for some very colorfully dressed morbidity, apparently. "Like, we casual now, because feelings are gauche and we're very modern people, but you know, grief and mourning." He nods matter of factly, smirking.

"Jens," almost sounds serious, like Sparrow might be skirting toward some genuine empathy. But then she veers off into, "You don't need anyone to die if you wanna be emo from time to time. We can wear black together whenever you want, alright?" She even gestures toward her current ensemble. Which almost passes muster. If one ignores all the purple and blue and the bright spattering of stars on her hips. She's closer to goth than he is in those neons, anyway. "Wonder if we could find a funeral to crash..."

Jens deflates a little, as if tension has left his body. "Oh, thank god. Let me get my eyeliner." He flashes her a grin. "I would crash a funeral. Though, the closer we are to Gray Harbor, the less liekly that is to end well..." he admits.

Sparrow, whose eyeliner game is always on point, angles a look toward Jens that teeters somewhere between expectant and skeptical, wholly ready to witness his skills while doubting any mastery of his technique. And possibly the quality of his product. Which is wholly irrelevant, right? He's probably joking. Still, someone definitely has eyeliner in her bag and bluffs might be called later. If they can find a fitting occasion. With a crinkle of her nose, she agrees, "Right. No funerals until after shakes," and Google still clocks them at 40-some-odd minutes out from their destination. Gray Harbor's likely to be far behind them before they find something fitting. If they actually look. "Heard the police chief's funeral involved a murderous murder of crows, zombies and, somehow, a piano? And, like, maybe some bagpipers died?"

"Okay, look, I mean, okay, look--I'm not saying the bagpipers had it coming," Jens starts, sticking one hand just barely out through the window so he can play hand-plane against the wind with it, up and down and up and down and up and down. "Buuuuuuuuut." He looks at her like, 'but they kinda did'. "You know you've lived in Gray Harbor all your life when zombies at a funeral are the least weird part."

Sparrow gives her head a wobble as if weighing the offense of the bagpipers against their fate. Unfortunately, they were not just bagpipers. They were Gray Harbor bagpipers. They had to know that wasn't gonna end well for them. With a snort, she agrees, "At least they make some sorta sense, right?" She falls quiet on that note, focusing on following the instructions from Google guiding her to the right exit away from home. When the voice finishes repeating its instructions to continue for fifteen miles, the laidback pop she's got on shuffle fills up the empty space in between, before she asks, "You ever get really worried about life and death stuff like that?"

"Uhh," Jens says, thinking for a long while before shrugging. "Not for me, not really. Worry about Marius and Runa sometimes, my folks. But I never really get worried about my own mortality, so to speak!" He shrugs. "Just not really something I put a lot of thought into, I guess. You?"

For a second, it looks like Sparrow might back out of the conversation, redirect toward something more pleasant before Jens gets a chance to answer. But she doesn't. She lets that awkwardness draw on, keeping her eyes on the road, her head bobbing shallowly to the music. "Same, pretty much," takes no thought whatsoever from her. "Zelie, a lot. Then, oh. Ya know. Half of everybody else I know lately. But maybe I'm hanging around the wrong people. I dunno." With a shake of her head, she adds another, "I dunno," then flashes an awkwardly apologetic smile toward Jens. "Just thinking, like." The nose scrunch hints at some smidge of self-consciousness. "How to make a ritual out of attending a stranger's funeral to deal with all this dumb stuff I've been lugging around lately."

"Ahhhh." Jens considers for a long moment and then says, "I mean, I think maybe even just showing up and being quiet and listening to people mourn for someone else might help a bit. You remember Greggie Lipton from school? His older brother, Jerry? He would crash weddings with Greggie whenever Jerry had broken up with a girl or something to 'remind himself that love exists' or something. I mean, I don't think it'd work for me, but if it worked for him..." Jens shrugs. "Weird guy, Greggie. He's a furry now." What.

Sparrow nods to confirm her recollection of the Liptons, though it looks like she was unaware of this particular tradition. Not like they'd been close or anything. An impish grin takes shape somewhere around the wouldn't work for me bit, but it's the last observation she addresses first. "Keeping art students everywhere from starving. But yeah." She bobs a nod as she looks to her phone to check the distance to their intended exit, catching it just before a two-mile warning is announced. "I think the intention matters. I'm just not sure what my intention is yet." Wryly, she adds, "But maybe I'm overthinking it." As is her frequent habit. Brows arch curiously as she makes her way back around to, "So, what'd work for you?"

"I dunno," Jens says with a shrug. "Last time I hard a girlfriend was in like, senior year, and that wasn't all that much heartbreak? So." He shrugs. "I guess I just haven't really had enough deep, like, gripping relationships, honestly. I think just being alone would work. For a while. Or hanging out with nice people."

Sparrow's quiet for a long moment after that answer, though that might just be because she's following Google-Lady's instructions to take the exit, turn right at the fork and look for their destination on the left. Spotting the Sonic, she presses the knob of the stereo to kill both the music and the navigation. She pulls up to the drive-thru with a few cars ahead of them. "I get the not a lotta heartbreak thing. I mean. I'm still a little angry about my last actual break-up--" As opposed to relationships which just died quietly on their own. "--but that's not the same. No real desolation or anything." Head tilted into his arm, she turns a smile his way and adds, "Prolly cuz I hang out with nice people." Like him. "Some of whom I've got some pretty gripping feelings toward. No matter how casual we're keeping it."