2020-08-09 - Sunday Candy Sundae

Sunday. That was the day they had agreed to, in the morning, to go out for a drive. Nothing could possibly go wrong with that, right?!

Sunday rolled around, and that morning a long absent but familiar sound of a certain motor can be heard before it is turned off. Emerging from the DB5, the windows rolled down to enjoy the summer air, Yule is dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a familiar blue shirt. The sleeves are rolled up, revealing the interior of red. The keys have been pulled out, but left dangling in his hand as the ME approaches the door on Oak street. Seconds later, the door bell goes off, and he takes a half a step back to not crowd the entry way. Unlike last time he was here, there is a certain ease to his appearance. The only small sign of any potential nerves is the light jangling of the keys in those fingers, letting them sway back and fourth as he waits.

Unlike the last time Yule stopped by, there's no music heard through the front door. There are hardly any signs of life at all, even after the doorbell rings. For several seconds, at least. Someone can be heard coming down the stairs just before the door opens. Sparrow flashes a bright smile at Yule before stepping out, pulling the door closed behind her. She's travelling light today, no backpack, no purse, barely even any pockets in those cut-off jean shorts. The dark denim is almost entirely hidden beneath her sleeveless shirt in a pale, muted green that complements her dark purple hair strangely. A black print of a tarot card, XXI The World, takes up the front, and a purple and black bra can be seen through the oversized arm holes. She wears a couple necklaces, but otherwise keeps it light, dressed for the warm weather. Chances are, she doesn't have much more than a wallet and her phone on her person, if that.

Maintaining the distance between them, scant though it may be, she chirps a cheerful, "Hey," and tips to look past him to the familiar car. Straightening, her brows pitch upward with unspoken inquiry. Ready to go?

It's a scant glance over the attire chosen for the day, with the print of the tarot card drawing a faint twitch of a smile to his features. But mostly? Yule is gauging the woman's face, her reactions and expression, before replying with that equally familiar, "Hey." Once that look is cast, Yule is already turning, letting his shoulder bump lightly against her own in an equally unspoken invitation. Out his elbow dips for just enough space of a hand, and taken or not he leads the way towards that car and the passenger side. "No clue which direction we are going," He offers up in anticipation, though not looking for direction from the purple haired one, at least not yet. "Figure we take it one turn at a time, yeah?"

Out his other hand comes to pop open the passenger door for her, letting her slide into place before he closes it behind her and heads to the drivers side. In the key goes into the dash, and with the clutch depressed, the engine fires up. "I have threads to pull," He offers up as his hand grips the gear shift, putting it into first to let them start rolling forward. Fingers splay out just a touch, but rather than dive right in, it's a questioning glance towards her that nearly mirrors the one she'd given him: ready?

The second of hesitation before Sparrow's fingers hook upon Yule's elbow might say as much as the acceptance itself. As might her willingness to answer the question he hasn't actually asked by pointing out, "I was promised ice cream?" even if that idea hadn't really gone beyond a casual pitch in their earlier conversation. It's a direction all the same, right? A destination, anyway. She says nothing on the proposed methodology as she sinks into her seat, buckling her seatbelt while the driver circles the car. By the time he gets in, she's looking entirely at ease, window down and everything. Taking note of the position of his fingers on the gear shift, she stretches her arm out and leans forward... and turns on the radio, fussing with it to find a fitting station to play at a good background volume as she answers, "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

"With nerds on top of it," Yule confirms, before adding in, "and gummies. Maybe." As if that one was on sketchy ground, all a matter of whim and uncertainty as to how the mood will be when they get to the ice cream place. His eyes shift back forward, all to keep an eye on the road as they begin forward. When the radio twists on, it's set to an 80s station. Button presets go from news to blues, leaving anything more requiring manual tuning with the knob on that old style radio. Some quip is at the ready for her response, a small smile spreading to his mouth, but at the last moment it falters, thinking better about whatever words were ready at hand. The first few turns are nearly predictable, given the need to get out of the side streets, but then he begins to pick without a moment of apprehension. "You said you think it'll end bad." A beat of a pause, no guilt in that, just contemplation, "What might be a good ending? In relationships in general for you, not necessarily us." Not placing that particular pressure of /them/ in his curiosity as to her thoughts.

Sparrow gives her hand a little wobble in answer to the toppings as she sits back in her seat, not committing to any candy in particular while they've got a whole day of possibilities in front of them. Her hand falls back to her lap, the invitation unanswered for the moment, the radio tuned manually to a local pop station, setting a different tone than their previous excursions. It's not exactly warm, but neither is it icy, the volume kept low, her bearing comfortable, her eyes more on the driver than the direction he's heading. Of course, it's easy for those first few expected turns that get them out of town.

"Resolution, in general," comes quickly, no real need for thought there. "It didn't feel like we got much of that. Of course, I'm kinda okay with just drifting, too, but that's its own sorta silent resolution. Admission of differences and disinterest through growing distance." With a shrug and a point down a turn that'll lead them generally southwest, she adds, "Or not ending at all, I guess, but." That, somehow, sounds like the less appealing option. If one ignores the odd twitch of a smile that follows, there and gone again in a blink. Whether, by the current unspoken rules, she gets her own threads or not, she counters, "What's a bad ending look like among still-living parties?"

The station is listened to, at least absently, as Yule considers her answers, before a soft snort comes when he's finally processed it all. "Resolution is good, but okay with drifting. That really covers a lot of ground, doesn't it?" One dark brow arches upwards, as if beckoning specifics, but he doesn't ignore the question posed back his way. It's just enough silence for him to safely take a random turn, the signal flipped on at the last second when it's noticed no one is coming. "Violently: being hit by a car, and still living. Counts an admission of disinterest, yeah? Lack of respect. People grow, they change. Sometimes you just outgrow each other. But parting in a way that washes away who the person was and is," Up a shoulder lifts into a hapless shrug as that hand shifts, popping the car back into a higher gear as they begin to cruise out of town, heading in a generally westerly direction.

"A large break of trust." Which of these bad endings he's gone through, if any, he is silent on. It wasn't the question, after all. "Everything ends. Even if it's an old couple silently passing in their sleep together as they nap on their rainbow colored porch swing." He finally murmurs about that particular situation. "How far out are you looking now? Down to just day to day, month to month?" Those words trail off, leaving other possibilities wide open for how she wishes to interpret that particular question.

However much room she's left in her answer, Sparrow doesn't follow that curiosity back toward any deeper details, though that may well be because there's nothing deeper to dig for given the casual shrug which answers his rhetorical question. His initial answer earns an amused wince, a sputter of quiet and undeniably inappropriate laughter. Trust Yule to find a morbid answer to every question. The last portion of his response earns a dubious look, just as amused, but she doesn't issue any open objection.

Easier to focus on the new thread. Well, the next question, anyway. The theme does seem pretty similar. "Depends on the context," sounds entirely like a dodge, but she doesn't leave it long enough for any proper protest to be mounted. "School? Gotta think out a few years, have some idea of my exit trajectory if any of this is gonna mean anything. Money?" She huffs a quiet sigh, good mood dipping a bit. "Need to do better than the one month at a time I've been managing, but." That's a worry for later. "Romantically?" She gives her head a little wobble. "Hitting eight months with someone soon. Pretty sure we'll hit a year. Giving some thought to that significance. And, I mean. I've always got eternity set aside for AJ, so." Head tipped to the side to keep her attention on Yule, she asks, "Why didn't you get the boat?"

It's a dip of his head that comes to each of her prospects in different areas of her life, nothing showing overly so on his features as each one is ticked off. Nothing commented upon, added to, leaving his thoughts about them unspoken as that question turns back to his side. And it? Draws a faint frown to curl at the corners of his mouth. Out of the city they go, heading upon the local highway that, should they not turn off, will eventually get them out to the sea. "First? Promised someone," It's a brief glance towards her, specifically, before those eyes dart back so he stays on the road, "they would be brought along with. Didn't seem right to go without them. Second? At the time, it would have been too easy to just sail off and not come back." That covers the bulk of it, even if there were a myriad of unspoken excuses one could offer up about how busy one was, but it's all excess material amongst the heart of the answer.

"First drive we took? You said it'd last until it wasn't fun anymore." A beat of a pause, those words not accusatory, but curious, followed up with the actual inquiry, "That still your philosophy on relationships? Because," Yule spells it out, that earlier comment in their last conversation about communication hitting the nail on the head, and he'll leave as little room as possible for vagueness. "if this goes somewhere? There will be times it just won't be fun. Few and far between, because if it is /never/ fun, seldom fun, or only averagely-" It's there he pauses, turning the word used in his mind for his own thoughts, "happy, not much point. Good has to significantly outweigh the bad, yeah? But there will always be hiccups."

Sparrow abandons her (exceedingly short-lived) no comment policy to quickly quip, "Don't put that on me," with an eyeroll that ends in a pointed--and amused--look toward the driver. The second half, at least, seems more reasonable, accepted with an understanding nod. Even before the next question is properly asked, her head's wobbling, attention turning back toward the highway before them. "Been thinking a lot about that," comes quietly. "Before you showed up on my porch." She flashes something of an apologetic smile over her shoulder before looking forward again. "I've been seeing someone else for a while now who, on and off, makes it very difficult to keep close. Like pushing people away is a habit. And, uh. I'm kinda keenly aware of the fact that I woulda walked way earlier once upon a time, that sticking around through the bullshit isn't exactly standard policy." She falls quiet for a few seconds, letting the wind, the sound of the road beneath their tires, the song on the radio fill the silence. "I don't know that I've figured it out yet. Not with him. Not with you. Not in general." With another look askance at Yule, she tells him evenly, "I'm not making any promises," without bouncing back with a new question.

"I'm not. I could have powered through it, used it as a way to get closure." But he didn't, "Found someone else to go with me. Said screw it, realize I don't need a boat, and find some other way to occupy myself with a hobby. But I didn't. That's all on me." Yule comments about her quip, "But you did ask the question." He falls silent when she starts in upon her own pondering. It is her very last words that draw a faint smile from the man, a look both appreciative and understanding of that sentiment of no promises. "Yeah. I'm thirty-nine now, and I still don't have it all figured out. Would have been a time I didn't show back up on a porch." Those chocolate eyes flicker to her and then back to the road as the miles slowly clip away, drawing them closer and closer towards the ocean coastline.

"I don't think anything can ever be all good. If it is? It's superficial. People are going to argue. Be passionate. Have different desires. Mistakes happen. Just a matter of knowing what the right balance is, and if you want something that deep or not." Out his tongue dips, sweeping along his lower lip as he pauses for a moment, and if she won't fill the void with a question? Yule will after he takes a moment to tick off all those relationships she's already mentioned. "You sure you have time for this, Cards? I already know you know, but I'll say it anyway, you don't owe me anything, yeah?"

Sparrow huffs a quiet sound of disagreement at the point that all good means no depth, head shaking with... well, an argument. Maybe even a passionate one. But she keeps it to herself for the time being, for long enough to hear him out. And just a little longer. Just enough time for the question which comes after to derail her protest. Hands that had lifted from her lap fall back in place as her shoulders sink. Then lift in a shrug. "Iunno," comes out more as a sigh than actual words. "I mean."

Her forehead furrows with thought as she shifts in her seat, slouching a little lower. "I'm not as busy as I used to be? In terms of how diversified my interests are? But there's more depth and intention now, I guess." Cheek tipped to her shoulder, she looks to Yule and says, "It's only really the two of 'em. And you. Maybe." The left corner of her lips quirks up in a quick grin at that. "It's not a matter of time, Eight." Still down one. "I can make time. Motherfucking chronomancer warlock right here." Like she's pulling hours out of nowhere. "I just. I mean. It's easier to jump when you don't look down, ya know?" Shoulder shrug up high as she admits earnestly, "I'm scared, Yule."

"People can /make/ a multitude of things happen. Doesn't mean they want to. Or it won't stretch them thin. I can't say what will happen. End good or bad," Nope. No promises, but those brown eyes do shift for a moment, studying the woman for a long moment. "But I - we - deserve more than an Iunno. Easier, yeah. But easy isn't always the best," It's those last words, however, that truly seem to mollify him, his eyes shifting back to the road to let the clip of tires against asphalt count off as the ocean comes into view, a sweeping curve taking them along a rather rocky portion of the coastline. "Yeah. Me too."

Those muted words linger in the air for a long moment, before the man soaks in a deep breath, letting it out before he picks that thread back up, unraveling it, tugging to see what comes out. "What scares you? That you'll get hurt?" A beat of a pause, and the other thread woven into it all continues on, not satisfied with just a single poke this time around, "And what gave you the courage to come out, then?" No, not fishing for compliments, more to understand where her state of mind is, what it was that helped to overcome those fears.

Sparrow's brows pitch upward sternly at his pressing, at the issue he takes with her answer. It's a warning that forcing something here isn't likely to go well. Her nose crinkles at the suggestion that her own hurt might be a deterrent, but that's nothing compared to the confused expression that answers the mention of courage. What courage? She makes a face at him then looks away, considering the beachside view out her own window. It's a few seconds before she looks back, courteous enough not to let the wind eat the words meant for him.

"First? I'm not afraid of getting hurt. I've been hurt. By you. It's a known quantity. I can handle that." Her lips purse into a faint frown for a second. "I'm afraid it'll be more work than it's worth, that the good won't outweigh the bad, that we have these ideas of each other in our heads that we're not gonna be able to either quite fit or get past." Beat. "And I'm afraid of hurting you. Cuz I know that no matter how much you say you're alright with fun-till-it's-not, you dig in deeper. And, I mean." The frown settles in fully, if only for a second. "I care about you. I like you. I don't wanna tell you yes and give you the impression that I'm sticking around to work through whatever comes up when that's..." Sigh. "That's not what I'm saying. Not what I'm gonna say. We are definitely not there yet. So. Maybe. Iunno. It's what I've got." Brows pitch upward again as she adds, "And, uh." Blink. "Third?" Somewhere around there. "You said there'd be ice cream."

"Definitely not there yet," Comes Yule's echoing sentiment with that particular point, before he further explains. "Not sure yet I can get past some of the things. The hurt. Yeah, bad might outweigh the good. Might find that we just can't get over things when it isn't easy. Might be a case of all the good memories keep new ones from being made, because we have the wrong ideas in our head." One shoulder lifts up into a faint shrug, finding nothing at fault with any of that reasoning, those issues she brings up. "But, my point being, I'm willing to spend the time to find out. Whatever the answer, yeah? Good or bad."

A soft snort comes from him at her third point, and as if summoned by that very thought, it's a small set of shops off a highway intersection that has him shifting down, slowing. Of course there are the /responsible/ places one could choose to eat at, but that isn't where they go. It's the creamery, which doesn't even bother to put on the potential healthier options of yogurt. It's ice cream, candy, and chocolate heaven. Into the parking lot they come, until finally a spot near the door is found, the engine turned off. "Yeah. There will be ice cream," A beat of a pause, a tick up of one corner of a mouth, "But not in the car. We are eating it inside."

"So you get it," Sparrow points out with a touch of dry humor in her tone, "but you don't like the way I say it." All her maybes and dunnos. All the uncertainty that wasn't there the first time around. "You talk a good game, but sounds like you're in the same wait-and-see place as me." Straightening up a bit as they slow, she angles a small smirk his way on her way to tilt forward to peek out the window, to see what the other options are. Ya know, in case she develops a craving for pizza or dry cleaning to go with her ice cream. Once they're parked and she's got her window up and her seatbelt off, she hesitates, lingering with her hand on the door for a few silent seconds. "I think maybe you should kiss me," doesn't sound as tentative as the words might suggest. It could easily be a command if it weren't five words too long. She looks to Yule only after the words are spoken, expression entirely sober.

"I didn't like the way I asked the question," Counters Yule as to his initial point about the Iunno, "so I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Someone recently told me things should be spelled out," He comments with that same dry touch of humor, even as his hand lowers, pushing the button to undo his own seatbelt. He doesn't have such hesitations, his hand already popping open his door when those words come, he stops the process of rolling up his own window, leaving that side of the car only propped open a couple of inches. "Yeah?" Comes his familiar thought about it all, even as his head turns to settle his gaze squarely on her.

That chocolate colored gaze lingers, considering for a few moments before he leans across the car, gathering in closer. Up his left hand comes to rest fingertips on one side of her neck, just a light contact. "Maybe," It's hard to say if the sound is concurring with her, or pointing out all of that uncertainty in her own phrasing, his nose brushing lightly against the side of her own as his mouth gets so tantalizingly close. And then the thumb of that hand presses beneath her chin, tipping her head up and away, rather than closer. His head comes in, lips placing a kiss, yes indeed, but one that graces her neck, right upon the pulse point that holds the thrumming beat of her heart. It's there he lingers, eyes closing shut for a long moment, just savoring the closeness that brings his familiar scent to her, and hers to him, as if seeking out a known, comforting thing in the midst of all their uncertainty.

Sparrow's scent isn't familiar today. Maybe it's intentional. Maybe it's incidental, just another change, like her list of lovers or her hair color. It's bright, though. Sharp and sweet and intense. A blend of grapefruit and white tea, apple blossom and ginger. A bit more lively than her current demeanor, really, like it's meant to pull her up into its mood when the conversation gets all heavy. Her hand sets atop his, fingers curling below his thumb, eyes already closed when he started to lean in. Lips linger partially parted, anticipating contact which doesn't yet come, both her breath and pulse just a little bit quicker than they had been a minute ago. She could wait, surely, lingering in this nearness as long as he needs, settling into renewed familiarity while the driver's side door remains partially cracked. But she doesn't. She pushes in, closing that last little bit of distance, pressing her lips firm to his. A certainty. A yes. For just a few seconds. To see how it fits. And then her head turns enough to break the kiss, her weight shifting back into her seat, fingers slipping from his wrist.

His own is familiar enough, that whitechapel scent she'd asked for all those months ago. His mouth doesn't linger long, just enough to feel the beat of the pulse, and as he pulls back just a touch, he doesn't break the contact of her own head coming in. In he pushes to firm it up just a touch. It keeps to just the lips, but it's a meaningful connection, testing and letting them see how that warm embrace feels. Not even a nip of her lower lip is offered when the break finally comes, but the hand against her neck? It does slip down, one finger uncurling to tap right against her chest, to indicate where what he speaks of is found, "Your heart is still here, by the way. People might look at you all weird if you keep crossing your spleen," Not that she had ever been anywhere near that part of the body when she indicated it the last time they met on the porch.

Out he slides from his side, the window finished rolling up, doors locked and then closed. "Favorite song you've discovered this year? I need to know if I have to figure out how to change your ringtone away from Doja Cat and to something else," There is humor in it all, even as he slips keys into his pocket and props open the door of the ice cream store.

A rough sputter of laughter answers his observation, pulling Sparrow from whatever floaty post-kiss place her thoughts had gone and back into the here and now. "You make your promises your way," she answers, leaving it at that, the fact that she'll keep swearing on her spleen left unspoken. She's a little slower getting out of the car, another second taken to let her head settle, to try to get some bead on how she feels before following toward treats.

Her head shakes at Yule as she steps past him on her way in, insistent that, "Those are two totally different questions." He gets a playfully pointed look before she focuses on the big list of flavors and toppings, starting to map out her lunch while she answers. "First? No, you definitely do not need to change your ringtone. That is exactly where I want your thoughts whenever I'm calling you." There, she pauses, like maybe she might consider that there are exceptions, given all the weighty talk of worries and hurt, but nah. That tracks. "Second? I've been vibing to, mm. Shura's Religion, Party Pupils' One Two Things, Electric Guest's Dollar, GRiZ's Bangerz, like, alla them. And, uh. Heh. Uh. Blackbear's Hot Girl Bummer." It looks like she might add another, given the little side-eye she turns to Yule, but she decides against it. "And none of that even touches on what I've been playing lately. Ya know. By myself in my basement because who needs a band."

With barely a breath between that thought and the next, she steps up and greets the person behind the counter with an easy, "Hey," and starts right in her order. "I'll take three scoops. The peanut-butter-banana, a dulce de leche and one vanilla. Add some hot fudge, bananas, heath bars and whipped cream please? Thanks!"

"Two threads for one question? Lucky me," Comes Yule's far too innocent comment about the fact that the thought diverges greatly, and even his eyes go a touch wide to show he had an inkling of suspicion that the two may not be at all related. "Good. I'm not sure I remember how to change it," The ME deadpans, his own eyes lifting to scan the list of treats and goodies while Sparrow begins rattling off the bands.

Yes, he is paying attention. Each is listened to, small thoughts of things to look up later. At least until she gets to that very last one. His face falls, and down those brown eyes sweep to just stare at the purple haired woman, as if this might be a test to see if he heard.. "Huh," Comes his non committal comment about this particular band, his mind pondering just how they might have chosen this name and song title. Thankfully, the order comes, and once more that dry wit lifts, "Sometimes, you just have to go beat it by yourself to get the best sound."

"Two scoops of rocky road, and another scoop of chocolate for me." He offers up when it is his turn, without adding on, well, all of that other stuff onto it. In his hand delves to his pocket, a few bills drawn out to cover the costs, "How many classes this semester? You worried about balancing a full load with working, too?" Yes, it circles back around to that one bit she had mentioned about money, it not having escaped his attention.

"If that's a request," Sparrow drawls out to Yule after she places her order, giving him a sly look over her shoulder. Hard to tell if that's an offer or not. She's definitely not looking to get any more explicit in an ice cream shop with kids right over there. Hands tuck shallowly into pockets while she watches their sundaes get made, rocking on her heels restlessly. "No more than last fall," she answers, not bothering to count. "And no, I'm not." The next look she turns to him is one of warning. "I know how to manage my life and time, Eight. Are you worried you're not gonna get enough of me between work and school and the other two? Cuz that's valid, but. I mean. You've gone months without me. A few days between is entirely survivable." She punctuates the thought with a wink before snagging her offered ice cream with a delighted, "Thank you!" and moving back off toward the door. It's a sit outside kinda day.

"Maybe," Comes Yule's response towards her sly question, before a soft snort of amusement comes from the man at that warning look. "First? I can still know you can manage your life and still be worried. Second? /Knowing/ how to and choosing to actually do what you should are two different things," This is even punctuated with a small sticking out of his tongue, a momentary flash of immaturity for the normally so reserved man, "And third? Maybe." Comes the repetition of that word, but it is left up into the air if he is worried, if it applies to surviving a few days between visits, or something else entirely. His own bowl is scooped up after sticking a spoon into it, following along behind her as she leads the way to the outside seating. "You just sounded concerned about finances, is all. Just because I ask you a question doesn't mean I don't think you can handle it, Cards. Promise."

The look which meets that first 'maybe' may well echo that same sentiment back, unmistakably flirtatious. Luckily, the eyeroll which follows not too long after--round about point number two--is turned toward the door, almost certainly missed as they head on outside. She plunks down at one of the tables kinda sorta facing the beach. There's a bit of a rise that makes it all but impossible to see the water while sitting down, but the ocean breeze feels nice on a hot day like this.

Prompt appreciation of her sundae delays any answer, eyes happily half-lidding as she digs in. One might wonder if she's even listening for how fantastically far away she looks, lost in her own world creamy, crunchy decadence. Her spoon flips in her fingers, held up like a flag when she refocuses on Yule. "You keep asking me questions for which that concern is a valid answer." She points the neon-colored plastic utensil his way. "And that's what it is. An answer. I'm not asking for anything." Had he offered? No. The spoon droops as she spends a few seconds staring, untangling a thread of her own. "But I'm willing to imagine that's not what you meant. Like maybe you didn't mean to suggest I'm not good at doing what I know I should while I'm out on a date with the man who broke my heart against the very sound advice of my best friend." Her smile skews sideways as she promises, "I'm alright, Eight. I'll get by."

There is a long moment of silence, his spoon digging into his own ice cream. A generous helping of rocky road, topped off with a bit of the chocolate, and this is savored with his eyes closed, basking in the sun. "I don't want you to just get by." He finally murmurs, apologetically, even as his eyes look over to that rise that prevents the pair from seeing the ocean itself, even if those waves can be heard, the wind felt. "I know how to do my work, and I do a damn good job at it. But if you ask me if I'm worried about making a mistake right now? I'd say yeah. A lot of bodies piling up. Violent ones require so much proper documentation for trials, and that brings pressure. And then there is the fact if one comes across my slab that is /weird/," A knowing look is cast her way as to what he means precisely about that around Gray Harbor. "Just know when I ask those questions? It isn't cause I doubt your ability. But for all of us, sometimes it forms a perfect heap of shit that a hand now and then would be helpful. And no, that isn't me saying I think you need one now."

His own fork lifts up, waving it away, a rueful smile curling to the corner of his mouth. "Think that is one of the things I'm always bad about, yeah? Questions that sound like they are questioning your ability, when what I really want to know is what your thought process is. Your concerns. You have a sharp brain, Sparrow. I like to know what is going on inside of it. I get to see the empty ones all day long." And then one shoulder lifts up into a faint shrug, that smile of dry mirth coming back to him. "And yeah. Might mean just that. Assuming you actually think that being out with that sort of guy is a bad idea, and your best friend isn't just being overly protective. That is, after all, sorta her job." Not a tinge of upset for that advice she'd been given, the man likely haven't expected nothing else.

The look Sparrow turns toward Yule at those first words might suggest he gets no say in that, but who's to say. Nobody sees it, not while his attention is turned toward the rise and the other patrons go about their business. She doesn't feel any need to put it to words, not when she's got ice cream to distract her, happily digging back in while she listens. Sure, she knows what he means by weird, but she hardly acknowledges his emphasis, cheerfully chomping a spoonful of banana, heath bar and whipped cream. Her smile flashes sightly wider for the addendum that he isn't necessarily offering her a hand. Which is probably for the best given how adamantly she seems opposed to accepting one yet.

Mouth full, she nods prompt, potentially teasing agreement with Yule's self-assessment, a little snort of laughter following for the comment about empty heads. "I do," comes before she's swallowed, which means a slight delay before elaboration. "This is a terrible idea. Awful. You have no idea how much you fucked me up." Her eyes widen slightly as she adds, "You fucked me up so bad that I was still talking about how very much you fucked me up just a couple of days before you showed up." Her tone remains conversational despite the topic, though the ice cream might be to credit for her continued good mood, even if she's not actively scooping any into her mouth at just this moment. Grinning, she adds, "But I'm here." Which might mean his earlier comment was well-founded, no matter how much it made her bristle.

"And yes." Her brows arch sternly. "You definitely need to get better at asking what you actually mean, pulling at the right thread. Cuz that?" She gives her head a little wobble as her spoon digs back into her treat. "I can study on the job. And I know Joey prioritizes my studies, so." One shoulder shrugs. "Between that and the pay?" It's a good situation. Ice cream on her spoon now, she points it at Yule, a little bit of fudge dripping into the bowl. "And I've added some psych to my schedule this semester. We'll see how that goes." And then she's stuffing her mouth again.

It is around the edges that Yule's spoon sweeps along his ice cream, getting the goey, half melted deliciousness that is found there from the effects of the summer sun. "Yeah. Two way street, that. Being fucked up. Heart broken. Though I haven't been talking about it," A beat of a pause, a faint smile as those words come out, any anger or the like having faded over the previous months. "Not sure Alexander would remember what all happens in my personal life." As if that was reason enough to avoid bringing such up with that particular friend. "Good. Glad you landed on your feet... figured you would, but sometimes? It's nice to hear the words, you know?' He offers up about her work situation, taking it at face value. It's only the very last words that have one dark eyebrow arching upwards.

"Not looking forward to it? It seems like it would be a potentially good pairing, yeah? With what we'd talked about before and the potential medical uses of psychedelics." He pauses, brow furrowing as a tangent pulls in his head, before a soft snort of amusement comes, "Not sure how I'd have handled going to school near this place, and /knowing/ what this place is. Wondering if the professors are Aware. The whole thing with Beth and the mortuary was creepy enough. Can hardly fathom what my reaction would have been if I'd been a med student, practicing on a corpse, and it suddenly started critiquing my cuts." Comes the dry quip, before a lift of spoon into mouth comes, savoring that ice cream.

"School's in Hoquiam." Sparrow points in what might be a vaguely westerly direction. Only after does she look around to wonder if they drove right past Hoquiam without her noticing. That consideration is abandoned after a second and a half as she sticks her spoon back down into the mountain of ice cream. "And I am looking forward to the classes, just. I dunno. Last year was very much all hard science. It's a change." Which, really, can't be all that much of a bad thing for a girl who changes her hair color multiple times a year.

She fusses with her spoon a bit, not going in for another bite just yet, the corners of her lips slightly downturned. "February wasn't all your fault," comes a little more quietly. "So much awful was going on. I told you Bax was having all these terrible dreams, right? Capital D dreams? And I, uh. He stayed with me for a few weeks. And I helped him work his way out of a very dark place. With this psilocybin analog that's got really vivid visuals and this kinda low-key body high." Her finger taps on the plastic arm of her spoon before she scoops up another banana-y bite. "Definitely effective. Not sure yet if I wanna be that hands on whenever I get where I'm going."

His head tips into a faint nod of understanding at her point, even if that wave off to the west - and the rising hill that prevents them from seeing the ocean - isn't quite in the right direction with their current alignment. "Yeah. But how many live in Gray Harbor," He murmurs, knowing that at least for students? Plenty. His head shakes just a touch to brush aside the thought, before her reasoning behind that 'dunno' draws a warm smile to the corners of his mouth, larger than normal. "Yeah. Change can be good though. Never took psychology myself, beyond the bare necessities. And once into my chosen profession? Well, doesn't exactly help me with my patients." Comes the dry witted mention.

"I remember," He confirms about Bax, and some of those funky Dreams, even if details hadn't been shared, understandably. "It can be hard. I shared with you how I came into my specialty, yeah? Sometimes it just takes that /moment/ of clicking for it all to come together. Hands on, more in research. Even into the drug manufacturing side of it, how to turn it into something that can be useful and shared with more than just a few. Glad it worked for him." His - is it a spoon? A fork? Wait, why does an ice cream shop have - spork! Delves into his ice cream, scooping up more of the melted goodness. "Sorry you never got to meet Noelle, Nat, Ellis. Everyone. All sort of scattered everywhere now. Don't even /know/ where Noelle went off to."

How problematic being a student who lives in Gray Harbor might be somehow doesn't click for the student who lives in Gray Harbor, a blank stare cast across the table from Sparrow to Yule. Not that she lingers there long. She snorts a laugh when he speaks in favor of change, but she keeps her commentary to herself. Almost certainly because she has a mouthful of ice cream. Around which she issues a shallow frown at the reference to how he came into his current line of work, a clear indication that she remembers. "I met Ellis," almost sounds like a question, like she's not sure that brief interaction quite qualifies as actually meeting him. "And texted with Noelle back and forth a little bit?" Her spoon gets a little wobble like she's trying to balance the value of those brief interactions. With an arch of her dark eyebrows toward purple hair, she wonders, "Why? Of all the things to be sorry about, why that?"

"Because family is important. Enjoyed getting to see you with your sister, even if briefly. And," His head tips one way and then another, wobbling a bit, "Family is important to /me/. It would have given you a bit more insight, yeah?" A warm bit of laughter comes from him then, his head shaking just a touch, "You have to /meet/ Noelle to really get the full experience. Texting? That's just the tip of the iceberg." Given the knowing glance he gives to Sparrow, he puts her in that same category, but then Yule? He'd always been older fashioned about his desire of seeing people, rather than just letters on a screen. The last of his ice cream is scooped up, and after he's had a chance to taste and swallow, he stands, plucking up his cup to go and deposit it over in one of the nearby trash bins. "What do you need, from me?" A beat of a pause, before he clarifies even further, watching her closely, "to see if this will work or not?"

That answer doesn't satisfy. It's known information, repetition, nothing new to tug at. But Sparrow doesn't try again from a different angle. She just crinkles her nose and moves on. "Just because you can't get a feel for people in text," she teases, leaving the statement dangling as she gets back to her swiftly dwindling lunch. The extra scoop means she's got a little longer to go to get to the bottom. And she takes the time when he's away from the table... and after that question is asked to finish up, scraping at some last bits of banana and fudge impassively. The focus on her food makes it easy to hide any reaction. Until she finally looks up, swiping at the corners of her mouth with her thumb to make sure there's no sticky sweetness there. "That's a shit question, Eight. What I'mma need is for you to answer it." Her brows bump upward expectantly, briefly, before she's on her feet and moving to throw her own cup and utensil away.

"Right, right. The bucket system of emojis: cucumbers, poop, smiley faces, or laughing faces," Yule deadpans, as if this is the way to see people via text. A corner of his mouth quirks up as he heads back over towards the spot they had been seated at, before a snort of amusement comes from him. "Sorta hypocritical, isn't it? Saying it is both a shit question and then expecting /me/ to answer it first. Talk about a dodge, Cards," While there is a Look that comes with it, it isn't as if Yule has ever been one to back away, especially not when he feels that the question at hand? Is perfectly valid. "A bit of patience as we work through it, find our footing again. Faith and belief that I know the ins and outs of my job. An understanding," It's this last one that isn't about her by any means, but all about him, and the place he is in right now. "that I have other shit I'm working through, and it might make me seem a bit off. I came back to Gray Harbor with a purpose, a point, a desire to be with my family. It's felt a bit... drifting, with all of them out. I'm glad they are, but at the same time," One shoulder lifts up, a hapless shrug, as he murmurs, "So just realize if I get all pontificating about something weird? It's just because I'm trying to work out something in my mind, and if you don't want to hear it? Feel free to tell me to be quiet. But I'll try not to be too meandering for you."

Sparrow owns her hypocrisy with a bright, shameless smile, not backing away from that bounce now that it's been called out for what it is. His look is answered with one eyebrow rising slightly higher than the other, amusement and challenge in equal measure. That good humor falters at the note about his job, the barest hint of color rising to her cheeks as she looks aside. It might be read as an admission of guilt. Maybe. "I don't mind meandering," is easiest to answer, drawing her brown-eyed attention back his way. "We started with meandering. Why would I ever want different?" She flashes a quick, uneven smile, emphasizing how the lack of direction has never been a bad thing between them. "And yeah, I get it. I'd be lying if I said that the family situation didn't factor into me saying yes. Not because I feel bad for you or anything. I mean." She makes a face. Fuck, this is hard. "I do. Not pity, but sympathy. And I get that it was significant that you reached out to me for connection when the rest of your ties dried up." She starts to acknowledge the exceptions, old friends and other lovers, but she's had enough of that awkwardness and moves on.

"But if you're asking me for patience, I'mma need some of that too." That comes with a high shrug, held for a couple of seconds. "I wasn't questioning your competence, Yule. I was fucking scared. I was looking for exits, excuses." Scowling, she turns away, toward the water, much easier to see now that she's on her feet. "I'm not good at worrying about people. I've got enough people to worry about right now. I don't--" Huff. "I'm way better with fun til it isn't."

Each of those emotions she allows to be seen are studied and considered, right up and until she gets to the awkward moments in dealing with family and pity, or rather sympathy. This draws a faint but genuine smile to his features, "Yeah." He gets it, too, what she means, his head dipping into a small nod. "With them leaving, it made me realize that I shouldn't just let things drift away. Sometimes it's worth seeing if you can keep it," That being what they had, regardless of however this might work out, or not. "You aren't good about letting people worry about you, either," He offers up with a bemused quip, no true barb held within. "Sorta the difference between a fling," Oh god. Is that still even a word the kids use these days? "and a relationship. Fun until it isn't. But,"

A beat of a pause, and there is every bit of a promise in there, "I have plenty of patience for you. We might get frustrated now and then, and that's fine." His mouth parts, some other thought about those need for exits, excuses, the /why/ of it all, but part of him knows, understands, and the other part? Doesn't want to tug on that thread just yet, surely thinking it wiser to take what he's been given. His mouth closes, furrowing into a faint frown for a moment, and then? He just steps forward and up to her side. Out an arm comes if she allows, his own gaze casting towards the waters that can be seen over that small rise. It's about her, into a half - but firm - hug she is drawn, fingers tucking in against her waist to keep that drape about her.

Sparrow doesn't reciprocate that affection directly, but she sure as hell accepts it, leaning right on into Yule when his arm goes around her. Her purple-tressed head tips to his shoulder, lingering through the silence which stretches on for several seconds. Eventually, there comes a quiet, "First," to move the conversation forward. "Worry's dumb. It literally serves no purpose. It's an expression of helplessness. And it's dumb." Which might be an admission of guilt? Maybe? Or a disinterest in caring about people? Who can tell! "Second? It really sounds like you're expecting we can just pick up where we left off, deep into capital R relationship, and." She shrugs, shoulder shifting against his side. "Pretty sure we were happiest together when it wasn't that serious, when we were taking things light and seeing where they went. Deeper we got? Worse we were. All these expectations and miscommunications. All this weight." Tipping her head, she angles a look up at him. "What's so bad about a fling?"

Her list about worry has a cast of his eyes downward towards her, though Yule doesn't counter any of those points. His arm remains draped against her, and it is only when it gets to that second point that his head shakes just a touch, "Not where we left off. Figure our way, yeah? Can't act like nothing happened," He murmurs, offering wriggle room into just what that means, still sorting through it all himself. His head wobbles back and fourth, considering, thinking, and when the question comes? It's clear he doesn't have an answer for it himself, already, "You think part of the problem was we started off not taking it serious? And didn't want to break that, which... well," They both know how that went. Not Good At All. His arm offers a light squeeze, even as his eyes look out over that rise, to the swell of waves from the ocean. "Don't have to start off deep. Probably shouldn't, yeah? But," A beat of a pause, a small and - yes, worrying - frown curling to the corners of his mouth as he considers, a brief bit of introspection. "Let's face it. I don't do flings well. Sure, it is all great fun at first. But I have to pull. Unravel. Understand. And that by nature, like it or not, makes things deep."

It's then that arm falls away, Yule turning to look back towards the car, the open road, and the small collection of stores to be had in this little slice of the world. "I'll understand if that isn't what you want. I get it, yeah? Things change." It's that car that his gaze finally fixates on, his head giving a small tug towards it, "Come on." It's accompanied by a faint smile, thumbs hooking into the pockets of his pants as he begins to head that way.

Sparrow shakes her head pretty promptly at the question he settles on, not agreeing with the general premise, but she keeps her counterpoint to herself for now, hearing him out. When he draws away, she straightens, hand lifting to push through her hair where it had been flattened to his shoulder for a moment. "I dunno why depth's gotta mean expectations," she counters as she follows. "I dunno why pulling my threads means you have to tie me down with 'em." Brows arch pointedly, even if he never looks back to see it. When they get to the car, she stills, waits, knowing full well there's no fob to unlock the door remotely, that Yule's gonna need to let her in. She's wearing an easy smile as she tells him, "I don't think starting off light and easy made anything harder. Not at all. I think we've got some pretty big fundamental differences that make getting too serious hard." Her smile edges apologetic as she shrugs. "You like planning. I like taking things as they come. You get super-serious about stuff that I can easily make light of. You wanna rush into danger that I think is just plain dumb." She softens that with a dopey look and the addition of, "You like consistency, and I'm a gemini, so." Not a lot she can do about that. "Kinda easier to accept all the pieces that don't fit quite right when we're not trying to make something more meaningful work, ya know? And, I mean. I think having something happy's got plenty of meaning, even if it's not all heavy and profound."

There is a look cast back towards her when she speaks of using her threads to tie her down, a clear disagreement in that sentiment of expectations and where they had been at. In the keys go to her side of the car first, the door pulled open to let her slip in. "Yeah. There is something to be said about happy," He murmurs in consideration. It's clear various different things are tumbling around, her words offering different perspectives that he picks apart internally. Around to his side he goes, that door too unlocked before he slips in, getting his seat belt on first before the key is plugged in, the engine fired up. So too does he wait for her to get all settled before he starts reversing out, starting down the path of retracing the path they had traveled down to get here. "Gives a whole different spin on the two of coins, yeah?" He offers up, nudging the conversation in a different direction, "The juggler keeping everything up in the air, about balance. You still doing readings for people? Remember you were doing a bit of that after the whole raffle give away, yeah?"

Sparrow may well misread that look, thinking it more flirtatious than intended given the reference to being tied down. If the hint of a grin that answers seems out of place, well. Really, it's his fault for ever putting those ideas in her young, impressionable head. Surely, somebody somewhere who has never met her might believe that. When the door's open, she gets in, rolling down her window again before putting on her seatbelt. And when he gets situated and starts them back toward the road, she reaches over to curl her hand loosely around his upper arm, forsaking tradition but pursuing contact all the same. A bit of a physical bridge to cover the distance between their two perspectives. "Sounds right, yeah," she says of the figure on the reference tarot card. "Adaptability." She grins as she adds, "Fun," to reassert her original read while tying it back to that keeping things light-and-happy point she's trying to press. "But yeah. I still read. When someone asks. And for myself and Zelie all the time. But, uh." With a scrunch of her nose, she notes, "I forgot to bring 'em today." Which is to say she might be remembering just now that she said she would. "Not that I've ever needed them to give a reading." It sounds a bit like an offer.

It's an absent thing, the way his hand grips the shifter lower than he normally would, a loose hold that makes that more traditional hold difficult, yet it does offer his upper arm pleasantly for her to bridge the contact. "Adaptability," That is the word he repeats, mulling it over in his head, letting it sink in far more with his current thought process than the one word she keeps trying to tie things to. It's a soft snort of amusement as she points out she forgot them, a brief glimpse over her figure and the fact she has just enough space for her phone and wallet in there. Maybe. "Sorta figured, unless you have the worlds tiniest deck," And the way that thought comes off? It's clear he wouldn't put it past her, something so tiny that she would still have the aura of confidence to read, even if it just looked like smudges to everyone else. It is a long pause of consideration, Yule truly /thinking/ if he wants a reading or not, before he murmurs, "I like the cards." As if the tangible is something just as important, the choice of decks and presentation appealing to him. "Next time, then."

Sparrow's eyes go wide at the very mention of a tiny deck, and she confirms, "I do! Teensy tiny little thing with these black cards with really simple bright art and purple backs. Really cute." With a thoughtful tilt of her head, she adds, "Really good, too. Very concise symbolism. But! Don't have it on me. Not anymore. Used to actually use it as a keychain, but the little tuckbox started to fall apart, and I was afraid I'd start losing cards, so." Not on her. When he decides to take a reading, with cards, next time, she smiles to herself, slides her hand a little farther up his arm, and tilts in, tipping her head to his shoulder. Just for a little while. It won't likely be comfortable for either of them to hold this position for the whole drive home, but for now? For a few minutes to wordlessly express appreciation for the implied acceptance of their tentative terms of see-where-this-goes adaptability, it's kinda really nice.