2020-09-14 - Got a Lift?

Grant is skating up the road now that he's far enough away from ground zero to look normal and not attract attention with ambient sounds. Just because he doesn't always pick them up doesn't mean he's not aware of them. He spots the '56 Jag convertible, and slows his roll until he can hop off the board, pop it up in hand and run into the car; backpack on his shoulder. His nerves are frayed and his eyes a bit glassy but there is some sense of peace being in someplace 'safe'. His hand pauses with phone in it still and the board is dropped in the front between his feet but so that the seats and dash aren't smudged or scuffed with dirt from it. "God I love you. I'm... I'm so sorry about this." He looks at his phone and sends a message back to Sparrow not in earshot yet.

It is not precisely a car in which to be inconspicuous, but then, Vyv is rarely dressed with that as an aim either, so there's little point in bothering, per se. That said, there's conspicious and then there's conspicuous, and he's doing really quite a good job of not looking like a man waiting in a gas station parking lot for his boyfriend who's evading extremely unpleasant people with guns, and merely looking like a man waiting in a gas station parking lot for his boyfriend (or some similarly mundane reason), full stop. He even manages to maintain this when the sound of a skateboard draws his attention that way, the movment of is head casual and the way his gaze assesses the younger man's state of repair far more subtle in appearance than it is in intent.

The exhalation of relief is barely audible, and a hand finds the back of Grant's neck to draw him in for a kiss, which is decidedly more PDA than he generally goes for, perhaps the main crack in the calm. "I love you too," he murmurs as though someone -- possibly Bax -- might overhear it at a proper volume, and then he's pulling the car out into the street again, on the way to Oak and, apparently, leftover tortilla. "Why are these people looking for Greg? Are you sure they won't have reason to look for you?"

Grant just stays there, in that contact and affection and yes, he absolutely overheard is. He doesn't answer what that was all about for now but leaves his forehead against Vyv's for a moment worried, "What's weird is all I could think is how will I know if you two are okay?" there's a pause, "And where did I left my other shoes?" His hand comes up and brushes over Vyv's before sitting back in the convertible , head back, and letting the car drive them away from whatever sinkhole today is sliding into. "I'll tell you both when we get there. Just don't call the cops or then people might, man." It's gonna be like that Shaking his head his eyes like little penciled in road maps watch the very familiar treeline that usually give a sense of 'this is home' but right now feel more like some too-familiar marker of 'you are still this far away from your destination'. "Hope Hammy's okay."

Mondays are busy for Sparrow this semester. She should be on her way to her next class. Instead, she's pulling into 7 Oak's driveway, collecting her backpack from the backseat and heading inside. The door opening and closing, the thud of the bag as she sets it down, the footsteps moving purposefully through the house: these are not normal weekday afternoon sounds at the Jones' residence. Still, there's a brightly colored Jones stalking back toward the kitchen. She's in dark pink today, declaring her love for Pinkie Pie, matching laces and make-up otherwise rounding out a jeans, sneaks and tee look. First order of business, well-before checking to see if anyone else is home, is taking that potato-and-bacon tortilla out of the fridge and popping it into the oven for a quick reheat while she waits for the escapee and his rescuer to arrive. And maybe, ya know, just give surfaces a quick--and, frankly, unnecessary--wipe down before Vyv gets here. Just to be safe.

Vyv glances down to check the current Bax-shoes, but he just can't-- well, no, he absolutely CAN care about them right now, and probably does, but there's other bits he cares about more. "Who's Hammy, anyway?" is barely one of them, "And why wouldn't we be okay? You were the one in danger." He finds himself driving a little bit quicker than he might otherwise, on their way; thankfully, their path is blissfully free of SUVs with purely decorative turn signals this time, and only one bicyclist, who actually seems to understand that having as much right to the road as the cars does not make him invulnerable to them. It's not until they're reaching the correct block that he remarks offhandedly, "You know I have another room as well. Should you ever need it."

Grant reaches over giving Vyv's hand s asqueeze, holds it there and carefully gets out of the car with stuff. "Vyv, It would never occur to me otherwise that you wouldn't have a place for all your things, baby." He means himself, "Right now, though, I know your apartment doesn't exactly have space for all my things, and I don't want to throw you and what we have out of balance. You being okay is, like, stilla concern of mine here and Sparrow can really use the help. Two birds this it seems."

They're at the door and he takes a deep breath. Look, you are a ghost enough times your priorities get a little weird." Bax comes into the house with his usual knock-a-knock to herald who it is. He's dragging his feet a bit no doubt having that adrenaline crash too. The first thing he dies is wrap Sparrow in a tight hug and smooch her temple. The sigh says it all: the world just stopped spinning in totality. Cool.

First, gratitude and worrying about his bestie here, "Sparrow, like, thanks. For this. I know you can use the Monica rent so I think... I think this'll work. not how anyone planned but... " It does solve a lot of problems while leaving a bigger one afoot like who are the people at the trailer and who is Hammy and what's up with his roomie?

The knock-a-knock is sufficient warning for Sparrow to toss the sponge back toward the sink, rethink this arrangement, go over and place it neatly in the bin from whence she'd snagged it a couple minutes earlier and wipe her hands on a dish towel before she's got arms wrapped around her. The kitchen--and her hands--might smell a little bit mountain fresh, the underlying notes of scented disinfectant cutting through the otherwise pleasant promise of eggs, bacon and potatoes all in one toasty dish. She squeezes Bax to her as she tilts into that kiss, the affection held for two tense you scared the fuck out of me seconds before she lets him go. She waves the towel toward Vyv as she flashes a slightly wide-eyed smile to acknowledge their shared panic before returning that linen to its proper place.

"AJ's rent," she corrects with a crooked frown, half-pouted for all the implications. But today is not a day to dwell on what is missed, but rather what is still very much alive and present. "Monica's rent is currently covered." She doesn't mention by whom. "Definitely would not say no to being back up to a four-way split. And, yeah, plenty of closet space. And, I mean. Basement space too. Not like we've got a full band down there practicing anymore." Beat. "Not like we needed all the space when we did." She stares off at nothing for a moment, lost in her own tangle of thoughts. When she refocuses, she asks both, "Lunch? Late lunch? Lupper?"

Likely during some part of these exchanges, noise would filter through from the downstairs room that had been assigned as a studio. It was vitriolic, toxic as cyanide, the feral shrieking of a gamer that was half past the quarter hour of dragging her team kicking and screaming to a victory. Thankfully, it was muffled in volume through the door, but there were a healthy dose of jeers and epithets, shouts that, "The Rein is fucking hacked, the Mercy is dead, push the fucking point, you jackasses. I swear to god, all of your accounts are bought, you fucking bonobos."

Yeah, great background to pleasant and welcoming hellos. Its punctuated by the sound of plastic and leather being hastily spiked after a cry of victory and some more swearing.

The door opens soon after, revealing the small gamer in a loose tank over a sports bra, loose shorts, and barefoot. Yup, unexpected company on a Monday.

Abitha freezes, because obviously Gray Harborites hunt by movement.

Vyv parks in the driveway, the positioning as tidy as-- well, the majority of everything else he does, really. The squeeze of the hand is returned, and he slides out of the car as well. Notably, he is not quite his usual sartorial self; he's in his whites, presumably having taken time only to remove the hat and apron before departing work. One can assume he was, in fact, actually baking, as well, but it's all still remarkably clean. Perhaps whatever mess there was is waiting back there with the apron, until he's done with the mess that brought him here.

Clearly there's no hurry, however, which is probably odd in itself. There isn't even a flicker of disagreement to the implication that Bax qualifies as one of his things; it may or may not be coincidence that his hand moves to lightly brush fingertips down the younger man's spine about then, lingering in the small of his back for the few remaining steps toward the porch. The reaction to the answer is subtle and complex, tiny shifts of expression that could suggest disappointment or relief or quite possibly both. "Yes," doesn't really give either away, though it does allow Grant's points. So long as you know it's there remains unspoken, along with anything else he might have considered saying, and becomes even more likely to once the knock is made.

"Ms. Jones," he greets Sparrow when she opens the door, giving her a slight inclination of the head in greeting; the hint of a smile is faint, but she does get the wide-eyed look wryly returned. He peers idly down the hall toward the muffled yelling, which gets a quiet "Mn," to no one in particular, though there's an upward twitch at the corner of his lips when she gets to the end of that particular, clearer shout. Bonobos, indeed. "Lunch sounds reasonable. We'll need some delay before we go to get his things gathered in any case. And I believe there are answers forthcoming?" Hope springs eternal. Abitha's ensemble gets a somewhat critical look as she emerges, but there's a polite nod of greeting for her as well. If he indeed hunts by movement, it's already too late.

Grant leans back against the fingers, glad for them there really. He knows Vyv has a room, and he also knows that would be blowing up Vyvspace. Really not taking rash action is its own compliment because that's one place he doesn't want to create fallout. His attention swivels to Abitha's door and he signs Hullo to her when her head pokes out.

Bax's attention right now is on Sparrow, smelling 'mountain air fresh' and having a watercolour of subtle emotions on her face. Many worries, many feelings, and many things. Why they're there matters. Some are his fault and the slight apology in his expression speaks to that. The AJ situation? That's a bigger thing. His lips press together in a small nod. He liked how things were too but that kinder egg will be cracked open in its own time and when she's ready; not forced in front of people. His fingers find her shoulder and then the backpack slides off his.

The smile warms and he offers, "Hey, Lunch sounds great and we can get some more big pieces done. Work on that mural or something." He's still shaking. This is not casual because 30 minutes ago doesn't matter, this is casual because any step toward 'normal' might keep the guy from having a total brain short. Pointing to the spot over there he tells Vyv, a big pleased, "I painted your moon door right over there." It's important. Something good to feel in his shithole of a day. And Lunch offered he finds a place to park his ass he does not have to move from so he can hunker down and just rest.

Still the question to Abitha comes, "Who were you guys running as your tank? You win?" normal problems. Sitting at the table his fingers finds Vyv's watching Sparrow make the magic of food happen.

"Lunch," Sparrow informs Mac cheerfully enough, conceding to consensus in regards to what to call the slightly later than midday meal. It sounds slightly like an instruction, as if the gamer is expected to partake, like maybe she's not wholly convinced that her newest roommate is pursuing whole meals on her own. Not regularly, at least. "Mac," is spoken to Vyv to initiate introductions which are completed with, "Vyvyan Vydal. When you find those neat little cakes and tortes and whatever that C--" Corey. "--brings home from work?" She points to the pastry chef. "He made 'em. With magic." That last word gets a waggle of her brows. To Grant, she notes in a quiet aside, "Monica's rent." And... then realizes the two might not be acquainted yet. Somehow. Looking between them, she eventually asks Abitha, "You've met Bax, yeah?" before adding, "He's gonna take AJ's room for now. You'll be sharing a bathroom." Just the two of them. Cuz the Joneses both have their own. Seriously, this house is ridiculous.

With all of that shot out swiftly, she turns on heel and makes toward the oven to, first, check and make sure the tortilla is looking toasty, then to turn the heat off. It'll take her a moment to get a slice dished out to everybody, but she helps the answer-seeking along by asking, "So, who were those guys, why were they looking for Greg and, most importantly, are we worried they might come looking for you even if only to get to Greg, for whom you are not at all responsible?"

Welp, freezing hadn’t worked, and that look from Vyv only seems to complicated the gamer’s chargrin further. Color slipping up her neck and cheeks, Abitha attempts to at least seem polite, “It’s uh... nice to meet you? And maybe? Had you been to the shop?” Had she put on makeup? Was her hair simply dragged back into a sloppy bun? These were all questions with horrifying implications. Sure, most would consider what she was wearing suitably covering, but the way she acted was... uncomfortable.

“I’m just gonna... be a second...” she comments in a low voice and slinks quickly up the stairs, the door to her room heard shutting. She’d return at least a few minutes later in skinny jeans, a white button-neckline tee and having actually brushed her hair before bunning it neatly with a chopstick. Make-up would just take too long, so the boys were getting a mean-mug. She at least seems a bit more sure of herself once she makes the change. Slipping into the kitchen, looking about to try to grab silverware or napkins, since this was technically her house too, and she seemed to think hosting was expected behavior. There’s a sub-conversational apology offered to Sparrow in passing through for things, as if Abitha had done something wrong.

To Grant, as she’s setting the eating accoutrements on the table, she finally answers, which would seem pretty disjointed given her time. “Sig, Hamtaro. Yeah, we won.”

Vyv would, at any given time, prefer his space not be blown up. He's rarely in favour of his anything being blown up, except possibly balloons, photographs, and once in a while his phone. Nor is he big on his things being shot, again barring photographs, certain alcohols, enemies, and perhaps a hip if he's feeling particularly cheeky. Boyfriends quite definitely do not make that list, and while he still looks calm overall, when Bax's fingers find his they're promptly curled with, quietly claimed.

Sparrow's explanation of who he is elicits a ghost of a smile, and a tip of the head in acknowledgement. "How do you do," he greets Abitha, before she disappears and he looks back to the others. The indicated spot of painting does get regarded as if this is important information, and as though just perhaps one could still see it happening, never mind it was likely a good 8 months ago now. He's of course settled into a seat at the table beside Bax, and gives the younger man a sidelong 'and what language exactly is this?' sort of glance when running tanks comes up. Abitha gets to share a bit for 'Sig, Hamtaro' as well, though he does seem to approve more of this iteration of the clothing. 'We won' is fairly universal in dialects of English, though, so that at least gets a, "Congratulations."

It's the purple-haired woman who gets down to the business of the sort of questions he hasn't yet been getting answers to, however, and that's definitely what's got the most of his attention just now. "That would be a good start," he seconds, somehow resisting the urge to throw in a good continuation. Yet.

Grant watches Abitha curiously and he says with a nod understanding this, "You need a Junk or a Reaper holler up." He looks back to Vyv and says "Overwatch. Game people." He's getting really good at succinct information...except when it matters. His fingers done leave though and take refuge in the hand as sure as he is Sparrow's home and approval.

Oh yeah. That question. The answer doesn't wait for Abitha to leave nor pause for her return leaving this neutral on the news front where it's concerned. Were she a cop he'd expect that bit of info would have been included, but also seems to recognize her just fine. "Dunno who the guys were. I was laying out on the roof when they showed up. I remember it was weird because they knocked. I...I dunno."

Whether he realizes it or not his fingers are clutched around Vyv's while he is tryyyyying to be chill and ride out his buzz he had going but is really more shaking like a leave looking more nervous than he intended to. "Greg's like the biggest fucking supplier in the Harbor. He's good with people. They said something about wanting like a bunch of fucking kilos of cocaine and Hammy who' been kickin it with u, buddy of our was like Bruuuuh you're gonna have to wait for Greggo I don't even think it' like here. And then they were like we weren't asking and that's like when I started texting you." His eyes harden, but get a little glossy as his voice fails him. "I just... I just wanted a nap ya know?"

He sniffles. he's got it together! This is Bax trying to be casual. Shaking his head he looks down at the table because if the place-mat moves that is important and he can reported. Deep breaths there. "I don't even deal I just watch the shop and the trailer so it has a resident! Like the guns aren't even new but no one actually uses them! I didn't get a look I just know they got a black Honda Civic. Not helpful. I know I just... I ran okay? And now I don't even know what happened to Ham." He sighs and combs his fingers into his hairline resting his forehead in his palm. "I just...wanted a nap." One might be able to say that yes, even Grant is really realizing how very not 'ok' this situation is.

Sparrow issues all of zero protest when Abitha steps in to handle some of the stuff-wrangling involved in serving lunch for four. If there's anything at all for which an apology is owed, she seems to have missed it, her smile expressing nothing but easy gratitude. Whatever she might recognize of the geek-speak gets no comment, but the pair of gamers in residence might be aware Overwatch isn't her game. Might be, too, that she doesn't wanna offer too wide an avenue for escape from the difficult conversation. If Bax is in danger, they really, really need to know. Given the answers he offers up, the explanation about who Hammy is and how that conversation went down? Yeah. There's a good bit of quiet, well-contained worry transmitted to Vyv when she slides over his slice of Corey-made potato-and-bacon egg tortilla.

She sinks into a seat across from the couple as she sets the fourth plate down in front of her, though she doesn't reach for her fork just yet. Instead, her right hand is fishing into her jeans pocket to pull out her phone. "You can nap, Baxy," she promises, though there's almost certainly an unspoken later attached. "Think I'mma hit up a friend who might be able to help. The black Civic's a good start. Knowing what they're after's better. But that's nothing you gotta worry about now, yeah?" Except that maybe they'll figure out Grant Baxter was living there too and start looking for him to get to Greg, which is definitely something she is worrying about. As an aside, as she fusses with her phone, scrolling through contacts, she looks to Mac and notes, "Bax has had a real shit day," as if that hadn't been horribly obvious from the information he's already shared.

Abitha rounds out the table with four glasses of water, the drink she could assume to serve without having to do the hard human thing, like ask what people wanted, list what they had, so on, so forth. Humans needed water, so she puts it on the table.

Thankfully the gamer seems to recognize the gravity of the conversation, and leaves the game talk off at a neutral, "Not enough good Junks."

While she wasn't actually a cop, she somewhat orbited the sphere currently. There's the faintest look to Sparrow, a motion attempted to be made covertly, pointing at Grant, then herself, brow raised. AbithA was wondering if the incidents were related, as that amount of criminal drug trade usually had to have the 'organization' attached to it.

But this wasn't her story, so she pulls a phone out of her back pocket and acts like she's texting, though she was really taking notes. Kids and their table manners, right? Oh, and she eats. You don't not eat meals in this house. At least when they're put in front of you.

This is appropriate succint information, that first bit; it gets a small lift of brows and chin in understanding, and a near-silent, "Ah." All Vyv needs to know about that at present: where to file this. 'Games' is a folder in the file cabinet marked 'Only Vaguely Interesting' and, currently, also in the vast portion of storage labeled 'Not Even Slightly Important Right Now'.

Keeping Grant's hand is decidedly more important right now, and that he can do, even if everything from sniffles to the description of who and why to the ease with which Bax might have been in the living room rather than on the roof has itself set squarely outside anything resembling his comfort zone. He ends up approaching it all from somewhere closer to familiar: "So would this be why your father disapproves of that lot, or is he just quite a good judge of character?" It's almost certainly the nicest of the several comments and questions that come to mind.

There's water and food, and both get a tiny nod and just audible "Ta," when they're given; Sparrow's quiet and contained concern is mirrored back, if one knows to look for it and the tiny tight shift in his jaw, just as there's a faint narrowing of the eyes that suggests he may have caught Abitha's gesturing, even if he doesn't really know what to make of it. What he does know is that Bax is sniffling, right there, and if he's not especially good at dealing with that sort of thing, at least there are some solid facts here to deal with. "There can be naps," he seconds Sparrow, and if she knows someone with more expertise in this sort of matter... well, currently, good. "And any information is better than none, on any problem. Is Ham a maestro, at all? Could you speak to his mind?"

Grant is not having a total mental meltdown so that's a plus. Always harder to get as a result when the wiring is somewhat faulty to begin with. There's the fam... well the better fam, and there's food. It's enough right now considering everything. That anyone would be looking for him still confuses him, and hopefully he's right. not knowing anything really is sort of a mixed blessing with crazy people.

He pokes at his eggs and looks up with a worried look, telling Sparrow, "Theff are wiwwy 'ood." Not waiting to compliment, just stuffing his face. Comfort food is full of comfort. For Vyv's benefit Grant's not looking to be put back together, just have a safe place to be unbolted and come undone. The 'coin operated boy' is down for repairs today. The question about his dad's utter disapproval on that whole crowd gets a one shoulder shrug and he signs yeah with a nod of his fist. "I can text him." Which is a no either Hammy's not a 'maestro' (glimmer delver), or Bax's brain is way too off-focus right now to try. The suggestion is still good.

Looking up to Sparrow and Abitha he says "Preeeeeetty shitty. And... thanks." Sparrow gets a faint smile that's borderline bleary grin, "You're amazing." To Vyv he finishes answering the earlier question, -and why my dad likes her." She is going to school! Clearly the Jones' are the responsible ones.

All Sparrow has to offer Abitha's understandable curiosity is a helpless shrug and a slight lift of her phone, which probably indicates she means to find out. Quietly, she notes, "We're in a no cops situation," when the other phone comes out. Just in case Grant's admission of some awareness of his missing roommate's business dealings wasn't clear enough. Whoever she's reaching out to, then, isn't likely with law enforcement. Given the way she makes the odd face at her phone as she rapid-fire texts whoever's on the other end, there's a good chance this is a personal relationship of some sort, her expression crossing through irritated and into warm before sinking toward sobriety and resolving, in the end, with a comfortably contented smile when she finally looks up. Just in time to tell Bax, "No texting Ham yet." In case the baddies have his phone. Or something. Look, somebody watches a lot of movies.

Setting her phone down, she picks up her fork, but doesn't yet dig into her cooling lunch. "My friend's gonna head over and see what he can see. If it looks clear, he's gonna come grab me, and we're gonna head over and grab some of your stuff. Think I've got a pretty good idea of what's important, but if there's anything you wanna be absolutely certain we don't miss, lemme know?" Plan shared, if not yet approved, she finally eats.

Abitha's mouth opens into a round shape and purses inward to form what almost resembles a whistle. No sound emitted, but a clearly understood, 'Oh.' she deletes the text she was about to send asking de la Vega who the guys for drug crimes were. She adds one more thing to her notes before also setting her green geometric cased phone face down on the table.

She makes a final, anxious sweep of her eyes around the table setting. Condiments? Yeah, she'd put out salt and pepper. There's a brief look at the fridge, a worry she should have put out hot sauce as well, but... Well everyone was digging in already... Besides Vyv, but he didn't look the type, in his clean whites and with a French sounding business... Butter, maybe?

Fuck it, she seems to decide, just tucking into the meal for herself. Her eyes briefly find the clock on one of the appliances. Sparrow might not have been far off in her concern for the gamer's meal frequency.

Look, Vyv can't help wanting to fix things somehow. They're all out of proper control, which is to say, his. And Bax is unhappy. He can handle holding a hand, though, and as long as Grant seems to want to maintain that, which appears to be 'indefinitely', he's going along with it. It may have bearing on why he's the last to dig in, giving the tortilla an appraising look before cutting himself a delicate bite with the fork. Reheating is ideal for few things, but there are only a few people in this town he trusts more than Corey in a kitchen. A little extra salt and pepper ends up added, but Sparrow seems to have reheated it to a state he considers still worth eating. This is a compliment.

A tilt of the head suggests he's not entirely sold on the texting as an immediate option, for whatever reason -- maybe, like Sparrow, too many movies and evening dramas. "Yes. Your father does seem to have an eye for that." Go on, guess whether he approves of Vyv. The chef's lips purse slightly at the stated plan, silent for a moment while he eats, and then he nods once. If there's anything that bothers him about it, it's being overruled. "How much do I need to bribe you to forget to pack any pair of shorts or trousers with pockets installed below crotch level?" he inquires of her instead. There's really nothing in either tone or expression to suggest that it's a joke, but then, the English are known for dry humour, aren't they?

The hand holding the skater's tightens subtly, and he asks him, a touch quieter, "Do you want me to stay with you here, or do you want to come back to mine until your things arrive?" It's two offers, not an either/or; other options are not excluded.

Grant stops chewing and looks up to Abitha low key fretting and murmurs to her, genuinely, "Thank you." whether it's for no cops or the food fussing, or the joining them or the filling a part in Sparrowspace? He doesn't say but he means it. His eyes get larger, and more expressive though he's over all beat tired, "Really?" Stuff rescuer!?? His shoulders slump in relief, not defeat easing back in his chair. "That'd... be amazing. Um... Yeah whatever's easy. My um... " he taps his left hearing aid hunting the word for it, "My charger. There's a box there with bits and parts. I got my meds on me. The rest you know and later we can just go back."

It's a lot to move one's life in a hurry, and there's also the sense this was long coming and would eventually happen somehow. He's at least smart enough to always keep his damn meds on him in case an emergency or, god forbid, a seizure or something. There is agreement to not text anyone on prem, however, because while he does want to know if Hammy's okay there's a little part of him that still wants to punch him because the likelihood of him going "Bax might know' and drag him into that is above the fifty percentile mark. For now? There's a sigh and options. "Stay?" Is this a clarifying question? Seems an invite. He hasn't even added his dinero to the rent yet, but hey, he does have a job. "That'd be amazing and I really don't want to ...go back outside and see if anything is looking for me." Taking a deep breath he murmurs, "I should text Greg tho."

Looking at them, Abitha too he murmrs, "Thanks, fam." Usually the other group he'd say that to; danger group. The people that are 'friends' because they are stuffed in a space and are entertained, but not the ones that ever really have one another's well-being in mind. This? This is different. Absolutely healthier.

"I mean," Sparrow asides to Abitha after catching her reaction, reconsidering the broad prohibition against any police involvement. "If you can keep it nonspecific?" It looks, for a second, like she might add some other qualifier or clarification, but nothing comes. There's just a vaguely uncertain expression that might offer some insight into just how very little she's ever had to give serious thought to the implications of involving law enforcement in the business of her friends and their friends. They don't wanna get Greg in trouble, right? Even if he's the reason trouble's falling on Bax? Man, this stuff is hard. Way easier to just shove another forkful of eggs and potatoes into her mouth and not say anything more. Not on that point.

As to bribery, however? Oh, yes, she knows exactly the price of providing no low-pocketed pants. Meeting Vyv's gaze directly, she tells him, "A week's worth of hand-picked indulgences, of your own creation or otherwise. Things that make you happy. Sorted over seven nights." Her brows pitch upward in challenge, a grin teasing at one corner of her lips, but she doesn't hold that look long. Now's not really the time to sink into playful negotiations with her best friend's boyfriend. Now's the time to look to Bax and assure, "I gotchoo, boo," with a quickly blown kiss. "And you're both welcome to stay. I'll make sure Corey knows we might have guests for dinner. Of the exacting variety." She really does make it sound like everything's just fine. Like maybe she even believes it. What's not comfortable about sharing a meal with friends. Nevermind the tight hand-holding, the worries about cops, the concerns about the guy left behind in the trailer with the gun-toting bad guys. Everything's fine.

Abitha doesn’t really know what to do with that gratitude, since honestly, all she’d done is set the table. She looks down at her food a little bashfully and makes some strange mix of nodding and shrugging that could be acceptance, and could be playing it off. She was chewing. Yeah, that was the ticket, she didn’t need to answer if she was chewing.

Sparrow’s hedging has Abitha blankly looking at her, then slowly tipping head back and aside in thought, eyes lifting to the middle distance. After a moment, she simply shakes her head, swallowing and holding a hand in front of her lips, “Nah, nuff on the cops’ plates I know.” Another forkful is lifted, then paused. “Unless it’s that thing...” A knowing look traded with her roomie, “Then... Well I can work certain things in as a vague data point later leaving certain things out.” Her eyes sweep to Grant and back. A passing thought, though, has her picking her phone back up.

“Setting the cameras to motion sensing though...” she comments under her voice as she clicks through a few things. Cameras? When did she add those?

Vyv arches one brow at the look of challenge. "...so six others, then. Mn. All right, I suppose. But I'll require at the very least a best-effort prevention of other means of getting hold of them for at least that long, then." The tone is entirely calm in the way that how his hand is being held is not, and perhaps not the holding in return either. Difficult to be certain on that end, which is almost definitely how he'd prefer it.

It makes it a bit more of a production to get his phone back out, as he gives Grant's question/answer a second, this time unadorned, "All right," and even more so to send a quick text, probably to tell whomever he left in charge of his kitchen not to expect him back for a while yet. Possibly 'today'. It's done, though, and the phone disappears again, the fork reclaimed. A glance to each of the resident women, and a, "Thank you," before he takes another bite.