2020-10-08 - When Everything is Difficult

Recent days have left everyone a bit to upack literally and emotionally. This afternoon, however, Grant shows up with paper bag in arm and dressed sort of like an adult. it's getting chilly out which means long sleeves and layers back. The hunt for Dream Wifey location begins, however. "Phee, I picked us up something on the way home. Just... don't tell that I picked up a couple guys on the way home." Lo, he did. Ben and Jerry. Phish Food specifically. There is a method to this madness.

"No messing around in communal spaces," Sparrow chirps back at the confession about coming home with a couple of guys. Nevermind that there's only one set of footsteps and no other voices. She's a bit focused on her homework at the moment. Settled in the center of the couch, she has a highlighter in one hand and an intimidatingly large textbook spread across her folded legs. Her leggings offer a black backdrop that complements her black-and-rainbow sweater which has begun fraying at the cuffs in evidence of wear. Some low-key music plays in the background, eliciting the occasional headbop, but she hardly seems to be paying attention at the moment.

Grant pauses and looks down into the paper bag to the ice cream and stares for a moment. "You heard her. Keep it clean." Carefully he pulls it out with a spoon and sets it on a coaster for her, spoon on top. While leaning pausing to press a smooch to her forehead, and a glance stolen down at the tome of text. An eyebrow arches. The subject doesn't make more sense to him written upside down. Huh. A hand, admittedly a tad chilly pauses giving her head a brief scritch and asks cautiously, "If I'm interrupting your flow I can bounce. Thought you could use the pick me up." peace offerings for a busy ass day.

Sparrow doesn't look up until Grant's movement passes through her peripheral vision as he moves to set the pint down, leaving her open to forehead kisses and scritching. The book is definitely in a different language. Sure, the words are english, some of which are even recognizable upside down, but the contents are inorganic chemistry, and there are a great many words that look like they'd probably be unpronouncable even right side up. At least the diagrams are neat? Capping the highlighter and closing the book, she lets both drop onto the cushion beside her. Whichever side looks least likely to end up with a Bax settling in. "I never say no to ice cream," she lies. Certainly, she could think up several ice-cream-inappropriate situations if she tried, but... why? Better to reach over and snag the Phish Food with a smile toward her BFF. "And I'll have plenty of time to study at work. What's up, cutie?"

Grant settles in and looks at the text right side up. Ooh pictures. Helpful! Okay not helpful to him but neat. Looking at the page he murmurs, "I'm having flashbacks to failing my way through Hebrew School. That Greek or Latin or are you reading Tolkien?" He knows it's not Tolkien, but the eyebrows go up no less with curiosity. He works at peeling the lid off his ice cream and tries, best he can, to jam the little plastic spoon in it and poke at the pretzel bits in his.

"Well," digdigdig the spoon scrapes some together to make a good sacrificial first bite. It's how he collects his thoughts really. "You know I've been thinking a lot about... a lot since the fire and the thing s in the paper and people acting weird and I'm... I dunno I'm stuck?" It's a guess word. A sigh later his shoulders drop and those warm brown eyes find hers and he admits, "I'm pretty aces at doing dumb shit first and realizing I'm breaking more things than I'm fixing. I heard something and was gonna just try things and kinda... "His fingers, spoon in hand hover and he hunts the words he wants. "I don't want to fuck with things and make them worse. And I thought... you've had enough people changing your shit on you without talking to you and... and I didn't want to do that to you too, ya know?" It makes no sense all together but it's a Bax way of finding the solid parts of his thought construct to throw out there as anchors for discussion to form around.

"Necronomnomnomicon," Sparrow declares of the abandoned text, abandoning all attempts to summon evil food for the moment so that she might enjoy the wholesome goodness of some Ben & Jerry's instead. After she's gathered and partaken of her own first bite, sadly lacking any chocolate fishies just yet, she points her emptied spoon at Grant and cheerfully tells him, "Key is to just not think about it," in answer to his stuckness. When he sighs, she looks away, not quite masking a faint grimace while she tries to focus on fishing out one of the fudgy candies with her next bite. Which she doesn't end up taking. Cuz he keeps on talking. Both pint and spoon sink lower, drawn down toward her lap as she angles a look his way. "I don't need a hero, Bax," lacks the brightness she had just a moment ago, bordering instead on motherly, stern. "When have I ever needed a hero?"

Grant counters, "You're my hero?" he, however, taking notes of the shifts, keeps picking at his pint. "And the answer is never. But... I also know you are a mad wicked genius and I thought... " he pauses shaking his head looking to her apologetically, "I wasn't thinking. I was feeling, but...since shit went loopy I know the world's been giving you and Vyv a hard time and I don't... like the world being wrong on facts. It's really hard to deal with when it does that."

He looks at The Look:tm: back at him and says sheepishly, "I didn't do anything but grab ice cream I swear." Still he glances to her and wonders out loud, "Phi...if someone changes something and we have, you and I, a way to go to them and make them change it... is that a good thing or you think this is one of those things where it'll get worse and worse? How do we make things fair again? Should we sneak out and try?"

Sparrow rolls her eyes with a good-natured dismissiveness at the suggestion that she's ever been heroic, reading the line as cheese regardless of any honesty with which it might be delivered. That uptick doesn't last long, though, sternness surfacing again when his expression takes a turn toward the apologetic. That disappointment is turned, then, toward the ice cream, seen now for the bribe that it is. Rather than keep her hands cold while she's not actually partaking of the treat, she leans forward to set it back down, looking toward Grant again as she sinks back against the couch.

"First?" Eyebrows go up. "I haven't accused you of anything. There is no what did you do coming from me, okay? So, stop being weird. You legit have nothing to be looking so small and unsure about. It's weird. Cut it out." She gives that Mama Bird look one more second before dismissing it with a deep breath, preparation for moving on to the rest of it. "If you're asking about using the mailbox? I can't see any way that makes things better. They aren't benevolent. We're expected to play by their rules, but their rules are designed to fuck us over. And? If you write something? What's to say you don't end up on that thing's radar and get your own revision?" With a shake of her head, she mutters, "Someone needs to make it all stop," like it's gonna lead into some bigger speech... but then nothing else comes.

Grant listens and looks to his ice cream taking in the wisdom there. The game rules are there to screw us over. His mood dims slightly . Where his last situation would have him trying literally anything without thinking about consequences he looks to her and nods slowly. Slouching he sighs and murmurs letting it all go, "A'ight. But if someone starts talking shit no promises I win't tie their shoelaces together and give em a push, deal?" There's a hint of an impish smile. It's momentary until a thoughtful look and a spoon of Chubby Hubby takes its place. "Ya know i never thought of that." He considers the long list of things squinting, "Really think they can make it weirder?" There's a pause and his nose wrinkles, "Don't answer that." There's a small wince for that and eyes go across the room and back to her, "Sorry for making shit weird. Most of my stuff is torched so it might be some arrogant want to have control over anything at this point to try to make it right. Juvenile, I know." There's a small grin that is growing "I can be a schmuck sometimes like that. I know. I'm working on it. So you down for painting later or what?"

"The fuck is with your self-confidence today?" Sparrow doesn't allow any time for Grant to actually answer that question. Really, he doesn't need to. See above re: house burning down and everything being kinda terrible lately. "Bae. Wanting to find what you can control when so much feels outside of your control? That is one hundred percent a rational, grown-up response. However." She shakes her head, pointing in some random over there direction. "We have pretty much literally zero control over the capital-W weird stuff They inflict on us." Is that true? She certainly seems to believe it. "So. Think about smaller things. Think about things that make you happy. Focus on that. Focus on what is legit within your ability. And don't think too hard about the stuff that isn't." With a shrug, she says, "Been thinking maybe I should get a place closer to campus. Farther from this. It'd suck to give up this house and living with you guys and being so close to everyone, but. Hoquiam isn't that far away, just." A couple seconds tick past. "Far enough." As to the invitation for painting? She seems to have missed it in everything else.

Grant considers this and wiggles his foot idly when she asks him about his self-confidence and stares. Yup. The house burning to a pile of contraband and cinders is really that answer there. A small nods confirms as much when he seems the math add up. He scoops another spoon of ice cream and holds it out for her instead musing, "Well you make me happy so. Maybe while we're both wondering about life's big questions and strange shit this is the perfect time to not make big decisions." He notes quite officially, "I'm giving you one of these chockie covered pretzel chunks because I'm pretty certain they're magic on their own merit."

Still there's Hoaquim and it makes him wonder, "Are... are we growing up, Phi? Is this happening?" Ca't possibly be. Stretching he says, officially with a bit of energy pickup, "I think first we should figure out what we want, then? Then dinner. Maybe not in that order, but eventually. Like if you could have the power to be anything or do anything what would you do -aaaand no I'm not going to put it in a mailbox." Because there is that part of his brain that legit would.

Sparrow gives Grant a very wry look when he suggests they're both thinking about life's big questions after she has, more than once, stated that she is very specifically not thinking about things. Except moving. But that's hardly existential. "I was born grown-up," she lies. As if he hasn't known her damned near most of her life and all the shit she's gotten up to. Or run away from. Or just, ya know, chose not to think about. When asked after what she wants to be, she points aside at that big old chemistry text book with both hands. "I do have the power to be what I want. Which, clearly, is starring in some cheesy Hallmark movie about the power of the American higher education system in which we gloss over the student loan debt issue." Even looking past the dry humor, there's been enough uncertainty about her major over the last couple of years to make one question how sincere she is in her answer. "What do you want to be? And what does Vyv want to do about his problem?" The ice cream might help improve her mood more successfully if she were actually eating it.

Grant nod sagely and says, quite officially, "Well you always were teh more responsible out of the two of us." It's a low bar with him but a bar that is at least present. A compliment's a compliment. The comment about student loans quirks a grin, "And you wonder why my fickle tuchas decided not to go? I'd be racking up debt for fucking ever." There is a sigh and the question is one of wonder really. "Ya know I dunno? I think he's using the spite to fuel his purpose of proving people wrong, but definitively? I dunno. Honestly? I asked you first." He does eat the bite of ice cream and says, decision made, "Space Cowboy. I mean some might all me a gangsta of love but, hmmm, space cowboy or Space Librarian are my retirement plans. But I think ... with everything burning this might be one of those woodland clearcutting things where I try to figure out what I need, but... I dunno. I kinda just want to paint. Skate. See the world. Many worlds. When we try something unexpected we can only learn about ourselves." He pauses and adds with a punctuation of the spoon biting a bit of pretzel, "Not getting shot? High on the list."

"Pretty sure your options for anything space-related are gonna require the acquisition of a great deal of student loan debt, but." Sparrow regards Grant with a wide-eyed earnestness. "That's a direction. Not fickle at all, so." She shrugs noncommittally, certainly not telling him school's the only path to the stars. To that point, she adds, "It's either that or get super-rich somehow and sign on when space travel turns commercial, but pretty sure that's more tourism than wild west. Still..." It's a start. "Keep grinding, yeah?" She probably means skating more than any nose-to-the-grindstone nonsense, but there's no clarification. "Is there a risk of you getting shot at? Cuz pretty sure nobody knows to even look for you--" If the lack of reports of anything suspicious from either Cris or Mac means anything. "--and it's been a while. Not, like, you should be over it a while, but definitely it looks like you're in the clear a while." She nudges an elbow out to bonk into him, some tactile evidence that he's still here, he's alright. "But we can definitely drop something and paint." Two birds, one tab, as it were, creating art while seeing new worlds. "That's what Fridays are for."

Grant when asked point blank if the risk of being shot at has gone up both eyebrows raise and he looks super legit concerned. "I hope not?!" Did his voice crack jsut a tad? Yes. Yes it did. He didn't think of it that way but now he is. "I was just asked not to and it seemed a really good idea to just, ya know, roll with that one. Why did you hear-.... okay heard nothing. Good. Good." Oh,, logic, you scary thing you.

"Fridays, best days." Stretching his legs out he shares, "We're moving the skate shop into building two. At work. Thinking about setting up a paint station there. Get my own airbrush and look at learning how to use one. I figure I got a ladyperson working on a website I might as well populate it. Ya know? Paying rent's good. Paying rent and buying lunch better." There's a wry grin there and even is his bossman is MIA on 'work stuff' he's got something even if it's weird. "Winter's coming up though. Was thinking of hitting up the safeway to be on the safe side." There's a pause and he asks, concerned, "How long it take to get to Hoaquin?"

Sparrow just watches Bax as he works through the likely risk that he'll get shot at any time soon and her own figuring that it's probably fairly low. She tries to smile encouragingly when he meets her at her conclusion, but it's a bit half-hearted, like there's still some lingering concern. Maybe not about him being shot, but who knows what else she's worrying about. It's a bit easier to settle into something nearing good cheer again when Grant gets to talking about work, a crooked smile angled his way as she proudly points out, "That's some very grown-up thinking right there." The grasshopper taking to winter work, all ant-like, gets a curious arch of her brows, but she doesn't press about what sounded like a potential second job. Instead, she answers the question. First, with a shrug. Then, "Twenty minutes? Give or take. Depending on time of day, traffic, weather. It's not like I'm moving to the moon or anything. Just out of the radius of my abusive relationship with Gray Harbor in which I love it and it slut-shames me, makes my parents disown me, fucks with my boyfriend's head and tries to eat people I love." The mirth in her voice may well be sarcasm. "I feel zero shame in admitting that I'm beaten."

Grant snugs down in the couch and considers this, "Twenty minutes isn't bad." He says thoughtfully with a wry grin, "Partly why I'm dating someone with a car." Clever that. The grin picks up a hair there. The car never played into it but it is nice and also useful to have. The approval of 'grown up thinking' surfaces a point of pride in return.

"In theory if you moved to the moon I would move with you. Space is easier to see when you're in it." As opposed to Earth being out of Space? He's ignoring that feature. The rest pulls a furrow of his brow and a frown, "You should never have to feel shame, Sparrow. You're the bravest person I know. I don't know why this city is like it is and I don't like how to permanently fix it, but aside from playing by Their rules I dunno what we can do." Taking a deep breath he lets her speak of this things beating her down, hand finds hers to hold it and give it a squeeze. "Well, I still love the shit out of you, and in spite of this place? You're brilliant and going to do great things. Being in or out o this place can't stop that, you know it right?" A pause later he offers, "I Don't know about Dreams. That's your territory, but the veil part? I know how to get us there if we want to walk over and register a complaint and figure it out. Maybe you can make sense of it and maybe we can undo it. Whatever you wanna do I'm with ya. Me, Corey. Gray Harbor doesn't change that shit. Thoooough." He wonders, "Your boyfriend? You try to go dream tripping with him and help him see truths in that capacity? I'm curious how that might work."