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Jay: Scrap returns to the city oddly drained after the day at school, though miraculously he hasn't gotten into any fights there yet. On the other hand, he's only been attending for a couple weeks, since the people at the last public school politely suggested he not come back, ever. As always, finding a parking spot is next to impossible, and he's halfway tempted to try to drive Gabe's tiny Aveo onto the back of a random large truck and leave it. But in the end he doesn't, just parking a block away and returning to the apartment building, giving silent nods to the people on the stoop as he goes in. He lets himself in (making a mental note to explain again, later, why Gabe should lock his door) and tosses the keys onto a box near the door as he calls out. Or, speaks in a more audible volume, anyway. "I'm home."


Sophisticated Bix: Though she's been 'home' all day, she and Gabe have said maybe two words to each other (the rest were yelled), maybe hoping to get it all out of their system before Scrap got home and they had to have niceface on for a while. But once they'd retired to their respective corners, she'd found herself on the couch with the news on TV that Gabe had left on, and no remote. Hours later, she'd painted her toes to look sort of like skittles and learned... probably way too much from CNN for one sitting. But finally, Scrap is home, and she perks up to look over the back of the couch and wrestle herself out of the comforter she dragged off the bed to launch up and at him, "THUNDERCATS ARE GOOO!"


Jay: Well, at that greeting, Scrap can't help but smile, understated as most of his expressions are. He raises his arms in time to catch Bixby in them, casually tossing her over a shoulder in a fireman's carry, feeling some of the drained feeling evaporate. "Looks like you used your time wisely today." Strolling into the 'living room' area (which right now consists of a second- or maybe third-hand couch and a somewhat outdated TV, which is set on a much more outdated and nonworking TV instead of a table), he cranes his head to the side and bites the girl's ass.

This is, naturally, when his brother emerges from his bedroom, giving the pair a slightly disapproving, questioning look from under those intense eyebrows while he sets his tinydog on the floor. Scrap straightens, somewhat, removing his teeth from Bix's ass to give Gabe the questioning look right back. "Snarf?"


Sophisticated Bix: The fling over the shoulder isn't entirely unexpected, but being as she decided to don a bikini top in leu of a shirt today, all the movement sort of jars the outfit enough that it's obsolete. The Dickies shorts put up a good resistance against the biting, but nevertheless there is a pleased squeal for the sensation and a half-assed punch at his kidneys and legs flailing and failing to make contact with his stomach. And then Gabe just has to come in and theres biting and boobs and well it WAS fun.


Jay: Gabe doesn't comment on any of the myriad of things worthy of commenting on, instead shaking his head and ambling to the tiny kitchen area to open the fridge, retrieving a bottle of some terrible flavored water for himself, and a can of dog food for Nuggs. Scrap watches him for a moment, displeased, until the kicking legs distract him enough that he wraps his free arm around the knees to still them. Then it's off to the couch, where he lifts the girl up all too easily and tosses her onto the furniture, a little carelessly, but he doesn't follow it up with the people's elbow, at least. Instead he drops onto the couch, and Bixby, half-sprawled and maybe accidentally burying her face in the comforter there. He stares at the screen for a second, then looks around searchingly. "...where's the remote?"


Sophisticated Bix: There is a thudding sort of 'ughd' sound from the back of her throat when she lands on the couch, toes probably smudged a good deal from the ordeal, but forgotten. At the question, she rolls over and heaves herself half way over the arm rest to point accusingly at Gabe, "So there IS a remote!" She probably could have gotten up and changed the channel manually, but oh well. Day no more or less productive. "Just mad cause I walked in on him in the shower." She shrugs, flopping backwards and across Scrap's lap, grabbing at one of his hands and rubbing her lips idley over his knuckles.


Jay: Scrap's attention also turns to Gabe when Bixby accuses him, and he shifts sort of thoughtlessly to let the girl rearrange herself as she chooses. Since he keeps up that unfailing attention, Gabe gives in a little after feeding the dog and makes his way to the couch, digging the remote out of the pocket of his camo cargo shorts - ignoring how fucking cold it is, being the middle of winter - and handing it off to Scrap wordlessly. Odd as this silent behavior is, the younger brother's attention is caught by Bixby's words, and he looks down at her suspiciously. "...and what did you do then?" Because he knows her, of course. And he also knows Gabe, and unwelcome shower attention could very well explain his brooding.


Sophisticated Bix: Apparently they're all hotblooded around here, everyone strutting around in shorts like Boston is famous for it's tropical winters. She glares at the reveal of the remote and how easily she could have gotten it this whole time, but no matter now. She knows the tone Scrap is asking in, and while the usual response is more defensive, Bix just shrugs, popping of those fingers into her mouth and rolling it around her teeth, eyes glancing back over at the TV like it's suddenly so interesting, "It was warm in there, and the rug was comfy. Toes ain't gonna paint themselves, bitches."


Jay: Or the heater just works way too well. Scrap's eyes narrow minutely for that response, which is pretty harmless as far as Bix things go, so he hands the remote to her carelessly, not so interested in it anymore. "Oh..." Turning his head to eye Gabe uncertainly, where he's sat himself down on an unpacked box instead of trying to find room on that couch, he waits...but not for long. "You've got something to say?"

Apparently deciding that the shower incident isn't worth complaining about (and not wanting to get into another disagreement about Scrap just leaving his overage girlfriend thing here while he's gone), Gabe rolls off a shrug, also looking at the TV in faked interest. After a moment, he unsurprisingly finds something else to complain about, because he has a list. "The school called earlier." This causes Scrap's eyebrows to contract into a minute scowl once more, confusion and displeasure. "I didn't do anything wrong."


Sophisticated Bix: She smiles around the digit in her mouth, because for once, she gets to win one without an argument. "Bitches..." She mutters again, not having to look at Gabe to know he's making some sort of face right now. She can feeeel the face happening over there on the boxnotcouch. However, the mention of the school calling is interesting enough for her to look up at Scrap curiously as watching a ping pong match about to begin. "'Course not." She agrees, hand running up his arm to rest on the side of his neck, "Wait. What did you do."


Jay: Scrap smiles almost reflexively for Bix's quick agreement, freeing that hand from her grasp to pet over her head fondly. "Nothing at all, I swear." He actually sounds sincere in that, not the little kid denying guilt, returning the bewildered look to Gabe, who shakes his head in agreement. "No, it was just something about an optional field trip in a couple weeks. But I'm wondering, why they're calling me, and not Mom?"

At that, Scrap does look away, shrugging nonchalantly. "Because I'm here more often." Or, always. He's hardly been back to his stepfather's house since switching schools, actually, except a couple times to get clothes and necessities. Aware of this, Gabe still doesn't look appeased. "Yeah, but I'm not your parent. It wasn't you they wanted to talk to, it doesn't matter if you're here - Mom isn't."


Sophisticated Bix: Now she finds out there is a phone, too, and that she could have been answering it. And what the hell else is Gabe keeping from her? But thats soon forgotten as she hears 'field trip' and for whatever reason, is entralled, despite being confused as to why the hell someone wouldn't WANT to go. But the ping pong match has started and before their weird stoicspeak starts, she sits up and faces Scrap to start manipulating his eyebrows around with her thumbs in some sort of mock expressions, about to reach over and do the same to Gabe but thinking better of it and taking her hand back before it's bitten off at the wrist. "Can you both NOT, with the not-face? 's like you've had a stroke or somethin and can't emote..."


Jay: As Bixby sits up and starts molding his face like play-doh, true to form, Scrap's only reaction is to widen his eyes a little. Gabe, on the other hand, rapidly leans back before she can even finish reaching. He does not look impressed by this interjection, but then, when does he look impressed. Scrap laughs a little bit for it, then puts on a wide frozen rictus of a smile, like the idiotically happy lunatic might in a photo at Disneyland, speaking through his teeth. "This better?"

Gabe sighs, because he's not being attended to, but obviously he should be used to that. So he lifts his bottle of lame-water and kills it as if it were a beer instead, setting it aside and giving Nuggs space to hop into his lap. "I really wish you wouldn't put me in these positions, Michael." Snorting, Scrap lets the smile die to look at Gabe, displeased by the use of his name and the serious tone. "What's the big deal? Mom probably wouldn't even be around to answer the phone. Just put on that falsetto voice, the one you use to sing in the shower." This is coupled with a sly look at Bix, maybe a little nudge, because surely she's heard that singing.


Sophisticated Bix: She smiles for his efforts and nods, fitting her knees against his sides and hanging backwards over the couch, squirming a bit at his knees digging into her back but otherwise comfortable, making little clicky sounds to try and get Nugg's attention. At the mention of shower singing, she snorts, "Somethin like that." But the standoff they've been having all day was enough, and instead of starting it up again she starts patting around the couch cushions looking for the phone. "I can call! I'm an excellent caller! Gimmie!" And passing for his mom on the phone? Maybe crossing a creepy line.


Jay: Gabe sighs - again - and comes quite close to rolling his eyes. "Scrap, I'm about to start working there." Part time, anyway. "Don't you think they'll catch on if my contact number's the same as yours?" Though marginally distracted by Bixby's gymnastics, Scrap gives Gabe a quick look of unconcern. "I think they'll catch on when they realize we got the same last name. Might wonder why you're still such a dork that you live at home, but...then again, they have met you." A quick almost-smile takes the sting from this statement somewhat, before he leans over and presses his mouth to Bix's tummy. But rather than doing anything that might make Gabe feel the need to vacate the room, he only blows a loud raspberry into the concave skin, then lifts his head enough to talk. "That's a great idea, doll. Think you could do a southern accent?" Not that their mother has one, but whatever.


Sophisticated Bix: "Apply cold water to burned area." She rattles off at the insults thrown Gabe's way, who just takes them, as per usual. Making a pouty face at Nuggs for the snub, she hangs limp until that suprise attack on her stomach, a giggling yelp giving way to an impulsively swift punch to his flank. Deciding there is too much blood going to her head, she does a lazy sort of sommersalt off his lap entirely, stumbling around for a minute before heading to the kitchen, overly exaggerating her walk like Mae West while drawling, "I've always depended on the kindness of straaaangers... Or are we goin for more like Forrest Gump's mom? Or- OH! I could be George Bush!" She muses excitedly, rooting through the fridge for alcohol and coming up empty, seeing as the only other person who can legally buy it probably doesn't often.


Jay: Gabe indeed takes it, like the bitch he is, giving Bixby a Look that says their truce is being strained a little but saying nothing as she saunters off. Scrap gives a hollow breathless noise for that unexpected punch, though it doesn't impair him for long, folding over some when Bixby crawls off him. "No, I was thinking something not related to Texas. How about Bobby Boucher's mom?" Straightening up, he can tell that Gabe still has things on his mind, so he scoots to the end of the couch nearer his brother. "Gabriel, if they call Mom about field trips it's one thing. If they call her about me getting into a fight or something, you know she's going to freak out - and to what end? So she can try to find a different reform school to shove me into? I've only got a year and a half left."


Sophisticated Bix: There is one lone beer seeking refuge in the back of the fridge behind some takeout boxes, and it's a something-or-other-lite but it'll have to to. Closing the door reveals Gabe (or her, in a forgetful moment of neglegence) has left a little pamphlet for outpatient clinic services magneted up in full view. Quickly grabbing it and shoving it deep into a shorts pocket, she cracks the cap off with a hiss of, "Drugs and girls are the DEVIL..." before returning to sit on the improvised coffee table, looking uneasily between the two matching non-expressions before her, engaged in stalemate combat.


Jay: Amused by the prompt impersonation, Scrap nonetheless doesn't break his eyelock with his brother, though he tosses his boots up onto that improvised coffee table merely to be able to nudge at Bix's thigh. Giving in, Gabe sits back, spreading his hands like he gives up. "Whatever. I just think she'd like to hear from you once a while, that's all." Scrap blinks, because when did that come into the discussion? but he nods placidly, not sure what he's agreeing to but not caring so long as Gabe stops making that face. "Sure. So what's for dinner?" Leaning forward, he snags Bixby's beer, taking a sip, then making a disgusted face and handing it back. Since the remote is just sitting there, Gabe retrieves it, but doesn't stow it in his pocket again, instead going to channel surfing.


Sophisticated Bix: They seem like they're done, but knowing them, the argument is going on silently between them still like an electric current she's just never going to be able to tap into. Smirking at the displeased look when her drink is handed back, a thought from earlier. "Gabe you speak Mexican right? Or somethin?" Taking another drink and gesturing with the bottle, she waves a hand towards the door, "Cause I made friends with those gangbangers that hang out on the sidewalk, and they were all 'maricon' this and 'gringo chico' that. Didn' follow." She leans forward intently, squinting a little like she expects to read the translation off his face, "Think 'm too Polish for all that. What're they on 'bout, hm?"


Jay: Gabe isn't sure if that question is directed at him, or if Scrap is hoping that Bixby is becoming domestic or something, but he's luckily distracted before he can find out. "Or something, yeah." He looks a little perplexed, those fuzzy-caterpillar eyebrows contracting as she continues. "Who were they talking to? Or, about, I guess, because it wasn't you, with those terms." Scrap accepts the silence on dinner, because this is more amusing, sitting back with a hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth.


Sophisticated Bix: She shakes her head, waving her hand for emphasis and maybe spilling a little beverage here and there, "No no, called me 'munequita' an smiled alot. Think they're talkin about you guys." She raises an eyebrow in wait, honey-eyes still fixed on him like it doesn't occur to her they could have negative connotations, because they're just so fucking friendly, how could they be?


Jay: Scrap becomes remarkably less amused at that, eyes narrowing, nudging at Bix's thigh with his steel-toes to request attention again. "Which one was calling you that?" Gabe snorts a little at this display of possessiveness, even though Bixby's other comments aren't all that amusing. "Well...one of those means 'little white boy' - I guess that must be Scrap. Although it is colloquial, doesn't mean white people specifically." Because Gabe does not look very white, obviously. He maybe conspicuously does not translate the other term.


Sophisticated Bix: She nudges right back, shrugging, "I dunno, they're sorta a collective, plus, hard to tell one wifebeater shirt an topless girl forearm tattoo from the nest. Friendly group'a fuckers though." Noticing that Scrap maybe doesn't seem as pleased as she'd like him to be, Bix settles herself back in his lap, back resting against his chest and shifting just suggestively enough to get comfortable as she pokes him on the face somewhere with one skinny finger, "White boy." Her gaze goes back to Gabe at his silence though, "Sooo the other one is, what? Indeterminate origin slur? Wait, whats your dad even? Scrap won't let me over there." Maybe for good reason? Maybe.


Jay: Still minutely displeased, Scrap circles his arms around the girl suddenly in his lap anyway, snapping his teeth at that finger. When Gabe looks reluctant to answer those questions, the amusement returns to Scrap's eyes - he doesn't have as much spanish as Gabe does, but a decent working knowledge, probably picked up when his family was in California. "Maricon means faggot...colloquially." He adds the last bit for good measure; pretty sure it doesn't mean anything else. Gabe shifts at that, gives his brother another Look, but addresses Bixby. "No? I'm sure dad would love you. He's Nepali, in part." Obviously where Gabe got his dark skin and razor cheekbones, though where that heritage went on Scrap is anyone's guess.


Sophisticated Bix: "Well, at least, they didn't seem to say 'faggot' in a -bad- way..." She snorts, trying to hold it in, but can't stop the flurry of laughter that spews forth, doubling over with it but held up by steady arms around her midsection. "But no! Really! They like you! Or... the idea of you. I guess." She looks behind at her current seat, frowning a little, "Hear that? 'Would love me'. Heard!" Gabe is not the type to fistbump, but she wishes he were, because now would be the perfect time, and plus she's starting to feel a little antsy and hitting anything sounds good.


Jay: Though Scrap didn't initially laugh, Bixby's little fit causes him to do so, tilting his head to the side to hide his face against her back, because if he doesn't, the look that's surely on Gabe's face will make him laugh more. Rolling his eyes at both of them, Gabe shunts Nugget to the floor and goes back to the kitchen, finding more water and checking for anything edible in the leftover boxes. Recovering from his mirth, Scrap sits back, petting Bix's tummy lightly. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't meant in a good way, munequita. Dad might love you too much."


Sophisticated Bix: "Munequita..." She tries out again, but it just sounds so damn white coming out of her mouth, and damnit she lived in LA, she should have this down. Forgoing food in favor of smoking, she fishes the pack out from where it's buried in the fluff of the comforter, which is now on the floor. Reaching a slow hand into first her pocket, then Scrap's and coming up empty handed for a lighter, she sits up on her knees, digging them probably cruelly into Scrap and accusing loudly over the back of the couch, "Damnit, Gabe!"


Jay: Scrap might smirk a little, just because his pronunciation is better, hah, leaning back into the couch and staring more or less thoughtlessly at the television. Gabe finds nothing in the fridge, so returns, but looks surprised at being accosted. "What?" He looks at Scrap, whose face tells him nothing, then back at Bixby again, as he retakes his box seat.


Sophisticated Bix: She rolls her eyes at his innocence, straightening her bikini shirt momentarily and all but lunging for his cargo pockets, intent to find a source of fire being withheld, as well as whatever else he's been keeping out of her reach all day. "Lighter." She deadpans, able little hands searching through the contents of his pants as sure as they do anything else. "'s like ya seriously think I'm gonna go all Left Eye or somethin."


Jay: Undeniably, he has been keeping some things in his pockets and out of her reach, but lighters are not one of them, just not something he thought about much. "I don't have one." But he lets her rifle, lifting his arms out of her way and giving Scrap a querying look. "You got a translation for that part?" Scrap shrugs carelessly, because surely half the things the girl says he doesn't truly listen to. He does, however, lift his hips, digging the lighter out of his back pocket, because the front pockets on his school-uniform pants are mostly useless. He hands it off to Bixby, but naturally steals one of her cigarettes in turn. "Do we have any food in this place? At all?" Ignoring how 'we' don't really live there.


Sophisticated Bix: Even if 'we' did live here, not all of 'we' is responsible for mass food consumption. Beaming for the lighter, she considers that she hasn't given out any proper welcome-home-kisses yet and takes in the first drag, only to press her mouth firmly up against his to shotgun the smoke into it, now settled more comfortabley on his lap again. Pulling away with a pleased grin, she shakes her head belatedly at the quesiton, "No. Unless candles & goldfish crackers are food. I mean, they could be... but no. 's a terrible idea."


Jay: Scrap happily accepts that second-hand smoke, tilting his head back to exhale before leaning in for another kiss, possibly nibbling at her lower lip, because he's hungry. Gabe blithely ignores the PDA, shaking his head at Scrap's question. "Not unless you want to share Nuggs' Turkey Delight." Which probably has no turkey in it. "We could call out for something, I guess. Or Bixby could make herself useful and go see if any of her new friends are making carnitas or mole enchiladas." Finally releasing Bixby's lip, Scrap lights up his own smoke, humming and repeating in a dreamy, wistful tone. "Mole enchiladas..."


Sophisticated Bix: Hungry or no, lip biting is encouraged, and soon she's half forgotten about her cigarette or whatever else, draping her arms over his shoulders to focus more attention on making out, slowly diverting to his neck before hearing her name and perking up. "Uno momento!" She gets up probably too quickly, again teetering around for a moment with a headrush before getting her surrounding stable and going to the window to lean out and apparently make some requests, backside nicely displayed as she shifts her weight from leg to leg.


Jay: A little startled when his lap is suddenly evacuated, Scrap looks after Bixby, torn between displeasure at suddenly being left, and approval at the idea of homemade Mexican food. And now that she's temporarily vacated the area, Gabe drops onto the other side of the couch, pointedly not looking at said backside. "She even makes that sound really white, doesn't she?" Scrap snorts, absently smacking Gabe in the solar plexus. "She is white, maricon." Which just gets a glower from Gabe, naturally. While Nuggs, maybe excited by everyone speaking his mother tongue, follows Bix to the window and hops up at it, not quite reaching, yipping.


Sophisticated Bix: She glances down at Nuggs being all excited, reaching down to tuck him under one arm like a prop and getting some kind of loud response from below. Though that may be because she's hanging out a window in winter in no shirt. Whatever helps. Just as they're making jabs about her ethnicity, she sticks her head back inside to ask, "You want guacamole? I don' even gotta throw panties down fer that. They'll just include it. Fuckin' ace!"


Jay: Gabe actually perks up for the mention of guacamole, but Scrap looks somewhat distrustful. "...they include it with what? And what did you have to throw down to get the initial stuff?" Because he knows Bixby well enough by now to know that her interpretation of the barter system is a bit...different. Fishing the remote from his pocket again, Gabe changes channels until finding a Spanish tele-novella just to create atmosphere.


Sophisticated Bix: She over exaggerates an exasperated look for that question, adjusting Nuggs as he squirms like he wants to go be with his people below, "Fer my unrivaled company and fuckin fanciness! 'm a cultural oddity in these parts now." She says goodbye out the window in what may be German before closing it and putting Nuggs down, dragging her mini backpack off down the hall to the bathroom with her, sing-songing "And all the Westins say pretty fly for a white girl" as she saunters away.


Jay: Undoubtedly, Gabe mutters under his breath that she's an oddity in any parts, but it doesn't seem entirely malevolent. And Scrap, pleased, watches her sauntering with an amused expression, because yes, she is an oddity. "But she's my oddity." Gabe decides just to not comment on the mix of possessiveness and smugness, instead getting up for the knocking on the door. There's a small Mexican child of indeterminate age and gender outside, who babbles so quickly that Gabe can barely keep up, but once he responds the child streaks off, with a warning that his mother will be right back. Which is a little daunting, but hey, free food.


Sophisticated Bix: Bix does what Bixes do best, although she pauses at the knock on the door because, damn, that was fast. She was maybe a little hungry before, but now that she's all fixed up that feeling has mostly dissipated. Oh well, maybe they'll bring booze like real friends would. She's probably gone a little longer than she means to be, like always, but eventually drags herself out and gets to the couch, melting into the seat and curling up against Scrap's side, "Was there jus' a Fraggle at your door?"


Jay: The extended bathroom trip might pop Scrap's bubble of content, but of course, it doesn't show at all when Bix returns - he's his usual stoic self. Gabe has disappeared, maybe to retrieve the food items. Scrap encircles the scrawny girl with an arm, drawing her more into his lap. "Nope. His name is Enrique, and he's got five sisters. You wanna buy one? They're all birgin. Even the divorcee with three kids." And this is probably the absolute truth, because otherwise, it might be racist, and Scrap surely wouldn't make a racist joke.


Sophisticated Bix: She assumes somewhere in the back of her mind that the drug use bother Scrap, but as long as he chooses not to comment on it, she doesn't have to let it bother her. Or anything, for that matter. "Mmmm okay. But you gotta translate. 's kinda sexy." She glances at the other end of the couch and then at the door, Gabe's absence slowly dawning on her. "...you let yer brother go in there alone? They'll eat him alive." She doesn't sound entirely unamused with that image.


Jay: Scrap just snorts at that, not sure why his translations would be sexy, but he doesn't question it, because she doesn't look like she's in a state of mind to hold onto the topic anyway. "Sure. It'll be good for him. Anyway, his translations are better than mine." Strangely, he seems kind of intent on the soap opera, absently twisting his fingers through the longer part of Bixby's hair as he watches.


Sophisticated Bix: "Ya just... do cool things." She decides on that cool finish, clearly fixated but distracted at the same time. While he's distracted by women slapping each other and evil twins showing up on TV, she starts up another cigarette to replace the forgotten one she let burn out, pressing her forhead into his shoulder tiredly. "Hey, 'm gonna get a job. 's that okay? Can I do that?"



Jay: Not sure if that first comment is random, or a continuation of something, Scrap detaches his attention from the TV to look down at the Bix in his lap. The next statement doesn't do anything to clear his confusion. "...what sort of a job?" It's very difficult to imagine Bixby in customer service, or in anything that requires any sort of concentration that last more than five minutes, but he tries not to sound disapproving.


Sophisticated Bix: He doesn't seem to keen on the idea, but she doubts its in a 'I dont want my wife working' sort of way. More like a 'what the hell are you good at' inquiry. She shrugs, turning her head to the side for smoking purposes, "Stripper." At least dealing with drugs and casual prostitution has gotten her well aquainted with some sort of skill set, and even enough math to figure out when she's getting fucked over. They never mention that part in 'fuck it, I'll be a stripper jokes'.


Jay: "No." This comes out before he can even think, before Bixby's response even fully penetrates; it's just reflexive. And then, once he does understand, he adds on just for good measure: "No." And it's that solid, not-fucking-around voice, coupled with a perfectly serious, unflinching facial expression that makes people understand that Scrap does sometimes relax, because he usually doesn't look like this.

Faced with that, Gabe - coming in the door with arms overloaded with covered aluminum food containers, and Nuggs dancing around his feet - thinks his best bet would be to go back out the door and return to the hectoring Latinas, but...no, he kicks the door closed and takes the food to the kitchen, just not asking.


Sophisticated Bix: She's actually suprised at the response in every capacity, the quick reaction, the stern no-nonsense tone, and while she's maybe heard it before once or twice, it wasn't like this. She actually does look up at him for the second emphasis, not sure what to do to remedy the situation, "But- really? 's not that bad! Not like I'm fuckin anyone..." Gabe is more or less ignored, but if the conversation at hand weren't so serious, she'd probably be laughing. And disappointed there is not a girl and/or child in tow to keep.


Jay: Scrap only stares, his eyes maybe going a bit wider, a tic which some people have undoubtedly seen in the moment before he hits them. For a second he even wonders if she's joking, because surely she doesn't actually think that would be okay...but no, it is Bixby. So he just shakes his head firmly. "No, you're not fucking anyone. Neither are you taking your clothes off for anyone, and especially not for money. No." As if this conversation is completely over and done with, he looks resolutely to the television, stealing Bixby's cigarette for a needed drag. And Gabe just pretends he's gone temporarily deaf.


Sophisticated Bix: She still seem perplexed as to why this didn't go like she'd thought it would. He's usually so passive about other things she does that maybe this didn't seem like such a big thing to consider. But clearly something about irks him enough that he has a look she hasn't seen before, and it's enough to have her sit up and occupy her own area of the couch, not taking her cigarette back and not making eye contact. "Mmkay..." She says, clearly not understanding but not willing to push the subject when he looks that intense. Hard to say whether she should be afraid of the reaction, or pleased that he feels attached enough to get possessive.


Jay: Sitting up somewhat straighter when Bixby moves away, he looks over at her, still looking fairly 'intense' but more questioning now. She sort of has the same look that Perry gets when he's found out chewing up dirty laundry. "I'm not mad at you. Just...how could you think that would be acceptable?" Granted, she has different ideas sometimes, but this is something obvious, so he thinks. Certain that food can only improve Scrap's temperment, Gabe wanders over to set a bowl of guacamole and a bag of chips down inobtrusively before moving away again.


Sophisticated Bix: Gabe looks like one of those guys feeding the creatures in Jurassic Park, and again, it would be insanely amusing in another situation. Even though he says he's not mad, whatever mood she's gotten him into now almost seems as bad or worse, and she doesn't like the intense stare so much anymore, "I don't know, it's like... legal and all. And it's just naked! Naked is- its just all the time! Not new! Just seemed like somethin I could easily do & I wouldn' really be doin anything bad." Bad, legal, maybe these have the same meaning to her in a sense.