2025-01-07 - Good Morning, Tarjay

The Tarjay is 24 hours, so there's always someone wandering around these brightly lit aisles. Though tonight/this morning is early enough that it's not all that many people. Low, pleasant music plays in the background, the morning team partial to easy listening. Most people ignore it entirely, even if it is Carly Simon.

Lala's just off work from a 6 hour shift at Radio SPL, doing a last minute shop before she heads on back to Silver Brook. She's bundled up, as she'll be all winter, in layers of various shades of grey and black. Black leggings, knee high boots with very little heel but a chunky sole that still brings her height up just over 6', various sweaters and a leather jacket over it. She has a basket in the crook of her arm slowly filling with various airquote foods. In it now: mashed potato cups, mac and cheese cups, oat milk, grapes, grape candy, Red Vines, Pretzel and Sea Salt Dark Chocolate, mini marshmallows, dark cocoa powder, a multi-pack of resistance bands, and now she's standing in the freezer aisle staring at the selection of premade cookie doughs.

Well. She's standing there with a basket on her arm, phone in hand in front of the cookie doughs. What she's actually doing is scrolling social media.

It's late for Lala, but early for Declan. There's a matinee show today and that means early rising. 100% a night owl, being up this early is not his jam. Perhaps it's his legendary preparation that has him at the store scrambling for a few essentials at this ungodly hour. He is decidedly not bundled up. In fact, the fool is wearing shorts. At least he's got his Notre Dame hoodie on, though.

These are not his hours to know what's going on in the park or at Tarjay, so to see anyone around in any capacity is a bit of a shock. Sure, everyone has their own duties and schedules, but who would choose being awake now??

He's grabbed a basket from the entrance as well and has a couple basics in it. English muffins, almond butter. There's still a few things he needs non-food wise too. And the cookie dough aisle? Well...that's an aisle he just doesn't bother looking down. Resist the temptation! And...there's a flash of someone there.

That perks him up a bit. It's the DJ he met at the laundromat, Lala. He turns down the aisle but still resists temptation to look aside while pointing a grin straight her direction, albeit a little muted. "When in doubt, get'em all," he calls out in a husky (thank you, early morning froggy voice) Northern Irish accent.

Lala only ever sees the sunrise from the wrong side, as most people might see it. And inside Tarjay, there's little sense of time of day anyway, so really it's internal clocks only in this place. Just as she's finishing hearting something on a video feed, Lala cracks a big ol' yawn, head tipped back, and a hand covering her mouth.

Lala Coward, standing in temptation's path. All the easy bake cookies just waiting to be taken home to a hot oven.

She glances up, then down the way toward that voice. She squints, and her grey-eyed gaze starts at the shorts and travels up. She grins when she spots the hoodie and then calls back to Declan. "Excellent point." She drops her basket on the floor with a thud, then goes about pulling open the cooler door, and selecting several flavors one after the other, dropping crinkly packets of portioned cookie doughs atop her other questionable items. It takes but a moment. She hip checks the door closed, then eyes the basket. Eyes Declan. "Hey, Irish. Bring your morning voice over here and come do me a solid?"

She should have gotten a buggy rather than a tiny basket for her arm.

"Oh my god, she's absolutely mad," he calls out with the driest, faux-shock ever. But his grin only grows. He certainly did not expect her to actually go through with it! There's still time to retreat, to abandon this foolhardy plan! He strolls on over at his usual pace and eyes her calorie-laden basket. "Not really a planner, eh?" Truth be told, he would have been mere moments away from overloading his own basket.

"What can I do for ya?" Declan nearly leans against the chilly door, but the cold stops him dead and he repositions. He's definitely waking up now. It's like a cold plunge, but with near-frozen air. Same thing, right? That and Lala's presence does a lot to snap one out of dull, drowsy fog.

He gives her a quick once over and suddenly feels that much colder as she looks downright cozy. There's a momentary pang of light-hearted jealousy.

Lala taps something on her phone with her thumb and tucks it into her jacket pocket. She watches the man approach, then glances down at the basket. "What about that seems unplanned?" Her voice is a little rough with overuse tonight, but it's her job to talk, and talk a lot. Still soft and yet easily heard. Her brows go up slightly and she watches a casual lean turn into a tactical retreat. Her lips press together, but will she resist comment?

Nope. "You look a little chilly, sweetheart. But I like your hoodie." A think like that said casually may give a person who's lost his hoodie collection before a little pause. But it's an innocent phrase, isn't it? "Since you're over here." Since she called him over. "And you look a little cold, mind carrying my basket?" ULTERIOR MOTIVES.

Rough and husky, two different voices, and two different reasons. Doesn't their little exchange just sound sultry? They're talking about cookies and baskets, hoodies and the temperature. And yet, someone from the outside looking in could imagine it being drastically different if all they managed to here was the tone."

"Yeah? Never went here--" He looks down at the big lettering for 'Notre Dame' with the big leprechaun mascot beneath it. "--but someone thought it suited me. Can't imagine why..." He gives a little eye roll and shrug, but that grins stays firmly in place. "And hell, a free hoodie is a free hoodie, right?"

When she gives her reasoning, Declan just nods slowly and presses his lips together in a tight smile. "Ah, I knew it..." He reaches over for her basket and slides it off of her forearm. "...just using me for my body." There's a shake of his head, feigning distaste and sadness. "Should've known..."

But he cuts his gaze to the side and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips while he looks over that lovely Lala. "Where to next? Unless...you still need more cookie dough." It's posed as half-question and half-accusation.

Lala's smile returns when she says, "That's my motto." Free hoodie is a free hoodie indeed. "What, you're telling me it wasn't your dream to go to a school with the mascot that's," she pauses. "What is they call themselves? Fighting Irish." It takes a second to come to her, or she plays it off like she didn't know right off.

She mms in confirmation of using him. "You let me know there's other things you like being used for."

At his question of 'where to' shakes her head and says, "Seems like you're after more things here. Lead the way. I'm along for this ride until we hit the checkout." Which means there's a chance she'll find other things to put in the basket Declan's now carrying.

"'Preciate you and your biceps. My arm was gonna fall off before I put in the six pounds of cookie dough." He was right before, she's not that much of a planner, at least not when it comes to this kinda activity. "

He chuckles softly and shakes his head. "Wasn't my dream to go to any school, much less one that was a little too...'on the nose' for a man like me, aye?" He sighs and shakes his head a bit, happy to be leading the way out of the refrigerated section. "Besides, you know that stupid-ass saying, right? 'I'm a lover, not a fighter'." Of course, that could be true, but seeing as how he's built...

"Darlin',--" he starts with that accented word again. "--I can used for many things. Just gotta use your imagination." On they go, hanging a left and moving down to the 'Snack' aisle. An interesting choice, perhaps. That is, until it becomes apparent what he's looking for.

"That'd've been dreadful for your poor ol' arm. I'm happy to swoop in and save th'day." He sniffs a little bit and clears his throat. "You can just save one of those pounds of cookies for me in a few days, right?" He reaches forward with his free hand and grabs a low-carb box of protein bars that look like they taste like cardboard.

"I hear you on that one," Lala says, "I wasn't too excited about it myself, but when your mama's a professor, don't get a lot of choice in at least tryin' the thing." She glances over, taking stock of the build he no doubt spends hours on in the gym. "Don't remember the last time I met a man built like you didn't know how to handle himself in a fight, though I guess the larger you are, the less like somebody is to full the cord on a fuck around and find out."

Snack aisle means she's grabbing a couple little packets. Some korean bbq jerky, a box of peanut butter crackers, wasabi almonds among them. And thusly Declan's newly acquired second basket is further loaded with items. "Still, on an Irishman?" The doubt in her voice. "I call bullshit." She lays it out there in case he's not the subtle type. "You eat cookies, all you gotta do is ask and I'll send you a text when they're warm out of the oven. S'about as close as I get to domestic."

She watches that box of bars go into the basket, considers, and then she tips forward and pulls a box of chocolate dough protein bars off the shelf, then dumps them in Declan's basket. "Take my advice, try these too." 20 grams of protein and no added sugar. But still, is it wise to trust the woman who just bought the cookie dough aisle?

He arches a brow, genuinely curious about her mom's role in academia, but he keeps the question at bay for now. "Yeah..guess you're probably right. Did it turn out alright?" Her time in university, that is. Declan can feel her eyes on him and those biceps do bulge a little bit on their own. He is carrying about twelve vials of insulin worth of cookies right now, after all. "Guess that makes me a little lucky that I'm not too tall then. Still invites a few idiots once in a while to try their luck." Speaking of Irish...

More snackies, more goodies, more weight in the basket, but it's nothing he can't handle. Yet. "Look, I'm trying to be humble, yeah?" Yeah, because that really seems like the kind of person Declan is. "And consider this me askin' then." Does he normally go for cookies? Nope. But fresh out of the oven? Made with love by this wonderful woman? He can run a few extra miles to work it off.

He eyes Lala for a bit as she drops stuff in his basket. His glare is playful as he narrows his gaze slightly. "If those give me love handles, I'll never forgive you." He jerks his head to the side. Best get out of this aisle before things go horribly awry.

"What, Uni?" Lala laughs. That sound in itself is a genuine laugh, throaty and highly amused. "Sorry, it's not that funny. No. It didn't. I worked in my dad's shop for long as I could, picked up some art, but it was the other requirements just didn't..." She shakes her head. "Sit right. I hated sitting still and wasting time when I was a kid. I went right into trades and when the custom paint and mechanics got too routine, and the ink was getting too expensive, I went into tattooing." Her smile lingers at that. "Mom approved. Dad wasn't so happy, but he shut up about it. For a long time in my life, nobody could tell me anything. No advice taken, everything done the hardest way possible."

"You look like you might know what I mean. Less of course that's a wildly stereotypical assessment on my part." She glances over. "This is you humble?" Lala slides her hand into the crook of one of Declan's arms, and leans in insofar as she can with the duel wielding baskets there. "You just flexed while I was watchin'." She grins at that.

"First, never underestimate the power of a dad bod in winter." She flicks a second finger out to join the first one. "Second, I'm highly forgivable." A third finger. "Every time I walk into and out of the gym you're in there. Don't even start." She's just eyeing some other things, but can be led out of this hot mess express of impulse buys if Declan's quick enough. "Ooh, gummi bears..." He better hurry.

He smiles softly and nods, happy to listen along while she gives some of her history. So much of that indeed sounds familiar in its own way. "I see. So when the ink got too expensive, you traded it in for another type of ink. Smart." Declan is moving off toward the drink aisle with his lovely companion in tow. "I know what that's like. Sometimes I want to go back and shake the shit out of myself. But it's one of those lessons that's never learned in youth." He lifts one of those broad shoulders again.

"I definitely get it. Not quite the same path, but definitely irked some people on my path. But I'm glad I found it on my own. Feels more 'mine' that way, y'know?" Her arm threads through his and she settles close. He leans back against her. "Did not," is all he offers to the gross accusation against him. "It's all the cookies doing, my arm is tightening up." It's not. And he was. Flexing, that is. But she can feel it there for as long as she has hold of him. Flexing in a sweatshirt isn't the most revealing of displays, but now that she's claimed him, perhaps he won't need to any further.

He laughs along with her list, but he shakes her head. "First, I'm thirty years away from a dad bod, at the least. Second..." He looks over at her, eyes cast along those exotic, amused features of hers. "...I believe it. Third?" She reaches for the gummi bears and he snaps back quickly and playfully. "If you get those gummi bears too, the next time you walk in the gym, I'm going to lock you in there with me. Just watch." He arches his brow a bit and for once, seems serious. Would he do something so bold??

"When it got too expensive," Lala says, "I decided to learn to do it myself. I didn't know it'd take me around the world and become a thing." She mhms and agrees with him on youth, saying, "I learned a lot of other things best learned when you can recover from them more easily. And I'm pretty surprised I survived them all." She wanders along the checkered floors beside Declan, letting him lead on, a hand sliding up his arm to give the bicep a squeeze. "This is how you end up dared to bench press a stack of friends drunk off your ass."

She maintains a close distance walking with him in the store. "You fought for it and you survived it, so it's worn in to the shape of your life. No matter how scarred the edges?" She glances over at the thirty years away thing. "How old are you?"

Hell yes she snags the gummi bears, stretching to do it, hand tightening on his arm for balance. "You can lock me in there and watch me sit my ass on a treadmill and eat the whole bag." She crinkles them and tosses them into his basket. Hers is really looking a bit full. Honestly one of them should give up and go get a cart. She won't, so it's laden basket chicken for Declan. "I don't think you would." Bluff called. Which she'll forget about in about two minutes, so it'll be future Lala that pays (or not) later.

"What did you do before you showed up here?"

More of her history. Around the world? Tattooing? That's quite the adventure. He grins, though, at her talk of recovery. "That gets harder as days go by. Maybe that does make it best to make mistakes early and often. Learn as much as you can while you can, hmm?" When she squeezes his arm in earnest, that's when he really goes about flexing. It's not massive, but it bulges nicely and is impossibly hard. "Maybe sober, sure. Can't imagine doing weight drunk." He shakes his head but leans a little more into his shopping buddy.

"Yeah, definitely. Took me too long to abandon the dream of 'perfection' and just...go with it, you know?" She gives him a look and he gives her one right back. But this one's studious and not just admiring. "Older than you," is all he offers at first. He's not totally confident in that, but he seems to think so. A grin shows up once more before he gives her a full answer. "Older than thirty-five, less than forty." That's about as specific as he wants to get just then.

She grabs them gummis and chucks them in the basket. If it's basket chicken, he's not losing either. But likely for a different reason. A basket means there's no reason for them to combine their forces/baskets together and this warm body near him? That might just go too. Unthinkable!

"Try it, lass." Bluff-calling called. He leans a little closer still and gives her another look. "That just might be the time that I bench press a friend, even if I gotta tie you up first to do it." That image blasts through his mind and he laughs softly.

It fades naturally and he listens on. "More of what I do here, actually. At least in the last..eight years or so? Did gymnastics and dance before that, mostly gymnastics. Still do that a lot when I can and I like incorporating that into my routines when I can. I was with a company that would subcontract groups of us out to various places for a while for short-term gigs. Church Christmas shows, theater productions that didn't have staff that could do the kind of things that we do, that sort of thing. Took me all over the States."

"Yeah, I think so. And when a fall out of a second story window's not gonna hurt so much when you land in the bushes." Lala says that in a way that's a little hard to sus. Either she's full of shit, or she drank a lot of wine when she was younger. Orrr both. "I was kidding about benching a stack of friends, but I think you might be able to do it," she says when he flexes under her hand.

He can't imagine doing weights drunk? "... You're so responsible. I'm impressed." She twitches a little smile.

"As a proud hot mess until I was about thirty, I really can't speak to perfectionism." She doesn't look much older than thirty, so that's really saying something there. "You gonna make me find my way into your wallet to find out?" The question's asked lightly, conversationally even. She glances over at the shelf beside them, scanning for more impulse buys. "Table that for now."

She gives him a glance at the commentary about tying up. No comments, just a thoughtful look.

"I admire that," she says, finally. The gymnastics and all. "The flexibility and the strength. I enjoy watching people move. You're with the acrobats then?" She leans in as someone passes them in a huff about peanut butter that's on sale or something. Her elbow bumps his side. Her gait is very slightly uneven, but it's hard to tell until she's walking as she is arm in arm with Declan.

That is waaaay too specific of an example for Declan to believe hasn't happened to Lala at some point in her past. His brow shoots up a bit when she mentions it, laughs softly. "Shit, you're way more hardcore than me." Could he bench a stack of friends? Not unless there were just a couple of small ones. But Lala? Oh yeah. She would be light work.

"Oh, darlin', I'm a lotta things, but 'responsible' isn't usually one of'em. Not sure I'll ever figure out that part of adulthood. I just know what it's like to workout to the point of getting sick sometimes, and to top that off with being shitfaced? Sounds like a damn nightmare..."

Declan leads them on toward the registers. He probably has everything he needs. Unsurprisingly, he didn't make a list. And just as unsurprisingly, his focus has not be on gathering sundries since he found Lala by the cookie dough. She tell him to table it, but he doesn't. "Thirty-six."

She seems to dig his chosen profession? He smiles a little more and nods. "Yeah, aerialist mainly, these days. Do things on the trapeze, with hoops and silk, that sorta stuff." The disgruntled Mr. Peanut slips on by, and that brings Lala even closer. They make fewer stops as they get closer to the register and it's not surprising that someone used to rhythm and tempo notices a favoring on one leg. It's not drastic, but he does look down. She's taken a few mental notes of him, now it's his turn to take one of her. Now's probably not the time or place to question that.

"Guessin' you're getting ready to crash out for a few hours, eh?" He shakes his head slowly and sighs softly. "I'm jealous, wish I could crawl back into bed." Is there anything better than curling and bundling up when it's nice and chilly out?

"Never challenge a French woman to finish a few bottles of wine together," Lala murmurs, glancing over at Declan and shaking her head. "A little free advice from me to you. It may save your life one day." She smiles a little more when she says, "And if you're going to drink sitting on a ledge, make sure it has thick, thorn-free hedges under it."

She hms and nods, saying, "Had not considered that far ahead." Easy to see she's not a lifter by any means. The metabolism of a workout vs alcohol isn't something she's really tried. She's thinking on that little hole in her knowledge base when he finally gives her his age. "You're right. You are older than I am, but not by all that much."

"Silks, really? Now that I'd like to see." She definitely seems more impressed by artistry than beast mode. Though both are impressive their own way. It's not something she does, either one. "I'm up for a little bit, but not long for this world after what passes for dinner for me, breakfast for everyone else. Maybe two hours before I take a good long bath to warm up and then closing the blackout curtains and a lot of blankets. Why did you get out of bed this early? Not that I'm complaining." She sweeps a gaze over to meet Declan's eyes. "About the company."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that..." He gently leans against her with a smirk. "...there's way too many calories in a bottle of wine. I'll stick with my whiskey." He grimaces quickly though when she mentions the hedges and laughs softly. "Oh god..." He shivers playfully a bit as if imagining that nightmarish scenario. "Noted. We'll only get drunk somewhere safe and indoors." Because that's the lesson to be learned from that.

"Yeah?" He seems a little surprised by that admission before his eyes sweep over her again, even if she is all bundled up neatly and tightly. "Would've guessed a ten year gap or so. You look incredible." Of course she does, but that's beside the point. Not that age is the only indicator of beauty, of course.

"Really? Well..if you can imagine, I'm going straight over to rehearse a bit right after this. Not sure if you want to take another ferry before crashing, but you're welcome to. I'll make sure you have a show to go along with your dinner." He partly answers her question in that, but continues on. "We have a special group coming in so we're doing an early, semi-private show for them. Hate being up this early, but it's for a cool group of kids. Definitely worth it."

"I'll just pretend not to be too jealous of you, your bath or your blankets, afterwards. This is prime nap weather." God, is it ever. He makes sure to keep his pace comfortable and not to challenging with her slight hitch. "I'm pretty fuckin' fond of the company too, by the way. All this time, I thought it was just your voice that was so charming. Silly me." He angles his head a bit and smiles at that pretty figure.

That comment about wine has her shaking her head, a slight turn of her head. Her hand turns and fingers curl around his bicep. She leans into the lean to say conspiratorially, "I judge someone far more harshly on the whiskey they drink than the wine." There's a pause from the whiskey snob. "Though that's a slippery slope with an Irishman."

"Thirty-two. Thank you. Korean skincare and good genes on both sides," she says. "If I'm anything like mom, I'll be a snacc in my late fifties too." She laughs at that, though she does sound absolutely serious there. "The modesty I got from my papá." She glances over. "It's cute that you didn't wanna say you're in the latter half of your thirties because you thought I was that much younger. I think most men wear age very well, and you're not even there yet."

"Oh god, a show this early?" She fishes out her phone with her free hand and turns her phone to look at the time. "Hmm. Two ferries and a show might be a little too much for me this late in my day, but one of these times I have an off day, maybe I can make a late show." While she's fiddling with her phone, he makes his jealous and charming comments. She laughs again, this time a throaty, soft little laugh. "You can be very jealous of those. It really is the best part of the day." She smiles and glances back, blue eyes finding Declan's gaze. "You always work this hard to charm the American women, or is it because I'm so tall?"

She leans in to tell him, again like it's a secret, "I was raised by a good Southern woman. My arsenal of charm runs deep. Fair warning."

The feel of Lala cozying up against him is a wonderful sort of thing. Sure, she's bundled up and nice and toasty which lends itself to making sure he's closer to that than frozen as he was before. But just that general comfort of being next to her...they hardly know each other and yet, there's no awkwardness, nothing expected beyond the simple pleasure of each other's comopany. It's been a delightful trip to the store so far, that's certain. "Yeah, lass, whiskey's something I know a helluva lot more about. Don't partake often but when I do? It's mighty fine stuff. You'll have to come over some time so you can judge me properly." An invitation and a challenge, all in one neat little package.

He laughs softly at the mention of Korean skincare, even if it's entirely true. "Damn good genes, it seems." He grins again and nods. She's definitely already looking like a snack and can't see that changing in even the distant future. "Modesty, right. We got the same amount from our parents then, sounds like." He lifts that shoulder that she's leaned up against sllighty. "Eh, you know the magic rule, right? 'Half your age plus seven'? Anything less is supposedly 'creepy'? Can't be too careful these days."

Declan nods again, but refrains from going too deep into the explanation for the early show just yet. "Totally understand, Lala. Hell, the lure of crawling into bed allure is hard to fight again, much less having to go somewhere else. Her laugh is almost smoky and has him smiling brightly as she turns those piercing eyes to him. He looks right back and lets his gaze roam over her face for a moment. "Oh, Americans aren't the only ones worthy fo my charm." He teases her back and inhales a long breath through his nose when she leans close once more, taking in so much of her scent.

"Though the height is pretty sexy." Declan's not overly tall and it's not too difficult for one to be taller than him. The curse of being a gymnast, perhaps. Shredded out of his mind...just a little on the shorter side. "I hope I get to see most of your arsenal then. Gotta imagine you know how to use it. Kinda doing a phenomenal damn job already, I have to say." His gaze lingers on her for a moment as they reach the register. There's no one in front of them, but he's not all that keen on unloading their baskets yet. Who knows why that might be the case. Couldn't be the fact that he's simply enjoying being close to her. Nooo...

Lala's comfort in hanging with Declan seems to come easily, for sure, and probably has something to do with his good humor at being conscripted into carrying her groceries. She glances over at the challenge. Yeah, that banter is something to do with it too. "You've got to have a selection, though. If you do, might take you up on that. I have a taste for new experiences and flavors."

She tips her head in acknowledgment of the genes and modesty. Tis true, no use denying it. "The gifts our parents give us." There's a wistful little smile that follows that, but she reaches out as they move through the impulse buys for a little pack bubblegum. "Helps me think," she says, tossing it into one of the baskets. They'll sort it out on the belt.

"I never really ascribed to that. Once someone's over twenty-five, I figure they got enough brains to decide for themselves." She squints and goes silent a minute, doing some mental maths. "Yep, broke that one a time or two, but you know, always had a thing for older men in particular. It's about chemistry for me, compatibility and chemistry, that is. Or circumstance and recreational substances." She laughs and finally settles on, "Attraction is a spectrum, and I'm shit with math."

When she leans in a little closer, there's a hint of vanilla-leaning spiced tobacco clinging to her hair. Probably a cigarillo or cigar, sampled sometime hours before. And a hint of the sweet of black licorice and peaches on her skin. Maybe it's a soap, because it's not perfume. "You know, I gotta use the charm sparingly. It's a dangerous weapon easy to abuse. And so are stiletto's when you're five-eleven and your date expresses discomfort in you being taller." She grins at that. "Never a problem for me 'less somebody makes it a problem." Lala reaches for some wintergreen mints. "Can I buy you something off the impulse shelf to thank you for your service this morning, Declan?"

There's a pause at that and she asks, "What's a short form of your name? Dax? I don't know you feel like a Deke." She shakes her head, no not that. "What's your middle name?"

"I'll make sure to have a few choices on hand, definitely." If he needs to buy a couple of different bottles to lure her over, so be it! New experiences and new flavors? Is she secretly his female clone? It's pretty much exactly what he lives for.

"Aye..." He grins, thinking for a moment about his parents and getting distracted for just a moment while wondering what they might be doing at the moment. He watches her while she reaches for the gum and offer up that reasoning. "Huh..you do you best thinking with something in your mouth. Noted." Declan smiles and winks before giving her a fond nudge with the elbow that she's claimed.

"Very progressive of you." As if he needed to know that little fact to label her as that. "If I find a nice old man that needs a pretty woman that requires gum to consider hard things, I'll be sure to send him your way." She finishes her explanation and Declan just smiles a whole lot more, forgoing any more teasing. "Really good way to think about it, actually."

In regards to her charm? "Darlin', I can't imagine you ever have a choice but to use it without even intending to." He starts unloading her basket first. "People that get wrapped up by height are too self-conscious."

He shakes his head slightly at the offer. "Your company was reward enough, trust me." He grins and angles his head to the side. "You pick a name for me. Whatever you want, I'm sure I'll be game."

"It's good to have a little variety when you're talking flavors on your tongue." Lala doesn't even glance over at Declan when she adds, "You line all that up, and snacks? I just might take you up on it. We can enjoy a little cultural exchange." She does glance over then, tossing a little packet of skittles into the basket. She shops like a teenager with little impulse control.

"If you do find me an old man, you be sure he has a questionable tattoo or three and a little scruff. And he should be able to hold his breath for at least three minutes." She hms. "He should also do his best work with his mouth." There's a flicker of a grin shortly after that. She almost managed it with a straight face. So close. "But really, almost everyone has something worthy to offer."

"That was smooth." She leans against the conveyor belt on the register lane. "Really, it was good. And I'll think a little longer on the nickname. Don't wanna rush into these things."

He grins broadly at her first reply back and nods. "Holy hell, couldn't agree more." Maybe that gives one another a clue as to what they're really all about. "Snacks too? Good grief, you must think I'm made of money. But hey, if that's one type of carrot that I have to dangle in front of you to lure you in, won't complain too much." In go the skittles and he just waits for a KitKat or Butterfinger or Nerdrope...

"Oh, I'll find you the oldest man. All tattoos, three foot long beard, former world champion free-diver and plays the harmonica better than anyone who's ever lived." That grin has him smiling again as he grabs a pack of peppermint gum for himself. "Almost everyone, sure." He chews lightly on the inside of his lip as he studies her again. "Excited to see what you have to offer." He hitches his brow for a moment. "For that 'cultural exchange', I mean. Obvi."

And yes, he was smooth. But it's easy to be smooth when you have a muse like Lala nearby. More items are laid over the sliding rubber belt as he empties her basket. Of course, he 'accidentally' brushes against her waist with that last package of cookie dough. "Agreed," is all he offers before mirroring her posture, leaning along with her with arms not folded over the front of his chest. "Those things have a habit of sticking around for a long time and it'd suck to wind up with something like...'Deck-less', right?" He shudders playfully and smiles brightly. "Couldn't be more wrong!"

There's more lingering time, more processed sugar is going into the basket, and Declan'll be forced to watch it happen. "Are you the type who eats whole grain everything and skinless baked chicken breasts?" Is she doing this on purpose? Lala selects one more item from the shelf there, but this is a peppermint lip balm, not a candy. Thank fuck. No more sugar.

Lala stops what she's doing after that and turns to face Declan full on, her hands going to her hips. "Be still my sweet southern heart." She tips her head. "Are you trying to get me wifed up? You throw in a few jail tattoos and a couple knife scars, along with somebody who's emotionally unavailable and I might just end up married." Her brows go up when he says 'obvi'.

"Totes." She leans against the checkout again, her back to the tempting impulse buys and eyes on Declan. "Oh, no. Don't suggest something that bad." There's a look in her eyes. A look that says now that he's said it, that's in her head. "I'ma stick to Irish for know. I know it ain't all that creative, but I gotta let Deckless work its way out of my brain before I say something I cannot come back from. You can say this stuff to me this late into my day." She straightens then and reaches for an order separator to plunk between their purchases. Not that the cashier can't tell one of them probably got the yogs and the other got the sugar shock.

"Phone." She holds out a hand, then wiggles her fingers.

Declan, of course, makes no attempt to hide his disapproval of her dietary choices. But he does let his eyes slip down that sleek frame and wonder how in the hell she's managed to keep herself so trim eating like this, especially when she runs from the gym the moment she gets in. The miracle of metabolism, clearly. At her question, he decides to get a little bold and pull up the bottom of his sweatshirt just enough to expose the base of his belly and the hard lines of muscle etched throughout. "Yup," is all he offers with a grin. "This doesn't happen by 'enjoying' food."

He winks and grins a bit before lowering his clothes. He surely has cheat days, might even have a cheat week whenever the performing season(s) slow down. But there's not a lot of 'extra' anywhere visible on Dec. Lala paints her ideal, jailbird of a husband and he laughs a little louder than he would have expected to. "I'm on it. I'll get your profile setup on one of those prisoner-dating apps."

His 'nickname' earworms its way in her brain for a bit, but he grins and nods. "Honestly, whatever you want. I'm not picky. But don't you ever worry about guarding your tongue around me. Doubt we would've made it this far if you had." He lets his gaze linger on hers comfortably for a longer moment before she separates their goodies.

She demands his phone, he obliges, digging it out from the pocket in his hoodie. He thumbs through the passcode and hands it over without hesitation. Could she go through his pictures? Sure. Check his messages? Of course. He doesn't seem concerned with it one way or the other. "Gotta leave a picture of yourself in there, though. That's the price."

Lala's secrets to sugar consumption in her thirties remains a mystery, then again, she is definitely not cut like Declan is. That takes so much work. So when he lifts his shirt and shows off some of the abs he's packing, of course her gaze drops. "Jesus. Has anybody ever tried to bounce a quarter off you?" She sounds like she may be tempted to try it. She shakes her head. "I've tattooed a couple linebackers in my time, but so noted. Not quite as strong in the core as acrobats. Shame about the food, though. It is one of the purest joys in life." Says the woman with a basket full of cookies.

"It's true, so much fine ass is rotting in the clink as we speak. But a privatized prison system soapbox serves nobody today," she says with a dramatic sigh. Probably just pining for that ideal man, no real stress.

"I find it hard not t'say what I'm thinking most times, so good there. If I don't say it, it's usually on my face anyhow." She takes the phone when it's offered, and types away in the contacts. There isn't a lot of swiping, so she must not be going through his stuff. "You want a picture, it costs you your hoodie," she says, launching into a negotiation even as her attention's on Declan's phone screen, firing back a counter offer. She puts herself in there as Lala (Tattoos) 🤘. Like she expects his contacts may be listed a certain way.

"Not a quarter, nah. You're more than welcome to try a whiskey cork whenever you stop by, though." He can see the way she looks at him and makes those sacrifices worth it. For that moment, at least. "Yeah, well, linebackers would throw me around without even trying. Those are some strong lads." He laughs softly and looks to the cookie dough just rooooolling by when she talks about the food. "Maybe...maybe I'll let you tempt me with something tasty one day."

Lala? A seducer? Even as it pertains to food? Nooo, surely not! Again, Declan barks another laughs that catches him offguard. "Man, you really dig those badboys, huh?" Lips stay spread for a moment before, then talks gets real. It fades slowly and he nods, "Yeah, what's the deal with Americans and wanted corporations to control everything?" Yes, he's making a generalization and clearly doesn't lump Lala into that group that seems to want that.

He nods afterwards though, noting that she's going to be honest with him in one way or the other, vocally or otherwise."Good." Lala thumbs swiftly through his phone and laughs at her counter. "Damn, lass, you trying to get me to freeze on the walk home?" Still, he hardly seems to hesitate, reaching down to tug that college sweatshirt up and over his head. Declan stilll has a thin, gray t-shirt on beneath, but that's not going to cut it for long. He tosses the sweatshirt over her head with a smirk, laughing again as she disappears beneath the cotton for the moment.

"Snacks, drinks, and games," Lala says. "Now that's shaping up to be an entertaining evening." Her eyes crinkle a little when she smiles, and she pokes at the phone but does look up at him over it. "The only person to both cry and pass out in my chair was a 265 pound Texan who played professional." She names no names. "He wanted a huge back piece in one sitting. We made it, but it took all damn day." She smiles a little bit more at the memory. Good work or amused by a huge man in distress? Hard to tell, really.

"All the best family men I knew growing up were bad boys," she says, finishing up with his phone, though it languishes in one of her inked palms. "You know, anything for a profit these days, even at the cost of people's lives." She keeps that fairly light, but there are opinions under the breezy commentary.

She waits to see him take off his hoodie. And he does, handily. She reaches to snatch the hoodie out of the air, but she's a little slow. Really it kind of falls across her face and shoulder, but she does catch it and save it a fall to the shop floor. She sweeps the green fabric off her head with a laugh and tucks it safely onto her shoulder. "Just wanted to see how easy it was to get your shirt off." She pings her own phone with Declan's, then hands his back. "I'll send you a pic over shortly. This lighting is awful." She juggles her phone in her other hand, tapping it with a thumb while holding onto the thing by a pop socket. When the photo does ping in, it's a no makeup selfie with someone's random toy dog. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Is she really going to send him out into the cold in a t-shirt and shorts? Is she this kind of monster? Yes, and... no. Lala unwinds a big black oversize scarf, made to comical proportions as is obvious as she unwraps it. She offers that length of black fabric over to Declan to adorn himself as he so chooses.

"As long as you come, I'm certain we'll find ways to entertain ourselves." His lips pull a little whenever she gives him that smile. Then his head shakes slowly, almost sadly. "Imagine that...a blustery Texan that's all talk and can't handle the pain." He clucks his tongue softly and shakes his head in disappointment. "Gymnastics is a real man's sport." Lala has ever right to be proud of her work and amused at a pro-footballer in discomfort from something as menial as a lil' ol' full back tat.

Yeah, they could probably talk about the American prison system for hours. But now's not the time or place for it. Instead, he presses his lips together and nods. He can definitely read her thoughts on that one.

"There are easy bits of me to get off." Oh, it was meant as a tease. But it wasn't meant as that level of a tease. In fact, it takes him a second to register what he's said and he waves a hand innocently. "Nope, reset. Not what I meant." He takes his phone back all the same and takes a look at the contact she'd created of herself. He doesn't seem to mind when it's sent, so long as the payment is properly received. She sends over a picture for now and he checks it out. "Aww, look at this pretty little thing." Declan grins, studying the photo for a moment. "The pup isn't too bad either."

She unravels a bit of her multi-layered cold-protection in the form of that ginormo scarf. He has absolutely no idea where to become bundling himself up with it, but he's not about to pass up the opportunity to properly combat the elements outside of the store. "Thanks for the company this morning, Lala. Was a little pissed that I needed to stop in so early but..man. Turned out to be a little bit of destiny, I think." Declan pays for his items and makes sure his bags are in one hand and Lalas are in the other as he makes way for the door with her.

He hands her her back and then does a terrible--but amusing--job of wrapping that scarf around his shoulders and head. Will it warm him like a hoodie? Not even close. Will it help all the same? You betcha. "Don't be a stranger, yeah? You should stop by the first night you have off. Would be happy to play host for a few hours."

Lala pauses in saving Declan into her phone to glance over. She regards him with those pale grey eyes for a long beat. And then picks up that thread on the football player she once tattooed while he cried in her chair. "The bigger they are," she says, then clicks her phone locked. Who knows how Declan's saved in there. If he's lucky, it's just 🍀 and not a whole bunch of lucky charms.

Her phone's tucked away in her pocket so she has both hands free. "I can't say that I know all the many gymnasts. I'm gonna have to watch you perform sometime, see what it is you work out so much to achieve." She listens to what he says about getting off, she hears what he says, watches him realize it, and a the corners of her mouth turn up. "That sounds so much dirtier in your accent." She glances down his body, taking in the t-shirt and shorts combo he's rocking, even as she hands off that scarf. "That puppy's a vicious little six pound beast these days, so I hear. I get a pupdate pic now and then."

She reaches over to tuck in the ends of the scarf and help him sort himself out as he takes up the bags. Looks a bit odd, considering he's bundled from the shoulders up, with bare arms and legs, but it's definitely a look, and he might catch some shit for showing up like that to the early warm-ups. Maybe that was the point. "It's turning out to to be a much more pleasant morning than I thought, Irish. I think you make a fine shoppin' buddy, and it's not just 'cause you're carryin' my bags out for me." She takes her bags off his hands and leans in, bending to brush a kiss to the apple of his cheek. "Thanks, sweetheart. Which building you in?"

That question's asked to his ear before she resumes her own personal space, though she stands closer than most people might. Her personal bubble is smaller than average, y'see.

Declan's always lucky. Except when he's not. Lala's starting of the old adage has him grinning a little bit with a touch of a nod. "Truth." No, seriously. He's seen some big people try (and fail) some aerialist stunts and holy hell do they go splat harder than the little wisps of a thing that try it. Physics, bruh.

"Well, I'll try not to set the bar too high. Would hate to ruin every other one for you in the future." No. He wouldn't. And yes, he will try to set that bar as high as possible. "I think you'll have a good time watching." Most do! He can put on a good show, especially for someone that's completely new to the scene. There are many thrills to observe. But there's that little slip and he clears his throat softly. "Yeah, well. That's pretty tame compared to what usually comes out of it."

His smile warms a fair bit whenever she talks of the pup and gets him all wrapped up snugly with the scarf. Look odd? Sure. Will it maybe keep him from into little more than some frozen Irish cream? Here's hoping! She offers him that sweet compliment but he responds with a slightly narrowed look. "Hmm..maybe you weren't just using me for my body after all..." His lips twist slightly as he shakes his head just before she gives him that kiss. "...shame." But that gesture is received and instead of reciprocating it in kind, he reaches out to gently rest a hand at the line of her waist for just a moment. "My pleasure, lass."

She lingers close and then so does his hand. It doesn't move, doesn't try to do more than just fondly rest against that leather jacket for a moment. "Silver Brook, fourth floor." He's more than happy to have her linger nearby, for more than just her physical warmth. She's a lot of fun to look at this close, after all.

"Alright, you're just downstairs from me." Lala reaches up to tug the scarf a little bit, so it's sure to protect Declan's ears from the chill. A smile flickers across her lips and she studies him for a moment, gaze sweeping over him. "You're looking about as bundled as you're gonna get in shorts and a tee in this weather.

"You go on and text me your schedule this week, see if we can't figure out a time for some whiskey."

"Everybody," Lala says. "Has to have a couple bad habits turn out to be good ones." She might feel a little bad about sending him out into the weather like that, but a price is a price. She doesn't give over custody of his hoodie because of it. They'll have to meet again to trade back one day, perhaps when she sees he's wearing a hoodie more in her color range. "Now. I gotta go make one more stop, then I'm off to bed. Lucky for you, the ferries have heaters inside and pull canvas down from the awnings when it's chilly." Smoothing a hand over the scarf, she seems pleased, finally, with how it rests. "You good to go?"

He looks like a bundled up first grader on their first day of school! At least, from the neck up. He decides to make it a littl more humorous and tucks his chin down so that his response is as muffled as it could be. "I'll be okay." His mouth is hidden, but his eyes spark of mischief and humor.

But then he pulls the scarf down and gives her a nod. "Yeah, definitely. I think I can make time even on a busy day for a woman like you." He smiles even brighter then and wets his lips before casting a look outside. Holy hell, does it ever look colder now, somehow...Oh, right. HE DOESN'T HAVE HIS HOODIE.

She makes sure that he's properly garbed and suited for the elements. As much as he can be sans-outer layer. "I'm fuckin' great." The walk to the ferry is going to suck. The wind cutting through the thin shirt is going to suck. But this is an incredible morning. "Have a good rest, Lala. I'll shoot you a text soon, yeah?" Declan closes the distance to the motion sensor that sees those doors slide open. That arctic wind blasts into his body. "Fuuuuck me..." He looks over his shoulder one more time and laughs, eyeing that inked-beauty with a beaming grin. "See ya, darlin'!" This ain't walking weather. He starts running with his small bag of groceries back to his apartment.

Once he's there, yes. He could have changed. But someone wanted him to get properly ribbed by his coworkers for that scarf. And so, with food deposited in his apartment, he makes the long trip back to the ferry where the heaters start to work their magic. He takes out his phone and send a single, emoji'ed message to Lala's phone. "⛄"